The Stark Tower was alive with celebration, the victory against Thanos still fresh, the relief thick in the air like the scent of expensive liquor. The dance floor was bathed in golden light, bodies moving to the slow, sensual rhythm of a song that felt almost too intimate for a room full of heroes. But Bucky? Bucky wasn’t thinking about anyone else in the room.

Not when you were pressed against him like this.

Your body swayed against his, the heat of you burning through the thin fabric of your dress, seeping into his skin like wildfire. You moved with effortless grace, teasing, taunting—like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. And God, you probably did.

Bucky tried to keep it together, tried to focus on anything other than the way your hips rolled, the way your fingers traced the line of his shoulders before sliding down his arms. But the way you looked up at him, lips slightly parted, eyes dark with something that made his chest tighten, told him he was losing this battle.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. Nothing mattered right now except the way you fit against him, the way you were pushing every single one of his buttons without saying a damn word.

“Enjoying yourself, Sergeant?” Your voice was low, teasing, sending a shiver down his spine.

Bucky exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to smirk instead of giving away how wrecked he already was. “You always this dangerous on the dance floor?”

Your fingers slid over the back of his neck, nails barely scraping his skin. “Only when I want to be.”

And with the way you moved against him, the way your breath brushed his ear, Bucky knew—he was in serious trouble.