The burn of his drink didn't bother him any as he threw it back, head back and just swallowing it down as quick as possible. His head was spinning, the world felt so far and distant and there was this itch under his skin that he just couldn't scratch. The glass hits the table harder than it probably should but nothing breaks so that means its alright… right? His gaze falls on the girl across from him, with that pretty little smile that has just the right amount of quirk to it.

He'd offered to go dancing but she had declined. It wasn't her thing. A little gal like me just looks like a rag doll being tossed around on there. The words had been with a smile but he hadn't pressed. She wanted to go to the cinema, and him, being the gentleman that he was of course paid for the trip to the nickelodeon without an issue.

Probably not the smartest move, with money being so tight but the sparkle in her brilliant blue eyes had his heart a flutter.

His gaze darts over her features, the sharp cheek bones and the nose that seems just slightly too big for her face. Her rosy cheeks, unsure if it's from the drink or the cold, but it doesn't matter. Her blonde curls are bouncing around her head, bangs sweeping over her structured face.

She's a small gal, petite. Not his normal kind of date. She's more plain than his normal arm candy, a pretty little thing but no bombshell or knock out. She wasn't no fierce red head with emerald eyes, ain't no buxom blonde with hazel eyes you could spend hours staring into. She was just…her, nothing special here or there at least at first glimpse. But there was just something about her.

"Y'know," his words a bit slurred as he slides a leg between hers and his voice dropping in pitch. "I think we might be able t'have s'more fun that just, drinking." He's thankful that the bar is empty and their booth is in the back. Her brows go up, those plump lips forming an o. He's moving in an instant, moving from his side of the booth to crowd her on hers. Her teeth bite into her lower lip and he can feel her dainty hand against his shoulder as she wraps it around him.

His head dips low, lips hovering an inch above hers before he presses forward, closing the gap. Her lips are soft, softer than what he wants. But he presses on. They scoot along the booths bench until he has her back against the wall, a hand slipping between them to rest on her thigh loosely. He can taste the liquor on her breath as his lips part for just a second, the sound wet before he presses forward again.

Her nails dig into his shoulder and they're not manicured like all the other dames. They're blunt and they're rough and god does that send his heart racing. His fingers crawl up her leg, slipping under the soft fabric of her skirt. The span of skin that he's covering is soft, smooth. Too much so. The taste of lipstick is on his tongue, the distinct flavor of waxcausing his mouth to move. He's placing kisses against the soft skin of her jaw, moving along it.

No hair.

Soft gasps escape her throat as he nips at the edge the bone, mouth sucking at the skin lightly as he moves down her neck. He can feel the soft press of her small breasts against his chest with every breath that she takes and it twists in his stomach.

But he can get past it. Those soft intakes, the smooth skin under his mouth, he can fool himself. God he can fool himself.

But fool himself into what?

His other hand drops between their bodies, instead of joining the one under the skirt it slides under the fabric of her shirt. His fingers ghost over her stomach, trailing up until he's cupping her breast and he can feel the shuddering breath that escapes her.

It's not right, it doesn't feel right.

Swallowing thickly, he shuts his eyes and bites lightly on the junction of skin where her neck meets her shoulder. In his mind the bones under the skin just out just slightly more, they're hard and they're pointy and he loves them. His hand under her skirt has climbed high enough that he can feel the lace of her panties, fingers spreading out to brush lightly as his other hand gives her breast a squeeze through the silky fabric of her bra.

"Bucky," the feminine gasp is right in his ear and his body goes rigid. He's frozen for a moment before he's reeling back, hands leaving her body as if he'd been burned.

He can't. He just can't.

His gaze meets her blue ones, confusion evident in them. His tongue feels thick, mouth completely dry as he tries to swallow. "Getting' a bit thirsty is all doll," he murmurs in a low voice with a wink as his heart beats out of control. He slides out of the booth, back to his side just as a waitress is making the rounds.

He orders several more shots.

He can afford it tonight even though he really, really, can't.

He watches as Sarah – or was her name Stephanie? He couldn't recall anymore – straightened herself out. Her blonde hair was mussed, curls all out of place and it looked cute on her. She's disappointed. It's clear. But he just leans forward, arm stretching out to pull some hair out of her face and that steely blue gaze flashes at him.

"Don't worry, it's just a taste for later." Her eyes widen at that and the lashes are too long, he can see the eyeliner, the faint eye shadow. It's all wrong.

The waitress brings the order of shots before his date can get a word out. They don't last very long. He gulps them all back until his head is spinning and everything is fuzzy.

"I don't think," the words are slurred as he hunches over. His brows knit together, the empty shot glass tumbling between his fingers. "I didn't think that I was gonna…gonna disappoint ya like this."

"Bucky…" God the concern in the voice, if he shuts his eyes he can just pretend it's a few pitches lower. Maybe it ain't a dame sayin' his name so softly, with so much care. Maybe he pretend those blonde locks ain't so curly, ain't so long.

That breathy murmur of his voice wasn't so soft, so light and feminine.

He shakes his head with a harsh and bitter laugh, eyes squeezing shut tight.

"I ain't a queer. Y'know that. I ain't no fuckin' queer. I don't sit around and think 'bout what it'd be like t'kiss other guys. What they might feel like. I ain't into that." The words are coming out before he can stop them. He's stumbling through them, voice picking up speed and desperation as he goes. "I just. I can't help it. I mean, sometimes yeah I think about what it'd be like but it ain't just about anybody. Y'know? It's always him. Always him. And I can't help it and God have mercy on me I am so fucked up but I ain't a queer."

The shot glass drops out of his grip, cracking as it hits the hard table and his palms are pressing against his eyes. There's a pressure building in his chest as a strangled cry escapes him.

"I'm so fucked up
and I don't think even God can save me from this one."