brushpass | threads

He expected it this time. Even so, when she comments, he still tenses a little. Maybe because he's old fashioned, or maybe because it's been a very long time since anyone noticed his ass.

The dart hits the board with a solid thunk, slightly off center.

"How long are you going to be able to keep that up?"

"What, like it's a chore?" she asks with a chuckle. He's not exactly hard on the eyes from any angle. But she can also tell that she's likely approaching that outside limit of what he's comfortable with.

As she moves up so she can get the darts from the board, she brushes his arm with her hand. "I'll behave."

"You always do." He bumps her shoulder lightly as she passes, doing his best to signal he's okay. And he appreciates the concern, because she's not wrong about being out of his depth.

Though he's pretty sure most men would be out of their depth with Natasha.

"Looks like we're tied."

The concept of her always behaving is so patently untrue that all she can do is give him a look of amused disbelief. Though she does appreciate the vote of confidence.

"If we tie, I guess we'll have to take turns driving." Might be a good excuse to take a trip out of the city, come to think of it. There's just a hint of a smirk there on her mouth as she eyes him. "Want me to hold off on throwing these so you can decide if you want to try to distract me too?"

"Is that half a day each, or two full days?" He leans against the bar as she gathers the darts, watching her closely. It's always worth it paying attention to how she moves.

"Not sure I'd even know where to start," he admits. "At least not that won't get me punched in the face. I wouldn't want to risk pissing you off when you have a potential weapon in your hands."

"Two days does mean we could make a weekend out of it," Natasha answers thoughtfully. Its an appealing idea. They might have to wait a few weeks for their schedules to line up, but she's sure it'd be worth the wait.

His admission earns a little chuckle as she looks at the darts. Honestly, a fair point. But. "I'm confident that none of the things you'd think to say would risk pissing me off."

That seems about as likely to him as the idea that she actually always behaves, but he'll let it go. If she has a flattering impression of him after everything she's seen, he's not going to try to change her mind.

"Just take your throw. If you win, it'll be square."

"To be clear, that was an invitation to flirt with me," she points out with a grin. And she's still confident that none of his moves would cross a line.

Turning, she throws the first dart and nails the bullseye.

"Yeah?" He watches her, waiting until the dart is about to leave her fingers before he says, "I thought you were inviting me to comment on your ass."

Maybe he's not that afraid of her throwing the next dart at him after all.

Oh, well done, Bucky. That startles such a genuine laugh out of her that her throw goes wide and hits a frankly embarrassing section of the board.

But she still looks incredibly amused as she turns to look at him. "I was," she answers, one brow arching as if in a dare.

Bucky makes a ring with his thumb and forefinger, OK, then a thumbs up as he nods.
"Very nice."

Her ass or the throw? Depends on how sincere she thinks he's being.

He can't entirely keep a smirk off his face.

"You were saying about a weekend?"

"Smart ass."

There's a smirk at the corner of her own mouth which makes it clear she's well aware of her choice of words.

She saunters back over to him, keeping her eyes on him as she moves. "Looks like we're on for a weekend. We can plan it over dinner."

He turns his palms toward her in mock surrender, still half smiling. He wasn't especially interested in who won, but he can't pretend he's mad about how it played out.

"Sounds like a plan," he says, trying and mostly succeeding at playing cool. (Maybe not entirely succeeding.) "Also sounds like a good time to pay our tab and head over to the restaurant."

With a bet like the one they'd made, the competition had just been for the fun of it. There's really no bad outcome when the result is spending time together.

She has enough grace not to call him on it when he doesn't quite land on playing it cool, but there's a glimmer of warm humor in her eyes regardless. "Couldn't agree more. Are we going to have to do a round of rock paper scissors so I can get the drinks?"

"We won't have to if you just let me pay," he says then, not trying to play cool anymore and somehow doing a better job seeming at ease, if not necessarily cool. "I asked you out. I'd never ask a girl out if I weren't planning to pay for her."

"I could argue though that I invited you to this specific dive bar," she points out as she slips her jacket back on. By her tone, its easy to tell that her counterpoint is lighthearted. This isn't a sticking point for her so much as her making sure he knows she doesn't expect him to be footing every bill. He does seem more comfortable now, and she's glad to see it.

"You're not exactly breaking the bank here, you know." That's one of the points of visiting a dive bar. It also sidesteps her reassurance, avoiding reacting to it directly.

He pulls out his wallet and throws some bills on the bar, which he considers the correct way to pay for anything.

The way he sidesteps it is smooth enough that she finds it charming, watching him with an expression that has just a hint of fondness to it. Throwing bills on the bar is evidently the right way to pay in this establishment at least, as the bartender just gives him a curt up nod of acknowledgement.

Natasha takes his arm as they turn to leave, and leans up to press a kiss on his cheek. "Well, thanks for the drink, then."

Bucky leans into the kiss, stooping just slightly to make the reach a little easier on her. It's a simple gesture but still one that sends a soft warmth through him in a way he hasn't felt in years.

Then he escorts her out of the bar and back onto the sidewalk.

"You know, you're really something else."

It's not a compliment she's expecting, and she can't help but laugh a little. Typically, she's hearing that in a much different tone.

The cold air is refreshing after the warm, still air in the bar, and she gives his arm a squeeze of acknowledgment as they walk down the sidewalk. When she answers, her tone is low and amused. "Yeah? What I am?"

"Not entirely sure, yet," he admits, touching her hand lightly as they walk as though to assure her that's not a bad thing. "You're strong, but you're also funny. And you're kinder than anyone can ask you to be."

As evidence, the fact she's hanging out with a guy like him.

"It's a puzzle, I guess. Looking forward to finding out, though."

Well, that's certainly something. Natasha is a lot of things, and chief among them - comfortable in her skin. Some aspects of her are either to see than others. She's relentless, intelligent, and ruthless when the situation calls for it. Those other things, like her humor and her kindness, tend to be harder for people to discover. And more to the point, they're typically not the aspects of her that most people are interested in.

So it means a lot that those are the things he chooses to reference.

Her head tips so she can look up at him with a smile. "Careful, Barnes, I'm going to have to kiss you if you go around saying things like that."

"All part of my devious plan," he jokes, turning just a little pink under her gaze. "Though maybe working a little too well. Wasn't going to hope for that until I dropped you off this evening."

He wasn't about to hope for more than that tonight, and that she'd do this again. Do more than this again, and he seems to be doing pretty well on that too.

The corner of her smile twitches just a bit, enough to make it clear that she's noticed that hint of pink on his cheeks. They're going to have to work on his self esteem at some point, given that he's obviously doing much better than he thinks he is.

"There's a reason to look forward to being dropped off," she answers as they reach the car.

"Not too soon, though. We still have all evening ahead of us." He gets the door for her, giving her a hand down like a gentleman.

It feels dated and certainly doesn't make him feel like he's doing better, but he can't shake the feeling it's the right thing to do.

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