Before she even realized it, Natasha found herself sideways across Bucky's lap, one small hand at the nape of his neck, holding him against her as kisses deepened and lengthened, and the other wound beneath his left arm, clutching as if she were actually afraid to let go. But Bucky was kissing her as if his life depended on it, a passion so swift and unfamiliar that it made Natasha's head spin.

This was crazy. This was stupid. This was...necessary, she realized, breaking their lips for a brief breath, only to close her eyes and dive right back in, a low, husky moan escaping her throat when inquisitive tongues slipped and slid against each other. Her hand behind his head tangled in his thick hair, and Natasha squirmed, unconsciously needing...more, but still unsure if either of them really wanted to cross this particular line.