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- He almost ran you off the road with his ducking and weaving between the busy New York City traffic.
- You scream a litany of curses and the honking of your abrasive horn in his direction, knowing that he likely couldn’t hear over the motorbike revving anyway.
- Little did you know… When the man in the black leather on the motorcycle pulled over, took his helmet off and stared you down while you were stuck in gridlock, he may have been the sexiest thing you ever saw.
- … And the most dangerous.
- The look on his face told you to pull your vehicle over and talk face-to-face with him. You were far too scared, and kept driving, not wanting to be a part of it (he wore an Avengers emblem on the back of his leather jacket. Sargent at Arms, your brain freaked out, or worse).
- Stuck again in gridlock, you almost jumped out of your skin when there was a knock on your driver’s window. You looked up, terrified and he peered back at your with mild amusement.
- “Pull over,” he demanded. You were far too scared to argue, but at least there were enough witnesses if he was going to hurt you.
- Parking the car and meeting him, he pulled off his helmet, shaking out his long dark hair and made himself comfortable, leaning back against his bike, dark jeans straining over his strong thighs.
- Terrified or turned on? You just weren’t sure.
- “You could have killed me,” he said evenly.
- Gobsmacked, you loudly reminded him, hands flailing that he cut you off numerous times and you thought you were going to kill him because of his recklessness.
- “Sweetheart, I can take care of myself - you don’t gotta worry about me.”
- Rubbing your face, you gave him the finger, told him to fuck off and stormed back to your car, driving off furiously.
- Not to say that you were a little shocked when you got to your apartment the next day to find a bouquet of the season’s best signed, with the words “you are extremely sexy when you’re angry at me. I should take you for a drink to apologise” and signed, “the asshole on the bike” and a phone number.
- Goddammit. Your fingers were already itching to call.
- You make time for Bucky the following week, it took a few attempts at finding a good time, as his biker club had a toy run for seriously ill children and it was taking up a lot of their time organising. A toy run? Your ovaries though.
- You meet Bucky at a speakeasy in Brooklyn. He was early and you were late. A drink awaited you. “You drove?” he teased. You had. You kicked yourself you didn’t take the train. “Need to get you on the back of the bike, weaving through the traffic, wind in your hair. Nothin’ like it,” It sounded horribly scary. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he winked, sipping from his beer. You sipped your drink. It was good. “It’s a ‘Bloody Biker’,” he teased.
- Things escalated quickly - he’s nothing like you expect. Funny, quirky, highly intelligent, flirty.
- A school science and math teacher. What? Your jaw gapes as he laughs. “How do you think I make a living?”
- “Drugs, guns, cartels?!”
- He laughs further, rubbing his eyes and explains his badge is just a group of like-minded bikies. There is no clubhouse, there is no moles. “It’s not Sons of Anarchy. Just a group of friends who ride their motorbikes over the weekend.”
- “And do nice things for charity.”
- He shrugs modestly. “Occasionally. Yes.”
- You were so torn… he was everything. And now? He needed to be yours. “Take me to your place,” you demand of him, fisting the collar of his leathers as he chuckled, surprised and tossed a wad of notes on the table before being dragged out of the bar into the cool evening.
- “I don’t have a spare helmet,” Bucky admitted. “I’m only a few miles away. Do you trust me?” he asked, slipping the helmet on your head and fastened it as tight as it could go. It was a little large, a little wonky, but yes, you did trust him. He helped you onto the seat before he took a seat before you and he keyed the engine, a gentle purr ruling between your thighs.
- He spied you over his shoulder and gave you a wild wink. “Lean into me, and enjoy the ride, babydoll.”
- The ride through the borough was eye opening, especially on the tight confines of the streets, through cars, taking red lights, laughing into his shoulder as you realised this may have been what you were missing in your life.
- Hearing the vague sound of sirens in the background, you snugged further into Bucky as the bike rumbled to a slow and he pulled over. He slowly got off the bike, moving it to its stand and guiding you off the bike. You pulled the helmet off and took in your surroundings, the blinding lights of red and blue and officers demanding you throw your hands in the area. One approached you, a couple of others taking Bucky to the ground to cuff him.
- “Funny story,” Bucky began, grunting as the cuffs cut into his wrists. “I may have been fibbing about one of two things… I’m not a high school teacher - “
- “A high school teacher? Knock it off, Barnes, and save it for the judge,” the officer demanded. “Cocaine, prostitution rings,” the officer filled you in. “You look too nice, what are you doing with a prick like Bucky Barnes?” he scoffed, leading Bucky to the squad car as Bucky called out an apology.
- “We’ll continue this when they release me,” he winked cockily as the officers shoved him into the car, pushing him in head first.
- “Now tell us where we can find Rogers, Wilson and Romanov,” the officer roared, getting into the car and speeding away.
- “He’ll break your heart that one,” the female officer said to you. “You need to give that guy a wide berth. Don’t fall for that face. You’re just going to be a number otherwise.”