That simple touch wasn't terrible, like he'd secretly feared it might be; instead, it lit up something inside him, made his shoulders relax even as it made him want to be closer. He unconsciously slid half a step closer, watching her drink the water. Like the touch, knowing he'd provided for her did something to his gut, sending satisfaction thrumming through his veins.
He knew it was the alpha coming out, his hormones guiding him through this as best they could after seventy years of suppressants and drugs, and it was a good sign; Bucky just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to face having less control over his body. Still, as he'd talked to the doctors, it was better to deal with it now, in a careful, controlled environment with someone he respected and trusted — and he respected and trust Natasha — and he did trust her, and not just because Steve trusted her.
He watched quietly as she pulled off her jacket, her scent even more pronounced now that she had it off. His nostrils flared, lust banking in his blue eyes, and when she asked him to touch her, he was ready. More than.
When he reached out, his hand was steady despite the urge to just reach out and pull her close, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, barely touching her. His hand was a whisper against her shoulder, and he trailed his fingers down her bicep, still light, almost as if he were afraid to put more force behind his touch.
She'd expected hesitation, or even an outright refusal, so when Bucky stepped closer and reached out to let his fingers drift over her skin, Natasha was, admittedly, taken a little aback. Particularly with the spike in his scent, gunpowder and mint immediately flooding into her nose and making her blood begin to race. Her own nostrils flared in response, and she couldn't help that her lips parted on a soft sigh, lashes slowly drifting over deep green.
His touch was so light. Almost reverent. But somehow, sure. The calloused pads of Bucky's fingers were a sensual roughness against her pale skin, and Natasha bit back a very small moan as sensation began to blossom from that small point of contact. Christ, but she hadn't expected this to take so fast. Although they shared violent histories and carried burdens that would crush most normal people, they were still relative strangers. But something was building between them, something that coiled and purred and yearned.
And she felt it; the instinctual urge to become soft and submissive, caring and comforting, to be willing to soothe the Alpha in front of her however was required, and Natasha didn't even realize that she'd lifted her own hand to rest on Bucky's elbow, dexterous fingers trailing the opposite direction as they smoothed upwards to caress his tricep then feather softly over his right shoulder. She didn't want to push too far into his comfort zone, but these small steps were so important; she needed him to trust her with his body, to know that every move she made was for his benefit.
But she didn't realize that her other hand had moved to flatten against his left ribcage, fingernails gently catching in soft fabric. The closer they became, the stronger the urge to touch grew. The redhead took another involuntary step, placing her small frame between Bucky and the kitchen counter, and tilted her head a little more, offering him her throat.
"You can scent me," she murmured in a throaty whisper, "if you want." Teeth nibbled at her lower lip, and Natasha's hands tightened on Bucky's body, just a fraction. "...I want you to," she admitted.
He wanted to hold off, give it more time. Had it been anyone but Natasha, he’d still be across the room, eyeing whoever it was with wariness. But it was Natasha, who he knew, both in this life and from his time as the Winter Soldier, even if she was mostly a stranger. She was safe, in the very way that she wasn’t, in the way that they shared a history, knew the burdens they carried. She could hold her own against him, if the situation was such that he needed to be subdued. Not that anything in him said violence; it was the exact opposite thrumming in his veins. A desire to possess, yes, but also treasure and comfort and protect, all wrapped up together in something Bucky couldn’t untangle. Wasn’t sure he wanted to try to untangle.
He always had been protective, in his own way. He remembered that much.
He deliberately keeps his touch light and delicate. Over the months, he’s learned how to temper his strength but he’s still somewhat cautious about people, especially people he hasn’t touched before, until he learns what they like, what they don’t like. He’s not afraid of crushing Natasha, but doesn’t want to push her in a way she doesn’t want. Watching her bite back a sound makes him wonder; it doesn’t seem bad, especially since she isn’t drawing away. Bucky finds he wants to keep going, wants to push a sound out of her, any sound — every sound.
Hyper aware of his body, he knows instantly when she touches him. It makes him tense slightly, but not so much that he freezes or shakes off her touch. They’re small steps, and he knows they’re necessary to get to the bigger things looming on the horizon. He makes a soft noise, halfway between a moan and a growl, as she slides between him and the counter, and it’s easy to get lost in the sensation, slide in just a little to press her closer. He wants to consume her, his hormones screaming at him. Almost in a daze, he dips his head to her throat, the pale expanse of skin bared to him calling out to every instinct he has. His nose runs along the curve of her throat, scenting, practically able to feel her scent on his tongue, and he wants to mix his scent in with hers, wants to bite —
And then he’s three feet away, breathing heavily, and staring at her with heavy eyes.
She didn't need protecting. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, and had done so for longer than she could remember. But nevertheless, despite all of her strength, when Bucky lowered his head to her throat, the flare of his nostrils soft against her skin, Natasha had instantly let her head fall back further, feeling every nerve beneath her skin blaze to life instantly. She heard him make a soft thrumming growl and it had her gut clenching almost painfully, suddenly needing the pressure of his teeth sinking into her willing flesh.
Her breathing quickened, not out of fear but from sheer anticipation, and she'd just begun to slide her arms around him, to hold him close, and to lean back on the counter, spread her thighs and take him completely...
But then he was ripped from her arms, and halfway across the kitchen, leaving her propped against the counter on unsteady knees, panting softly, and staring right back at him with eyes gone wide and dark with barely restrained desire. Natasha gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles aching with the strain, and that small pain helped her swim up from the depths of absolute lust in which she'd been drowning, and she blinked several times, giving her head a minute shake in an effort to clear her fogged mind.
It took her several tries, but she finally managed to find her voice again, and it only sounded a little breathless when she could speak again, though she tried to pretend the huskiness in her tone wasn't from the still-clinging want yearning below her stomach.
"...okay. ...it's...okay. That was...that was...a little far. Wasn't it." Not really a question, considering that he was staring at her as if either of them might suddenly burst into flame right in front of the other.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
no subject
He knew it was the alpha coming out, his hormones guiding him through this as best they could after seventy years of suppressants and drugs, and it was a good sign; Bucky just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to face having less control over his body. Still, as he'd talked to the doctors, it was better to deal with it now, in a careful, controlled environment with someone he respected and trusted — and he respected and trust Natasha — and he did trust her, and not just because Steve trusted her.
He watched quietly as she pulled off her jacket, her scent even more pronounced now that she had it off. His nostrils flared, lust banking in his blue eyes, and when she asked him to touch her, he was ready. More than.
When he reached out, his hand was steady despite the urge to just reach out and pull her close, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, barely touching her. His hand was a whisper against her shoulder, and he trailed his fingers down her bicep, still light, almost as if he were afraid to put more force behind his touch.
no subject
His touch was so light. Almost reverent. But somehow, sure. The calloused pads of Bucky's fingers were a sensual roughness against her pale skin, and Natasha bit back a very small moan as sensation began to blossom from that small point of contact. Christ, but she hadn't expected this to take so fast. Although they shared violent histories and carried burdens that would crush most normal people, they were still relative strangers. But something was building between them, something that coiled and purred and yearned.
And she felt it; the instinctual urge to become soft and submissive, caring and comforting, to be willing to soothe the Alpha in front of her however was required, and Natasha didn't even realize that she'd lifted her own hand to rest on Bucky's elbow, dexterous fingers trailing the opposite direction as they smoothed upwards to caress his tricep then feather softly over his right shoulder. She didn't want to push too far into his comfort zone, but these small steps were so important; she needed him to trust her with his body, to know that every move she made was for his benefit.
But she didn't realize that her other hand had moved to flatten against his left ribcage, fingernails gently catching in soft fabric. The closer they became, the stronger the urge to touch grew. The redhead took another involuntary step, placing her small frame between Bucky and the kitchen counter, and tilted her head a little more, offering him her throat.
"You can scent me," she murmured in a throaty whisper, "if you want." Teeth nibbled at her lower lip, and Natasha's hands tightened on Bucky's body, just a fraction. "...I want you to," she admitted.
no subject
He always had been protective, in his own way. He remembered that much.
He deliberately keeps his touch light and delicate. Over the months, he’s learned how to temper his strength but he’s still somewhat cautious about people, especially people he hasn’t touched before, until he learns what they like, what they don’t like. He’s not afraid of crushing Natasha, but doesn’t want to push her in a way she doesn’t want. Watching her bite back a sound makes him wonder; it doesn’t seem bad, especially since she isn’t drawing away. Bucky finds he wants to keep going, wants to push a sound out of her, any sound — every sound.
Hyper aware of his body, he knows instantly when she touches him. It makes him tense slightly, but not so much that he freezes or shakes off her touch. They’re small steps, and he knows they’re necessary to get to the bigger things looming on the horizon. He makes a soft noise, halfway between a moan and a growl, as she slides between him and the counter, and it’s easy to get lost in the sensation, slide in just a little to press her closer. He wants to consume her, his hormones screaming at him. Almost in a daze, he dips his head to her throat, the pale expanse of skin bared to him calling out to every instinct he has. His nose runs along the curve of her throat, scenting, practically able to feel her scent on his tongue, and he wants to mix his scent in with hers, wants to bite —
And then he’s three feet away, breathing heavily, and staring at her with heavy eyes.
no subject
Her breathing quickened, not out of fear but from sheer anticipation, and she'd just begun to slide her arms around him, to hold him close, and to lean back on the counter, spread her thighs and take him completely...
But then he was ripped from her arms, and halfway across the kitchen, leaving her propped against the counter on unsteady knees, panting softly, and staring right back at him with eyes gone wide and dark with barely restrained desire. Natasha gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles aching with the strain, and that small pain helped her swim up from the depths of absolute lust in which she'd been drowning, and she blinked several times, giving her head a minute shake in an effort to clear her fogged mind.
It took her several tries, but she finally managed to find her voice again, and it only sounded a little breathless when she could speak again, though she tried to pretend the huskiness in her tone wasn't from the still-clinging want yearning below her stomach.
"...okay. ...it's...okay. That was...that was...a little far. Wasn't it." Not really a question, considering that he was staring at her as if either of them might suddenly burst into flame right in front of the other.