( name, serial number, blood type, next-of-kin, religion. for all his secrecy, he's been wearing a guide to himself on a bare piece of metal, open for anyone to read if they ever got close enough (which, of course, they haven't). that serial number's worn into his memory just as it's worn into the grooves of the dog tag, staunchly memorised over and over and over for fear he'd forget who he was. so he's been carrying around this reminder of himself like an albatross around his neck — or perhaps a lodestone, something to anchor himself by. it's him in a nutshell, and karen's fingers are running over the tags.
come on, james, he goads himself, his heart in his throat, as he looks down at her. this man who once leapt onto a zipline over a moving train even back when he was fragile human flesh and blood—
and so what else is this but another yawning chasm to cross? although this one might swallow him whole, too. she's as good as written him an invitation. so while karen's hand flutters at the chain dangling over his heart, his own hand moves up to cup her cheek, bracketing the side of her face. fingers curled by her jaw while his thumb skims over the fragile bones of her cheek, her scattering of pale freckles. it would take so little to break her, even with his non-metal hand. he's ever-aware of that pent-up strength in his body and how he's unaccustomed to wielding it for anything except causing pain; inflicting as much damage as possible; shattering bone and taking bruising hits. he wonders, fleetingly, if steve ever got over that trepidation either. handling the others around them with kid gloves, lest they break.
into the breach, barnes.
so his grip tightens and he leans in: his right hand drawing her face closer, his left resting against the island, careful to not touch her with it. and bucky catches her lips with his— cautious at first, careful, like he's still trying to re-learn this language and shake off the dust, but as soon as karen's mouth moves against his, his lips part and he leans in further, the kiss turning hungrier. )
no subject
come on, james, he goads himself, his heart in his throat, as he looks down at her. this man who once leapt onto a zipline over a moving train even back when he was fragile human flesh and blood—
and so what else is this but another yawning chasm to cross? although this one might swallow him whole, too. she's as good as written him an invitation. so while karen's hand flutters at the chain dangling over his heart, his own hand moves up to cup her cheek, bracketing the side of her face. fingers curled by her jaw while his thumb skims over the fragile bones of her cheek, her scattering of pale freckles. it would take so little to break her, even with his non-metal hand. he's ever-aware of that pent-up strength in his body and how he's unaccustomed to wielding it for anything except causing pain; inflicting as much damage as possible; shattering bone and taking bruising hits. he wonders, fleetingly, if steve ever got over that trepidation either. handling the others around them with kid gloves, lest they break.
into the breach, barnes.
so his grip tightens and he leans in: his right hand drawing her face closer, his left resting against the island, careful to not touch her with it. and bucky catches her lips with his— cautious at first, careful, like he's still trying to re-learn this language and shake off the dust, but as soon as karen's mouth moves against his, his lips part and he leans in further, the kiss turning hungrier. )