"Fuck you, Francis," Bucky said, laughing. "I'm not her territory, I'm not keeping her," Bucky said. It was such an obvious and blatant lie at this point, he didn't even bother to try to back it up, just grinned at the way Clint was laughing. "If I die from a cow, I'm going to haunt your old ass," he told Clint.
The metal hand was undeniably useful. It worked almost as well as a real one, and was much, much stronger. It helped with the phantom aches, once in a while, when he could flex fingers, even if they weren't real. But most of the time, Bucky hated it. He already felt less-than-human, had since the Arena when he'd felt less-than-real and taken years to get over it. Looking at metal he'd had no say in attaching, it just made him feel less like a person, more like something grotesque. He didn't think of himself as gentle, or as someone who should have a tiny, one-eyed tornado to look after. But with the drug making him mellow and light, it was easier to just accept. It was a kitten-cow, and he wasn't going to hurt it, and she could stalk his fingers if she wanted to, but his fingertips were going to turn into hamburger if she didn't switch to metal soon.
Clint got the joke Bucky wasn't making, and with him, at least, Bucky could make it. He flashed a grin, waggled his eyebrows. "Don't you wish you knew how I tasted. Too bad. You brought me a judging cow. Never get to find out now."
Bucky laughed at Steve. "Just shut up and say you want a goat, Rogers," Bucky said, leaning into his touch and then shifting so he was more squarely leaned up against Steve. Steve was all warm and giant-sized now. Bucky remembered when he was small enough to fit in Bucky's lap. (Not that he'd have LET Bucky put him there without punching him in the dick. And not that Bucky had even realized he wanted him there until it was too late.) "Watch out who you say lost his mind - you're big and slow and I still remember ..." Steve was big, but not slow, and Bucky should in no way do this.
But fuck it. He used to when they were 11 and Steve was Steveing at him. Bucky picked up Moo gently and deposited her on Clint, then twisted enough that he could reach, right handed, and zero in on the spot he'd known was ticklish on Steve's ribs since they were kids, grinning and pulling a metal arm firmly over the retaliation spot on his stomach Steve used to get. "Yup. I remember. Admit it's a cow, Ace," Bucky ordered, snickering.