( 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
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. )