[ If anyone had ever told Jake that one day he'd leave Black Ops and shift over to a "secret" branch of the government (and, mind, this is after he and his team were fucked over by the government) to take down other secret sects—sects responsible (in part) to Bucky's physical situation—all while navigating through the trials of being in a serious, loving, committed relationship with a war hero and former assassin, he would've told them to jump right up their ass. Then, after living it, Jake knows he wouldn't trade any of this for anything in the world.

A fact that Bucky keeps proving to him every day. Especially in moments like these when the happiness isn't forced and Bucky seems content with life. That Jake can be a part of it means more than he can say.

He makes a feigned weak noise as he's bitten, like some little cub relenting to the bigger lion, but laughs soon after because of that light smack. Oh, he'll get him back for that. Rest assured. ]

Hey, hey, hey. [ When Bucky returns with the table, Jake shifts a few plates and a longer platter on top that had been resting by the side of the grill, then moves closer to Bucky. One hand curls around his side and he rests his hand against Bucky's ass and gives it a hard squeeze as he tips his head down to press a kiss against his shoulder. ] I'm not on the dinner menu. [ He rubs his hand lightly over where he just squeezed and steals a quick kiss. ] Dessert, well, that's another story.

[ He pulls away then, starting to pull things off the grill and plate them. Everything smells amazing, if he does say so himself—and he would—and his stomach gives an excited rumble at eating everything. It doesn't take long before the last piece of delicious grill-charred animal carcass is off and plated and he turns the gas off on the grill and gives Bucky a heated look. ]

Looking to scandalize the neighbors already with my pasty white ass? Like the moon's come out early.