( her leg hooks around his waist and pulls him even closer, their hips now flush against each other, and that sends another electric jolt zigzagging through all his nerves and desire arrowing downwards. with them pressed so close against each other, she can feel he's already getting half-hard in his jeans. it doesn't take much; it's been a long time.
and bucky can't remember what pace is anymore. old cocky habits balanced against decades of loneliness and yearning now tipping over into full-blown starvation, this thing he's been missing ever since HYDRA picked his broken body out of a ravine and called him winter; and it's balanced against a newfound skittishness, an anxiety about being caught wrong-footed. times have changed. how much have the times changed? he can't tell. he can't remember. he could stay here forever.
and yet. and yet the way she's arched her back on that kitchen counter and leaned into him means the oversized fabric of her dress shirt has slid free, coming undone from where it had been tucked into her waistband; his thumb finds that gap between jeans and shirt, that inch of bare skin of her hip, and skims across it.
that merest brush of skin-against-skin somehow feels even more intimate than when he'd been fully shirtless in front of her and she'd been ripping shrapnel out of him. bucky inhales a startled breath, breaking away for a second to fill his lungs again. and he looks at her: karen's eyes blown wide, lips kiss-bruised, hair drifting into her face.
he has a tendency to stare, half a glower, but this time it's all just soft and admiring. his fingers are still splayed across that bare stripe of skin, just under the edge of where her hem has tumbled loose. )
no subject
and bucky can't remember what pace is anymore. old cocky habits balanced against decades of loneliness and yearning now tipping over into full-blown starvation, this thing he's been missing ever since HYDRA picked his broken body out of a ravine and called him winter; and it's balanced against a newfound skittishness, an anxiety about being caught wrong-footed. times have changed. how much have the times changed? he can't tell. he can't remember. he could stay here forever.
and yet. and yet the way she's arched her back on that kitchen counter and leaned into him means the oversized fabric of her dress shirt has slid free, coming undone from where it had been tucked into her waistband; his thumb finds that gap between jeans and shirt, that inch of bare skin of her hip, and skims across it.
that merest brush of skin-against-skin somehow feels even more intimate than when he'd been fully shirtless in front of her and she'd been ripping shrapnel out of him. bucky inhales a startled breath, breaking away for a second to fill his lungs again. and he looks at her: karen's eyes blown wide, lips kiss-bruised, hair drifting into her face.
he has a tendency to stare, half a glower, but this time it's all just soft and admiring. his fingers are still splayed across that bare stripe of skin, just under the edge of where her hem has tumbled loose. )
Is this okay?