( that doesn't interrupt that practiced pursuit, and each time one of those buttons gives she can feel the tease of chilled fingertips prod against her—hinting, and on it's own it's enough to make her hips squirm a little in place atop that island, sure he can feel it against his hips, still pressed flush with hers despite their intermission. that want they'd built to a pyre doesn't take long to catch, as if he'd unbound her notch by notch of her spine, unfastening her before he'd even gotten to that shirt of hers. and she stays lazed there, the edge of her cheek brushing his own, lips in a slight gape with her efforts to steady every breath that tugs at her.
the slack of the fabric is telling enough, that last button released from the valley of her chest, and it's pressed over her shoulders in time with an exhale. she can feel the way he admires her, even if she can't see it, and with lids closed and mouth hovering at his ear she's startled when that crisp touch finds her again, tucking beneath the underline of that bra. the moment he thumbs over her nipple a whimper cuts through her—desperately trying to swallow back the succinct sound, thighs giving an appreciative hug to each of his sides, as if there was any means to get him closer than he was.
she bows, making an open-mouthed trail of his pulse point and she can feel it thundering there, matching the disjointed rhythm of her own. one by one those threads of patience begin to snap, carefully wound over the years at the mercy of some clawing thing she's kept caged, and she's winding an arm up the slope of his back, nosing until she finds his mouth. a ragged huff is left against it. )
Bucky... ( it's all she can find, and it's a plea for something, fingertips raking beneath the blade of his shoulder, rolling her hips again, this time directing the pressure to where she can feel him growing rigid beneath denim, the rough seam of her own temporarily granting her a reprieve. )
no subject
the slack of the fabric is telling enough, that last button released from the valley of her chest, and it's pressed over her shoulders in time with an exhale. she can feel the way he admires her, even if she can't see it, and with lids closed and mouth hovering at his ear she's startled when that crisp touch finds her again, tucking beneath the underline of that bra. the moment he thumbs over her nipple a whimper cuts through her—desperately trying to swallow back the succinct sound, thighs giving an appreciative hug to each of his sides, as if there was any means to get him closer than he was.
she bows, making an open-mouthed trail of his pulse point and she can feel it thundering there, matching the disjointed rhythm of her own. one by one those threads of patience begin to snap, carefully wound over the years at the mercy of some clawing thing she's kept caged, and she's winding an arm up the slope of his back, nosing until she finds his mouth. a ragged huff is left against it. )
Bucky... ( it's all she can find, and it's a plea for something, fingertips raking beneath the blade of his shoulder, rolling her hips again, this time directing the pressure to where she can feel him growing rigid beneath denim, the rough seam of her own temporarily granting her a reprieve. )