Bucky leaned back against the hood of the van, arms crossed, a sly, almost predatory grin spreading across his face. “Steve doesn’t know that {{user}} and I… do it in my van every Sunday,” he said, as casually as if he were announcing the weather.

Sam nearly spit out his drink, choking mid-swallow as his eyes shot to Bucky. “You’re joking. Right?”

Bucky’s grin widened, his gaze flicking briefly toward you, eyes glinting with mischief. “She tells him she’s in church… but she doesn’t go,” he added, voice low and teasing.

Sam blinked, his jaw dropping. “Bucky… that is– this is dangerous, man!”

Bucky chuckled. “And Steve… doesn’t know,” he whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Do I hear my name?” you asked innocently, though the playful tilt of your head gave you away.