( he leans closer again, just enough to press another lingering kiss to her lips. he can still taste that faint burn on karen's tongue, the back of her throat, although perhaps it's mostly just the memory of the liquor scouring its way down into his chest. his hand wanders again, finger trailing and tracing the line of her jaw, dipping into the dimpled smile at the corner of her mouth.
they're still tangled up in each other, and yet can't keep their hands off each other. stealing any opportunity to touch, to leisurely map their way across each others' bodies, the territory they'd had to rush past in their chase of that blinding pleasure. if there's some kind of expected etiquette here in the aftermath and the afterglow, bucky isn't quite sure what it's supposed to be. but he's content enough to just savour the moment for what it is. he clears his throat. tries to come up with something— polite? thankful? something to unearth that welling of rare gratitude churning inside him, but the words just don't sound like they're enough. )
Thanks for letting me come over.
( it really isn't enough. if he could string together the rest of it, he would. thank you for letting me feel again. thank you for waking me up. thank you for reminding me. thank you, thank you, thank you. )
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( he leans closer again, just enough to press another lingering kiss to her lips. he can still taste that faint burn on karen's tongue, the back of her throat, although perhaps it's mostly just the memory of the liquor scouring its way down into his chest. his hand wanders again, finger trailing and tracing the line of her jaw, dipping into the dimpled smile at the corner of her mouth.
they're still tangled up in each other, and yet can't keep their hands off each other. stealing any opportunity to touch, to leisurely map their way across each others' bodies, the territory they'd had to rush past in their chase of that blinding pleasure. if there's some kind of expected etiquette here in the aftermath and the afterglow, bucky isn't quite sure what it's supposed to be. but he's content enough to just savour the moment for what it is. he clears his throat. tries to come up with something— polite? thankful? something to unearth that welling of rare gratitude churning inside him, but the words just don't sound like they're enough. )
Thanks for letting me come over.
( it really isn't enough. if he could string together the rest of it, he would. thank you for letting me feel again. thank you for waking me up. thank you for reminding me. thank you, thank you, thank you. )