( the way he brackets her now reminds her of the man she'd first brought to her apartment, bloodied and carrying two russian reminders in the form of a bullet. how reluctant he'd been to look at her then, to witness her seeing him—it's been weeks since that night, countless spent tucked around various dive bars, downing one too many just for him to walk her back to that red entry, leave her there with the murmured 'goodnight, karen.' she doesn't want to undermine it, that he's not all flesh, but even when she'd first caught that glimmer of metal, even when she'd put the pieces together, she'd still treated him with those same delicate, patient hands.
she's leaning back on one of her palms, the other soothing still at his nape, and he seems to tackle one of those buttons of her own shirt as if to bide time, a means of distraction from warring thoughts.
it splinters through her, watching as he fights to pull his own weight over that barrier, and even if she can't do it for him—knows it's a step he needed to take, and one she'd never force from him—she could at least be waiting on the other side. and she is, and while she's eager to take in every part of him, she grants the courtesy of holding his gaze even when that last upper layer falls to join the other. that deflective humor manages the faintest tick to flushed lips, swollen with him, but there's a pained furrow that takes to her brows. and when he speaks again, words trying to find a way around his tongue it's like he's tugging that top of his right back on—like if he says it first, any distaste that might leave her mouth wouldn't be as sharp of a knife. )
Hey— ( it's ardent, and there's no bit of a command in her tone, but she needs him to hear her, lifting her hand to pinch gently at his chin with thumb and forefinger. there's a kiss to his lips and it lingers like she doesn't want to pull back, but she does, and she tries to divide the fear: there's seeing and there's feeling. so, she does the feeling first. )
I want you. ( even if she can't diminish that heat that's still there humming between them, it seems to pause, as if to let them have this first. she finds each of his wrists, another breath of a kiss, and carefully she's drawing each of those hands to her sides, tucking them beneath that linen top of hers, a quiet guide to curve around to her back: you're safe, here. goose flesh pricks along her skin, a stunning contrast between the two, colliding together in a spiral about her spine with a pleasure unfamiliar to her. and once they've settled, she's ducking in to the crook of his neck and peppering a line of thoughtful, decisive kisses—just the tips of her fingers running down vibranium; his bicep, curling around to it's back.
she's waiting at his ear, letting him get accustomed to how it feels—touching her, letting himself touch her. )
Feel me. ( it's whispered, like two children sharing secrets in the dark, blanket tucked over their crowns. )
( karen grabs his lightly-dimpled chin, drags his gaze back to hers, holds him there until bucky has no choice but to look right at her, hear the truth of what she's saying. she moves his hands, slides them — both — under her shirt, and that shock of cold is startling for her before she starts to get accustomed to the sensation of it, her skin warming the metal.
feel me, she whispers, and those two simple words ratchet another dizzying throb of desire through him, an ache. bucky splays his fingertips along the arch of her spine, pressing into that curve at the small of her back. he's careful, so careful with it: to not apply too much pressure, to accidentally crush or bruise.
then, back to the front, and while her mouth is still at his ear, now both his hands are reaching blindly for the closure of her shirt. it's a little test of dexterity: delicate human fingertips right alongside the metal ones, slowly undoing each button in turn as he makes his way upward. it's a balance, a coordination. he does have some faint sensation in his left arm and hand — enough to measure impact, to manipulate objects, to not be hopelessly clumsy, but it's dulled and muted like there's layers on layers between him and her. blunted touch. but whenever his fingers touch her, he can hear karen's intake of breath against his ear as the cold (winter) creeps upwards. like ice cubes on the skin, but slowly warming.
finally, the shirt is hanging loose, and then he slides it off her shoulders to join his own on the floor. leaving her in that black bra (did she wear that on purpose, when she knew he was coming over?), and bucky feels his throat clench, his mouth go absolutely dry at the sight. feel me, she'd said, and so he reaches out with just the slightest foray across the barrier: he slides a metal finger beneath the edge of her bra, the chilling cold rolling across her nipple, before he moves away and his grip settles back on her hip. his heartbeat's pounding a tattered rhythm in his ribcage; nerves he hasn't felt since he was a literal teenager. )
( 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. )
( when karen rolls her hips against him, he makes a strangled noise against her mouth, a small groan against her lips. the pressure is too much and yet it's nowhere near enough. he presses in even closer, half-rutting against her, desperate for any kind of friction. they're both in jeans. that's gonna be harder to navigate. if she'd been wearing a dress or a skirt, he could've just slipped a hand between her legs and tugged her underwear aside and—
jesus christ. that spark they lit is burning like a forest fire, skittering bucky's thoughts into distraction, into oblivion. his gaze drifts over her shoulder until he spots the sofa further into the living room; and there's also the hallway leading, presumably, towards a bedroom. options. he's sizing up alternatives and exits, but this time it's for an entirely different purpose. the island's still covered in paperwork, a half-empty coffee cup, the bottle of whiskey, things that might get knocked over. they could still probably make do, he could peel those jeans off her, and—
jesus christ
the fire chews up the last of his skittishness and self-control, burned away somewhere in the pleading shape of his name on karen's lips. so he scoops her up again, her legs wrapping around his hips while his hands settle on her ass. he barely breaks the kiss as he starts walking, doesn't miss a step, his mouth only breaking away enough to say, breathlessly: )
( to think that she'd first been the one to tug him blindly through that apartment, a catch of a breath as the island is swept effortlessly from beneath her and he's cradling her with those big palms of his, limbs wrapping instinctively about his sides. she has to remind herself that he can't navigate it alone, managing to drag the kiss out despite the way their mouths jar with any slight misstep, despite how sloppy it all is—it's more an afterthought of teeth and tongue and lips, a waning control, and it takes a moment for her to still the carousel of needs brimming through her to make that fateful decision—
where do you want me? she burns at the thought.
everywhere. )
Couch- ( she manages it around a huff, and there's nothing more than the a dim light and that lone candle lit on the coffee table to lead the way. the apartment's compact enough that it's a manageable trek, but it's no easy feat when he's balancing her in his arms, and at some point he twirls them so it's her that topples back to the cushions first. and as tempted as she is to abruptly interrupt his joining her, tug at his jeans with her mouth lingering there in waiting as she sat at the edge of that couch, she's too fixed on the idea of him blanketing her, weighing her overwhelmingly into the plush surface.
it's that very thought that has her tugging him down with her long-ways, blonde hair splayed and thighs parting to accommodate him to slot neatly between. fingers find the crux of his jaw and they're using it's edge to bring his mouth headily to hers, already seeking out the fastening of his denim with a breathless mew. )
( it's like they've shoved open a door and both gone tumbling through, the tempo increasing, a snowball starting to gather speed. and there— that's easier, as she sinks into the cushions and bucky sprawls over her with the hard planes of his chest against hers, dog tags swinging off his neck and bumping against her jaw as they kiss, again and again, until their lungs are starving for oxygen. he's half-propping himself up with an elbow and a knee, just enough to lift his hips for easier access as karen starts to undo his jeans. this new position gives them better opportunity for their bodies to collapse together, every part touching: his metal shoulder pressing against hers, a jumble of limbs, knees bumping against knees, his mouth fitting into hers and tongue licking into her mouth as that fire of need and want just gets stoked higher.
and then bucky's whole body arches above her when she finally gets his jeans open and gets her hand around him; his spine curving, burying his face into the crook of her neck with a gasp, a profanity murmured into her skin. just that one touch alone seems to have strummed all his strings, a humming along his nerves as all his attention narrows down to just this: karen's hand, that leisurely stroke. it's been so long that he's hypersensitive, oversensitive — it's a more extreme reaction than she was expecting, most likely, the way he just crumbles, instantly undone and overwhelmed. over the past several decades, he has known pain, stubbornness, relief, adrenaline, grief, even good humour—
he had, in fact, almost forgotten what pleasure felt like.
he's intent on re-learning.
once bucky catches his breath again, he finally goes for the bralette once more; fumbles at karen's back for a moment, eventually finds the clasp at the back, unhooks it and drags the fabric loose, replaces it with a warm hand clasping her breast, thumb circling lazily. )
( it’s a deft working at that button, a tug that relieves the zipper and she’s able to curl her wrist within that minimal space between him, tuck beneath that gruff layer, the thin cotton of his briefs and wrap nimble fingers around him. he’s hot in her palm, gives a dull throb as digits wrap around him and milk a tug from the base til she’s able to thumb over the swell of his tip—and he almost cowers into her, breaks against the line of her shoulder and the heat of his breaths there can be felt warming down her chest, pulling that distinct need beneath her navel where hips rut towards her own wrist.
that curse lights a spark in her belly, and she has to wonder how long it’s been, for him—the last time someone’s touched him like this, the last time he’d been able to hide in another’s shoulder, another’s flesh, forget himself for nothing but that spiraling, spiraling chase. and she thinks they’re both showing their cards here, private and shared just between the two of them, unveiling a puncturing need, unsure of how to make it something neat, unsure of exactly where to put it and so it leaves them conversing in nothing more than ragged breaths. flushed cheeks and rattling hearts, and it renews a vigor within her to give him exactly that: a reminder. how it feels: to want, to be wanted—to hunger.
there’s no part of her willing to let go of him once he’s released the clasp of her bra, craning her head back against that cushion, his mouth beside her throat, keening up against the way he cups her breast. she knows why he feels the need to be gentle, to handle her with care but she’s no fragile thing, and she’s using the bead that’s seeped from his tip to lave another stroke, fingers wrapped tight to his cock—a goading: feel me.
crown tips to the side and she’s mouthing heatedly at the rim of his ear. the couch is barely big enough to accommodate the two of them but all she can think about is him filling her, again and again, grasping feverishly at the back of his arm as he blooms rigidly in her opposite palm; another stroke, another lilt of his name. )
( he honestly hadn't expected this part: how sharp the mere effect is of hearing his name on her lips; that reminder of who he is, that comfortable and well-worn name which sat on no official paperwork and which he'd had to have resurrected and handed back to him, only to then dole out sparingly as something precious. who the hell is bucky?
they are, all of a sudden, wearing too many clothes. now that they're halfway there, his hesitation has melted with the heat of her hand working up and down his length, and bucky's squirming to try to get his jeans further off and allow her more access. in the process and in trying to not squash karen beneath him, his elbow accidentally shoves into her side with an oof, and this time there's a chuckle into her shoulder along with the curse. he's not used to balancing physical presence like this, to sharing such close space with a person. )
Shit. Sorry.
( to make up for it, his metal hand moves for hers, his grip hard and unyielding as he regretfully tugs her away. bucky settles on his knees at the bottom of the sofa, cock now fully hard and aching; trousers only partially off but hell, it's good enough for government work.
he's looking right at her and meeting her gaze — with a fierce stare, still, but this time with unabated hunger in his eyes — as he reaches out to work on the button and zipper of karen's own jeans, the metal now sliding against that soft flesh of her abdomen, right beneath her navel. he tucks his fingertips between her skin and the denim, dragging it down the long lines of her thighs and legs as she kicks, helping him tug them off and toss them somewhere on the floor behind them. moving forward again, he presses a kiss to karen's knee; her thigh; the jutting angle of her hips; further, upward and upward, to his tongue circling a nipple before his mouth closes over it; his left hand settling around the other breast, the difference near-electric between his hot sucking mouth and the cold metal. )
( she tries to help him for what she can, finding the loop at his waistline and giving an assisting tug, but once he manages the denim to his thighs it’s left to his own efforts, and as far as she’s concerned as long as they’re out of the way enough she hasn’t the patience to fuss over it further. his elbow startles a jar into her side, a puff of breath at her shoulder as he laughs and it manages to tug a twin sound from her—the two of them learning once more how to take someone apart. how to give themselves away in the process. it comforts her in an odd way, that he’s no better at navigating all of this than she was, that they both teem between patience and a need they’ve kept tucked down for so long. )
It’s okay—
( a rush of syllables cocooned in a breath, something sweet amidst the teeth, and it’s a hint of intimacy that’s foreign to her, something she’s never once had to look after. he’s pulling her wrist from where it works between them and she makes a reluctant sound, just to leave her with a sight that fortifies her appetite all the more. he’s all lean muscle and stubbled features, eyes trailing the wonder of that mouth, the shadow along his jaw, the jut of his collars and the ridges of abdomen, down to the sight of his cock straining, blushed from the attention. her throat constricts, tongue crossing over suddenly parched lips as hips raise, limbs shifting til jeans are freed from her ankles—and then he starts that damning trail from the inner of her knee and she’s helpless to watch him, reaching down to gather at his strands, and the further he climbs the harsher she tugs.
his mouth leaves a hot swirl against the sensitive bud of her nipple, chest trembling beneath his affections, and lips closes to suckle right when that frigid palm gropes at the other and there’s a moan that grows from the bed of her chest, low and hearty, cut off with a chaste- ) Fuck...
( knuckles run white where they’ve clasped at his hair. it’s mind-numbing, all-consuming and yet she wants more, wanton and writhing little thing that she’s become, nails snaking around his side to the small of his back, the dimple of muscle there where they dig in, urging his hips to hers. there’s no way for her to rid of that thin strip of panties hugging the bow of her waist, but how easy it’d be for him to just tug them off to the side, curl his hips into her, and she resolves to a single word: )
( her nails rake against his back, that delicious little spike of pain — but it's the good kind, karen dragging him closer and sinking her mark into him, little crescent moons dug into his skin, a line dragged down his spine. her voice is already ragged with pleasure and need and demand, and bucky feels a contented sort of pride in it, even as he mouths against her nipple again. any sort of skittish thoughts about pace or speed have flown right out the window. if you count all the coffee and drinks they've had throughout the city, dates that weren't dates, maybe this isn't all that quick after all. maybe he's been waiting ages to trust someone like this again.
please, she begs, and he's in no position to say no. bucky's right hand skims down the line of her ribcage and then dips into her panties, a finger sliding between her lips, and he finds her already soaked and ready for him. he breaks away from her breast with a wet pop, a shuddering breath. )
You sure about this?
( as if karen's anything but. her nails dig in harder; the angle of her heel nudges against his legs, a persistent push in the right direction. bucky hooks a finger into the cloth of her panties, tugs them aside as she cants her hips, and he obediently lines himself up and plunges in, his body blanketed over hers; she can feel the muscles rippling in his back and shoulders as he draws closer, his cock filling her. his mouth catches hers again messily, almost missing her lips as he just disappears into it, into tight wet heat and slick sensation.
they're not even fully undressed before getting their hands on each other like this, and yet it doesn't feel hurried or rushed: it's this balance between patience and impatience, lingering on the things that matter, skipping the steps that don't. bucky's breath is coming shakily through his nose, his arm curling around her, fingers pressing into her ass to clutch her even closer. he's distracted, self-control fraying, and so he's pressing hard enough to bruise. his next word isn't anything more coherent than a simple: )
( she can't even comprehend the words, and she hasn't the mind to even begin to quarrel with her tongue for a reply—she doesn't need to, not when every part of her searches for him, arches and grasps and it's once she feels that swollen head of him align that she draws in a breath between her teeth. he doesn't draw it out, doesn't press himself into her inch by inch, no, he lets her have him—all of him to appreciate at once, and the heart of her throat vibrates around a grateful moan, the kiss an afterthought as velveteen walls hug impossibly tight around him. it's been so long, and she pulses, fingers holding fast in their grasp at his strands while the other leaves red swells at the rim of his shoulder where she clings; desperately. )
God—yes,
( it's a splintered sound, a whimper that barely makes it out before she's quivering around another heavy breath, letting their lips hazily stumble together, but it never really connects—not when she's so taken by that pressure, like she's being unfurled for the first time all over again and it takes her a long, spinning moment before she begins to adjust.
her digits release their clasp in his strands, slide instead to the side of his neck where his pulse thrums wildly, as if trying to reach her own, and it seems like a daze that they stay there, him bottomed out inside of her. he'll feel her accommodating to his size, feel the way she clenches purposefully around him as she brushes her thumb across his mouth, the knuckle of it grazing her own given their proximity. he takes a hearty palmful of her ass and she knows he'll leave traces of it behind, that need, and if it's rougher than some may prefer she certainly doesn't notice—he'll come to learn by studying her hunger alone that she's far from brittle.
in fact, she's rutting up to the touch, an urging to continue; to have her, take her, exactly as he wants her. )
( more than anything else in the world right now, james barnes realises, he wants to hear karen make that sound again. that bitten-off whimper as he slid into her, the whisper of a moan as they simply lay there for a moment, adjusting to the feel of it, to sensations gone faded and old for both of them, but now flaring bright and vivid and blinding anew. his fingertips maintain their iron grip on her, inadvertently pressing something like his handprints into her (she'll be finding the marks at stray moments tomorrow, bruises radiating outward, a little stinging reminder as she moves). he draws himself out slowly, luxuriating in it, nosing at her entrance before he presses home again into her heat. it's slow, to start; he could keep them both hovering right on this edge, but after eighty goddamn years he doesn't have that kind of patience. )
You're so—
( bucky trails off, unable to find the right word. beautiful, like he'd blurted out earlier. and other crasser things now, too: wet. tight. he might have a soldier's vocabulary, but he can't bring it to bear here, with karen stripped down beneath him, looking glorious and gorgeous and wanton. instead, he settles for showing her by action: he pulls half-out before snapping them both into the sofa. the cushions are too soft to really give them enough support, but that doesn't matter: he rolls his hips into her anyway, starting to set up a rhythm with the slick-slide of their bodies meeting, the candle casting a radiant red against her blonde hair, hearing their mingled breaths and rattled moans in the room, the only other sound the distant street traffic through the apartment windows. an occasional distant siren, even as sirens and klaxons go off all over him wherever she's touching him, wherever he's touching her, the sensation of being so deep inside her.
the dog tags keep bouncing as bucky thrusts forward, and when they almost hit karen in the eye, bucky finally laughs on another gasp, seizes the metal necklace and swings it over his shoulder to flip it to his back instead. all the little details he hadn't considered, and is having to remember. )
( he draws out and her ribs mimic him, expanding around a breath and when those hips hit flush with hers again she can't help but to let heavy lids flutter to a close, eyes rolling heavenward beneath as lashes kiss her cheeks. she's nothing but a collision of breaths and sounds fighting for her tongue, brows pulling to a tuft as she lifts her head a bit from that couch to nudge their foreheads together, press hers to his and pry her eyes open to watch him—the way his jaw sets, the way those dog tags gleam like a pendulum between her breasts, the sight of him pulling back once more only to insistently chase out that heat again with a bit sharper of a snap.
it earns him another moan, low and silk-like, as if to say: again. and he obliges, eager to set a pace better suited to the fire they'd stoked before they'd even made it to that couch. she can still taste the bourbon hiding out beneath her tongue, savors the way it hums at the tip of her skull and she's fallen too far behind for breaths to find anything steady, forced from her throat every time his hips greet her own.
there's no part of her that isn't praising him, the clips of hums that raise in pitch—decorating their immediate surroundings; for him, because of him, the way nails feast against the rippling muscles in his back as he works into her, unaware that they nearly break skin because all she can feel is that searing pleasure. it doesn't miss her what he might be able to do with the solidity of a bed beneath them, how much harder he'd be able to meet her and god she's nothing short of maddened beneath him, hips fluently rocking up to meet him every time his cock drives back into her. again, and again and again.
he shouldn't be allowed to get to her this way, she shouldn't have let him so close that that brief hint of a smile only causes her to unravel further—something tender wrapping about that muscle within her chest as the edges of her lips twitch, and while she tries for an airy snicker it's not long before it's stolen, fades in favor of pleasure that etches itself distinctly across her features, the steel blue of her gaze. she revels in the way she ruts up against that couch every time he shifts against her, iris' blooming as she bends her thumb, uses the pad of it to make his lower lip furl downward, entranced by the sight, and it's on the crest of another thrust that she hangs another plea: )
( her wish, his command. harder, karen urges, and so bucky obliges. and ordinarily he would worry more about exactly that, about how breakable all this pale milky flesh of hers is, what he might shatter if he goes too fast too far too hard — except that his concentration is shot, run through with shrapnel, white-hot and everything vanishing except for that spot where their bodies meet, where his cock plunges into her, and so he forgets himself. so bucky splays a hand against the sofa beside her head to prop himself up, while her thumb catches at his mouth and he nips it, gently, a catch of teeth against her finger.
harder, and his rhythm speeds up further; slams into her harder, with the smack of skin against skin. there's a thin sheen of sweat across his chest, his back. it's not a difficult workout for him, but there is another kind of endurance, however, and his is frayed thin from long lonely years without— like a muscle he hasn't exercised in so long. bucky can feel that long skein of desire tightening and tightening inside him, building up startlingly fast and embarrassingly soon now that they've sped up.
no, he thinks, jaw set and trying to hang on, but it's a lost cause: she feels too good, blindingly dizzyingly so, and so sooner than he'd like, his thrusts start becoming even more erratic, juddering against her. his head ducks and his forehead presses into hers as he trembles, all those tendons standing in his arms, the flutter of inhaled breath in his chest as he groans her name: )
Karen—
( and bucky's coming with a shudder, his mind blazing into static, blissfully empty. the last times he's been scoured empty, it's because there was nothing of him left: a hollow shell of a skeleton, consciousness wiped clear. now, however, it's because he's limp and boneless and his body heavy over hers and utterly present instead — satisfied, numbed, and also: embarrassed. his ears are heated slightly in a blush as he looks down at her. )
Sorry. I— it's—
( This is not exactly something he'd intended on broaching tonight. Had hoped this wouldn't happen and it would never come up. He bites his lip. )
( she fixes on the way that row of teeth takes to the tip of her thumb, the briefness in which it disappears into his mouth before it's dragging to his chin, and his forearm props itself beside her temple promisingly. she doesn't have a chance to brace for it — but she'd only asked for it — how quickly he picks up his pace, leaves her jarring against the cushions, and it's the eagerness to which he complies with every plea that ghosts her lips that has her toes curling, thigh clutching against his side. what's more is the way he watches her, hovering above her as if he's intent to memorize the way he leaves her gasping for some semblance of a breath, like a pupil proud of his efforts.
that hand from his chin flees up to the edge of his arm beside her, grips him there for some sort of leverage to keep herself in place, to ensure she saps every bit of impact she can from the way he fucks her. there isn't a single sound he forces from her tongue that finds completion, all pierced at some point with a cacophony of cries — small pieces of whimpers, small pieces of her shattering when he gives her exactly what she'd asked for, exactly what she needs.
there's certain gives to this sort of thing no matter how long it's been: the way his pace shifts from something strong and sure to unpredictable, the way the weight of him begins to tremor, that internal war of an ember that's begging to be stoked. he tightens his jaw like an apology and despite being half-lidded, throat worked with harsh breaths as forehead seeks refuge against her own, she wants it for him. and there's a sort of ecstasy that blooms through her like a sweet, darkened ink that he comes with her name on his tongue, that he wrings himself dry between the hug of her thighs, to her moans that soften to croons as his own flames slowly, slowly snuff out.
he stills and she's still throbbing, that slick channel of hers still sensitively aware of him, and when he apologizes some blissful, hazy sort of smile shrines across her lips, bears her teeth that no sooner snare at her own lower brim. )
Don't be sorry, hey... ( there's a sincerity there, even with tone worn by those sounds he'd milked from her. ) It's okay.
( a beat, an added whisper, shifting a little beneath him, finally relieving the pressure of nails at his back. ) Really.
( he runs a hand along the line of her jaw, back to her face, the same motion of cupping her cheek that had started this off back in the kitchen, what feels like a lifetime ago. he's stinging with mortification, but karen's words and her genuine smile helps smooth it over. easing that burden. he exhales again, a long trembling breath as he shifts above her on the sofa and slips out of her. he's pleasantly spent and sated, but that there's absolutely no chance that she is.
his thumb runs contemplatively along the seam of her lips, swollen from kisses, and then down the length of her body. )
You didn't—
( karen's already shaping that no, the forgiving smile, the it's fine and you don't have to. but bucky is stubborn when he wants to be, and never more so than when he's aware of an imbalance that needs to be righted. )
No, c'mon. Let me take care of you, ( he murmurs against the curve of her ear, as his hand dives into her underwear again. he might be wrung-out for now, but he still has hands, and this one slips a finger into her, a thumb sliding against her clit and starting to circle. picking up where he left off and assiduously starting to stoke that flame again, banking the fire, while he mouths at her neck, teeth and tongue grazing against the delicate arch of her throat. )
( he doesn't have to tell her for her to sense it — the embarrassment that balms over his features, and she wishes nothing more than to tuck it away, soothe it away, kiss it away. it'd never been all about sex for her, and while she can't deny having a taste of how he felt didn't make some deeply tucked-down part of her yearn for more, it wasn't a be all end all. his company softening her nights was the first bit of relief she's felt in this city since she'd first stepped foot within it. she doesn't want to lose that; hyperaware and slightly fearful that this line they've crossed might, eventually, cause him to withdraw.
only he's doing the opposite — running that thumb thoughtfully down the center of her lips, lower, as if bisecting her with the touch, and she knows what he's going for as soon as the words leave his lips. her own pink petals part in protest, a short-lived )
You don—
( only he seems to be expecting it, and knows expertly how to hush her selfless insistence, as if they'd been with another this way dozens and dozens of times. a hot breath at her ear, sending a current down her spine, zinging to the tips of her toes. her pulse still runs rampant within her chest, and he's not shy to dip his hand beneath that black layer as he had just before his cock had slipped into her, only now it's the curl of a single digit, that wicked accompaniment of thumb takes to that sensitive knot, and every bit of protest she'd held formerly on her tongue dissolves into a gratified sigh.
it's not easy for her, not anything she's accustomed to, giving in to him this way — it shouldn't be difficult to grasp, but it's... not what she used to, yet despite the fact that it's not the plentiful size of his length fitting inside of her, her walls clutch around the digit all the same, contented to continue that slow-coil that starts as a flicker of embers between her hips.
his teeth at her throat has her reeling, slowly arching crown back against that cushion, and fingertips manage to find the edge of it just above her, clutching there and giving a tug at the pillow as her hips buck against his wrist of their own accord. )
( the shame was always going to be a mixture: that he lasted so miserably short, and that therefore it hadn't lasted long enough to take karen with him. but the latter, at least, he can do something about.
it's slower, this, compared to the fast-paced brute-force slam of his hips into hers, but bucky is persistent. and when his thumb rolls over her clit a particular way and she reflexively arches into his hand, he has a pretty good feeling he's on the right track. )
Good. Like that,
( he murmurs against her ear, and he slides another finger into her, taking the place of where his cock had been, while he keeps working over that slick nub at the same time. like adding kindling, carefully cradling that fire with his hands: lighting another match, dropping it into the still-glowing embers. trying to rebuild what she'd been barreling towards, moments ago.
while his right hand works into her, after a moment's consideration he uses his metal hand to brush a lock of disheveled hair out of her face, bracketing her jaw, just to be touching her more, even if it's at a dull distance and a remove. when her head tips back against the cushion to allow him better access, he nips harder at her throat then laves it with his tongue, with suction; like they're handsy teenagers in a basement, and he's set on leaving his mark on her, hickeys left behind for days after. i was here, i was here.
and karen's body is stubborn, too, he's finding: any new woman is like learning a new instrument, and she's tense in a way that keeps her hanging before that edge, and makes him half-wonder if what she really needs is a good massage in addition to a good fuck. but bucky's working on it: he wants to take her apart, wants to find the right way to play her, the right combination of buttons to push to render her just as boneless and pleased as he was. so it's this: two fingers pumping inside her, his mouth against her throat, a metal finger rolling over her hard nipple again, and then that low burr of his voice in her ear: )
( regardless of how long it's been, there were some men intent to learn the language of a woman's body and others merely content to use it. it's every bit evident that he's the former, coming back to him like muscle memory with the way that thumb circles knowingly about her clit — a drive that ran parallel with her own, too fixed on the idea of making another break apart at the sake of their hands (mouth, tongue, teeth, hips) to possibly let her off without toppling over that edge, too.
there's a praise, humming thick from his tongue alongside another digit to wondrously stretch her apart and she wonders if he could possibly know what those three little words did to her — how they seized every bit of her attention, left her hanging mercilessly to his every whim and touch. he has her, and she can feel that tension slowly, slowly begin to give in favor of the fire he's stoking betwixt her hips, running it's humid tendrils of smoke around her abdomen, up to her chest, holding to her throat. as if to support the narrative there's the bracket of metal at her jaw, like he's encouraging her to keep craned just there for him to mouth — an open canvas, throat shifting as a fluttery keen offers something like gratitude to his undivided attentions.
she can feel the way those purplish hues yearn to the surface of her skin, how he draws them with the biting-suckle of a broad tongue. that palm grazes down to tease at her chest and she can still feel it there, pressing at the crook of her jaw, and his words ring through her again: good. like that. her chest hiccups with a ragged exhale.
he's asking her for words and so often than not it's all she has, but all she can find right now is explicits — his name, a lace of curses, all easily missed as pants if he didn't listen close enough. something tells her he does, gaze fluttering open and mindlessly fixating at some point on the darkened ceiling. )
It's good, just, ( she wants to tell him, but she may be able to guide him there herself, dipping her hand between sweat-sheen frames to clasp over the back of his palm. her eyes close again, and for a moment she's back in her bed, curtains stirring with the sound of dripping pipes in the background as her own fingers worked her to completion — only he's here with her, and he's asking her to reveal all of those little sacred spots. her answer comes by insisting his fingers deeper with her touch, and all it takes is a cant of her hips, and a telling whimper punctures the room. you found me. )
Right there— ( fingernails card up his forearm, grip there, as if she's unwilling to let him lose it now that he's there, right up against that sweet spot. she's finding purchase in his hair again, upper half yawning up towards him while her hips remain grounded, fighting herself to keep them still lest he loses that treasured spot. )
( thankfully, blessedly, it really is like riding a bike and having all of those motions instinctively come back to him: remembering the weight and pressure, where to put his hands, his mouth. applying single-minded devotion to a particular problem that he needs to solve, and right now that problem is karen herself: a puzzle-box he needs to flip the right switches to pry open. there's her panting breath and that small keen in the back of her throat (and to his own surprise, that sound sparks the smallest murmur of desire already starting to stir again between his legs— huh, that was new, post-serum). her hand seizes on his, shoves him where he needs to be, her smaller hand guiding his heavy one as he plunges deeper, his fingers dripping wet.
he had been a sniper once, and this is like a kind of marksmanship, perhaps: the way she lines him up and shows him where to go, the exact target to hit. right there, don't stop, and so he leans in, applies more pressure, starts flexing his hand faster and faster as he speeds up, hitting that spot over and over, karen's breath becoming more frayed and ragged as they play those strings together and her body bucks reflexively. her chest arches off the sofa cushions again, which brings their bodies closer and puts her back within range that he can, on impulse, move and lick at her breast, lips closing around her nipple again as he pumps messily in and out of her, doggedly and inexorably dragging her towards that edge.
he doesn't back down from a challenge. and this is the most enjoyable kind of challenge. )
( as soon as she's gotten him there, as soon as he knows where to prod it's almost instantly that she comes unbound, that he manages to stoke a flame that's stubbornly fought against her for so long, and once it catches, it's quick to bloom. she no longer has any mind to muffle her sounds, every unconscious defense pitifully crumbling as his wrist immediately takes to working quicker between her thighs. the tips of his fingers continuously prod up against that spot again and again and again, his entire figure leaning in to the motion and he's split her attentions, a hot, damp mouth at the risen peak of her breast and the pressure that rapidly begins to coil beneath her navel.
there's no slow-burn, not when he's fucking her with his fingers like he's intent to leave her completely shattering around him, pulling unforgivably at the strands of hair she's managed to tangle her grasp within, as if she's desperately trying to keep herself together by means of the sole thing taking her apart. he'll be able to read it, the way that end creeps up to claim her and she's reduced to nothing more than a frenetic pitch of sounds — mews that just stumble over one another at the relentless pace he's now set.
he doesn't leave any room for her to think, nothing but to feel him and that bundle that pulls taut, a string ready to maddeningly snap. a gasp leaves flesh caving in around her ribs, and she's giving a )
Fuck, Bucky—
( a warning and a plea all wrapped into one. she's toeing right along that edge like she's being held weightlessly above it, tauntingly, harshly tugging his mouth to hers and meeting it with a hungered kiss. she needs him to hold her through it, milk her through it, and within those last few seconds she manages to find his gaze beneath her lashes, crying up to him like a promise: ) -m' gonna...
( there's a savage kick of pride in his chest as her whole body trembles and quakes and she starts to comes apart around his hand, yanking his face back to hers for another bruising kiss. karen's words are strangled, and so he supplies the rest: )
C'mon, ( he says insistently against her mouth, half-commanding and half-goading, finishing her sentence and swallowing whatever her next words were going to be; he keeps moving as her thighs quaver and then tighten around him, with the curl of a toe, the muscles standing out in the flex of her leg as she digs a knee into his side. his hand's still at the crux between her legs, but as she clenches around him he starts to slow down; less the frenetic pace that had brought her there, now more languidly stroking at her still-sensitive clit instead as she starts to come down from it, as she tumbles over that cliff and he catches her to ease her back down to earth. he kisses her back, hard, pleased with himself for it as he feels the rapid patter of her heartbeat start to settle. all of it smooths out his guttering embarrassment, replaces it with that flickering fire of his confidence starting to come back to life, resurrected somewhere in the way she said his name, that helpless moaning cry. christ, she's beautiful.
he might be a gentleman, but that doesn't mean either of them have to be prim and proper. the next moment she finally breaks away for a breath and melts back onto the couch, he raises his hand to his mouth, sucks off the wetness coating his fingers, licking off the taste of her to clean himself up, all while never breaking her gaze.
and that, too, is a part of this byplay. him looking at her as she looks at him as he does it, it twines another sharp little skein of attraction low in his belly. )
( there's a debauched flush that's colored her cheeks, and all it takes is that encouraging growl of his at her lips to tug at that last thread and she's coming apart around him. silken walls spasm around those two fingers as he rings her through it, that bundle of her clit suddenly sensitive enough to leave hips flitting like after-shocks towards his wrist. there's blissful tug after tug, pulsing richly through her and there's a gratified, drawn-out moan that ebbs every time that current takes her again. it's muffled, soothed by the way he claims her mouth in a bruising kiss, and she doesn't miss the flare of pride there in knowing he'd been the one to bring her here, thighs aching as they release their taunt clasp at his sides.
a spent whine huffs against his lips once she finally begins to come down, fingers that'd raveled within his hair falling to a soothing pattern, nails praising him with a lazed circle — and while the rest of her seems to slow down, take a breath, her pulse still thuds unbridled within her chest. she's claiming her own lips with teeth as his fingers slip out of her, leaving the ache of her walls despairingly empty only to crawl up between them and disappear into the cave of his mouth instead.
she's helpless to watch as he samples her, appreciatively laves his tongue around the digits to take in the glaze of her that'd left them coated. the sight of it alone leaves her eyes blown, and certainly doesn't help her efforts to gain some semblance of a steady breath in. she thumbs across that stubble-ridden chin, fixes on the gloss that's left behind and despite his words in waiting for a response, she's reaching up to give a languid pull at his lower lip. there isn't much that's sharp there, just a nip of teeth and her own swipe of tongue to taste herself there.
a hum in finality, and maybe it's that post-coital daze that has her smiling beneath him, tracing fingertips up beside his brow bone. )
Yeah. ( a mumble, reassured with a nod. ) Are you?
Yeah, ( bucky echoes her with a lopsided grin. he shifts above her, now trying to rearrange his long limbs — his half-dressed disarray seems a little awkward now that they're both ebbing down, so he readjusts, tucks himself back into his boxer-briefs but eventually manages to squirm out of his jeans and kick them off. it leaves them both in their underwear but shirtless, bucky now letting himself sink to the cushions, trying to flop into that narrow strip between karen's body and the edge of the sofa, which means half of him being necessarily sprawled over her in order to not tumble right off and onto the floor.
it's a tough fit, but neither of them seem to mind still being pressed skin-to-skin, sticky with cooling sweat, his metal arm propping himself up with chin tucked into the palm of his hand, his other resting on her stomach. pleasantly sated, tired in that particular way unique to a good orgasm. his heartrate has already settled — another one of the plus sides of the way the serum wired him — but something else keeps turning over in his chest, a kind of queasy happiness taking the place of all that frantic hunger. passion burns through like an all-consuming flame and leaves these quiet smouldering embers behind, and after a thoughtful pause — just looking at her and looking at her, drinking her in, his face going slack and neutral in contemplation — bucky presses an absentminded kiss to the freckled skin of her shoulder.
fishing for the right words, all he can come up with is a wry and very stupid: )
( she remembers this part, at least — when the haste turned to something pliant and a quiet fell around the two. only, she'd never quite reached this moment and found a soft underbelly waiting there to greet her, the way his teeth gleam in the dark with that boyish, coy-subtle smirk. he shifts beside her and she adjusts for what she can to accommodate, having to turn a bit on her side so that both of her limbs and hips can balance at the edge of those cushions. when he settles beside her again, fitting right into the nook between the back of the couch and her, she's resting her palm at his chest, thumb mindlessly swiping back and forth.
a silent, curling envy finds her; that there isn't a stutter of pulse to be found there — how quickly he could hide himself again, if he wanted to.
gently, she's reaching up to twist those metal tags back into place, falling near the arm that keeps him propped, and for a moment she just allows herself to lie there, bathe in him while he bathed in her, warring against that fluttering urge to duck down beneath his chin. how often was it, that someone saw her? really saw her, or cared to look? there's a vulnerability here, the bare canvas of her skin made a silhouette with the candle that ever-burns over her shoulder. he leans in, presses a kiss to her shoulder. two fingertips walk up along the centre of his chest, run a line down his throat thoughtfully.
her gaze stalls there a moment, just as lost to it all as he was, but that smile of hers permeates even teeth trying to bite it back. )
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she's leaning back on one of her palms, the other soothing still at his nape, and he seems to tackle one of those buttons of her own shirt as if to bide time, a means of distraction from warring thoughts.
it splinters through her, watching as he fights to pull his own weight over that barrier, and even if she can't do it for him—knows it's a step he needed to take, and one she'd never force from him—she could at least be waiting on the other side. and she is, and while she's eager to take in every part of him, she grants the courtesy of holding his gaze even when that last upper layer falls to join the other. that deflective humor manages the faintest tick to flushed lips, swollen with him, but there's a pained furrow that takes to her brows. and when he speaks again, words trying to find a way around his tongue it's like he's tugging that top of his right back on—like if he says it first, any distaste that might leave her mouth wouldn't be as sharp of a knife. )
Hey— ( it's ardent, and there's no bit of a command in her tone, but she needs him to hear her, lifting her hand to pinch gently at his chin with thumb and forefinger. there's a kiss to his lips and it lingers like she doesn't want to pull back, but she does, and she tries to divide the fear: there's seeing and there's feeling. so, she does the feeling first. )
I want you. ( even if she can't diminish that heat that's still there humming between them, it seems to pause, as if to let them have this first. she finds each of his wrists, another breath of a kiss, and carefully she's drawing each of those hands to her sides, tucking them beneath that linen top of hers, a quiet guide to curve around to her back: you're safe, here. goose flesh pricks along her skin, a stunning contrast between the two, colliding together in a spiral about her spine with a pleasure unfamiliar to her. and once they've settled, she's ducking in to the crook of his neck and peppering a line of thoughtful, decisive kisses—just the tips of her fingers running down vibranium; his bicep, curling around to it's back.
she's waiting at his ear, letting him get accustomed to how it feels—touching her, letting himself touch her. )
Feel me. ( it's whispered, like two children sharing secrets in the dark, blanket tucked over their crowns. )
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feel me, she whispers, and those two simple words ratchet another dizzying throb of desire through him, an ache. bucky splays his fingertips along the arch of her spine, pressing into that curve at the small of her back. he's careful, so careful with it: to not apply too much pressure, to accidentally crush or bruise.
then, back to the front, and while her mouth is still at his ear, now both his hands are reaching blindly for the closure of her shirt. it's a little test of dexterity: delicate human fingertips right alongside the metal ones, slowly undoing each button in turn as he makes his way upward. it's a balance, a coordination. he does have some faint sensation in his left arm and hand — enough to measure impact, to manipulate objects, to not be hopelessly clumsy, but it's dulled and muted like there's layers on layers between him and her. blunted touch. but whenever his fingers touch her, he can hear karen's intake of breath against his ear as the cold (winter) creeps upwards. like ice cubes on the skin, but slowly warming.
finally, the shirt is hanging loose, and then he slides it off her shoulders to join his own on the floor. leaving her in that black bra (did she wear that on purpose, when she knew he was coming over?), and bucky feels his throat clench, his mouth go absolutely dry at the sight. feel me, she'd said, and so he reaches out with just the slightest foray across the barrier: he slides a metal finger beneath the edge of her bra, the chilling cold rolling across her nipple, before he moves away and his grip settles back on her hip. his heartbeat's pounding a tattered rhythm in his ribcage; nerves he hasn't felt since he was a literal teenager. )
Fuck, you're beautiful.
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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. )
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jesus christ. that spark they lit is burning like a forest fire, skittering bucky's thoughts into distraction, into oblivion. his gaze drifts over her shoulder until he spots the sofa further into the living room; and there's also the hallway leading, presumably, towards a bedroom. options. he's sizing up alternatives and exits, but this time it's for an entirely different purpose. the island's still covered in paperwork, a half-empty coffee cup, the bottle of whiskey, things that might get knocked over. they could still probably make do, he could peel those jeans off her, and—
jesus christ
the fire chews up the last of his skittishness and self-control, burned away somewhere in the pleading shape of his name on karen's lips. so he scoops her up again, her legs wrapping around his hips while his hands settle on her ass. he barely breaks the kiss as he starts walking, doesn't miss a step, his mouth only breaking away enough to say, breathlessly: )
Where do you want me?
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where do you want me? she burns at the thought.
everywhere. )
Couch- ( she manages it around a huff, and there's nothing more than the a dim light and that lone candle lit on the coffee table to lead the way. the apartment's compact enough that it's a manageable trek, but it's no easy feat when he's balancing her in his arms, and at some point he twirls them so it's her that topples back to the cushions first. and as tempted as she is to abruptly interrupt his joining her, tug at his jeans with her mouth lingering there in waiting as she sat at the edge of that couch, she's too fixed on the idea of him blanketing her, weighing her overwhelmingly into the plush surface.
it's that very thought that has her tugging him down with her long-ways, blonde hair splayed and thighs parting to accommodate him to slot neatly between. fingers find the crux of his jaw and they're using it's edge to bring his mouth headily to hers, already seeking out the fastening of his denim with a breathless mew. )
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and then bucky's whole body arches above her when she finally gets his jeans open and gets her hand around him; his spine curving, burying his face into the crook of her neck with a gasp, a profanity murmured into her skin. just that one touch alone seems to have strummed all his strings, a humming along his nerves as all his attention narrows down to just this: karen's hand, that leisurely stroke. it's been so long that he's hypersensitive, oversensitive — it's a more extreme reaction than she was expecting, most likely, the way he just crumbles, instantly undone and overwhelmed. over the past several decades, he has known pain, stubbornness, relief, adrenaline, grief, even good humour—
he had, in fact, almost forgotten what pleasure felt like.
he's intent on re-learning.
once bucky catches his breath again, he finally goes for the bralette once more; fumbles at karen's back for a moment, eventually finds the clasp at the back, unhooks it and drags the fabric loose, replaces it with a warm hand clasping her breast, thumb circling lazily. )
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that curse lights a spark in her belly, and she has to wonder how long it’s been, for him—the last time someone’s touched him like this, the last time he’d been able to hide in another’s shoulder, another’s flesh, forget himself for nothing but that spiraling, spiraling chase. and she thinks they’re both showing their cards here, private and shared just between the two of them, unveiling a puncturing need, unsure of how to make it something neat, unsure of exactly where to put it and so it leaves them conversing in nothing more than ragged breaths. flushed cheeks and rattling hearts, and it renews a vigor within her to give him exactly that: a reminder. how it feels: to want, to be wanted—to hunger.
there’s no part of her willing to let go of him once he’s released the clasp of her bra, craning her head back against that cushion, his mouth beside her throat, keening up against the way he cups her breast. she knows why he feels the need to be gentle, to handle her with care but she’s no fragile thing, and she’s using the bead that’s seeped from his tip to lave another stroke, fingers wrapped tight to his cock—a goading: feel me.
crown tips to the side and she’s mouthing heatedly at the rim of his ear. the couch is barely big enough to accommodate the two of them but all she can think about is him filling her, again and again, grasping feverishly at the back of his arm as he blooms rigidly in her opposite palm; another stroke, another lilt of his name. )
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they are, all of a sudden, wearing too many clothes. now that they're halfway there, his hesitation has melted with the heat of her hand working up and down his length, and bucky's squirming to try to get his jeans further off and allow her more access. in the process and in trying to not squash karen beneath him, his elbow accidentally shoves into her side with an oof, and this time there's a chuckle into her shoulder along with the curse. he's not used to balancing physical presence like this, to sharing such close space with a person. )
Shit. Sorry.
( to make up for it, his metal hand moves for hers, his grip hard and unyielding as he regretfully tugs her away. bucky settles on his knees at the bottom of the sofa, cock now fully hard and aching; trousers only partially off but hell, it's good enough for government work.
he's looking right at her and meeting her gaze — with a fierce stare, still, but this time with unabated hunger in his eyes — as he reaches out to work on the button and zipper of karen's own jeans, the metal now sliding against that soft flesh of her abdomen, right beneath her navel. he tucks his fingertips between her skin and the denim, dragging it down the long lines of her thighs and legs as she kicks, helping him tug them off and toss them somewhere on the floor behind them. moving forward again, he presses a kiss to karen's knee; her thigh; the jutting angle of her hips; further, upward and upward, to his tongue circling a nipple before his mouth closes over it; his left hand settling around the other breast, the difference near-electric between his hot sucking mouth and the cold metal. )
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It’s okay—
( a rush of syllables cocooned in a breath, something sweet amidst the teeth, and it’s a hint of intimacy that’s foreign to her, something she’s never once had to look after. he’s pulling her wrist from where it works between them and she makes a reluctant sound, just to leave her with a sight that fortifies her appetite all the more. he’s all lean muscle and stubbled features, eyes trailing the wonder of that mouth, the shadow along his jaw, the jut of his collars and the ridges of abdomen, down to the sight of his cock straining, blushed from the attention. her throat constricts, tongue crossing over suddenly parched lips as hips raise, limbs shifting til jeans are freed from her ankles—and then he starts that damning trail from the inner of her knee and she’s helpless to watch him, reaching down to gather at his strands, and the further he climbs the harsher she tugs.
his mouth leaves a hot swirl against the sensitive bud of her nipple, chest trembling beneath his affections, and lips closes to suckle right when that frigid palm gropes at the other and there’s a moan that grows from the bed of her chest, low and hearty, cut off with a chaste- ) Fuck...
( knuckles run white where they’ve clasped at his hair. it’s mind-numbing, all-consuming and yet she wants more, wanton and writhing little thing that she’s become, nails snaking around his side to the small of his back, the dimple of muscle there where they dig in, urging his hips to hers. there’s no way for her to rid of that thin strip of panties hugging the bow of her waist, but how easy it’d be for him to just tug them off to the side, curl his hips into her, and she resolves to a single word: )
Please.
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please, she begs, and he's in no position to say no. bucky's right hand skims down the line of her ribcage and then dips into her panties, a finger sliding between her lips, and he finds her already soaked and ready for him. he breaks away from her breast with a wet pop, a shuddering breath. )
You sure about this?
( as if karen's anything but. her nails dig in harder; the angle of her heel nudges against his legs, a persistent push in the right direction. bucky hooks a finger into the cloth of her panties, tugs them aside as she cants her hips, and he obediently lines himself up and plunges in, his body blanketed over hers; she can feel the muscles rippling in his back and shoulders as he draws closer, his cock filling her. his mouth catches hers again messily, almost missing her lips as he just disappears into it, into tight wet heat and slick sensation.
they're not even fully undressed before getting their hands on each other like this, and yet it doesn't feel hurried or rushed: it's this balance between patience and impatience, lingering on the things that matter, skipping the steps that don't. bucky's breath is coming shakily through his nose, his arm curling around her, fingers pressing into her ass to clutch her even closer. he's distracted, self-control fraying, and so he's pressing hard enough to bruise. his next word isn't anything more coherent than a simple: )
Fuck.
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God—yes,
( it's a splintered sound, a whimper that barely makes it out before she's quivering around another heavy breath, letting their lips hazily stumble together, but it never really connects—not when she's so taken by that pressure, like she's being unfurled for the first time all over again and it takes her a long, spinning moment before she begins to adjust.
her digits release their clasp in his strands, slide instead to the side of his neck where his pulse thrums wildly, as if trying to reach her own, and it seems like a daze that they stay there, him bottomed out inside of her. he'll feel her accommodating to his size, feel the way she clenches purposefully around him as she brushes her thumb across his mouth, the knuckle of it grazing her own given their proximity. he takes a hearty palmful of her ass and she knows he'll leave traces of it behind, that need, and if it's rougher than some may prefer she certainly doesn't notice—he'll come to learn by studying her hunger alone that she's far from brittle.
in fact, she's rutting up to the touch, an urging to continue; to have her, take her, exactly as he wants her. )
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You're so—
( bucky trails off, unable to find the right word. beautiful, like he'd blurted out earlier. and other crasser things now, too: wet. tight. he might have a soldier's vocabulary, but he can't bring it to bear here, with karen stripped down beneath him, looking glorious and gorgeous and wanton. instead, he settles for showing her by action: he pulls half-out before snapping them both into the sofa. the cushions are too soft to really give them enough support, but that doesn't matter: he rolls his hips into her anyway, starting to set up a rhythm with the slick-slide of their bodies meeting, the candle casting a radiant red against her blonde hair, hearing their mingled breaths and rattled moans in the room, the only other sound the distant street traffic through the apartment windows. an occasional distant siren, even as sirens and klaxons go off all over him wherever she's touching him, wherever he's touching her, the sensation of being so deep inside her.
the dog tags keep bouncing as bucky thrusts forward, and when they almost hit karen in the eye, bucky finally laughs on another gasp, seizes the metal necklace and swings it over his shoulder to flip it to his back instead. all the little details he hadn't considered, and is having to remember. )
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it earns him another moan, low and silk-like, as if to say: again. and he obliges, eager to set a pace better suited to the fire they'd stoked before they'd even made it to that couch. she can still taste the bourbon hiding out beneath her tongue, savors the way it hums at the tip of her skull and she's fallen too far behind for breaths to find anything steady, forced from her throat every time his hips greet her own.
there's no part of her that isn't praising him, the clips of hums that raise in pitch—decorating their immediate surroundings; for him, because of him, the way nails feast against the rippling muscles in his back as he works into her, unaware that they nearly break skin because all she can feel is that searing pleasure. it doesn't miss her what he might be able to do with the solidity of a bed beneath them, how much harder he'd be able to meet her and god she's nothing short of maddened beneath him, hips fluently rocking up to meet him every time his cock drives back into her. again, and again and again.
he shouldn't be allowed to get to her this way, she shouldn't have let him so close that that brief hint of a smile only causes her to unravel further—something tender wrapping about that muscle within her chest as the edges of her lips twitch, and while she tries for an airy snicker it's not long before it's stolen, fades in favor of pleasure that etches itself distinctly across her features, the steel blue of her gaze. she revels in the way she ruts up against that couch every time he shifts against her, iris' blooming as she bends her thumb, uses the pad of it to make his lower lip furl downward, entranced by the sight, and it's on the crest of another thrust that she hangs another plea: )
Harder.
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harder, and his rhythm speeds up further; slams into her harder, with the smack of skin against skin. there's a thin sheen of sweat across his chest, his back. it's not a difficult workout for him, but there is another kind of endurance, however, and his is frayed thin from long lonely years without— like a muscle he hasn't exercised in so long. bucky can feel that long skein of desire tightening and tightening inside him, building up startlingly fast and embarrassingly soon now that they've sped up.
no, he thinks, jaw set and trying to hang on, but it's a lost cause: she feels too good, blindingly dizzyingly so, and so sooner than he'd like, his thrusts start becoming even more erratic, juddering against her. his head ducks and his forehead presses into hers as he trembles, all those tendons standing in his arms, the flutter of inhaled breath in his chest as he groans her name: )
Karen—
( and bucky's coming with a shudder, his mind blazing into static, blissfully empty. the last times he's been scoured empty, it's because there was nothing of him left: a hollow shell of a skeleton, consciousness wiped clear. now, however, it's because he's limp and boneless and his body heavy over hers and utterly present instead — satisfied, numbed, and also: embarrassed. his ears are heated slightly in a blush as he looks down at her. )
Sorry. I— it's—
( This is not exactly something he'd intended on broaching tonight. Had hoped this wouldn't happen and it would never come up. He bites his lip. )
It's... been a while.
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that hand from his chin flees up to the edge of his arm beside her, grips him there for some sort of leverage to keep herself in place, to ensure she saps every bit of impact she can from the way he fucks her. there isn't a single sound he forces from her tongue that finds completion, all pierced at some point with a cacophony of cries — small pieces of whimpers, small pieces of her shattering when he gives her exactly what she'd asked for, exactly what she needs.
there's certain gives to this sort of thing no matter how long it's been: the way his pace shifts from something strong and sure to unpredictable, the way the weight of him begins to tremor, that internal war of an ember that's begging to be stoked. he tightens his jaw like an apology and despite being half-lidded, throat worked with harsh breaths as forehead seeks refuge against her own, she wants it for him. and there's a sort of ecstasy that blooms through her like a sweet, darkened ink that he comes with her name on his tongue, that he wrings himself dry between the hug of her thighs, to her moans that soften to croons as his own flames slowly, slowly snuff out.
he stills and she's still throbbing, that slick channel of hers still sensitively aware of him, and when he apologizes some blissful, hazy sort of smile shrines across her lips, bears her teeth that no sooner snare at her own lower brim. )
Don't be sorry, hey... ( there's a sincerity there, even with tone worn by those sounds he'd milked from her. ) It's okay.
( a beat, an added whisper, shifting a little beneath him, finally relieving the pressure of nails at his back. ) Really.
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his thumb runs contemplatively along the seam of her lips, swollen from kisses, and then down the length of her body. )
You didn't—
( karen's already shaping that no, the forgiving smile, the it's fine and you don't have to. but bucky is stubborn when he wants to be, and never more so than when he's aware of an imbalance that needs to be righted. )
No, c'mon. Let me take care of you, ( he murmurs against the curve of her ear, as his hand dives into her underwear again. he might be wrung-out for now, but he still has hands, and this one slips a finger into her, a thumb sliding against her clit and starting to circle. picking up where he left off and assiduously starting to stoke that flame again, banking the fire, while he mouths at her neck, teeth and tongue grazing against the delicate arch of her throat. )
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only he's doing the opposite — running that thumb thoughtfully down the center of her lips, lower, as if bisecting her with the touch, and she knows what he's going for as soon as the words leave his lips. her own pink petals part in protest, a short-lived )
You don—
( only he seems to be expecting it, and knows expertly how to hush her selfless insistence, as if they'd been with another this way dozens and dozens of times. a hot breath at her ear, sending a current down her spine, zinging to the tips of her toes. her pulse still runs rampant within her chest, and he's not shy to dip his hand beneath that black layer as he had just before his cock had slipped into her, only now it's the curl of a single digit, that wicked accompaniment of thumb takes to that sensitive knot, and every bit of protest she'd held formerly on her tongue dissolves into a gratified sigh.
it's not easy for her, not anything she's accustomed to, giving in to him this way — it shouldn't be difficult to grasp, but it's... not what she used to, yet despite the fact that it's not the plentiful size of his length fitting inside of her, her walls clutch around the digit all the same, contented to continue that slow-coil that starts as a flicker of embers between her hips.
his teeth at her throat has her reeling, slowly arching crown back against that cushion, and fingertips manage to find the edge of it just above her, clutching there and giving a tug at the pillow as her hips buck against his wrist of their own accord. )
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it's slower, this, compared to the fast-paced brute-force slam of his hips into hers, but bucky is persistent. and when his thumb rolls over her clit a particular way and she reflexively arches into his hand, he has a pretty good feeling he's on the right track. )
Good. Like that,
( he murmurs against her ear, and he slides another finger into her, taking the place of where his cock had been, while he keeps working over that slick nub at the same time. like adding kindling, carefully cradling that fire with his hands: lighting another match, dropping it into the still-glowing embers. trying to rebuild what she'd been barreling towards, moments ago.
while his right hand works into her, after a moment's consideration he uses his metal hand to brush a lock of disheveled hair out of her face, bracketing her jaw, just to be touching her more, even if it's at a dull distance and a remove. when her head tips back against the cushion to allow him better access, he nips harder at her throat then laves it with his tongue, with suction; like they're handsy teenagers in a basement, and he's set on leaving his mark on her, hickeys left behind for days after. i was here, i was here.
and karen's body is stubborn, too, he's finding: any new woman is like learning a new instrument, and she's tense in a way that keeps her hanging before that edge, and makes him half-wonder if what she really needs is a good massage in addition to a good fuck. but bucky's working on it: he wants to take her apart, wants to find the right way to play her, the right combination of buttons to push to render her just as boneless and pleased as he was. so it's this: two fingers pumping inside her, his mouth against her throat, a metal finger rolling over her hard nipple again, and then that low burr of his voice in her ear: )
Tell me what feels good.
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there's a praise, humming thick from his tongue alongside another digit to wondrously stretch her apart and she wonders if he could possibly know what those three little words did to her — how they seized every bit of her attention, left her hanging mercilessly to his every whim and touch. he has her, and she can feel that tension slowly, slowly begin to give in favor of the fire he's stoking betwixt her hips, running it's humid tendrils of smoke around her abdomen, up to her chest, holding to her throat. as if to support the narrative there's the bracket of metal at her jaw, like he's encouraging her to keep craned just there for him to mouth — an open canvas, throat shifting as a fluttery keen offers something like gratitude to his undivided attentions.
she can feel the way those purplish hues yearn to the surface of her skin, how he draws them with the biting-suckle of a broad tongue. that palm grazes down to tease at her chest and she can still feel it there, pressing at the crook of her jaw, and his words ring through her again: good. like that. her chest hiccups with a ragged exhale.
he's asking her for words and so often than not it's all she has, but all she can find right now is explicits — his name, a lace of curses, all easily missed as pants if he didn't listen close enough. something tells her he does, gaze fluttering open and mindlessly fixating at some point on the darkened ceiling. )
It's good, just, ( she wants to tell him, but she may be able to guide him there herself, dipping her hand between sweat-sheen frames to clasp over the back of his palm. her eyes close again, and for a moment she's back in her bed, curtains stirring with the sound of dripping pipes in the background as her own fingers worked her to completion — only he's here with her, and he's asking her to reveal all of those little sacred spots. her answer comes by insisting his fingers deeper with her touch, and all it takes is a cant of her hips, and a telling whimper punctures the room. you found me. )
Right there— ( fingernails card up his forearm, grip there, as if she's unwilling to let him lose it now that he's there, right up against that sweet spot. she's finding purchase in his hair again, upper half yawning up towards him while her hips remain grounded, fighting herself to keep them still lest he loses that treasured spot. )
Right there... don't stop.
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he had been a sniper once, and this is like a kind of marksmanship, perhaps: the way she lines him up and shows him where to go, the exact target to hit. right there, don't stop, and so he leans in, applies more pressure, starts flexing his hand faster and faster as he speeds up, hitting that spot over and over, karen's breath becoming more frayed and ragged as they play those strings together and her body bucks reflexively. her chest arches off the sofa cushions again, which brings their bodies closer and puts her back within range that he can, on impulse, move and lick at her breast, lips closing around her nipple again as he pumps messily in and out of her, doggedly and inexorably dragging her towards that edge.
he doesn't back down from a challenge. and this is the most enjoyable kind of challenge. )
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there's no slow-burn, not when he's fucking her with his fingers like he's intent to leave her completely shattering around him, pulling unforgivably at the strands of hair she's managed to tangle her grasp within, as if she's desperately trying to keep herself together by means of the sole thing taking her apart. he'll be able to read it, the way that end creeps up to claim her and she's reduced to nothing more than a frenetic pitch of sounds — mews that just stumble over one another at the relentless pace he's now set.
he doesn't leave any room for her to think, nothing but to feel him and that bundle that pulls taut, a string ready to maddeningly snap. a gasp leaves flesh caving in around her ribs, and she's giving a )
Fuck, Bucky—
( a warning and a plea all wrapped into one. she's toeing right along that edge like she's being held weightlessly above it, tauntingly, harshly tugging his mouth to hers and meeting it with a hungered kiss. she needs him to hold her through it, milk her through it, and within those last few seconds she manages to find his gaze beneath her lashes, crying up to him like a promise: ) -m' gonna...
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C'mon, ( he says insistently against her mouth, half-commanding and half-goading, finishing her sentence and swallowing whatever her next words were going to be; he keeps moving as her thighs quaver and then tighten around him, with the curl of a toe, the muscles standing out in the flex of her leg as she digs a knee into his side. his hand's still at the crux between her legs, but as she clenches around him he starts to slow down; less the frenetic pace that had brought her there, now more languidly stroking at her still-sensitive clit instead as she starts to come down from it, as she tumbles over that cliff and he catches her to ease her back down to earth. he kisses her back, hard, pleased with himself for it as he feels the rapid patter of her heartbeat start to settle. all of it smooths out his guttering embarrassment, replaces it with that flickering fire of his confidence starting to come back to life, resurrected somewhere in the way she said his name, that helpless moaning cry. christ, she's beautiful.
he might be a gentleman, but that doesn't mean either of them have to be prim and proper. the next moment she finally breaks away for a breath and melts back onto the couch, he raises his hand to his mouth, sucks off the wetness coating his fingers, licking off the taste of her to clean himself up, all while never breaking her gaze.
and that, too, is a part of this byplay. him looking at her as she looks at him as he does it, it twines another sharp little skein of attraction low in his belly. )
You alright?
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a spent whine huffs against his lips once she finally begins to come down, fingers that'd raveled within his hair falling to a soothing pattern, nails praising him with a lazed circle — and while the rest of her seems to slow down, take a breath, her pulse still thuds unbridled within her chest. she's claiming her own lips with teeth as his fingers slip out of her, leaving the ache of her walls despairingly empty only to crawl up between them and disappear into the cave of his mouth instead.
she's helpless to watch as he samples her, appreciatively laves his tongue around the digits to take in the glaze of her that'd left them coated. the sight of it alone leaves her eyes blown, and certainly doesn't help her efforts to gain some semblance of a steady breath in. she thumbs across that stubble-ridden chin, fixes on the gloss that's left behind and despite his words in waiting for a response, she's reaching up to give a languid pull at his lower lip. there isn't much that's sharp there, just a nip of teeth and her own swipe of tongue to taste herself there.
a hum in finality, and maybe it's that post-coital daze that has her smiling beneath him, tracing fingertips up beside his brow bone. )
Yeah. ( a mumble, reassured with a nod. ) Are you?
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it's a tough fit, but neither of them seem to mind still being pressed skin-to-skin, sticky with cooling sweat, his metal arm propping himself up with chin tucked into the palm of his hand, his other resting on her stomach. pleasantly sated, tired in that particular way unique to a good orgasm. his heartrate has already settled — another one of the plus sides of the way the serum wired him — but something else keeps turning over in his chest, a kind of queasy happiness taking the place of all that frantic hunger. passion burns through like an all-consuming flame and leaves these quiet smouldering embers behind, and after a thoughtful pause — just looking at her and looking at her, drinking her in, his face going slack and neutral in contemplation — bucky presses an absentminded kiss to the freckled skin of her shoulder.
fishing for the right words, all he can come up with is a wry and very stupid: )
That was... nice.
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a silent, curling envy finds her; that there isn't a stutter of pulse to be found there — how quickly he could hide himself again, if he wanted to.
gently, she's reaching up to twist those metal tags back into place, falling near the arm that keeps him propped, and for a moment she just allows herself to lie there, bathe in him while he bathed in her, warring against that fluttering urge to duck down beneath his chin. how often was it, that someone saw her? really saw her, or cared to look? there's a vulnerability here, the bare canvas of her skin made a silhouette with the candle that ever-burns over her shoulder. he leans in, presses a kiss to her shoulder. two fingertips walk up along the centre of his chest, run a line down his throat thoughtfully.
her gaze stalls there a moment, just as lost to it all as he was, but that smile of hers permeates even teeth trying to bite it back. )
Of all the gin joints in all of the world...
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