Every inch of his body is sensitive. It’s been almost seventy years since he’s been touched in a real… kind way. Now, any touch sends shivers down his spine. Even the slightest movement of your fingers – especially near his left hand – can throw him off balance.

You’re sitting on his lap now. And to be honest, he’d rather just lie there – feel your warmth, stroke your shoulders, kiss your neck… But you’re all preoccupied: focused, blushing, but still keeping a serious face as you carefully wipe the blood and dust from his metal hand – the remains of another week-long mission.

Bucky reaches out with his free hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His face comes closer, and the tip of his nose barely touches yours.

“Will you give me a kiss… after all this torture, beautiful?” - He muttered, his voice hoarse and quiet, almost a purr.

His fingers gently touched your chin, lifting it slightly.

“hmm?”