( she doesn't think to prod him into that anticipated invitation, not when she's carrying what she is tonight, not when she couldn't stay with him there with only half a story told. it's only once he pages up to her apartment and she, in turn, allows him in that it occurs to her the implication that might've laced itself within her message. and he'd have every right to have thoughts wander there, to teeth and flesh and heated breaths pattering against one another, mouth to mouth β maybe it was too much, too soon to expect he'd come for anything less. or was it anything more?
she doesn't know. he's not that way, bucky, but as it is, can she really say with any certainty at all that there's no part of her β even as fragmented as she is, here and now β that didn't hunger for him?
a familiar knock at the door, a moment and twin set of locks slipping from their watch, and the moment it's open and he's there before her, again, she suddenly feels a tinge of something childlike and vining for asking him over at such an hour β and yet, what's more... relief. )
Hi. ( a breath, faint as her smile, lips snared beneath her teeth as she steps aside to invite him in.
Hi, ( he echoes, and for a moment they're all bashful smiles, still feeling out the tenor and shape of this— whatever-this-is. bucky steps in, then hesitates on the threshold for a second, caught between a hug or a kiss and if so, where to plant it? in the end, he settles for a kiss on her cheek (his own is rough with stubble, a mark of how late the hour is) and a half-hug, an arm wrapped around her shoulders in a quick embrace of hello. )
Is it a good or a bad thing that we're both insomniacs? At least misery loves company, I guess.
( as if insomnia is the only trouble weighing karen down tonight; as if it isn't also the topics they accidentally broached earlier. bucky's eyes are soft when they land on her, his voice turning gentler, more probing. more serious, for a heartbeat. )
( this halfway is where they seem to have found themselves, not quite sure when to administer the warmth and if so, how much. she'd never really gotten around to learning that about herself, but he doesn't seem to mind treading through the dark with her. that stubble-brush of a kiss leaves skin alert, like a whisper in her ear: something familiar is here. a cue to let the rigidity of her bones soften, to let that held breath go β and she does just that. )
Hm. Depends on the night.
( he'll find the apartment's much darker than the last time he'd been, same candle lit on the coffee table, light beneath the counters hardly offering much more in the way of guidance. the streetlights always seem to remedy that, just enough. the city had it's own light that never seemed to snuff out.
the flush that's taken to her eyes likely speaks for itself, but she's able to offer a tired, small smile in response beneath her lashes, head ducked and edge of her jaw fluttering. ) I'm okay. ( a whisper, and it's only true because she's used to this β swallowing it down, stomaching it. she's had to for years, now. he'd brought the chill in with him; she gravitates towards it. one of her digits lazily finds his own, twines there for just a moment before she's pulling back, a silent invitation further. )
Do you want anything? ( ever the hostess, always fidgeting, always restless. )
( there's an answering tug at the corner of his mouth, a rueful smile. the offer sparks another flickering echo of sense-memory: the taste of the liquor he'd brought, that pleasant burn on his lips and hers, and how that last particular night-cap had gone. but that's a different night for a different mood. something about tonight was— quieter. more comfortable. not buzzing with that electric energy of the unknown, of taking a gamble and stepping out over an empty cliff together. )
Maybe a glass of water? It's important to stay hydrated, ( he jokes. and that is not, actually, a HYDRA pun, no matter how it might sound.
mostly, it's a lifeline. granting her an excuse to bustle around and have something to do with her hands, while bucky shuts and locks the door behind them, toes his way out of his boots, tosses his jacket back on the kitchen bench— starting to find a routine, here, in her place. )
( her response comes in the form of a warm chuckle, however displaced, it belongs to him, rouses because of him. karen's never felt the need to be anything fictive with him, never felt the need to hide despite how accustomed she's become to keeping everything that ticks within her hushed. there's something about his standing before her, his merely being in that apartment with her that tells her it's okay. to hunger, to need, to break. however she needs to, however messy, and his words translate clearly.
the locks click in place as she slips soundlessly towards the kitchen, draft catching at bare ankles, dressed in no more than a pair of sleep shorts nearly obscured by a too-big t-shirt. and just the sound of it, something so simple, his taking care of a habit that leaves fingers curling into her own palm and boots setting hollow to the floorboards resonates within her far more than it should, far more than she should allow. the idea of this β him β becoming something she knows. it rattles her, and maybe it's only because she's in a fractured state to begin with, too many crevices open and yawning for those dangerous thoughts to sneak inside.
when she turns to find him again he's closer, tongue rolling over the bottom pillow of her lip once she's beside him, offering the glass for him to take. there's an electricity between them there just as it'd been the night he'd stayed β the first time. it baits her breath as she finds his eyes in the dark. )
Thank you. ( a whisper, tone softening as it rises to him. ) For coming.
Hey. We've already established that I don't sleep, either.
( those sweaty nights tangled in his sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that never really went away. it was better some nights — like when he'd crashed here — but the hurt was always waiting beneath the surface, a sea monster waiting in the depths, hungry to swallow you whole if you took the wrong step. something's starting to tell him that karen can relate. )
So being sleepless with company is an improvement on being sleepless alone, I figure. It's no trouble. And it's kind of my fault anyway. I texted you about dogs.
( he's half-smiling; a wry, self-conscious kind of humour. )
( it'd be easier, to let herself hide in him, to forget where that innocent message he'd started the night off with had wandered off to β the dark had never learned how to hold her, and she the dark in turn β really, she doesn't know if she's invited him here as a means to distract herself or because she's comfortable enough to let him see her at such an hour, when lack of sleep and all its reasons why feast upon her. it's different when you're downing whiskey, tasting it off of one another, when you have an excuse. as it is, there's half a mug of coffee that's run cold sitting on the kitchen counter, and her sobriety is sharp.
she laughs, and while it's fickle β distracted, almost, as if she's still not entirely there, present β at least it's honest. )
I guess it's sort of becoming our thing, sleepless sleepovers.
( it seems kind of brash to invite him to her room, and while she can't say there isn't any kindling of want for him when he's standing right there before her, a vivid memory of a few nights prior, it's not what she's after. she waits at least til he's taken the glass from her, wrapping one arm about her frame while the other gestures a hand behind her. )
I was in my room, if you want toβ ( join? she is so god awful at this, and it's almost in knowing that she offers an apologetic tilt to the edge of her lips. )
( bucky stands in the middle of her kitchen and sips at the cold water, contemplative; and in the end he decides to just call a spade a spade and be direct. pin down some of that shifting ground between them, and ease some of that apologetic smile of hers. his own smile is rueful: )
What're you in the mood for?
( after a brief beat, he hurries to add: )
Because whatever you need, Karen, I'm here. Whatever you want. It's okay.
( whether it's the aimless distraction of sex and losing themselves in each others' bodies. whether it's the company alone, and just lying there with each other. he addresses the ambiguity but he's not leaning in any particular direction, not assuming anything either way. )
( one would think she's familiarized herself with words enough that they'd so easily find her, but as much as they cooperate with a glaring screen, they're only heavy and unwilling when delivered by tongue. what do you need?what do you want? questions she doesn't know what to do with, because it comes resoundingly down to: everything and nothing all at once. she looks back a moment as they stand in her kitchen, and they've been here before, only now it's a different dance. )
I wish I knew.
( it's only a breath, toneless and yearning β for what, she can't say. he'd been the first to cross that barrier before, it only seems fair to even the odds.
she's padding closer, teeth already habitually snared into her lips, and eyes and crown are ducking once she's just before him, gathering his hand digit by digit, using it this time to lure him closer to her, rather than merely into the heart of her place. )
Just you being here isβ ( a slight shrug, their fronts flirting together. ) It helps.
I know you're still not exactly accustomed to a bed, but... ( the slow bloom of a half-grin finds her lips, and it's an invitation without bluntly saying so, nodding back towards the darkened entry to a bedroom that's familiar to them both. )
With a real mattress and everything? You're spoiling me rotten. ( he leans in closer where they're teetering into each others' personal space, now pressing his lips to the top of her head, mouth against her hair while he squeezes her hand; an acknowledgment, an acceptance.
it's an easy thing, then, to set the glass of water aside and follow her back into the bedroom. they've been here before — karen leading the way as ever — but this time there's less of that heated urgency to it. he lingers and pauses in the bedroom doorway to take it in, its increasingly familiar angles, her stacks of books and paperwork, a laptop set aside on a chair. and then bucky makes himself at home: sits down on the edge of the bed, peels out of his jeans and kicks them aside, and he remembers that she likes the left side of the bed, so he adjusts accordingly.
it should, probably, be scarier than it is: to start settling into this domestic routine. to know these things about each other. but after literal decades being untethered from anyone on this planet still knowing james barnes, and his oldest friend having vanished, it's just nice to be seen. so he takes the right side and sprawls right into karen's bed, cut down to just a t-shirt and boxers and that familiar ever-present glint of dogtags at his neck. )
I'll invest in one someday. A bed, I mean. ( if only so he has somewhere to take her, the next time she winds up in his sad shell of an apartment. ) So I'm not just taking advantage of your hospitality every time.
( there's a quirk at the corner of his mouth, a hint of humour but also that ongoing promise that this isn't a one-off. every time. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
she doesn't know. he's not that way, bucky, but as it is, can she really say with any certainty at all that there's no part of her β even as fragmented as she is, here and now β that didn't hunger for him?
a familiar knock at the door, a moment and twin set of locks slipping from their watch, and the moment it's open and he's there before her, again, she suddenly feels a tinge of something childlike and vining for asking him over at such an hour β and yet, what's more... relief. )
Hi. ( a breath, faint as her smile, lips snared beneath her teeth as she steps aside to invite him in.
always. )
no subject
Is it a good or a bad thing that we're both insomniacs? At least misery loves company, I guess.
( as if insomnia is the only trouble weighing karen down tonight; as if it isn't also the topics they accidentally broached earlier. bucky's eyes are soft when they land on her, his voice turning gentler, more probing. more serious, for a heartbeat. )
You okay?
no subject
Hm. Depends on the night.
( he'll find the apartment's much darker than the last time he'd been, same candle lit on the coffee table, light beneath the counters hardly offering much more in the way of guidance. the streetlights always seem to remedy that, just enough. the city had it's own light that never seemed to snuff out.
the flush that's taken to her eyes likely speaks for itself, but she's able to offer a tired, small smile in response beneath her lashes, head ducked and edge of her jaw fluttering. ) I'm okay. ( a whisper, and it's only true because she's used to this β swallowing it down, stomaching it. she's had to for years, now. he'd brought the chill in with him; she gravitates towards it. one of her digits lazily finds his own, twines there for just a moment before she's pulling back, a silent invitation further. )
Do you want anything? ( ever the hostess, always fidgeting, always restless. )
no subject
Maybe a glass of water? It's important to stay hydrated, ( he jokes. and that is not, actually, a HYDRA pun, no matter how it might sound.
mostly, it's a lifeline. granting her an excuse to bustle around and have something to do with her hands, while bucky shuts and locks the door behind them, toes his way out of his boots, tosses his jacket back on the kitchen bench— starting to find a routine, here, in her place. )
no subject
the locks click in place as she slips soundlessly towards the kitchen, draft catching at bare ankles, dressed in no more than a pair of sleep shorts nearly obscured by a too-big t-shirt. and just the sound of it, something so simple, his taking care of a habit that leaves fingers curling into her own palm and boots setting hollow to the floorboards resonates within her far more than it should, far more than she should allow. the idea of this β him β becoming something she knows. it rattles her, and maybe it's only because she's in a fractured state to begin with, too many crevices open and yawning for those dangerous thoughts to sneak inside.
when she turns to find him again he's closer, tongue rolling over the bottom pillow of her lip once she's beside him, offering the glass for him to take. there's an electricity between them there just as it'd been the night he'd stayed β the first time. it baits her breath as she finds his eyes in the dark. )
Thank you. ( a whisper, tone softening as it rises to him. ) For coming.
I know it's late.
no subject
( those sweaty nights tangled in his sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that never really went away. it was better some nights — like when he'd crashed here — but the hurt was always waiting beneath the surface, a sea monster waiting in the depths, hungry to swallow you whole if you took the wrong step. something's starting to tell him that karen can relate. )
So being sleepless with company is an improvement on being sleepless alone, I figure. It's no trouble. And it's kind of my fault anyway. I texted you about dogs.
( he's half-smiling; a wry, self-conscious kind of humour. )
no subject
( it'd be easier, to let herself hide in him, to forget where that innocent message he'd started the night off with had wandered off to β the dark had never learned how to hold her, and she the dark in turn β really, she doesn't know if she's invited him here as a means to distract herself or because she's comfortable enough to let him see her at such an hour, when lack of sleep and all its reasons why feast upon her. it's different when you're downing whiskey, tasting it off of one another, when you have an excuse. as it is, there's half a mug of coffee that's run cold sitting on the kitchen counter, and her sobriety is sharp.
she laughs, and while it's fickle β distracted, almost, as if she's still not entirely there, present β at least it's honest. )
I guess it's sort of becoming our thing, sleepless sleepovers.
( it seems kind of brash to invite him to her room, and while she can't say there isn't any kindling of want for him when he's standing right there before her, a vivid memory of a few nights prior, it's not what she's after. she waits at least til he's taken the glass from her, wrapping one arm about her frame while the other gestures a hand behind her. )
I was in my room, if you want toβ ( join? she is so god awful at this, and it's almost in knowing that she offers an apologetic tilt to the edge of her lips. )
no subject
What're you in the mood for?
( after a brief beat, he hurries to add: )
Because whatever you need, Karen, I'm here. Whatever you want. It's okay.
( whether it's the aimless distraction of sex and losing themselves in each others' bodies. whether it's the company alone, and just lying there with each other. he addresses the ambiguity but he's not leaning in any particular direction, not assuming anything either way. )
no subject
I wish I knew.
( it's only a breath, toneless and yearning β for what, she can't say. he'd been the first to cross that barrier before, it only seems fair to even the odds.
she's padding closer, teeth already habitually snared into her lips, and eyes and crown are ducking once she's just before him, gathering his hand digit by digit, using it this time to lure him closer to her, rather than merely into the heart of her place. )
Just you being here isβ ( a slight shrug, their fronts flirting together. ) It helps.
I know you're still not exactly accustomed to a bed, but... ( the slow bloom of a half-grin finds her lips, and it's an invitation without bluntly saying so, nodding back towards the darkened entry to a bedroom that's familiar to them both. )
no subject
it's an easy thing, then, to set the glass of water aside and follow her back into the bedroom. they've been here before — karen leading the way as ever — but this time there's less of that heated urgency to it. he lingers and pauses in the bedroom doorway to take it in, its increasingly familiar angles, her stacks of books and paperwork, a laptop set aside on a chair. and then bucky makes himself at home: sits down on the edge of the bed, peels out of his jeans and kicks them aside, and he remembers that she likes the left side of the bed, so he adjusts accordingly.
it should, probably, be scarier than it is: to start settling into this domestic routine. to know these things about each other. but after literal decades being untethered from anyone on this planet still knowing james barnes, and his oldest friend having vanished, it's just nice to be seen. so he takes the right side and sprawls right into karen's bed, cut down to just a t-shirt and boxers and that familiar ever-present glint of dogtags at his neck. )
I'll invest in one someday. A bed, I mean. ( if only so he has somewhere to take her, the next time she winds up in his sad shell of an apartment. ) So I'm not just taking advantage of your hospitality every time.
( there's a quirk at the corner of his mouth, a hint of humour but also that ongoing promise that this isn't a one-off. every time. )