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5' Something With The Skinny Jeans

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Before the military and special forces, Bucky's life was pretty ordinary. He had all of his limbs, his head was clear and screwed-on, and he could drive. Now, however, he was one arm down, his head was fuzzy and full of PTSD, and he had to retake his driving test.

 

He got this news after getting his fancy, metal prosthetic arm fitted by none other than Tony Stark himself. Yes, Bucky was a guinea pig and had to sign about 112 forms and contracts stating that Stark Industries could not be blamed if he died, but his arm was so fucking cool.

 

Obviously the idea of re-completing his driving test was awful, and passing it under that amount of pressure was going to be close to impossible with his new arm and the current state of his mind, but if Bucky wanted to piece his old life back together, this was something he had to do.

 

Since Bucky had made the decision to take his driving test again, he'd had more driving lessons than he could count and he knew he was completely prepared. 100%. Every manoeuvre was perfected and every process was memorised.

 

He'd got this.

 

***

 

After pulling up to the test centre and nodding goodbye to his instructor, Bucky leant against the front door of his car, playing with his keys in his real hand, the other one tucked into his front pocket of his jeans.

 

{Well, if "his jeans" means the black skinnies he grabbed off the top of the dryer in a hurry and only noticed were tighter than usual once he was en route to the test centre that were in fact his roommate, Natasha's, then sure they were "his jeans." Bucky was around 99% sure he looked better in them than she did anyway.}

 

Hearing someone clearing their throat, Bucky exited his hazy mind and looked up at his examiner. Oh fuck. The guy was.. hot. Not just hot, he was a god.

 

His muscles were like a brick wall and his t-shirt (that Bucky was sure was four sizes too small) was working absolute wonders for him right now. After realising he'd probably been staring for far too long, Bucky chewed on his bottom lip before averting his gaze to the man's face.

 

Fuck. This guy was flawless.

 

He'd not got this.

 

"James Barnes?" Incredibly Perfect Hot Guy asked. "Unless you're my mother or my roommate, no. Call me Bucky."

 

"Bucky Barnes, yes?" Bucky quite liked his name coming out of IPHG's mouth. Bucky quite liked the idea of IPHG moaning his name too but that was not a thought he needed to have right now, especially not in these jeans. "The one and only. And you are..?" Bucky asked, taking a step into the other man's personal space, looking up at him with a smirk on his face.

 

"R-Rogers. Steve Rogers." IPHG stuttered, a faint pink colour appearing on his cheeks. "Well, Rogers Steve Rogers, I think we have a driving test to complete." Bucky said with a mischievous grin, slipping into the driver's seat.

 

This gave him a few seconds to close his eyes and breathe before Steve (now with a darker blush) joined him in the car, his fake confidence returning instantly.

 

"So," Steve began, "I know you've done one of these before but I've also been informed that your.. memory.. from before the incident," Steve said softly, gesturing at Bucky's prosthetic, "is somewhat patchy. So these are the rules and what is going to happen." Steve began to explain what to expect but Bucky couldn't bring himself to listen when the hottest man alive was this close to him.

 

Vaginas with teeth. Steve's chest.

Football. Steve's shoulders.

Beer. Steve's waist.

Old women. Steve's thighs.

Young women. Steve's ass.

Women. Steve.

 

Bucky was doomed for failure.

 

***

 

The first half of the test ran by fairly smoothly, Bucky following Steve's directions and his focus remaining mainly on the road. But then the manoeuvre happened.

 

Bucky had to park in a bay which is something he could honestly do with his eyes shut and Steve seemed pretty pleased with his attempt. However, when Steve climbed out of the car to check the positioning, his shirt lifted up to reveal more than Bucky's wildest imaginations could have come up with.

 

The man had a v-line which directly pointed to where Bucky belonged and little wisps of hair he really wanted to follow with his tongue.

 

Bucky was as hard as a fucking rock.

 

Praying to God that Steve wouldn't notice, Bucky drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and drove away when instructed to do so, biting his lip so hard that he was sure he could taste blood.

 

***

 

"Are you okay?" Steve asked as they neared the end of the test, a frown creasing across his forehead in worry. It had been ten minutes since the image had been burned into Bucky's mind, and his dick was still very interested and completely apparent in his jeans.

 

Bucky wanted to die.

 

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, "M'okay, pal." Steve's frown didn't budge as he continued to watch Bucky, "You can pull over and take a minute if you want, you're allowed."

 

Steve's voice was softer and more gentle than anything Bucky had ever heard and he felt like the worst person ever for the Steve-related thoughts currently circulating his mind. "Thanks." Bucky mumbled, pulling over at the nearest lay-by and all but jumping out of the car. He had to get away from Steve before his dick or head actually exploded.

 

After a couple of minutes, Bucky heard a door shut and seconds later was joined by the man himself. Steve walked over and stood next to Bucky, leaning against the car. "Wanna talk about it?" Steve asked, as quiet and gentle as ever. Bucky could cry.

 

"It's not.. Thanks but I can't." Bucky sighed, looking down at his feet.

 

"I was a Captain," Steve mumbled almost inaudibly, "Four tours, Afghanistan. It's no top secret special forces work, but I could help you. Not forcing you of course, I just wanted to let you know that you're not alone in coming back and feeling like you've lost yourself. You're never alone, Buck." Bucky let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding before looking up at Steve.

 

"You don't get it, Rogers. You're literally sunshine in a person, some people aren't that lucky." Steve frowned again, shaking his head. "Buck, everyone can recover. Everyone has flaws but that makes us human."

 

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at that, "Go on then Stevie, name a flaw of yours."

 

Steve raised an eyebrow before looking the other man straight in the eye, "I've been thinking about what you'd look like on your knees since I first saw you. I mean, Jesus Christ, Bucky, are those jeans painted on?"

 

Bucky's eyes widened as he tried to form a sentence that was even half-English. "Damn, you could buy a guy dinner first. Or at least find somewhere less open.. Yeah, forget dinner."

 

It was Steve's turn to dash to his door, "Hurry up, Barnes."

 

"Coming." Bucky replied with a smirk.

 

Natasha was never getting her jeans back.