"Natasha, the ultimate goal is to keep us both alive. I'm not willing to consider anything else right now," Bucky says, meeting her eyes with his own. There's a desperate pull in his belly, a need to be with her and show her just how much he cares about her but it's difficult because she's got so many gaps in her memory. Is it fair to push this on her right now? Is it fair to seek her body when he's the one with more power than she's got right now? He doesn't know.
"I'm just saying, I can take a hit better. I'm going to put myself between you and danger every time and it's not going to change. You mean too much for me to do anything else. It's not in me to do anything other than that - but it's damned hard to kill me. I'm no regular human."
He's been shot and pulled the slugs out himself, healed up within a day or two. He knows that between the vibranium arm and his strength and stamina he has an advantage over most everyone. He's relying on that.
Her fists suddenly clenched and she raised them to either side of her head, grimacing. "Stop it!" she shouted right back at him. "Stop saying that!" Memories slammed back into her eyes, vivid recollections of his own screams, the violent contortions of his big body as he tried to escape the Chair's ironclad restraints. He'd screamed and screamed. Because of her...
"Just stop it!"
Natasha whirled and hit the back door with enough force to bounce it back on its hinges, but she'd already flown through it, bare feet slapping against the patio brick as she fled down towards the beach. Terror followed her, flashes of deathly cold Siberian winters, needles and restraints, and the monotone dictum of orders, always orders, orders, orders.
She finally stumbled to a halt when she reached the surf, falling to her hands and knees in the frothy salt water, tears of unspent misery obscuring her vision. She couldn't do this, she just couldn't.
Bucky hadn't intended on this at all and like any time he's in a crisis, he starts triaging so he knows what to do next. The first thing to do is to get Natasha safe and calm so he runs after her and kneels beside her, heedless of the surf. She needs him right now and he's going to give her that in whatever form she'll take it.
He wraps his arms around her shoulders and presses a firm kiss to the crown of her head. "Nothing's happening. You're safe. These are just contingencies for situations that won't occur. Remember our training? Remember how we were taught to adapt to anything? This is just another example of that. We're adapting. I'm planning for us so we're not lost if we have to move or if there's a fire fight. That's all, Natasha. Nothing is going to happen to us and if it does, I promise I'll be careful. I promise I won't be reckless for the hell of it. Can you accept that from me?"
Her answer was to hit him with a closed fist, twisting around to flip him to his back in the drenched sand, one small but astonishingly strong hand curled around Bucky's throat. Natasha forced his head back, both of her knees pinning his arms to either side, but before she could succinctly cut off all oxygen, she wrenched back and stumbled away, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.
"...it-it doesn't matter," she droned through chattering teeth, suddenly so cold she was shivering. "We-we're nothing but-but weapons, aimed and fired by a madman's will." Bring him alive, and unspoiled. She closed her teeth around a scream, but dug her fingers into the sand to keep her fists from clenching.
"I have my orders," she suddenly said, voice wooden. "I'm to retrieve you by whatever means necessary, the ends are justified with the methods." Natasha shook her head, fighting with her programming, feeling like she was splintering into a thousand pieces. "Foil initial attack, earn confidence and trust, and then relocate to secure facility. Engage, coerce, and convince."
She glared at Bucky through her wet hair, eyes like ice. "And you're making it too fucking easy, Soldat."
"Is that what it is, then? You make me feel like my girl's come home to me and then you haul me in? Because I don't think that's what it is," Bucky says. His voice is a little hoarse from being choked but he can still speak and he does, using Romanian purposely instead of English or Russian.
"I've seen you with me, Natasha, and you aren't acting like you're programmed. It hasn't all been an act. Your fear, your longing - you can't fake things like that. Even the best dissembler there is couldn't manage to pull that off. I couldn't."
He stares her down, blue eyes meeting green. "You still care for me, deep down, and that's the real Natasha. That's my Natasha. You're stronger than this and you can fight it. I know you're in there.
The Romanian threw her off guard, since she had to translate even as she spoke. It made doing so a little difficult, but she was nothing if not determined. Natasha faced off with Bucky in the shallow surf, on her guard and inherently wary.
"You know what it is to be unmade," she snapped, wet hair hanging down her back. "You know how hard it is to fight their directives. Did you really believe they wouldn't see this coming? Truly?" Her brows snapped down and she glared right back at him, not giving an inch.
"To disobey is torture. You know that. You know how painful it is to deviate from the mission." She grimaced, a lance of pain shooting through the back of her neck, near the hypothalamus. Then her expression softened, and crumpled. "I don't want to obey them anymore, not if it means losing you!"
She knew what would happen to him if she obeyed her directive. And the thought of that, of the pain and torture he'd suffer because of her, cut into her deeper than a million knives ever could. "I cannot have you hurt again, not because of me!"
The Romanian seems to have gotten her attention, at least, so he eases back into Russian once he knows she's focused on him.
"So bring me in. Let's plan it so we have a way to get in and out but - complete your objective. Bring me in, help me kill the main players and get the code book and get out. There's too much of HYDRA to eliminate them all but if they don't have the book, they can't control me. If you bring me in, the mission's complete."
It's an absolutely idiotic plan and it sounds more Steve Rogers than Winter Soldier. Still, Bucky thinks they can get more done if they stop running from the problem and, instead, face it head on. Without the passwords, he can't be hijacked again and his liability is less. Natasha is different and hearing her say unmade brings back all the awful memories of his torture and knowing what she'd endured during her own.
"We'll fight like hell, you and me. We make a good team, Natasha, and we always have. Let's take them out head on and be free of them once and for all. You up for a trip to Siberia? I hear the weather's great this time of year."
That brought her up short, and Natasha just...stared at him. "...you're serious." It wasn't a question. And then, she shook her head. "No, you're just insane. Do you really believe we could pull something like that off?" She waved one hand, nonplussed. "The moment we arrive, we will be separated, you sent directly to the Chair, and I will be taken for debriefing and forced to witness your reconditioning." She couldn't swallow a pained whimper.
"I can't...I can't go through that again, James. I just can't."
She had no doubt that the moment she signaled, they'd be set upon like a pack of wild dogs on a gazelle; HYDRA was adamant about retrieving its very important and very expensive assets. Bucky they wanted with a vengeance; she ran the risk of being liquidated, or neutralized entirely. But in all likelihood, she'd be held in reserve again, a contingency just in case they lost control over their Fist once more.
All in all, Natasha felt she'd rather be dead.
"This plan is suicide," she muttered, turning away from the water and slowly began trudging back towards the house, hunched in over herself. Only to have her knees give out halfway up the beach, and she simply plunked down in the sand, head in her hands and miserable.
"It is suicide, which is why we aren't going to do it, Bucky says, giving her a wry look. "But running away from me is suicide too, Natasha. It's death by a thousand cuts. I don't want to see you hurt yourself over me anymore. I can take care of myself and I can take care of you."
He kneels down in the sand beside her and just waits for a bit, letting the fresh breeze tousle his hair and smelling the sharp scent of salt from the ocean. He's never had trouble with quiet, really, and especially not now. After a bit, though, he reaches his right hand up and rubs at the back of her neck, trying to soothe her.
"I can't swear to you everything is going to be roses. It's a lie and I don't deal in pretty lies. That's what you do and you're damned good at it. I'm muscle and I'll always be muscle. What I can promise you is that I'm in this with you until the end, no matter what that is. I'm hoping it's the two of us in rocking chairs on a porch somewhere but I'll settle for not being on the run for now. Believe in me if you can't believe in us right now, all right?"
Natasha vented a soft snort; the two of them in rocking chairs whiling away their old age was a ludicrous dream. A pretty one, but a dream all the same. She let him soothe her, however, silently craving his solid strength, his warmth, and his sweet, gentle touch. It was still somewhat alien, but familiar - a memory she'd clung to despite HYDRA's best efforts.
But what else could she do? She was broken, fragmented; she'd last perhaps a day, or less, on her own. For all of her skills, all of her disguises, she was still walking with a target painted bright upon her back. Nevertheless, she lifted her head and looked over at Bucky, gaze glassy and lips set in a thin line.
"I don't really like roses," she deadpanned in English, a brief sparkle of mirth coloring her eyes lighter. Then she reached out, took him by the shirt, and pulled him close, gluing her lips to his.
The kiss is unexpected but it's not unwelcome and even though they're kneeling in the sand, he won't pull away. Not now, not when she needs him. Bucky wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her into his lap so he can get closer still.
The waves are echoing in the background and the breeze is ruffling her hair but all he can feel and think and taste is Natasha. He reaches beneath her shirt to find her bra, metal fingers fumbling a bit with the tiny clasps. Finally, he just rips it and imagines she's got another or that he can get her one if it's necessary.
"I've got to touch you," he gasps out. "I need you."
Salt and sand covered them both, but those were minor inconveniences compared to the heat that blazed between them. Natasha willingly went into Bucky's lap, whimpering in barely-masked pain as she gripped his head to kiss him harder. Her hands in his hair pulled, holding him as close as she could even as they strained against each other.
The crash of waves on the shore was loud, but louder still was the thundering of their hearts, resonating in her ears. She had to have him. He was hers and she was his, and those truths were the only things that made sense in all the universe. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. be damned, they were together, and nothing was ever going to tear them apart. Not again.
The rip of fabric, however, had her lip curling in sardonic amusement, and Natasha pulled away just enough to pant a rough chuckle, nipping at the ridge of Bucky's jaw as he yanked on her clothes. "--then have me," she directed, releasing him just long enough to peel off her drenched shirt, then give his the same treatment, throwing both sodden garments aside.
"...yours," she breathed between kisses scattered across his face, tasting the salt on his skin. "I'm yours, James..." Her head fell back, guiding his mouth to her throat, and she rocked in his lap, all but burning for him. "...all yours, moya zvezda."
"Make a list of clothes I need to replace," Bucky pants against her ear, dipping his head so he can draw her nipple into his mouth, palming her other breast with his right hand. Perhaps it's not the best place to take his time but Bucky does anyway, wanting to reacquaint himself with Natasha in a way he hadn't on the plane.
There's salt on her skin and the breeze is whipping around them but he doesn't care. All he cares about is making her feel good and when she slides his hand down into her jeans to get them undone, he isn't thinking about logistics. He slides his fingers against her without pushing them down, slipping between the fabric and her skin.
"I need you to come for me," he says roughly against her ear, teeth nipping along the line of her neck. "Please come for me?"
They'd done this before. She knew they had. But before, there'd been none of this frantic urgency, this desperation and pain, clawing at the both of them with cruel talons, urging them closer together despite the location, circumstance, and roughness of sand coating them both. A touch was all she needed to splinter apart, writhing in Bucky's lap as his fingers coaxed her right over the edge. Her teeth sank into the side of his throat, sharp fingernails gripped his back as she shuddered against him, mewling softly once it had ebbed. But only briefly, she knew.
Passion was never sated, not between them. Slaked, perhaps, but never spent. Still somewhat boneless, Natasha rolled to her back in the wet sand, pulling her lover right along with her, the better to hitch her legs around his waist and strain upwards into him, begging with open-mouthed kisses covering his neck, jaw, and cheeks. Clothes were still an unwanted barrier, and it was a muted snarl that escaped her when she went to work rectifying that.
"...I need you naked, James," she panted in a rough voice, jerking at the zipper of his jeans. "Right now."
The sting of her teeth against his skin is a welcome reminder that things weren't ever tame between them even if things had been warm and friendly once. They'd run away to a house just like this not that long ago and they'd played at being nobodies, played at being just a man and woman in love. Even still, they were deadly beneath it, and Bucky's never forgotten that. It seems that Natasha hasn't either.
When she starts jerking at his jeans, Bucky twists a little to help her along. There's sand everywhere and there's salt-tanged wind that's blowing around them; it's the off-season and no one is there to see them right now but Bucky's pretty sure he wouldn't care if there was anyone. He needs to be in her, now, and he tears at the remainder of his clothes and hers so he can get skin to skin.
"I need you," he rasps. "I need to be in you. Ride me right here."
They used to take care with their wardrobe, particularly since explaining the loss of it to their handlers wasn't ever ideal. But this time, there was no one to answer to, save for perhaps each other, and words were simply inadequate when it came to that. Instead, they spoke in frantic kisses and eager touches, sharp bites and raking fingernails. And it was, perhaps, the only language that they both never needed translated. Especially when it was spoken with each other.
Natasha wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but all of a sudden both she and Bucky were naked, she was back astride his lap, feeling the corded strength in those powerful, beautiful thighs, and she wasted not a second more in shifting about just right and sinking down on his erect cock, biting off a whimpering moan as he filled her in a single smooth stroke. Her knees dug into the sand, but her hands were holding his head still for her desperate kisses, and they rose and fell together just like the tides, still crashing onto the shore not twenty yards away.
Red curls stained both of their faces, a crimson shield against the rest of the goddamned world, but Natasha couldn't get enough of him; she clutched him as tightly as she could, gasping small cries of pure pained pleasure as they surged against each other, and she thought she'd never, ever, get enough.
It's never enough with her. It's why he'd ended up getting reprogrammed to begin with, being with her, and when he'd broken free of Hydra and his memories had come flooding back they'd all been painted with the crimson of Natasha's hair against his skin.
He holds her hips tightly, holding her stable so he can thrust up into her in spite of her being in his lap and when he kisses her, it's no soft thing. It's furious and wild as the sea behind them - tongues and teeth and lips meeting in a riot.
It's not wise to do this out in the open, maybe, but even in a resort town like this one two people losing themselves to passion on a mostly private beach wouldn't be worth notice. Besides, Bucky just doesn't care.
Natasha dimly realized that she tasted blood, who's she didn't know nor care. All that mattered was the exquisite coppery flavor on her tongue, accompanied by the frantic buck of Bucky's body beneath hers, driving her higher and higher with breathless abandon as they slipped and slid against each other. His bruising grip at her hips kept her from thrashing, but she nevertheless writhed against him, needing him to drive her insane.
Frantic kisses turned sloppier still, and Natasha finally had to rip her mouth away to breathe, and then call his name in a breathless, panting voice, whining as she strained both around his aching cock and in his unassailable grasp. The thought that someone might see never once entered her mind; her entire world consisted of her James, their passion, and her need.
Blood and tears have never been a problem for him. It's furious, their coupling, and everything about them is fire and passion and all the things that HYDRA never wanted them to have. No matter what they do, no matter how their change their memories, they always drift back.
They fit.
Her body is tight and wet around him, a perfect fit, and while he normally likes laying a woman out and wringing pleasure out of her for hours he needs to reconnect with Natasha right now in the most primal way he can. They're both monsters, in a way, carefully reared by their cruel keepers, and it's marked them.
"Tell me it'll never be anyone but me. Tell me it's only me."
She did, because it was true. No one had ever had this much power over her, had ever been able to break her apart with just a simple touch. A word, a look, a smile; those were Bucky's most powerful weapons when it came to dealing with Natalia Romanova. And she shuddered apart in his arms, sinking her teeth into the side of his neck as she quaked, nearly turning herself inside out as she gripped him in every way that she could.
She knew she'd have bruises later, and no small amount of them, but she'd wear them lovingly, as pleased as any female had the right to be after a night of mind-shattering pleasure with her man. When she could finally breathe again - albeit shakily - Natasha licked the marks she'd left in Bucky's thick neck and ran her tongue up to his ear, licking and suckling the lobe.
"Come in me, malyutka," she ordered in her lust-laced voice. "Only you, James. It's always only ever been you.."
When she uses his given name and not soldat or Bucky or anything else, that's when he breaks apart the most. It's so tender even if this sex is far from it and he digs his fingers into her hips tight enough to bruise even darker as he pumps into her one, two, three more times until he's coming on a long, low growl.
His heart is beating too fast and his breath is coming in shallow gasps. It had built up to this, he knows, but he's still overwhelmed at how much he's feeling right now. He feels as if his whole body is a live wire, a fuse ready to go at any moment.
"I love you, Natalia. You know that, don't you? How much I love you?"
She was still shaking in his arms, trembling almost uncontrollably. But she kept her tight hold, her powerful, possessive embrace, despite the sand, sweat, and salt that coated them both. They were both such a mess, filthy from their explosive climaxes, but it couldn't have happened any other way. Their desire, their unequivocal need, for the other denied anything else.
Hearing Bucky's guttural declaration had tears staining her lashes again, smeared over his skin where she'd buried her face into his neck. But she nodded silently, not trusting her voice, and the wind scraped her tender skin raw, but it was a welcome pain, compared to this shattering she still felt inside. Yes, she knew. All else she might have forgotten, or chosen simply to not remember, but there was no way to ignore that.
He loved her. Even if she didn't deserve it.
"...I know," she managed to whisper, burying a hand in his hair, gripping tight.
"Never going to stop loving you," Bucky murmurs, keeping her close. They'll have to move eventually because they're a mess and need a shower to get everything sluiced off their bodies (and, frankly, probably for another round) but for right now he just wants to hold Natasha and let her know he's going to be there for her. He doesn't care how long it takes for her to get her memory back or if it never comes back entirely - they can build on what they have now.
"There's nothing anyone can do that will keep me from you. I'm going to be the one between you and everyone else who wants you," he murmurs. "There's no one and nothing that will take you away from me unless you just want to leave."
She'd be taking his heart with her, yeah, but he'd just have to learn how to live without it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
no subject
"I'm just saying, I can take a hit better. I'm going to put myself between you and danger every time and it's not going to change. You mean too much for me to do anything else. It's not in me to do anything other than that - but it's damned hard to kill me. I'm no regular human."
He's been shot and pulled the slugs out himself, healed up within a day or two. He knows that between the vibranium arm and his strength and stamina he has an advantage over most everyone. He's relying on that.
no subject
"Just stop it!"
Natasha whirled and hit the back door with enough force to bounce it back on its hinges, but she'd already flown through it, bare feet slapping against the patio brick as she fled down towards the beach. Terror followed her, flashes of deathly cold Siberian winters, needles and restraints, and the monotone dictum of orders, always orders, orders, orders.
She finally stumbled to a halt when she reached the surf, falling to her hands and knees in the frothy salt water, tears of unspent misery obscuring her vision. She couldn't do this, she just couldn't.
no subject
He wraps his arms around her shoulders and presses a firm kiss to the crown of her head. "Nothing's happening. You're safe. These are just contingencies for situations that won't occur. Remember our training? Remember how we were taught to adapt to anything? This is just another example of that. We're adapting. I'm planning for us so we're not lost if we have to move or if there's a fire fight. That's all, Natasha. Nothing is going to happen to us and if it does, I promise I'll be careful. I promise I won't be reckless for the hell of it. Can you accept that from me?"
no subject
"...it-it doesn't matter," she droned through chattering teeth, suddenly so cold she was shivering. "We-we're nothing but-but weapons, aimed and fired by a madman's will." Bring him alive, and unspoiled. She closed her teeth around a scream, but dug her fingers into the sand to keep her fists from clenching.
"I have my orders," she suddenly said, voice wooden. "I'm to retrieve you by whatever means necessary, the ends are justified with the methods." Natasha shook her head, fighting with her programming, feeling like she was splintering into a thousand pieces. "Foil initial attack, earn confidence and trust, and then relocate to secure facility. Engage, coerce, and convince."
She glared at Bucky through her wet hair, eyes like ice. "And you're making it too fucking easy, Soldat."
no subject
"I've seen you with me, Natasha, and you aren't acting like you're programmed. It hasn't all been an act. Your fear, your longing - you can't fake things like that. Even the best dissembler there is couldn't manage to pull that off. I couldn't."
He stares her down, blue eyes meeting green. "You still care for me, deep down, and that's the real Natasha. That's my Natasha. You're stronger than this and you can fight it. I know you're in there.
no subject
"You know what it is to be unmade," she snapped, wet hair hanging down her back. "You know how hard it is to fight their directives. Did you really believe they wouldn't see this coming? Truly?" Her brows snapped down and she glared right back at him, not giving an inch.
"To disobey is torture. You know that. You know how painful it is to deviate from the mission." She grimaced, a lance of pain shooting through the back of her neck, near the hypothalamus. Then her expression softened, and crumpled. "I don't want to obey them anymore, not if it means losing you!"
She knew what would happen to him if she obeyed her directive. And the thought of that, of the pain and torture he'd suffer because of her, cut into her deeper than a million knives ever could. "I cannot have you hurt again, not because of me!"
no subject
"So bring me in. Let's plan it so we have a way to get in and out but - complete your objective. Bring me in, help me kill the main players and get the code book and get out. There's too much of HYDRA to eliminate them all but if they don't have the book, they can't control me. If you bring me in, the mission's complete."
It's an absolutely idiotic plan and it sounds more Steve Rogers than Winter Soldier. Still, Bucky thinks they can get more done if they stop running from the problem and, instead, face it head on. Without the passwords, he can't be hijacked again and his liability is less. Natasha is different and hearing her say unmade brings back all the awful memories of his torture and knowing what she'd endured during her own.
"We'll fight like hell, you and me. We make a good team, Natasha, and we always have. Let's take them out head on and be free of them once and for all. You up for a trip to Siberia? I hear the weather's great this time of year."
no subject
"I can't...I can't go through that again, James. I just can't."
She had no doubt that the moment she signaled, they'd be set upon like a pack of wild dogs on a gazelle; HYDRA was adamant about retrieving its very important and very expensive assets. Bucky they wanted with a vengeance; she ran the risk of being liquidated, or neutralized entirely. But in all likelihood, she'd be held in reserve again, a contingency just in case they lost control over their Fist once more.
All in all, Natasha felt she'd rather be dead.
"This plan is suicide," she muttered, turning away from the water and slowly began trudging back towards the house, hunched in over herself. Only to have her knees give out halfway up the beach, and she simply plunked down in the sand, head in her hands and miserable.
no subject
He kneels down in the sand beside her and just waits for a bit, letting the fresh breeze tousle his hair and smelling the sharp scent of salt from the ocean. He's never had trouble with quiet, really, and especially not now. After a bit, though, he reaches his right hand up and rubs at the back of her neck, trying to soothe her.
"I can't swear to you everything is going to be roses. It's a lie and I don't deal in pretty lies. That's what you do and you're damned good at it. I'm muscle and I'll always be muscle. What I can promise you is that I'm in this with you until the end, no matter what that is. I'm hoping it's the two of us in rocking chairs on a porch somewhere but I'll settle for not being on the run for now. Believe in me if you can't believe in us right now, all right?"
no subject
But what else could she do? She was broken, fragmented; she'd last perhaps a day, or less, on her own. For all of her skills, all of her disguises, she was still walking with a target painted bright upon her back. Nevertheless, she lifted her head and looked over at Bucky, gaze glassy and lips set in a thin line.
"I don't really like roses," she deadpanned in English, a brief sparkle of mirth coloring her eyes lighter. Then she reached out, took him by the shirt, and pulled him close, gluing her lips to his.
no subject
The waves are echoing in the background and the breeze is ruffling her hair but all he can feel and think and taste is Natasha. He reaches beneath her shirt to find her bra, metal fingers fumbling a bit with the tiny clasps. Finally, he just rips it and imagines she's got another or that he can get her one if it's necessary.
"I've got to touch you," he gasps out. "I need you."
no subject
The crash of waves on the shore was loud, but louder still was the thundering of their hearts, resonating in her ears. She had to have him. He was hers and she was his, and those truths were the only things that made sense in all the universe. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. be damned, they were together, and nothing was ever going to tear them apart. Not again.
The rip of fabric, however, had her lip curling in sardonic amusement, and Natasha pulled away just enough to pant a rough chuckle, nipping at the ridge of Bucky's jaw as he yanked on her clothes. "--then have me," she directed, releasing him just long enough to peel off her drenched shirt, then give his the same treatment, throwing both sodden garments aside.
"...yours," she breathed between kisses scattered across his face, tasting the salt on his skin. "I'm yours, James..." Her head fell back, guiding his mouth to her throat, and she rocked in his lap, all but burning for him. "...all yours, moya zvezda."
no subject
There's salt on her skin and the breeze is whipping around them but he doesn't care. All he cares about is making her feel good and when she slides his hand down into her jeans to get them undone, he isn't thinking about logistics. He slides his fingers against her without pushing them down, slipping between the fabric and her skin.
"I need you to come for me," he says roughly against her ear, teeth nipping along the line of her neck. "Please come for me?"
no subject
Passion was never sated, not between them. Slaked, perhaps, but never spent. Still somewhat boneless, Natasha rolled to her back in the wet sand, pulling her lover right along with her, the better to hitch her legs around his waist and strain upwards into him, begging with open-mouthed kisses covering his neck, jaw, and cheeks. Clothes were still an unwanted barrier, and it was a muted snarl that escaped her when she went to work rectifying that.
"...I need you naked, James," she panted in a rough voice, jerking at the zipper of his jeans. "Right now."
no subject
When she starts jerking at his jeans, Bucky twists a little to help her along. There's sand everywhere and there's salt-tanged wind that's blowing around them; it's the off-season and no one is there to see them right now but Bucky's pretty sure he wouldn't care if there was anyone. He needs to be in her, now, and he tears at the remainder of his clothes and hers so he can get skin to skin.
"I need you," he rasps. "I need to be in you. Ride me right here."
no subject
Natasha wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but all of a sudden both she and Bucky were naked, she was back astride his lap, feeling the corded strength in those powerful, beautiful thighs, and she wasted not a second more in shifting about just right and sinking down on his erect cock, biting off a whimpering moan as he filled her in a single smooth stroke. Her knees dug into the sand, but her hands were holding his head still for her desperate kisses, and they rose and fell together just like the tides, still crashing onto the shore not twenty yards away.
Red curls stained both of their faces, a crimson shield against the rest of the goddamned world, but Natasha couldn't get enough of him; she clutched him as tightly as she could, gasping small cries of pure pained pleasure as they surged against each other, and she thought she'd never, ever, get enough.
no subject
He holds her hips tightly, holding her stable so he can thrust up into her in spite of her being in his lap and when he kisses her, it's no soft thing. It's furious and wild as the sea behind them - tongues and teeth and lips meeting in a riot.
It's not wise to do this out in the open, maybe, but even in a resort town like this one two people losing themselves to passion on a mostly private beach wouldn't be worth notice. Besides, Bucky just doesn't care.
no subject
Frantic kisses turned sloppier still, and Natasha finally had to rip her mouth away to breathe, and then call his name in a breathless, panting voice, whining as she strained both around his aching cock and in his unassailable grasp. The thought that someone might see never once entered her mind; her entire world consisted of her James, their passion, and her need.
no subject
They fit.
Her body is tight and wet around him, a perfect fit, and while he normally likes laying a woman out and wringing pleasure out of her for hours he needs to reconnect with Natasha right now in the most primal way he can. They're both monsters, in a way, carefully reared by their cruel keepers, and it's marked them.
"Tell me it'll never be anyone but me. Tell me it's only me."
no subject
She knew she'd have bruises later, and no small amount of them, but she'd wear them lovingly, as pleased as any female had the right to be after a night of mind-shattering pleasure with her man. When she could finally breathe again - albeit shakily - Natasha licked the marks she'd left in Bucky's thick neck and ran her tongue up to his ear, licking and suckling the lobe.
"Come in me, malyutka," she ordered in her lust-laced voice. "Only you, James. It's always only ever been you.."
no subject
His heart is beating too fast and his breath is coming in shallow gasps. It had built up to this, he knows, but he's still overwhelmed at how much he's feeling right now. He feels as if his whole body is a live wire, a fuse ready to go at any moment.
"I love you, Natalia. You know that, don't you? How much I love you?"
no subject
Hearing Bucky's guttural declaration had tears staining her lashes again, smeared over his skin where she'd buried her face into his neck. But she nodded silently, not trusting her voice, and the wind scraped her tender skin raw, but it was a welcome pain, compared to this shattering she still felt inside. Yes, she knew. All else she might have forgotten, or chosen simply to not remember, but there was no way to ignore that.
He loved her. Even if she didn't deserve it.
"...I know," she managed to whisper, burying a hand in his hair, gripping tight.
no subject
"There's nothing anyone can do that will keep me from you. I'm going to be the one between you and everyone else who wants you," he murmurs. "There's no one and nothing that will take you away from me unless you just want to leave."
She'd be taking his heart with her, yeah, but he'd just have to learn how to live without it.