( 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 himβthe 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 pitchβdecorating 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 β but she'd only asked for it β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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. )
( he leans closer again, just enough to press another lingering kiss to her lips. he can still taste that faint burn on karen's tongue, the back of her throat, although perhaps it's mostly just the memory of the liquor scouring its way down into his chest. his hand wanders again, finger trailing and tracing the line of her jaw, dipping into the dimpled smile at the corner of her mouth.
they're still tangled up in each other, and yet can't keep their hands off each other. stealing any opportunity to touch, to leisurely map their way across each others' bodies, the territory they'd had to rush past in their chase of that blinding pleasure. if there's some kind of expected etiquette here in the aftermath and the afterglow, bucky isn't quite sure what it's supposed to be. but he's content enough to just savour the moment for what it is. he clears his throat. tries to come up with something— polite? thankful? something to unearth that welling of rare gratitude churning inside him, but the words just don't sound like they're enough. )
Thanks for letting me come over.
( it really isn't enough. if he could string together the rest of it, he would. thank you for letting me feel again. thank you for waking me up. thank you for reminding me. thank you, thank you, thank you. )
( there's a nudge of guilt against her sternum, that she'd let herself believe he'd be no different than the rest before he'd even gotten a chance to show her otherwise. how many others would have been gathering their things? retracing their steps to tug back on one layer at a time, content to cover themselves up, to act as if they'd never been there at all. it's more than just a lacking experience, it's that she doesn't quite know how to protect herself. for so long she's had to learn what it was to be alone, always to be ready to let another go; never once did she have learn to let another stay.
he kisses her, and she doesn't want him to pull away once he's there, wrapping thin fingers about his wrist, to keep him there, just like he'd cradled her atop that kitchen island. and even as the kiss breaks she's lingering close, tongue running across her brims as that smile fades to something reverent; thoughtful. )
You don't have to thank me. And don't ... ( a pause, carefully trying t to find a way to articulate what she wants to get across without it splintering what they've built, here. maybe she should just let it be, but she's never been particularly good at that, almost as if she's trying to find some way to salvage the pieces of her he's already taken, should he choose to walk out that door sooner rather than later. )
Ah. Don't feel like you have to stay, if you don't want to. Not that I—
( and the moment the words are out one of her brows wrinkles inward, because she doesn't want him to read too much into it, to think she's merely politely suggesting his exit. a frustrated sigh passes her lips, and she's cursing herself internally for saying a thing in the first place. )
( there's that instinctive little flare of anxiety ticking upwards as she starts talking, wondering if this is how it happens, how she's gonna hint that he should go ahead and make himself scarce. do you want me to? he almost asks, the words caught behind his teeth. because he would in a heartbeat, if she wanted him to. he would tug those jeans back on and find his shirt and his jacket, kiss her goodbye, take his leave, consider this an enjoyable tryst but nothing more, if that was what she needed.
but something in his chest unclenches in something like relief, as karen keeps fumbling for the words. they're both at sea here, apparently, and it's an odd kind of gratification that she doesn't seem to quite know how to navigate this either, the newfound ambiguity of the moment. they're back to walking circles around each other even when they're half-naked together, entwined with each other on the couch. )
I'm fine staying, as long as you don't want me to go.
( his voice is rough and low, but the words are delicately-phrased. he can't even really picture running. bucky's always afraid of yet one more person leaving him.
( her thumb curves just over his pulse point, steady and sure, and she wouldn't blame him if her words alone left him tugging up from that couch β spinning her own tale of irony, chasing away what she longed for the most. as long as you don't want me to go. she doesn't hesitate to shake her head, that palm brushing her cheek and fingers grazing at her jaw, and it's not enough for her, to just shake off the words and accept his stay. no, she wants him to hear it. wants him to be sure, to recognize the one thing she can understand. )
I don't want you to go.
( she wishes the words sounded stronger than they did, that there wasn't years and one too many stories behind them, waiting for the moment when she'd actually let herself fracture enough to say it. karen was nothing weak β resilient, a staggering independence, so often willing to take on a world that offered her so little, at these hours of the night. she hardly knows who she is without her journals and type-face reports, but she likes to think he's given her something, here. a place to hide with him, even if it was just for the night. even if, come tomorrow, it was just the scatter of papers and empty whiskey glasses to keep her company.
delicately she's nudging up to him, noses running alongside one another, and another ginger press of a kiss captures his lips, barely letting them break to murmur again. )
( and when asked that way, how in the world could he say no? with her mouth against his, and he slings a heavy arm over her, fingertips splayed against the small of her back. )
Okay.
Although—
( that one word might sound portentous, but she can feel the way bucky's lips twist into a smile against hers. )
Not sure if this couch is the best place for getting comfortable, though. I'm an old man; I'm gonna throw my back out. You got somewhere with more space?
( it's an honest question, nothing actually salacious intended with it — but once again, he finds himself grateful that she hasn't seen his apartment, and that she hadn't even tried to go there tonight. he still doesn't have a goddamn bed. there wouldn't have been any alternative for them there except the couch itself. )
( there's a grateful little smile that she hides against him, that he lets himself fall so willingly back into that tempered warmth at one point, the first night they'd met, she would of thought he'd never believed himself to hold. he doesn't harp on her insecurities or let her fester too long within them, not without untucking her with a smirk she can see before her eyes even flicker down to find it there, the very things she'd come to remember of him whenever, if ever, this didn't work in their favor. this city has a way of surprising you. and maybe they're both just sticking it out, new yorkers, at heart, even if there's irredeemable pieces of them out there.
she laughs again, a sound that reaches the heart of her belly β an honest laugh. )
I dunno. I think we gave it a good run.
( a sly quip, a flare of mischief finding her hues before she's pressing up onto her own elbow, hovering over him, now. she hums, another quick kiss to his lips, the line of his jaw, lips running along the shell of his ear as she finds his hand blindly in the dark. she makes to sit upright, but not before a murmured: )
( so much of him is like a wild, disheveled hound — shy, guarded, quick to snap its jaws when irritated, but he also noses up into the first piece of proper affection shown to him. lonely and desperate for it, quick to crumble with a friendly touch, a scratch behind the ear. it's easy to win him over the moment he finally lets his guard down, especially with decades' worth of pent-up starvation behind it. he yearns and he yearns and he yearns.
bucky takes her hand and moves through the darkness behind her, leaving their clothing scattered in that line across her apartment: his jacket crumpled on the bench, shirts on the kitchen floor, a tangle of their jeans and his shoes around the couch. before they leave the living room, though, his metal hand reaches and pinches out the flame of the candle. fire safety, miss page!!
and then he's following after, as they wend their way between furniture and towards the hall leading to a bedroom, his eyesight adjusting quick to the dimness once they leave the candle behind, him taking in the rest of her apartment with the scattering of streetlights that filter through the curtains. )
( there aren't any lights to guide them once they make it past the kitchen, and maybe she should've been a bit more inclined to lean on that hint of suggestion that'd toyed between their messages long before he'd even arrived, tidied up a bit more than the main living space. her room's not a mess, to most others' means, in fact, it's one of the only rooms in her apartment that isn't riddled with the contents of various files. instead, there's the tousle of sheets, an unmade bed, a small moleskin with a pen tucked inside it's pages, noting where she'd left off, and a window a foot off of each side of the bed.
there's a noticeable chill once they step inside, floorboards giving that familiar creak, three of her digits tangled lazily with his, arm outstretched behind her like a guiding light.
she used to sleeping in something minimal, and she's not ashamed of her body so much as she's unaccustomed to another being given so much of her, freely on display despite both lamps snuffed out within the room. there's just that pale blue bath of the moonlight pouring in. a single look at that mattress reminds her that she's never once seen another body crawl within it, but she's quick to dismiss the thought as she pauses demurely at the foot of it, letting him catch up beside her only to duck down, leave a love-bite at the round of his shoulder.
and, because she seems on cue to re-tell bits of their night together: )
Better. Less likely to leave me paralysed in the morning.
( teasing, joking, because it's his default mechanism when things risk feeling a bit too serious. but there's an unexpected, schoolgirlish schoolboyish shyness settling into them at having crossed the threshold of her bedroom, like this is some new and daunting barrier for them to cross, despite what they've already done just a few minutes ago. but there's something about being led past those doors: into her closest most private space, the place where she sleeps (and unbeknownst to him, where no one else has been yet). brick walls dismantling. taking in the area, he finds himself itching with curiosity to know what's in that moleskine, but that's a question for another day. he has his own, anyway, sitting safely sequestered in the pocket of his jacket.
mirroring her movement, bucky shifts his position to step behind her, his hands settling on the plump curve of karen's hips, his mouth against the nape of her neck, leaning comfortably into her from behind. )
( that earns a roll of her eyes in the dark, that playful spark both of them seemed to reside comfortably within.
it dawns on her, then, that another reason that bed greeted her so heavily with him trailing behind her was the nightmares it kept, how many times it'd held her when she'd startled upright in a cold sweat, clutching at her throat as if to mechanically remind her lungs to draw in a breath. sleep was never something that'd been kind to her, but she didn't have to worry about it when they were tucked into those bars, not even when he had her pinned against that couch.
how much of her did he want to know, really?
the wooden boards beneath their feet give him away, tell her exactly where to expect the touch of him before it greets her, and it's still not enough to prepare her, those rigid muscles along the plane of her back pulling taut, mostly a sensitive reflex to his breath so close to her shoulder. her brims fold together, an exhale easing from her nose as she closes her eyes, lolls her head back til it's resting at his opposite shoulder. )
The left. ( just beside that notebook, while the opposite nightstand was tidy. a giveaway on it's own. her hands fall to rest over each of his, fingertips curling back over the ridge knuckles. )
( bucky doesn't even know if that's true, but it seems a likely assumption. he doesn't know what he's like trying to sleep in a bed with another human being — those nightmares haunt him, too — or even what his rest will be like in a bed, period, so it could be this was a terrible idea. but he's willing to give it a try. best case scenario, he sleeps. worst case scenario, he just lies awake staring at the ceiling like he does most evenings at home. better case scenario, maybe they kill some more time and neither get a lot of rest tonight.
it's a distant thought, but even joking about it or thinking about it sends another little shiver of desire through him. her hands settle over his and he moulds himself even closer to her back; one of his hands slips loose from under hers in order to palm her breast from behind. and then, lo and behold, she can actually feel his cock starting to stir behind her as he lazily presses his hips into hers. he might not have lasted long at all the first time, the dams breaking down after so many years of erosion, but it turns out he's already somewhat ready to go again. he's been a man wandering loose in the desert, and even that truly excellent sex earlier was just a thimble of water after so much time spent parched. )
( she'd expected the response, but then again, she'd lured it from him in a way β hadn't she? it's difficult to keep some measure of restraint when she can feel the breadth of his chest, solid and humming with heat against her. with that wintry bite of dog tags to her spine like metal sinews that wind about her hip. and if there was any part of her that'd sauntered into that room with him hand in hand that'd had an honest intention to merely lay with him, it's quickly diminished by the telling trail of his palm reaching up to grope at her chest. and what sort of woman would she be not to answer such a touch? one with far, far more self control than she.
what's more, she can feel his cock give a twitch in interest against her, heart that only just begun to settle into its low drums upset once more.
there's a sigh that sounds like a wisp in the room, seemingly amplified now that they're tucked away from everything else, now that they're not confined to a couch but standing in a room that'd only ever been her own. she perks back against him and she's just as helpless as he is, their bodies giving in to their own accord and it's all they can do to follow.
her tongue turns from murmurs in the dark to that familiar hymn of his name once more, spoken crisp and low out into the bedroom before them. when her palm raises to fall in line with his own she reinforces that grasp, but then she's turning to face him, finding his hooded gaze in the dark. despite the urge to claim that bourbon-laced mouth of his, she's using the stern chain of his dog tags to lure him with her as she's stepping backward, rounding the edge of that bed, directing him again til his calves hit the mattress.
it's only then that she makes to crawl over him. whether he shifts to lie back or brace himself against the headboard is his choice, but soon enough her knees are sinking into the mattress at either side of him, purposefully dangling her lips above his just out of reach, a boldness stirred perhaps by the velvet blanket of the night covering the room, or maybe because she knows how that cock feels inside of her, reaching down to palm at him through the cotton of those briefs. )
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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 pitchβdecorating 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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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( he leans closer again, just enough to press another lingering kiss to her lips. he can still taste that faint burn on karen's tongue, the back of her throat, although perhaps it's mostly just the memory of the liquor scouring its way down into his chest. his hand wanders again, finger trailing and tracing the line of her jaw, dipping into the dimpled smile at the corner of her mouth.
they're still tangled up in each other, and yet can't keep their hands off each other. stealing any opportunity to touch, to leisurely map their way across each others' bodies, the territory they'd had to rush past in their chase of that blinding pleasure. if there's some kind of expected etiquette here in the aftermath and the afterglow, bucky isn't quite sure what it's supposed to be. but he's content enough to just savour the moment for what it is. he clears his throat. tries to come up with something— polite? thankful? something to unearth that welling of rare gratitude churning inside him, but the words just don't sound like they're enough. )
Thanks for letting me come over.
( it really isn't enough. if he could string together the rest of it, he would. thank you for letting me feel again. thank you for waking me up. thank you for reminding me. thank you, thank you, thank you. )
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he kisses her, and she doesn't want him to pull away once he's there, wrapping thin fingers about his wrist, to keep him there, just like he'd cradled her atop that kitchen island. and even as the kiss breaks she's lingering close, tongue running across her brims as that smile fades to something reverent; thoughtful. )
You don't have to thank me. And don't ... ( a pause, carefully trying t to find a way to articulate what she wants to get across without it splintering what they've built, here. maybe she should just let it be, but she's never been particularly good at that, almost as if she's trying to find some way to salvage the pieces of her he's already taken, should he choose to walk out that door sooner rather than later. )
Ah. Don't feel like you have to stay, if you don't want to. Not that I—
( and the moment the words are out one of her brows wrinkles inward, because she doesn't want him to read too much into it, to think she's merely politely suggesting his exit. a frustrated sigh passes her lips, and she's cursing herself internally for saying a thing in the first place. )
Sorry. I'm not saying you should leave.
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but something in his chest unclenches in something like relief, as karen keeps fumbling for the words. they're both at sea here, apparently, and it's an odd kind of gratification that she doesn't seem to quite know how to navigate this either, the newfound ambiguity of the moment. they're back to walking circles around each other even when they're half-naked together, entwined with each other on the couch. )
I'm fine staying, as long as you don't want me to go.
( his voice is rough and low, but the words are delicately-phrased. he can't even really picture running. bucky's always afraid of yet one more person leaving him.
so maybe this is a fear they both understand. )
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I don't want you to go.
( she wishes the words sounded stronger than they did, that there wasn't years and one too many stories behind them, waiting for the moment when she'd actually let herself fracture enough to say it. karen was nothing weak β resilient, a staggering independence, so often willing to take on a world that offered her so little, at these hours of the night. she hardly knows who she is without her journals and type-face reports, but she likes to think he's given her something, here. a place to hide with him, even if it was just for the night. even if, come tomorrow, it was just the scatter of papers and empty whiskey glasses to keep her company.
delicately she's nudging up to him, noses running alongside one another, and another ginger press of a kiss captures his lips, barely letting them break to murmur again. )
Stay.
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Okay.
Although—
( that one word might sound portentous, but she can feel the way bucky's lips twist into a smile against hers. )
Not sure if this couch is the best place for getting comfortable, though. I'm an old man; I'm gonna throw my back out. You got somewhere with more space?
( it's an honest question, nothing actually salacious intended with it — but once again, he finds himself grateful that she hasn't seen his apartment, and that she hadn't even tried to go there tonight. he still doesn't have a goddamn bed. there wouldn't have been any alternative for them there except the couch itself. )
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she laughs again, a sound that reaches the heart of her belly β an honest laugh. )
I dunno. I think we gave it a good run.
( a sly quip, a flare of mischief finding her hues before she's pressing up onto her own elbow, hovering over him, now. she hums, another quick kiss to his lips, the line of his jaw, lips running along the shell of his ear as she finds his hand blindly in the dark. she makes to sit upright, but not before a murmured: )
Come with me.
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bucky takes her hand and moves through the darkness behind her, leaving their clothing scattered in that line across her apartment: his jacket crumpled on the bench, shirts on the kitchen floor, a tangle of their jeans and his shoes around the couch. before they leave the living room, though, his metal hand reaches and pinches out the flame of the candle. fire safety, miss page!!
and then he's following after, as they wend their way between furniture and towards the hall leading to a bedroom, his eyesight adjusting quick to the dimness once they leave the candle behind, him taking in the rest of her apartment with the scattering of streetlights that filter through the curtains. )
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there's a noticeable chill once they step inside, floorboards giving that familiar creak, three of her digits tangled lazily with his, arm outstretched behind her like a guiding light.
she used to sleeping in something minimal, and she's not ashamed of her body so much as she's unaccustomed to another being given so much of her, freely on display despite both lamps snuffed out within the room. there's just that pale blue bath of the moonlight pouring in. a single look at that mattress reminds her that she's never once seen another body crawl within it, but she's quick to dismiss the thought as she pauses demurely at the foot of it, letting him catch up beside her only to duck down, leave a love-bite at the round of his shoulder.
and, because she seems on cue to re-tell bits of their night together: )
Better?
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( teasing, joking, because it's his default mechanism when things risk feeling a bit too serious. but there's an unexpected, schoolgirlish schoolboyish shyness settling into them at having crossed the threshold of her bedroom, like this is some new and daunting barrier for them to cross, despite what they've already done just a few minutes ago. but there's something about being led past those doors: into her closest most private space, the place where she sleeps (and unbeknownst to him, where no one else has been yet). brick walls dismantling. taking in the area, he finds himself itching with curiosity to know what's in that moleskine, but that's a question for another day. he has his own, anyway, sitting safely sequestered in the pocket of his jacket.
mirroring her movement, bucky shifts his position to step behind her, his hands settling on the plump curve of karen's hips, his mouth against the nape of her neck, leaning comfortably into her from behind. )
You got a preferred side of the bed?
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it dawns on her, then, that another reason that bed greeted her so heavily with him trailing behind her was the nightmares it kept, how many times it'd held her when she'd startled upright in a cold sweat, clutching at her throat as if to mechanically remind her lungs to draw in a breath. sleep was never something that'd been kind to her, but she didn't have to worry about it when they were tucked into those bars, not even when he had her pinned against that couch.
how much of her did he want to know, really?
the wooden boards beneath their feet give him away, tell her exactly where to expect the touch of him before it greets her, and it's still not enough to prepare her, those rigid muscles along the plane of her back pulling taut, mostly a sensitive reflex to his breath so close to her shoulder. her brims fold together, an exhale easing from her nose as she closes her eyes, lolls her head back til it's resting at his opposite shoulder. )
The left. ( just beside that notebook, while the opposite nightstand was tidy. a giveaway on it's own. her hands fall to rest over each of his, fingertips curling back over the ridge knuckles. )
Just how likely are you to keep to your side, hm?
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( bucky doesn't even know if that's true, but it seems a likely assumption. he doesn't know what he's like trying to sleep in a bed with another human being — those nightmares haunt him, too — or even what his rest will be like in a bed, period, so it could be this was a terrible idea. but he's willing to give it a try. best case scenario, he sleeps. worst case scenario, he just lies awake staring at the ceiling like he does most evenings at home. better case scenario, maybe they kill some more time and neither get a lot of rest tonight.
it's a distant thought, but even joking about it or thinking about it sends another little shiver of desire through him. her hands settle over his and he moulds himself even closer to her back; one of his hands slips loose from under hers in order to palm her breast from behind. and then, lo and behold, she can actually feel his cock starting to stir behind her as he lazily presses his hips into hers. he might not have lasted long at all the first time, the dams breaking down after so many years of erosion, but it turns out he's already somewhat ready to go again. he's been a man wandering loose in the desert, and even that truly excellent sex earlier was just a thimble of water after so much time spent parched. )
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what's more, she can feel his cock give a twitch in interest against her, heart that only just begun to settle into its low drums upset once more.
there's a sigh that sounds like a wisp in the room, seemingly amplified now that they're tucked away from everything else, now that they're not confined to a couch but standing in a room that'd only ever been her own. she perks back against him and she's just as helpless as he is, their bodies giving in to their own accord and it's all they can do to follow.
her tongue turns from murmurs in the dark to that familiar hymn of his name once more, spoken crisp and low out into the bedroom before them. when her palm raises to fall in line with his own she reinforces that grasp, but then she's turning to face him, finding his hooded gaze in the dark. despite the urge to claim that bourbon-laced mouth of his, she's using the stern chain of his dog tags to lure him with her as she's stepping backward, rounding the edge of that bed, directing him again til his calves hit the mattress.
it's only then that she makes to crawl over him. whether he shifts to lie back or brace himself against the headboard is his choice, but soon enough her knees are sinking into the mattress at either side of him, purposefully dangling her lips above his just out of reach, a boldness stirred perhaps by the velvet blanket of the night covering the room, or maybe because she knows how that cock feels inside of her, reaching down to palm at him through the cotton of those briefs. )
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