( this time, he's being pulled along by that cold tug of metal at his throat, and bucky's smirk flourishes and grows at the playful sensation of it; karen coquettishly moving backwards and watching him as she draws him towards the bed. when he settles into the rumpled sheets, he automatically moves to the headboard so he can prop his back against it, watching her approach like the sauntering predator she's become. it's a glorious sight.
and before he can really prepare himself, karen's already climbing into his lap, so close to every part of him and yet hovering just tantalisingly out of reach. she reaches between them to grasp at his hardening cock and he exhales a breath, although it's already less the whole-body earthquake she set off the last time with a single touch. bucky strains forward, hands running up the line of her thighs, mouth trying to chase hers, but she's sitting too high above him; he has to settle for watching her instead, and there's something worshipful and reverent about it, his gaze steady and hungering as his hips judder, although he doesn't have the angle yet to lift off the mattress and press further into her touch.
just a few touches and it's like a forest fire all over again. it really doesn't take much. he hadn't expected this: how he can have this, and have her, and yet never have enough. )
( there's something dangerously alluring about way he yearns up to reach her, the fact that her own brims are just out of reach, licking a shiver up along her spine, a sharp sort of satisfaction that didn't often keep her company. she's not hungering for control over the situation so much as she is reveling in the sight of him wanting, the way his gaze glowers even in the dark once she's bracketed him in a firm straddle. and she's not shy to slot herself in flush, giving a slow, thoughtful roll of her waist, encouraged by those palms climbing her thighs.
a hum husks from her throat as his stiffens so readily beneath her, for her, and perhaps she'll worry more about the commanding effect he has over her to have her switching from a content laze to something burning.
that lace between her legs is still damp from the orgasm he'd ripped through her no more than a few minutes prior, lifting a hand to cup at his cheek, keeping his crown tipped back just enough that their hues stay locked together. another swivel of her hips, knowing, opposite palm splaying against the wall behind him. as tempted as she is to give in to that revering pout, she wants to hear what she's doing to him, hear that gravel-tone of want crawl up from the dredges of his throat to greet her like it had before. her voice is quiet when it sneaks into the dark of the room between them, but it's steady and needing. )
( karen swivels her hips and grinds down against him, and just that barest hint of pressure and weight accidentally trips loose a strangled grunt from him. more, he thinks, but karen has the situation entirely under her control. his mouth feels dry; he swallows again, licks his lips. she's effortlessly turned the tables and he's unprepared for how hearing his own words volleyed back at him zigzags another ache of need to his groin. bucky's eyes dart down, glancing at the ridge of his erection in those boxers, the sight of her knees pressed into the mattress on other side of him.
her free hand catches at his chin, drags his gaze back to hers, and she waits him out until he finds his words again. )
I want—
( bucky hesitates. he hasn't wanted in so very, very long. he had been a machine; a weapon, aimed by hands that weren't his own. always fighting someone else's battles, living a half-life under someone else's thumb. it's such a simple question in this context and yet he finds himself at a temporary loss to answer it: what does he want?
but it's a simple question, sergeant barnes, and in the end, he does have an answer, although his voice is almost hoarse when he admits it: )
I want to feel you around me. Again. I want to see you ride me.
( every bit of that carefully laced control is nearly lost when she hears that grunt press through his teeth, savoring it, replaying it, determined to find out what other sort of noises she could spur out of him, how he'd look with their roles reversed: lying beneath her while she set the pace, while she took him. it wouldn't really be a loss if she merely tugged those layers out of the way just then, if she wrapped her fingers around him and nudged him up against her hot heat — but as she's found, he's been well worth the wait, and despite the vixen-like nature in which she taunts him, there's still that underlying patience that's engraved too deeply to shake.
she's not cold nor practiced nor sated enough to deny him. there's no part of her that wants to, made more so by the way she can see the way the words root themselves within him. the way he leaves her, even if just briefly, mind none too kindly taking him elsewhere before he's back with her again.
it's a reminder even in the jowls of hunger that they both needed something soft, after all they'd been through.
it's an easy tug beside her thigh to inch those briefs down his own, and her lips part to a sharp, stuttered exhale at the sight of his cock springing free from the restraint. lithe fingers take hold of him, all lively heat and flesh, and she's using the swollen prodding of it's head to nudge her panties to the side. she guides him from her clit down to her heat, then back up again as if to lather him, forehead falling down to greet his own, letting him feel the silken folds of her without quite yet letting him delve inside. )
( it's achingly, frustratingly, yearningly close again and yet not enough; karen's languorously dipping him inside, coating the head of his cock, wet with her (god she's still so goddamn wet from earlier), but without giving either of them what they want just yet. bucky's helpless fingertips, metal and flesh alike, dig into the soft skin of her hips and ass — not shoving her into place, but just to have something to hold onto as she slides along the edge of him. with their foreheads pressed together, they're close enough that she can hear that hitch in bucky's breath as his eyes flicker shut. )
You are such a fucking tease,
( he says, his voice ragged against her mouth. but maybe this is exactly what she wanted, too: that low pleased growl and sundering thread in his voice, his heartbeat speeding up again, pulse thudding in his throat and that low throb going straight to his cock. he can't even think of reaching out and palming her breasts again, distracting himself with his hands; his attention is shot again, so all he can focus on is that pounding need between his legs standing at attention, the way she's just barely nudging at him. )
( a short-lived smile captures her lips at that, kittenish and gleaming in the night.
she can already feel all of those little yet-to-bloom bruises from their rouse on the couch planted beneath her skin, all of those little expanses of skin already sensitive to the touch, and more than that gruff tone of his is hands commanding her hips — not necessarily with any sort of momentum, but be damned if he let them get any further. as raggedly as those words urge her otherwise, he doesn't seem to particularly mind her drawing this out, and maybe if she wasn't just as starved, she'd be able to a bit longer, edge him until she knew what that tongue sounded like around a plea.
as much as she'd claim to know herself, there's an entire study missing from the archives: pleasure; she tries for what she can to note these little things mentally, what digs itself beneath her skin, adding dog-ears to every reaction, every sound she's earned from his lips.
her wrist shifts, giving a prod of the tip of her thumb between his lips, taken by the way they part for her insistence, and she's hooking that digit against the lower row of his teeth, against the muscle of his tongue — gently, tentative, and she's humming something dark as her hips curl forward. it's enough for the rigid length of his cock to catch itself at the heart of her — and in a single rock she's sheathing him within her completely, iris' blossoming outward with a thick thud of her pulse, jaw falling slightly slack as every bit of air is forced from her lungs. )
( there's that grunt in the back of his throat again, a moan rippling out from his chest and his lungs as karen finally, finally abruptly sinks down on him, impaling herself on him, and he finds himself drowning in that sensation once more. his mouth's open and panting, but as her thumb brushes against his teeth and tongue, then bucky closes his lips around her, sucking on that digit. not something he'd have thought of doing on his own, but he's observant, and keeping a mental tally of his own: cataloguing the way karen gravitates to the pout of his lips, her fingers so often drifting to his mouth, and now that dazed shift to her expression as his tongue laves at the crook of her thumb, even as she starts to rock in his lap.
bucky had controlled the pace last time, but now it's all her: the way she slides up and down the hard length of him, her other hand bracing herself against the wall behind the bed. he nips at her finger, teeth grazing a little harder, and when next his mouth gasps open, he only manages the stuttering start of this sentence: )
( he doesn't have to rut her faster, doesn't have to ask for anything when his cheeks hollow out subtly around that digit, causing it to curl in further. it's enough of an encouragement. only, when she starts to move her hips that carefully honed focus disorients, branches out into so many different directions, all demanding her attention — how she still feels inexplicably tight, how her movements carry an ache now that distinguishes itself from the rest — a you've been here before. recent. walls still torn from when he'd nestled between her thighs, when fingers had jarred at her limits.
her own brims remain parted as he gasps, as if she could draw that split breath into her, and a glossed thumb drops from his teeth to drag across his chin, curling digits in against that wall as if she could grasp it.
she doesn't have to think, she just needs, allows her body to seek out exactly what it needs — and it's an uptick in her pace, using the press of her knees into that mattress to raise herself til only the tip of his cock is tucked inside, before she's taking him again — letting herself memorize every single inch, appreciate his size and that wicked tug of pleasure the deeper he hits. )
Yeah?
( it's a fluttered whisper, on a rise, gritting her jaw to a pointed whimper the moment he's gliding into her again, this time with a bit more vigor. )
( is his dizzied word, the echo into that darkened room. there's a break in the noise from the street, so for a moment the only sound is the deliciously filthy noise of them fucking, and the creak of the bed, the contemplative pinging of the pipes in the wall behind them, the building settling around them. bucky's hungry for movement, to be able to engage, to do something, so he pulls up his legs and plants his feet enough to get purchase on the mattress, to start thrusting upwards and meeting her on each downward plunge. he can't move all that much so it's a small addition, just enough movement to go a little deeper. for their bodies meeting to crash together with a little more force.
bucky's head tips backward against the wall. even in the gloom she can see his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, mouth still parted as he breathes, chest steadily rising and falling beneath the glint of the dog tags. hanging on, working through those crests and valleys of pleasure as she rolls her hips into him. )
( the moment he gives that first thrust to meet her she's nearly toppling forward, miniature white sparks dancing in her vision at the way that impact feels — it's sharp and it's exact, and it leaves her hand darting to curl fingertips around the edge of that headboard. every time he pistons up to her she's meeting him, matching that need, the roughened energy that comes along with it, twin hips all too willing to fall into that instinctive chase. and so she's moving faster, yet, almost as if some unspoken challenge to see if he can keep up with her — she's well aware given his position and stamina alone he could well surpass her, but her commitment just might surprise him — mattress groaning in protest to their movements.
a crude moan works from her throat, laced between heavy breaths like a detached static, the exertion of using every bit of her weight to fuck herself on to him leaving her thighs quivering in their straddle. that veil of her that'd been worried about sounding or acting too indecent when he'd taken her against that couch is absent, here. like the dark offers her some sort of reprieve, forgiveness for that hungry, insatiable thing that lives within her.
she has to wonder if he knows what he's gotten himself into, letting her have this; and it seems as if the more she has of him, the more she wants.
lean, porcelain-bound muscles within her back flit as her shoulders pinch together, both of their gazes half-mast, tucked into their own little oblivion here in that room, and she's letting a bit more of her weight fall into every slap of their thighs, driven by the sound of it, rocking a little just before she lifts each time. )
( as the speed and intensity of karen's movements escalate, colliding with his thrusts, he can feel that heat stoking higher and higher between them. his self-control is better this time but he still has to pour single-handed concentration into it, biting hard down on his lip and trying to last longer— for her, to let this moment keep stretching on and on, to keep fucking into her, to keep granting this to her and him and them both. it's a string drawing taut, a tension building.
karen's body is flexing and moving above him, a beautiful motion of rolling muscle and taut abdomen and arching ribs and plump breasts. bucky shifts forward again; restless, he's restless, there's too much burning need inside him and so he can't decide where to be, when he wants to be everywhere. so he's mouthing at her neck again, tongue at her pulse-point, while his hand moves from her hips and to the place where their bodies meet, where he's plunging into her again and again. he fumbles a little from the unaccustomed angle at first, but eventually manages to find her clit again, index finger curling against her as she rises and falls. )
( as unwilling as she is to let go of this feeling — being so incredibly full of him, she knows they've both been wound too tight over the years and no amount of self-control could keep that coil from settling in. yet, the moment she feels that telltale flutter of it's beginning (her end) it only goads her all the more, and despite their bodies working both for and against them, she's determined to try and bring them closer to that edge together. she's learned his unraveling: teeth capturing his lips, finding a haven in the crook of her neck where tongue smoothes over that thundering column.
her hips jerk reactively once his thumb rolls over her clit, palm pressed flat to the chill of the wall clasping back to cradle him to her, instead, the other still white-gripped to the headboard.
and suddenly she's switching up her pattern, if only to ensure the pad of his finger doesn't lose its place at that bundle — she keeps his cock lodged deeply within her, and rather than snap her hips upright she's rocking into the bed his thighs have made for her, the lower half of her spine winding, a wave that meets him again and again. every time they're canting forward he manages to hint up against that sweet spot she'd guided him to before, and that fire they're fostering crawls higher.
she's cursing beneath her breath, the same desperation that'd wound about her spine when he'd brought her to that shattering end with his fingers showing in the frantic rhythm she's found, the way she chases it, the way the room echos back nothing more than their collision of breaths and flesh. )
( he remembers where she'd guided him before, and so he's striving and trying to hit it again, this time with his cock filling her, stretching her. she's taking her pleasure from him, rocking back and forth with an expert roll of her hips, and he wouldn't have it any other way. bucky says— something, something incoherent, just a slew of words buried in the crook of her shoulder, somewhere between a groan and yes and karen and fuck, that, keep doing that. he could flip them over, pin her to the mattress and reverse their positions again, but she's doing such a good job that he doesn't want to change a single goddamn thing about this arrangement: her riding that wave and shoving them both towards it with the cant of her hips, her fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder.
bucky can tell when he's getting close, but this time he's absolutely dead-set that she should go first. and with both of them working at it — karen slowing down when she feels him start to tremble too much, bucky speeding up as he tries to nudge her back to where they'd been — they eventually manage it. not cinematically, not at the exact same moment, but it's close enough. when karen's second orgasm finally hits her and she reflexively clenches harder around him, that added pressure helps tip bucky right the fuck over with another moan into her shoulder, his breath catching, his fingers stilling as the rest of his mind just whites out for the second time tonight: with him still inside her, karen still poised in his lap, hand still braced against the headboard, the other digging into his short unruly hair.
he's unable to hold any other thought in his head except for that: how good it feels. how sated, how complete, how utterly wrecked, how fucking debauched. his heartbeat's pattering in his chest, the room smells like sex and so do they, and his free arm curves around the small of karen's back, holding her closer as she quivers around him, that last pleasant aftershock abating. )
( that ragged huff of words imprints itself against the sensitive line of her neck, a single heated patter of his breath palming over her shoulder, running it's nails down along her spine before it settles in a hot, needy pang at the apex of her thighs. her thighs ache in use — lungs fastening tight around any bit of a breath they can find — and it gets to a point where she's using that headboard to help pull herself every time she's rocking forward, that helpless winding that brings her closer and closer urging her not to stop. she didn't want a sweet release, something soft and sapping, she wanted to utterly break within his arms, come apart at every seam and leave him cradling what's left behind.
and that's exactly what she does, and when that second crest of the night hits it's all she can do to cling to him, every bit of mind she has left intent to keep hips moving, riding with the lack of precision, the lazed, heady grind of her end. and that telling twitch of his cock before he's coating her just wrings her through another silvery throb.
when the two of them come down, him a few trembling moments after her, she can't bring herself to shift off of him, to move, to do anything but be right there with his forearm cradling her back, muscles within her arms and limbs giving a gratified sigh as that iron-wrought tension gives. her mouth's falling against the line of his shoulder, nosing there until she meets that near seamless greeting of flesh and metal — there's a slight rise of the skin, there, the swell of a scar, perhaps, and a single, ginger kiss is left there before she merely rests her cheek against broad muscle.
she's swallowing back a tiny whimper like an after-thought, reveling in the calm of simply being held. )
( her lips against against that seam brings another fragile fluttering exhale out of him. bucky is unaccustomed to anyone getting close enough to press a lingering touch to that exact spot where flesh gives way to metal, let alone with a kiss, and so he realises — learns — that he's sensitive there, a shiver running down his spine at the contact. he lets himself sink backwards, sagging back against the headboard and drawing karen with him, still cradled in his arms as she slumps onto his chest. he breathes out again, the breath ruffling her sweat-damp hair. still sheathed inside her, but both of them evidently reluctant to move from their positions just yet.
bucky's used to being tired from combat, from running on fumes for hours on end, from brutal physical battle and running for his life, but he's not used to this kind of exhaustion: satisfied. pleasant. simply enjoying the weight of her sprawled over him, his thumb running absentminded circles against her hip. )
Second time's the charm,
( he eventually says, and if she cranes her head to look up, she'll be able to see that faint curve of a smile on his lips. )
( as their sounds fade, there's nothing more than the delicate cacophony of rain beginning to drum against the roof, making it's lazy trails along the window panes. a blink, and she catches one of those streams merging with another, listening to the way his pulse echos in the cave of his chest so close to her, buried just beneath the press of her cheek. he speaks and she can feel it rumble within him, pressing another kiss to his collar, a second, before she's drawing herself up to meet their foreheads together once more, a commonplace, by now.
she grins, a sleepy sight. her lids are heavy, the unfamiliar beckoning of rest calling to her, and still the only thing she's sharply aware of is him. )
So they say.
( as long as you don't want me to go.
as willing as she was for sleep to find her, to nestle around them, what was to guarantee he'd still be there, by morning? it was easier than stitching together a goodbye, slipping from her during the night when she can't feel it; yet. she detests that these darker murmurs find her whenever she's met with something good, but ridding of them, the place they've found within her skull, is a feat that's none to easy to undo. carefully, she's lifting her hips, if only so she can settle atop him again more comfortably once he's slipped out of her like a breath, so there's nothing left to say she has to move, and when she folds against him again, it's with a contented sigh. )
( bucky's not used to sharing a bed with anyone anymore, and yet it's shockingly comfortable, the way she sprawls against him and jots her head against the crook of his human shoulder. the way they've arranged themselves in the bed, the favourite side she'd settled on, thankfully it means he can keep his metal arm on the other side away from her (an unconscious tic, even now). he shifts in the warm tangled sheets, tugs his briefs back into place, and settles until he's propped against her stack of pillows.
the question of leaving doesn't even occur to him. she said she wanted him to stay, and so he would. )
Thank you.
( he murmurs against the top of her head, lips brushing her hair. he's certain the main problem will be falling asleep at all, and yet as he sinks into the bed, the exhaustion rolls over him in a drowning wave, tugging at him with heavy weight. sinking beneath the water and feeling it nipping at his heels. even as it encroaches, the greatest surprise is realising that he could actually doze right here, just drift off with the gentle rise-and-fall of his chest under karen's chin, her hand splayed across his skin, her legs tangled in his. )
( when he moves, drifts them down further into the muss of sheets, each of her limbs follows as if they've done this before. as if they know just how to tangle with him, just where she fits for sleep to find her. her thigh nestles over top of his — warm there, still, a reminder — calves linking and a single arm bent against his chest, left just beneath her chin where she lies. exhaustion sweeps over the two of them like a blanket, otherwise leaving them half-hidden in sheets, blonde tendrils stirring against her spine when another breeze is let in through the curtains.
thank you. an affection pressed to her forehead, and she's left ruminating quietly just there beneath the hood of his jaw. she doesn't sit upright, instead, letting closed lids paint her for him, the tips of her fingers drawing mindless little circles against his chin. her tongue is lazy, used, but when she finally encourages it around the syllables that follow, it's reaching. )
( it feels so stupid and a little sad, now, thanking her for it like it's some kind of present or gift handed to him with both hands (even if, in a way, that is exactly what this is: precious, cherished, a gift). and he's not sure how to fill that gap and explain himself properly. thanks for the good sex? for the companionship? for inviting him over? for the opportunity to not be alone tonight? all of the above.
bucky's almost asleep, teetering right on that border where you might slip under, but he's still awake enough to mumble: )
( all she can muster is a hum, lolled from her tongue.
every one of her bones feels as if it's pulling, weighted, and that cloud of sleep brims all the further over the both of them til she's not so sure where she ends and he begins, anymore. and maybe if she were a bit more awake, she'd gently pry at that gratitude a bit further, expose those softer underbellies that hid beneath — maybe if they hadn't gone two rounds, reminded one another what it felt to be had. but she doesn't have to ask, not when it reaches her the way it does, when she understands what it is he's thanking her for beyond the touch, and she owes it to him in kind. perhaps come morning she'll find a way.
half-lidded, she's swiping a thumb beneath his collar before fingers sleepily stumble down to those tags once more, the very ones she'd used to lure him into that bed with her. JAMES B BARNES — lashes flutter — T42 -43B, and finally, finally they fall to a close. her ankle gives one last curl against his, and when she drifts it's with his taste on her tongue, hips and bottom growing into those love-bruises, every bit of her in that moment his. )
( he really, truly hadn't expected to fall asleep, and if so, especially not to fall asleep like this: utterly dead to the world.
bucky is a light sleeper even at the best of times — long habits, old history, always ready to wake up in the field to the patter of gunfire — and a restless one at that, usually only catching a couple hours before waking up, then falling back unconscious, wash rinse repeat. he'd half-expected having someone else in the bed with him would have made it even worse. that had been a thing, once: struggling to rest with the unaccustomed weight of someone else on the mattress beside you, a warm body tipping the scales askew, nerves bringing you out of your light slumber.
but there's something about the exhaustion that settles in after some a good, strenuous fuck which just knocks him out for the count. the weight of karen near him is more like a weighted blanket rather than an anvil; it turns out to be more soothing than disorienting. so he sleeps (almost the whole night through; only waking up once, and that alone is still a miracle).
when they eventually both stir, her body is a cacophony of small, pleasant aches; his own has bounced back quicker, that healing working away on it overnight, sweeping away the fatigue as if it had never been. he almost wishes it hadn't. he wants that wobbly-legged feeling of having used muscles he hasn't in so very long. wishes he had the reminder.
instead, though, at least there's this: karen's strawberry-blonde hair across the pillows, her face still burrowed against his chest. his human arm's fallen asleep where she's lying against it, and it's probably going to tingle with stinging pins-and-needles when she eventually moves — but that, too, is a pleasant ache. when the dawn sunlight through the curtains is enough that bucky notices it, he's awake — still too early, considering their late evening, but it was still a good few hours of rest. he breathes in; breathes out; looks up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lets his memories skitter around before they finally catch and he realises where he is. an unfamiliar ceiling doesn't have to be a terrible thing. it's fine. he's fine.
he's still in bed. with karen. in her bedroom. in her apartment.
all of these facts settle like keys in a lock. he exhales again, scrubs at his face with his metal hand. intellectually, it feels like the moment should be more awkward or uncomfortable than it is — what's morning-after etiquette like nowadays? another blank spot on the map that he's going to have to feel his way through — and yet bucky finds that he doesn't much mind. because it's nice. her bed is comfortable. having another warm body beside him— is comfortable. )
( when was the last time she'd managed to sleep without memories splintering through her, leaving her retching up from those sheets, palm splayed at her throat as if another had only just then released a bruising, restricting grip. she doesn't know. nights seemed to blur together, one frigid nightmare after the next, and days had quickly learned to follow — thumb at her tongue to catch at the edge of pages, the harsh glow of a screen reflecting back at her, the mindless sounds of the city behind her as she stayed too late in that office, burying herself in anything that wasn't herself.
as much as one would think there's a discomfort within that sort of rhythm — it became what she knew, became familiar, built some sort of home for her within it despite how dysfunctional, despite how harrowing. it didn't hold her kindly, but she's not too used to being held at all, and so maybe that's why she barely moves throughout the night. why limbs remain in their sleepy tangle with his — he anchors her in sleep in a way she doesn't understand. couldn't. something she doesn't dare venture to try, because if she figures it out, if she gets it all to make sense, she'll only then topple next into it's undoing.
here with him, there's no city around them. there's no memory, none of that tangible fear every time she naively thinks she's conquered it. there's only the rise and fall of his chest, letting it suspend her there — awash from the shore, but steady enough that she doesn't drift out too far.
when the world begins to tug at her again, it's in subtleties. toeing at the sheets — recognizing the warmth of his calve there. a flutter of lashes, enough to understand that it's morning, still early enough that the sun burns in citrus hues, not quite stretched to it's peak in the sky. and then slowly, and yet all at once, he comes back to her — the solidity of him beside her, beneath her, the barely-there brim of a pulse in his chest, reaching up to her cheek. she's still tired — one night of restful sleep didn't bode to make up for all the rest, but it's certainly a start — and there's a tiny sleep-sound that drifts from her lips, spine and limbs elongating into a stretch. gentle, unhurried.
yet, there's an unfamiliarity intruding here: to feel what it's like — for someone to stay. )
( ah, jesus christ. he couldn't even tell you when the last time was he'd gotten to wake up to this, to a beautiful woman stretching herself luxuriantly beside him, her whole body sprawling out in that flex of muscle and bare skin, that little noise in the back of her throat. it's a hell of a sight. when she shifts her weight slightly off his arm, his hand flexes, clenches into a fist, releases, trying to spur the bloodflow back. while he's still numb, he runs a fingertip down the line of her bare arm, thoughtful and contemplative.
karen's skin is warm from the covers and their shared body heat, almost like there's a radiant sun buried beneath her flesh, the warmth of a summer's day beside him. when his gaze moves up to her face — their faces are far too close to each other on those pillows, he's not used to peering at someone so near and within his personal space — his mouth settles into a smile. it transforms bucky's face from its habitual stony glower, makes him seem suddenly years younger, more carefree. )
( she's curled onto her side against him, wound by the subtlest touches — that sole fingertip running the column of her arm, the way he adjusts slightly beneath her weight, their figures sighing in unison with one another as they had unconsciously throughout the night, intent to follow, to stay. her hair's a golden halo alit with the sun creeping in behind her, bright along the slope of her, the curve of her waistline before milky flesh is hidden by an afterthought of sheets. he smiles something sweet, and god it's almost as if something within her breaks — a brief moment of clarity, burning the imagery to memory like film.
this. if only she could bottle exactly this.
there's a bashfulness that creeps up to her cheeks, swelling with a smile that's all teeth, and the arm that'd draped his chest raises to run two fingertips, one trailing just behind the other, along the stubble of his jaw. she can still feel him between her thighs, the ghost of his grasping at her hip. )
Hi there. ( those digits trail up, grazing along his cheek, the edge of his brow, before they're retracting to bundle up beneath her chin, both of them sharing the plush of the same pillow. teeth make purchase at her lips, a thoughtful chew, unable to rid of that smile of hers — marveling in the way his eyes speckle with morning. )
( it's maybe not a shock that bucky doesn't usually sleep well. he doesn't go into it, though, doesn't supply the additional detail of hey i usually suffer from horrific nightmares, but i slept well beside you. that feels like too much; maybe it'd be making more of this than he ought to, more of this than whatever... this is. whatever she's willing to let it be.
but for now, he can just savour it. the bed is still too soft, feels like it has way too much give and his spine isn't used to it, but being tangled up in her makes up for it. they might be all stale sweat and tacky skin from last night, but compared to the alternatives he's had to sleep in over the years — dried blood, mud — he's not complaining about this. )
How about you? Sorry if I turned the bed into a furnace or something. I kind of— overheat.
( it's something to do with that circulation, his persistent pulse and homeostasis and how his body doesn't let itself get too cold; more inadvertent little side-effects of the serum, everyday touches that nobody really could have predicted. his body runs hot, steady and warm beneath her hands. )
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and before he can really prepare himself, karen's already climbing into his lap, so close to every part of him and yet hovering just tantalisingly out of reach. she reaches between them to grasp at his hardening cock and he exhales a breath, although it's already less the whole-body earthquake she set off the last time with a single touch. bucky strains forward, hands running up the line of her thighs, mouth trying to chase hers, but she's sitting too high above him; he has to settle for watching her instead, and there's something worshipful and reverent about it, his gaze steady and hungering as his hips judder, although he doesn't have the angle yet to lift off the mattress and press further into her touch.
just a few touches and it's like a forest fire all over again. it really doesn't take much. he hadn't expected this: how he can have this, and have her, and yet never have enough. )
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a hum husks from her throat as his stiffens so readily beneath her, for her, and perhaps she'll worry more about the commanding effect he has over her to have her switching from a content laze to something burning.
that lace between her legs is still damp from the orgasm he'd ripped through her no more than a few minutes prior, lifting a hand to cup at his cheek, keeping his crown tipped back just enough that their hues stay locked together. another swivel of her hips, knowing, opposite palm splaying against the wall behind him. as tempted as she is to give in to that revering pout, she wants to hear what she's doing to him, hear that gravel-tone of want crawl up from the dredges of his throat to greet her like it had before. her voice is quiet when it sneaks into the dark of the room between them, but it's steady and needing. )
Tell me what you want.
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her free hand catches at his chin, drags his gaze back to hers, and she waits him out until he finds his words again. )
I want—
( bucky hesitates. he hasn't wanted in so very, very long. he had been a machine; a weapon, aimed by hands that weren't his own. always fighting someone else's battles, living a half-life under someone else's thumb. it's such a simple question in this context and yet he finds himself at a temporary loss to answer it: what does he want?
but it's a simple question, sergeant barnes, and in the end, he does have an answer, although his voice is almost hoarse when he admits it: )
I want to feel you around me. Again. I want to see you ride me.
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she's not cold nor practiced nor sated enough to deny him. there's no part of her that wants to, made more so by the way she can see the way the words root themselves within him. the way he leaves her, even if just briefly, mind none too kindly taking him elsewhere before he's back with her again.
it's a reminder even in the jowls of hunger that they both needed something soft, after all they'd been through.
it's an easy tug beside her thigh to inch those briefs down his own, and her lips part to a sharp, stuttered exhale at the sight of his cock springing free from the restraint. lithe fingers take hold of him, all lively heat and flesh, and she's using the swollen prodding of it's head to nudge her panties to the side. she guides him from her clit down to her heat, then back up again as if to lather him, forehead falling down to greet his own, letting him feel the silken folds of her without quite yet letting him delve inside. )
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You are such a fucking tease,
( he says, his voice ragged against her mouth. but maybe this is exactly what she wanted, too: that low pleased growl and sundering thread in his voice, his heartbeat speeding up again, pulse thudding in his throat and that low throb going straight to his cock. he can't even think of reaching out and palming her breasts again, distracting himself with his hands; his attention is shot again, so all he can focus on is that pounding need between his legs standing at attention, the way she's just barely nudging at him. )
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she can already feel all of those little yet-to-bloom bruises from their rouse on the couch planted beneath her skin, all of those little expanses of skin already sensitive to the touch, and more than that gruff tone of his is hands commanding her hips — not necessarily with any sort of momentum, but be damned if he let them get any further. as raggedly as those words urge her otherwise, he doesn't seem to particularly mind her drawing this out, and maybe if she wasn't just as starved, she'd be able to a bit longer, edge him until she knew what that tongue sounded like around a plea.
as much as she'd claim to know herself, there's an entire study missing from the archives: pleasure; she tries for what she can to note these little things mentally, what digs itself beneath her skin, adding dog-ears to every reaction, every sound she's earned from his lips.
her wrist shifts, giving a prod of the tip of her thumb between his lips, taken by the way they part for her insistence, and she's hooking that digit against the lower row of his teeth, against the muscle of his tongue — gently, tentative, and she's humming something dark as her hips curl forward. it's enough for the rigid length of his cock to catch itself at the heart of her — and in a single rock she's sheathing him within her completely, iris' blossoming outward with a thick thud of her pulse, jaw falling slightly slack as every bit of air is forced from her lungs. )
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bucky had controlled the pace last time, but now it's all her: the way she slides up and down the hard length of him, her other hand bracing herself against the wall behind the bed. he nips at her finger, teeth grazing a little harder, and when next his mouth gasps open, he only manages the stuttering start of this sentence: )
God. You— you feel so good.
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her own brims remain parted as he gasps, as if she could draw that split breath into her, and a glossed thumb drops from his teeth to drag across his chin, curling digits in against that wall as if she could grasp it.
she doesn't have to think, she just needs, allows her body to seek out exactly what it needs — and it's an uptick in her pace, using the press of her knees into that mattress to raise herself til only the tip of his cock is tucked inside, before she's taking him again — letting herself memorize every single inch, appreciate his size and that wicked tug of pleasure the deeper he hits. )
Yeah?
( it's a fluttered whisper, on a rise, gritting her jaw to a pointed whimper the moment he's gliding into her again, this time with a bit more vigor. )
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( is his dizzied word, the echo into that darkened room. there's a break in the noise from the street, so for a moment the only sound is the deliciously filthy noise of them fucking, and the creak of the bed, the contemplative pinging of the pipes in the wall behind them, the building settling around them. bucky's hungry for movement, to be able to engage, to do something, so he pulls up his legs and plants his feet enough to get purchase on the mattress, to start thrusting upwards and meeting her on each downward plunge. he can't move all that much so it's a small addition, just enough movement to go a little deeper. for their bodies meeting to crash together with a little more force.
bucky's head tips backward against the wall. even in the gloom she can see his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, mouth still parted as he breathes, chest steadily rising and falling beneath the glint of the dog tags. hanging on, working through those crests and valleys of pleasure as she rolls her hips into him. )
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a crude moan works from her throat, laced between heavy breaths like a detached static, the exertion of using every bit of her weight to fuck herself on to him leaving her thighs quivering in their straddle. that veil of her that'd been worried about sounding or acting too indecent when he'd taken her against that couch is absent, here. like the dark offers her some sort of reprieve, forgiveness for that hungry, insatiable thing that lives within her.
she has to wonder if he knows what he's gotten himself into, letting her have this; and it seems as if the more she has of him, the more she wants.
lean, porcelain-bound muscles within her back flit as her shoulders pinch together, both of their gazes half-mast, tucked into their own little oblivion here in that room, and she's letting a bit more of her weight fall into every slap of their thighs, driven by the sound of it, rocking a little just before she lifts each time. )
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karen's body is flexing and moving above him, a beautiful motion of rolling muscle and taut abdomen and arching ribs and plump breasts. bucky shifts forward again; restless, he's restless, there's too much burning need inside him and so he can't decide where to be, when he wants to be everywhere. so he's mouthing at her neck again, tongue at her pulse-point, while his hand moves from her hips and to the place where their bodies meet, where he's plunging into her again and again. he fumbles a little from the unaccustomed angle at first, but eventually manages to find her clit again, index finger curling against her as she rises and falls. )
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her hips jerk reactively once his thumb rolls over her clit, palm pressed flat to the chill of the wall clasping back to cradle him to her, instead, the other still white-gripped to the headboard.
and suddenly she's switching up her pattern, if only to ensure the pad of his finger doesn't lose its place at that bundle — she keeps his cock lodged deeply within her, and rather than snap her hips upright she's rocking into the bed his thighs have made for her, the lower half of her spine winding, a wave that meets him again and again. every time they're canting forward he manages to hint up against that sweet spot she'd guided him to before, and that fire they're fostering crawls higher.
she's cursing beneath her breath, the same desperation that'd wound about her spine when he'd brought her to that shattering end with his fingers showing in the frantic rhythm she's found, the way she chases it, the way the room echos back nothing more than their collision of breaths and flesh. )
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bucky can tell when he's getting close, but this time he's absolutely dead-set that she should go first. and with both of them working at it — karen slowing down when she feels him start to tremble too much, bucky speeding up as he tries to nudge her back to where they'd been — they eventually manage it. not cinematically, not at the exact same moment, but it's close enough. when karen's second orgasm finally hits her and she reflexively clenches harder around him, that added pressure helps tip bucky right the fuck over with another moan into her shoulder, his breath catching, his fingers stilling as the rest of his mind just whites out for the second time tonight: with him still inside her, karen still poised in his lap, hand still braced against the headboard, the other digging into his short unruly hair.
he's unable to hold any other thought in his head except for that: how good it feels. how sated, how complete, how utterly wrecked, how fucking debauched. his heartbeat's pattering in his chest, the room smells like sex and so do they, and his free arm curves around the small of karen's back, holding her closer as she quivers around him, that last pleasant aftershock abating. )
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and that's exactly what she does, and when that second crest of the night hits it's all she can do to cling to him, every bit of mind she has left intent to keep hips moving, riding with the lack of precision, the lazed, heady grind of her end. and that telling twitch of his cock before he's coating her just wrings her through another silvery throb.
when the two of them come down, him a few trembling moments after her, she can't bring herself to shift off of him, to move, to do anything but be right there with his forearm cradling her back, muscles within her arms and limbs giving a gratified sigh as that iron-wrought tension gives. her mouth's falling against the line of his shoulder, nosing there until she meets that near seamless greeting of flesh and metal — there's a slight rise of the skin, there, the swell of a scar, perhaps, and a single, ginger kiss is left there before she merely rests her cheek against broad muscle.
she's swallowing back a tiny whimper like an after-thought, reveling in the calm of simply being held. )
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bucky's used to being tired from combat, from running on fumes for hours on end, from brutal physical battle and running for his life, but he's not used to this kind of exhaustion: satisfied. pleasant. simply enjoying the weight of her sprawled over him, his thumb running absentminded circles against her hip. )
Second time's the charm,
( he eventually says, and if she cranes her head to look up, she'll be able to see that faint curve of a smile on his lips. )
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she grins, a sleepy sight. her lids are heavy, the unfamiliar beckoning of rest calling to her, and still the only thing she's sharply aware of is him. )
So they say.
( as long as you don't want me to go.
as willing as she was for sleep to find her, to nestle around them, what was to guarantee he'd still be there, by morning? it was easier than stitching together a goodbye, slipping from her during the night when she can't feel it; yet. she detests that these darker murmurs find her whenever she's met with something good, but ridding of them, the place they've found within her skull, is a feat that's none to easy to undo. carefully, she's lifting her hips, if only so she can settle atop him again more comfortably once he's slipped out of her like a breath, so there's nothing left to say she has to move, and when she folds against him again, it's with a contented sigh. )
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the question of leaving doesn't even occur to him. she said she wanted him to stay, and so he would. )
Thank you.
( he murmurs against the top of her head, lips brushing her hair. he's certain the main problem will be falling asleep at all, and yet as he sinks into the bed, the exhaustion rolls over him in a drowning wave, tugging at him with heavy weight. sinking beneath the water and feeling it nipping at his heels. even as it encroaches, the greatest surprise is realising that he could actually doze right here, just drift off with the gentle rise-and-fall of his chest under karen's chin, her hand splayed across his skin, her legs tangled in his. )
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thank you. an affection pressed to her forehead, and she's left ruminating quietly just there beneath the hood of his jaw. she doesn't sit upright, instead, letting closed lids paint her for him, the tips of her fingers drawing mindless little circles against his chin. her tongue is lazy, used, but when she finally encourages it around the syllables that follow, it's reaching. )
What are you thanking me for?
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bucky's almost asleep, teetering right on that border where you might slip under, but he's still awake enough to mumble: )
Just— for everything.
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every one of her bones feels as if it's pulling, weighted, and that cloud of sleep brims all the further over the both of them til she's not so sure where she ends and he begins, anymore. and maybe if she were a bit more awake, she'd gently pry at that gratitude a bit further, expose those softer underbellies that hid beneath — maybe if they hadn't gone two rounds, reminded one another what it felt to be had. but she doesn't have to ask, not when it reaches her the way it does, when she understands what it is he's thanking her for beyond the touch, and she owes it to him in kind. perhaps come morning she'll find a way.
half-lidded, she's swiping a thumb beneath his collar before fingers sleepily stumble down to those tags once more, the very ones she'd used to lure him into that bed with her. JAMES B BARNES — lashes flutter — T42 -43B, and finally, finally they fall to a close. her ankle gives one last curl against his, and when she drifts it's with his taste on her tongue, hips and bottom growing into those love-bruises, every bit of her in that moment his. )
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bucky is a light sleeper even at the best of times — long habits, old history, always ready to wake up in the field to the patter of gunfire — and a restless one at that, usually only catching a couple hours before waking up, then falling back unconscious, wash rinse repeat. he'd half-expected having someone else in the bed with him would have made it even worse. that had been a thing, once: struggling to rest with the unaccustomed weight of someone else on the mattress beside you, a warm body tipping the scales askew, nerves bringing you out of your light slumber.
but there's something about the exhaustion that settles in after some a good, strenuous fuck which just knocks him out for the count. the weight of karen near him is more like a weighted blanket rather than an anvil; it turns out to be more soothing than disorienting. so he sleeps (almost the whole night through; only waking up once, and that alone is still a miracle).
when they eventually both stir, her body is a cacophony of small, pleasant aches; his own has bounced back quicker, that healing working away on it overnight, sweeping away the fatigue as if it had never been. he almost wishes it hadn't. he wants that wobbly-legged feeling of having used muscles he hasn't in so very long. wishes he had the reminder.
instead, though, at least there's this: karen's strawberry-blonde hair across the pillows, her face still burrowed against his chest. his human arm's fallen asleep where she's lying against it, and it's probably going to tingle with stinging pins-and-needles when she eventually moves — but that, too, is a pleasant ache. when the dawn sunlight through the curtains is enough that bucky notices it, he's awake — still too early, considering their late evening, but it was still a good few hours of rest. he breathes in; breathes out; looks up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lets his memories skitter around before they finally catch and he realises where he is. an unfamiliar ceiling doesn't have to be a terrible thing. it's fine. he's fine.
he's still in bed. with karen. in her bedroom. in her apartment.
all of these facts settle like keys in a lock. he exhales again, scrubs at his face with his metal hand. intellectually, it feels like the moment should be more awkward or uncomfortable than it is — what's morning-after etiquette like nowadays? another blank spot on the map that he's going to have to feel his way through — and yet bucky finds that he doesn't much mind. because it's nice. her bed is comfortable. having another warm body beside him— is comfortable. )
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as much as one would think there's a discomfort within that sort of rhythm — it became what she knew, became familiar, built some sort of home for her within it despite how dysfunctional, despite how harrowing. it didn't hold her kindly, but she's not too used to being held at all, and so maybe that's why she barely moves throughout the night. why limbs remain in their sleepy tangle with his — he anchors her in sleep in a way she doesn't understand. couldn't. something she doesn't dare venture to try, because if she figures it out, if she gets it all to make sense, she'll only then topple next into it's undoing.
here with him, there's no city around them. there's no memory, none of that tangible fear every time she naively thinks she's conquered it. there's only the rise and fall of his chest, letting it suspend her there — awash from the shore, but steady enough that she doesn't drift out too far.
when the world begins to tug at her again, it's in subtleties. toeing at the sheets — recognizing the warmth of his calve there. a flutter of lashes, enough to understand that it's morning, still early enough that the sun burns in citrus hues, not quite stretched to it's peak in the sky. and then slowly, and yet all at once, he comes back to her — the solidity of him beside her, beneath her, the barely-there brim of a pulse in his chest, reaching up to her cheek. she's still tired — one night of restful sleep didn't bode to make up for all the rest, but it's certainly a start — and there's a tiny sleep-sound that drifts from her lips, spine and limbs elongating into a stretch. gentle, unhurried.
yet, there's an unfamiliarity intruding here: to feel what it's like — for someone to stay. )
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karen's skin is warm from the covers and their shared body heat, almost like there's a radiant sun buried beneath her flesh, the warmth of a summer's day beside him. when his gaze moves up to her face — their faces are far too close to each other on those pillows, he's not used to peering at someone so near and within his personal space — his mouth settles into a smile. it transforms bucky's face from its habitual stony glower, makes him seem suddenly years younger, more carefree. )
Hey.
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this. if only she could bottle exactly this.
there's a bashfulness that creeps up to her cheeks, swelling with a smile that's all teeth, and the arm that'd draped his chest raises to run two fingertips, one trailing just behind the other, along the stubble of his jaw. she can still feel him between her thighs, the ghost of his grasping at her hip. )
Hi there. ( those digits trail up, grazing along his cheek, the edge of his brow, before they're retracting to bundle up beneath her chin, both of them sharing the plush of the same pillow. teeth make purchase at her lips, a thoughtful chew, unable to rid of that smile of hers — marveling in the way his eyes speckle with morning. )
You sleep okay?
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( it's maybe not a shock that bucky doesn't usually sleep well. he doesn't go into it, though, doesn't supply the additional detail of hey i usually suffer from horrific nightmares, but i slept well beside you. that feels like too much; maybe it'd be making more of this than he ought to, more of this than whatever... this is. whatever she's willing to let it be.
but for now, he can just savour it. the bed is still too soft, feels like it has way too much give and his spine isn't used to it, but being tangled up in her makes up for it. they might be all stale sweat and tacky skin from last night, but compared to the alternatives he's had to sleep in over the years — dried blood, mud — he's not complaining about this. )
How about you? Sorry if I turned the bed into a furnace or something. I kind of— overheat.
( it's something to do with that circulation, his persistent pulse and homeostasis and how his body doesn't let itself get too cold; more inadvertent little side-effects of the serum, everyday touches that nobody really could have predicted. his body runs hot, steady and warm beneath her hands. )
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