said: Imagine Bucky being a great dancer pre-war and everything, and then once he starts to recover he goes out dancing and learns absolutely everything he missed in 70 years, and unsuspected people in clubs find themselves dancing opposite one of history's most lethal assassins, but more importantly, the grinding king of NYC.
after a few months of therapy and working through some of the numerous problems that come along with being a brainwashed assassin for a secret corporation, bucky starts dancing again. at first he’s not sure if he’ll remember any of the steps, worried that he’ll step on his partner’s feet and make a fool of himself, but steve and natasha and sam all help him out, allowing themselves to be lead (or lead, when bucky feels like changing it up) around steve’s new apartment, ratty furniture pushed against all the walls. when bucky finally feels ready, they make a night of it and go out to a quiet little swing club, where bucky shows off his moves and impresses everyone with his quick feet and dashing smile. steve, sam and nat look on as bucky spins his partners around the room. it’s the happiest he’s looked in a long while, and they don’t want to do anything to bring him down, even if sam is getting a liiiiittle bit tired of the music, but it’s ok, not a big deal, he can handle it. bucky dances for hours, and when he finally deems that he’s done he comes over to the bar and beams at them, asking them what they want to do next since it’s only 9 o’clock, the night is young! before steve or nat can say anything, sam grabs bucky’s wrist and books it out the door, tossing a hurried “i’m gonna show you how people dance in the 21st century” over his shoulder
they walk into the club at 9:30 and it’s - well. it’s pretty dead, honestly. sam orders shots for everyone form the bored looking bartender as bucky looks around in awe because this is nothing like the bar they were just in. instead of dark wood everything’s shining chrome and black. there are colored lights everywhere and a big ball covered in mirrors over what bucky assumes is the dance floor. it would be overwhelming if sam and steve and nat weren’t there to ground him, to explain that the big mirrored thing is called a disco ball and that sex on the beach is actually a drink, not a suggestion. they linger at the bar for about an hour or so until people start coming in and dancing, and that’s when bucky realizes that these are his people
the dance floor is nothing more than a writhing mass of bodies pressing up against one another, hips grinding, heads thrown back in joy, hands everywhere. he just watches for a while, looks at what they’re doing, how they’re moving, what dancing is like in this day and age. and bucky decides he wants in. he grabs nat and sam and steve and drags them onto the floor where he goes to work moving his hips and grinding back against the lucky person that ends up behind him (nat). it’s so different from what he’s used to, the structure and the open space now transformed into something fierce and tight, barely any room to turn around let alone spin a partner and bucky loves it
he makes them stay and dance until they’re the last ones left in the club, the bartender giving them looks that clearly communicate “i don’t care if you’re captain america you need to get the fuck out now” so they do just that. they spill out onto the street, bucky still a little glassy eyed and sweaty, and lean against one another while steve motions for a cab
the four of them are squeezed into the back of the cab, defying all laws of physics, when bucky whispers “thanks” into the tired silence that blankets them all. “you’re fuckin welcome,” sam murmurs, half on top of steve and pressed against the door, and bucky just smiles bigger