Natasha always played her cards so close to her chest. Of course she wouldn’t have told anyone else; and yet that was an indescribable relief, too, knowing and realising and understanding that Steve hadn’t been privy to it either. It’s not like the entirety of their close-knit, ragged gang of fugitives had known something about James’ life that he hadn’t. It was just her. And now him. Just the two of them in this room, on the other side of the world from anyone else who mattered—
James hesitated, their hands still linked, looking at her.
“Just you and me,” he repeated, softly, and there was an additional meaning to those words, the weight of an us which hadn’t been there just half an hour ago.
Perhaps he should be cautious. Careful. Not step over this line too quickly, not endanger this fragile new dynamic between them; it was like a delicate seedling, still growing roots into the solid earth. She was still re-learning how to be friends with this new version of him, let alone anything more.
But once upon a time, long ago, before HYDRA and before the Winter Soldier and before WWII, Bucky Barnes had been a carefree flirt. Sometimes he felt like he could catch fleeting glimpses of that man, an echo ringing like he’d just walked into a room where his old self had left. And he was hungry, desperate for any kind of tether to those missing years, to that long empty blank space on his map — wanting more of that flash of memory, bridging the gap between who he was now and who he’d been then, re-learning himself.
And it seemed that whatever they’d had, it had been special. He could feel it in that electricity buzzing in his fingertips, sparking in the recollection, aching for the rediscovery even if it wasn’t quite the same.
He wanted to feel that much again.
He wanted.
So James closed the rest of the distance between them. His hand slid up the line of Nat’s bare arm, went up to her face, bracketed her cheek as he leaned in and kissed her back, his lips hard on hers; an answer to a question she’d already asked.
♥️
James hesitated, their hands still linked, looking at her.
“Just you and me,” he repeated, softly, and there was an additional meaning to those words, the weight of an us which hadn’t been there just half an hour ago.
Perhaps he should be cautious. Careful. Not step over this line too quickly, not endanger this fragile new dynamic between them; it was like a delicate seedling, still growing roots into the solid earth. She was still re-learning how to be friends with this new version of him, let alone anything more.
But once upon a time, long ago, before HYDRA and before the Winter Soldier and before WWII, Bucky Barnes had been a carefree flirt. Sometimes he felt like he could catch fleeting glimpses of that man, an echo ringing like he’d just walked into a room where his old self had left. And he was hungry, desperate for any kind of tether to those missing years, to that long empty blank space on his map — wanting more of that flash of memory, bridging the gap between who he was now and who he’d been then, re-learning himself.
And it seemed that whatever they’d had, it had been special. He could feel it in that electricity buzzing in his fingertips, sparking in the recollection, aching for the rediscovery even if it wasn’t quite the same.
He wanted to feel that much again.
He wanted.
So James closed the rest of the distance between them. His hand slid up the line of Nat’s bare arm, went up to her face, bracketed her cheek as he leaned in and kissed her back, his lips hard on hers; an answer to a question she’d already asked.