She shivers and there's a slight curve to his mouth, eyes half-lidded in the dim light. He'd been someone else back then, a weapon, but not one without thought, something more than a blank slate before they'd realized that things were coming back to him in bits and pieces. Taken him away from her, wiped him more and more, until they kept him clean. Pristine. Nothing to interfere with the programming.
Even through the murky depths of memories and crossed wires, he looks almost apologetic. Not the answer that he'd wanted. But he'd been her teacher, and he hadn't always been kind about it. He hadn't really been allowed to be, for both of their sake, especially when the men in uniforms would watch them through glass. And they'd had to pretending they didn't know they were there, as he knocked her down and she got up stronger. So one hand comes away from one of her wrists, touches against the line of her jaw as she presses her cheek to the floor. "You're not that good yet, Natalia," he murmurs in sort correction, reaching to brush red hair back behind her ear, faint affection in his fingertips. Maybe she is now, but she hadn't been then, and that's what he's caught on.
But she arches up against him, and that makes his breath catch, his hips twitching against her as she moves so their bodies are flush together. It's not entirely what he'd intended when he'd pinned her down, but it's a helpless reaction to how she moves against him- the same back then as it was now. "Safe." He echoes the word, but he doesn't question it, doesn't doubt her. He knows somehow that it's true. There aren't eyes here, the walls aren't concrete that never really keep out the chill of the snow outside.
Her wrist gently twists in his fingers, and he doesn't fight her on it, doesn't tighten metal fingers, but he doesn't let her go, either. Something about holding onto her, about having her in his hands, knowing that she's here, that he has her here. His other hand comes up to stroke against the side of her face. "I have to keep you safe, too." A low whisper, still in Russian, because that's easier for the moment, though he clearly has no trouble understanding her words. He remembers teaching it to her. He remembers-- so much, really.
He leans down over her a little, nudging against the tip of her chin. "You'll get yourself into trouble," he murmurs, almost chiding, though it isn't really. "Always too stubborn." Although the truth was that he'd always liked that about her. The way she fought, tooth and claw, always getting up, pushing back. "Can we stay?" Somehow, he seems to understand that she knows the answer to that question better than he does. And he trusts her, troublesome though she might be.
Never had she ever been afraid of him. Afraid for him, yes, and often, but to fear this complicated and half-broken man seemed the worst form of blasphemy. Out of all the friends and enemies (and lovers) she'd counted over the years, this man was the one who fell into all categories, and the one she'd unhesitatingly trust, no matter the situation. No matter the circumstance.
Natasha saw the hesitance in Bucky's eyes, felt it in his fingertips as they touched her face, so carefully. He'd never, not once, handled her roughly of his own accord, not even when she'd been at her most tempestuous, her most frustrated. But then, his silence had been enough to take the wind right out of her sails, able to quiet her rages with nothing more than a look. But even now, she recognized that reticence, the unwillingness to hurt, regardless of what the voices between his ears shrieked in demand.
"We are safe, James," she reiterated again, gazing up at him with calm eyes. Her own breath caught when she felt him respond to her stimulation - at least she could still reach him, if in the most unconventional way. He wasn't going to hurt her. She trusted him. And even in his darkest dreams, she knew he'd still trust her just the same. A lifeline, an anchor to sanity both of them shared.
Natasha tipped her head back when he nuzzled against her chin, breathing words against her in that low, guttural voice. He wasn't wrong; she knew she'd been more than a handful all those years ago, and she'd been more stubborn than even he had anticipated, but doing so had seen her able to weather even the most strenuous training then known to the world - she'd endured it and survived. "You're here to watch over me, my star," she whispered back, turning her head to nuzzle at his temple in return, easing one wrist free so that she might stroke her fingers through his hair, soothing, soft.
"Let's stay forever," she said afterwards, slowly hitching her knees around his hips, cradling his big body against hers. "I don't ever want to leave you again. We'll keep each other safe, yes?" Still moving slowly and gently, Natasha coaxed Bucky down to meet her lips, brushing hers against his tenderly, softly. "You're not him anymore, James. But I love you anyway, no matter what mask you wear."
She reiterates that sentiment, that they're safe, and he trusts her. He breathes slow and low, leaning into her. The feel of her beneath him, the way she shifts has a warmth in his veins, but he doesn't push it, doesn't push her, not with how the moment feel like it see-saws between two versions of what he knows, leaving him in this limbo space in between. But she feels like a constant.
But she tips her head back as he nuzzles in against her, and he can't help the soft kisses he presses to her throat, the side of her neck, burying his face into her skin, breathing in the scent of her hair. She'd always felt like a safe space. Like when they were alone, when he could curl his arms around her that they were okay. He sighs softly as she says that he's here to watch over her, and it's true. He keeps an eye on her when he can, does what he can to keep her safe, to make sure no one thinks she's too far out of line that they pay attention to her skill and not her temper.
"Forever. I like the sound of that. I want to keep you forever, my precious Natalia." Her knees press to his hips, and he shifts a little, sliding his arm underneath her. His metal hand that holds her other wrist gentle but firm, fingers stroking against her skin. She always makes him feel alive. "Yes. We'll be safe as long as we're together," he murmurs. Which hadn't been true then, no matter how much he'd tried to make it so, they'd taken him away. But here, now, it can be. They can watch over one another, make sure nothing hurts them.
Bucky murmurs as her lips press to his, and he leans into her, and he kisses her like he's drinking her in, like he's drowning, heady and desperate. And when their lips part, and she whispers words to him in soft Russian, he lets it wash over him. When he speaks, his voice is a little unsteady, a little lost. "Natasha?" He looks her over in the dim light, fingers not pulling away from her, but like he's unsure-- making sure that she's safe.
He wants her, wants to make her writhe, but he also wants to hold her tight, bury his face into her skin and just listen to her heartbeat until dawn. He couldn't articulate it exactly, but he knows what it is to lose her. He knows how precious she is to him. Natalia. Natasha. Both and something in between, and somehow in this moment the names and the masks feel like they don't matter because always, it's always her and him.
The tension was slowly bleeding out of him; she could feel his body relaxing one muscle at the time, and Natasha dared to breathe a soft sigh of relief. Bucky gathered her close, and she draped her free arm around him, returning the needful embrace, nodding to the words whispered beneath her ear, agreeing unconditionally. Then their lips met again, and he kissed her hard, swallowing her soft moans along with the taste of her tongue, and Natasha thought she might weep with the pure innocence of it, of all those long years lost and gone between them.
The need for breath pulled them apart - regretfully - but Natasha opened her eyes to hear Bucky speaking her name, minus the Soldier's guttural growl. Her eyes opened, meeting icy blue once again, her heart breaking to see the confusion still lingering in them. The uncertainty. The borderline helplessness, that he was unable to control even his own mind. But she nodded, making her lips curve into a soft, gentle smile.
"I'm here, James." Her fingers carded through his still-shaggy hair, feathering down to stroke his cheek. "It's okay, baby," she breathed in the heated space between them. "I'm right here." They had finally come full circle: from a frozen wasteland in the icy Siberian north to a sun-drenched plain near the center of the world. But she knew that as long as they were together, no one could ever hurt either of them ever again, and that was her most passionate wish, now and forever.
"You had a nightmare," she told him in a soft voice. Finally, she managed to wiggle her wrist free of his metal grip, lacing her fingers with those cool digits and tucking their hands in close. "Just a little bad dream, that's all." Better to make light of it, than worry him about it further. She still cradled him between her thighs, unwilling to relinquish even the slightest hold. A bare knee slowly eased up and down the outside of his leg, soothing, tantalizing.
Natasha nuzzled at Bucky's cheek, kissing him softly - no hard edges or sharp points here. "Wanna get back in bed, Sarge?" Her lips twitched and she huffed a small chuckle. "Floor's not exactly a pillowtop."
The name James still sounds a little strange on the air. But it's on her tongue, and that alone is enough to make it feel like it belongs. The way it comes like a soothing endearment, and he breathes, exhales, his shoulders shuddering a little as he leans into her. Her fingertips sliding through his hair, then brushing against his cheek as he nuzzles into her hand. She's here and somehow that's the best comfort that he thinks there is. Because they're together, and they're safe, and they can keep each other safe.
She says he had a nightmare, and her fingers lace with his, and it feels less disjointed, shadows of ghosts that he can't entirely name. He doesn't entirely remember the dream as much as he remembers the dark, the voices, the scraping sound of metal. Natasha holds him fast, pulls him together, keeps him from falling away, even to his own mind. She makes it sound smaller, less threatening, something not to worry about, and he lets himself believe that, at least for the moment. His breath catches a little as her knee drags against his bare leg.
He reaches up, curls fingers in her hair, moving so they cup the side of her face. "I want-- you," he voices, earnest, guileless, still rough around the edges. Not so much broken as he'd been at the first, but it takes time to soften those edges again, to pull all the tension and the chill out of him. He wants her, a helpless undeniable truth. But he gets the fact that she's not a big fan of the floor, so he moves, but he doesn't let her go. His hand sliding down to secure her against him, his other hand still curled with hers as he moves onto the bed, the blankets tangled half on the mattress and half on the floor from how he'd thrown himself to the floor.
"My Natalia," he says, but his voice is hushed, not edged in that rough growl from before.
She wanted him, too. There wasn't a day which went by that she didn't. Especially here, where all it might take was a look, a touch, or even a certain smirk to have the both of them abandoning whatever they might be doing to crash into each other again, lips on lips and hands hurriedly tugging at clothing as they aimed for - but didn't always make it to - their bedroom. It was if they were starved for each other, that twenty years of separation had only made them hungrier for the other, and Natasha never cared where they ended up, as long as they tumbled into bliss together.
Always together.
Her work with Rogers and Wilson had begun to taper off; she wanted less and less to do with the world these days, preferring to spend her time soaking up the quiet peace of this small, happy place, although she knew that eventually she'd have to pick back up again, but that was a problem for later, when late-night desire wasn't building with each small nuzzle and hungry kiss as Bucky levered them both up off of the floor and back into the rumpled bed.
Natasha wiggled her shoulders against the edge of the mattress, undulating her way back into bed, pulling her shaken soldier with her and cradling him once more in her arms and between her knees. She reclined against the pillows, holding him tightly, and meeting his lips with hers, sighing into their deep kisses. He seemed to be "back" with her now, although she knew that might change in a mere moment. But she knew both men in this same body; knew them and loved them both the same, thus she wasn't afraid as she sinuously wiggled out of Bucky's t-shirt, letting it disappear somewhere before sliding her arms back around his torso and rubbing bare breasts against his chest.
"Yes, moya zvezda," she whispered huskily, smirking slightly to feel him thick between her thighs, a little more Brooklyn etched in his tone and across his features, "only yours."
He was still on edge, a little out of it, even as he let her pull him to her. He didn't quite know himself in this moment, but he knew her, knew the red hair, knew he wanted her. He trusted her to keep them safe, at least for now, for the night. There was this sense that the closer they were, the lest pressing the dark shadows at the edge of his awareness were.
She slipped out of his shirt and he gasped softly, breathing into the curve of her neck. He was hard already, and the feel of her curves pressing against him, her breasts with their hard nipples pressing to his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed against her neck with a slight nip of teeth, a low sigh into her skin at the words that seemed to offer him some measure of contentment as he pressed against her, a twitch of his hips between her thighs. He'd only worn a pair of boxer briefs to bed, so there's little fabric between them, even if it's still too much for his desire.
"Good. Because I need you," he murmurs. Something possessive to the way his hands hold her, the tone of his voice. It's something he doesn't usually admit to, let alone let her see, but right now she feels too important for anything else. She's his anchor, she's safe in a way no one else is. He dips his head down, brushing kisses against her collarbone, then he claims her lips with a sudden surge of need, desperation. The ache of it, raw desire, shakes through his whole body, leaves him with half-formed images of what he wants.
He reaches up, curling fingers in her hair, twisting in silken strands. His touch is a little bit rougher, but there's an edge of something awed to it, too. He's better, calmer, the the pieces are still a little rough in places. He knows her, knows what they were, but hasn't quite worked out how they got from there to here. He believes her when she says that they're safe, but he still holds a little too tight; like he's afraid of losing her.
"Close your eyes," he demands in the dark. The words a little sharp, but mostly wicked. That edge that promises pleasure, even if he's a little bit selfish, lost between the two halves of himself.
If this was how he needed to work through the fog in his head, then Natasha had no hesitation whatsoever about assisting. Granted, she'd help him however he needed, but having those killing hands stroking over her bare skin set about an entire plethora of shivers from her head to her toes, coupled with small moans and whimpers whenever his teeth caught in her flesh.
She felt him hard and ready against her, only the barest layer of fabric separating them now, and she couldn't help but roll her hips beneath him, pliant and inviting, always. Her calves flexed against the back of his thighs, and Natasha caught her breath on a muted whimper when Bucky surged up and kissed her hard, the rough edge of barely-leashed desperation surging between them. She fisted a hand in his hair, anchoring him against her, and returned his roughness with just enough of her own, just enough to send the embers into a flame.
Bucky tugged on a thick scarlet curl, making her dig teeth into her lower lip, but she gasped soft breaths between their increasingly frantic kisses, until she heard him growl an edged command into the night. Close your eyes. It was in her to refuse, full of mischief, but the wicked, guttural purr in that order sent a spike of pure want down into her loins. But even as her lashes drifted closed, and her sensitive fingers skimmed over warm flesh and cool metal, she couldn't resist a mild, pouted protest.
Really, the fact that she protests doesn't surprise him, puts a flash of a smile on his lips, a flash of teeth as he leans in to scrape them softly against the skin of her shoulder. He likes how she reacts to him, how she feels in his arms. He wants her, needs her, needs this. She'd never taken orders well, not even in the bedroom, always pushed back, and even as some part of him craves the control as a way to wrap himself back together, craves he body over him and under him, it's still a pleasant thing. He murmurs into her skin, nuzzles softly against her as he lifts her. He manhandles her a little, though his touches are affectionate, about his desire for her, not overly rough. Even as he's shifting so that he can pull her up onto her knees with him, hands pressing hers to the edge of the headboard.
"Afterwards, my little spider. I'll make it worth it, I promise. And you wouldn't want me to have to punish you," he teases, words whispered against her ear as he holds her. His larger frame draped against hers, his broader build that much more visceral as he all but wraps himself around her. An edge of something a little possessive in how he holds her, touches her. She's his and he needs her, needs to hold onto her, keep her. He likes this, the way it feels with his body over hers in part because it allows him to believe that no one can take her from him.
He wasn't actually entirely teasing about punishing her. Something that could only come from the Soldier, the man that had been her teacher, had been willing to take her over his knee in the bedroom once or twice. When she'd keep pushing him, until eventually he'd push back and make her pay for her insolence in ways that they both enjoyed. It wasn't that Bucky didn't remember those things, but he wasn't that man anymore. And the idea of it was a little scary. He fought so hard for control, to be able to be good that giving in like this was a hard thing for him to manage without the impetus, without the way that the two halves of himself were closer than they usually were.
He touched her so sweetly in part because he couldn't help how touching her was almost like worship. But also because he didn't trust himself to let go, to unleash some of those impulses.
It made her gasp, being all of a sudden hauled up and around, put where he wanted her, and Natasha couldn't swallow a low, wanton moan of sheer lust at the firmness in those mismatched hands. Indeed, he wasn't the only one remembering those encounters years ago, when he'd been a different man, her teacher in more arenas than one. And it never ceased to make her burn, glimpsing that walking weapon in the man she loved, even at such a cost, such a cost.
That he could utilize all of that pain and suffering for anything other than killing was a blessing in disguise, as well as a testament to his impressive emotional and mental strength.
But Natasha let him move her where he would, gripping the head rail of the bed and arching her naked body back into his, wanting to feel him all around her. Oh, yes, she knew he'd make it worth the while, she had no doubt of that, but she just had to tease him, just a little, and parted her thighs invitingly, enough to cock her hips backwards and rub sinfully wet flesh along the ridge of those stretched briefs, tossing her head as she did so, scarlet curls tumbling down her bare back.
Licking her lips, Natasha obediently kept her eyes closed, but it was a whorishly wanton moan that escaped as she begged, "Punish me, Soldier. Please...punish me as you see fit, my star...please..." She trusted him, trusted him more than any other soul, and she wanted him to know that she could handle his roughness, his need for aggressive control.
Her hands grabbed against the rail of the headboard, and it drew a low murmur on his lips, his hands shifting to slide against her arms, down her body to rest on her hips as he still leaned forward against her. He had her where he wanted her, and for a moment, he just allowed himself to breathe in and savor the moment, even if his eyes still paid attention to her hands, not entirely believing that she wouldn't try to pull them away just because she could.
Her body arching back against him and his breath catches at the way that she shifts her hips back against him, dragging that slick wetness against him, pressing against the erection ill-hidden in his briefs. There's a low growl at the feeling of it, his fingers twitching against her, holding too-tight for a moment. His desire flaring, part of him wanting to just push the fabric down and feel her around him, but he wants so much more. And he wants to make her writhe.
It feels like so long since he's heard her beg like that, and it makes his insides twist with heat, want, need. There's something to the tone, the cadence of her voice, wanton and all irresistible sexuality and it went straight through him. He'd do anything for her if she asked him like that.
There's a memory of words whispered in shadows and stolen moments, promising, offering, allowing him to take and know that it was something they both needed sometimes. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, but it doesn't stop his hands from running over her skin, soothing away the red fingerprints. He doesn't apologize, just leans in, bending so he can nip teeth at the skin, his hands tugging her hips back a little, spreading her legs.
He moves slightly off to the side, his breath low and rough as he looks at her. There's a pause- silence, stillness, like he might not actually follow through. And then his flesh hand comes down on the raised curves of her ass. Not gentle, but not meant to hurt, either. Enough to sting, to leave heat and pink skin in the wake of his fingertips, the sound loud in the small room. And then there's another.
She hadn't really done anything to earn it yet, but she'd asked for it and that's even better. The trust. There's a pause as he leans in, dragging cool metal fingers over where he'd spanked her, tracing the curves of her rear, both soothing and a promise of more.
"Count them for me, my sweet one." His eyes sharpen, a glint in those blue eyes as his eyes drag over her body, his fingertips just barely dipping between her thighs, wanting to feel the heat of her, just for a moment. His fingers pull away and there's almost a moan on his breath, just from how much she affects him. "How many do you think you deserve?"
Feeling him shift about behind her had her senses piquing, but she obediently kept her hands on the rail and her eyes closed, now tingling all over in delicious anticipation of what he had planned next. This was a much better way to recuperate through a nightmare, truly. And if she were really honest, she had to admit that there were indeed times when she missed the Soldier, missed his callousness, his single-minded pursuit. Not that she'd trade her sweet and loving James for anything, but every so often, she craved a rougher touch. A little pain mixed very well with pleasure, after all.
The smack on her ass, however, had her lurching forward with a small yelp, the second strike earning a high moan, and Natasha dropped her head forward and arched up for more, rolling her hips in frustrated desire. She felt cool metal smooth over the heated skin and she whined, her loins aching for satisfaction. She began to count as instructed, but the too-brief dip of those fingers between her quivering thighs had her whimpering, rolling against them in lustful enticement. She felt so goddamned hot, arch of her rear still stinging, but her breasts throbbed, nipples tight and peaked, and she ground her teeth in effort to keep her voice even.
"That's two," she hissed softly. Then Natasha moaned, soft and pleading, back bowing as she wiggled like a sinuous serpent, legs spread and back arched, long scarlet eclipsing pale skin. "Two more," she moaned over her shoulder, lashes still closed. She didn't think she could take any more than that before going out of her mind with need. "Please, Soldier. Give it to me, baby...pleeeease.."
Bucky's not thinking about the nightmare, even if it's not quite just him in his head right now, if there's the edge of the Soldier in how he moves, how he pushes her. James is softer, so much softer than this. Scared of himself, of this part of him, this side of him, where there's beauty, pleasure in the pain. It feels too close to the dark, and so he buries it.
She yelps and he grins, not vicious, but pleased. A low growl that's not a threat and instead is all heat and desire, taken in by her beauty, how she moves, the sounds that she makes. He needs her, wants her. Wants her in so many ways, and where James' focus would be on her pleasure, the Soldier was willing to be a little selfish, to take where he knew they'd both enjoy the result. Because even to the Soldier, he loved her.
She asks for two more, and he doesn't say anything, but dutifully doles out two more swats of his hand against her rear. Even in the dim light, his gaze is on her, that pale skin, and how it turns pink under the impact. He spreads it out, both so it's not too much in one place, and so that he gets as much coverage as possible. He wants her to feel it when he's inside of her, when his hips rock against her--
For a moment his hand comes down like he might give her a third, but instead his hand stops at the last second, instead shifting to reach up and curl tight in her hair as his metal fingers curl against her hip. He presses himself up against her, letting his cock press against the heat of her. He shakes with that slick heat, and he dips his head, teeth biting into her shoulder for a moment, moaning hot and heavy.
"Don't move. But I want you to tell me. Tell me what you need, my little spider." His voice is thick with his own desire, and his hips twitch, giving away the fact that he aches for it as much as she does. He wants to just sink inside of her, wants her to feel it as he sinks into her, his hips presses to the heat of her pink skin.
But oh, he loves hearing her beg. Something about how wanton he can make her, and the knowledge of how that side of her is his and only his.
"All you gotta do is ask nice," he adds. His voice is all thick Brooklyn accent, a piece of something tripped in between the lines and broken edges when all he can do is focus on her, on how much he wants her, how he wants to feel her. She's more intoxicating than vodka, he thinks idly as his fingers tighten in her hair, firm but not cruel.
Even though she knew they were coming, the last two slaps to her exposed rear made Natasha voice a squeal and jerk on her knees just enough to rattle the headboard, her hands nearly white-knuckled from her strong grip. But she kept her eyes closed, although her head tossed now and again, wanting to shove backwards and impale her aching body on her lover's thick cock, now infuriatingly teasing between her soaked thighs.
His teeth in her flesh made her moan, another following the first in initial response to his growled command. She flexed her fingers on the headboard rail, trying not to rock back and forth on her knees, but it was almost an impossibility, given how hot her skin felt at that moment. And she heard the sheer need in Bucky's own voice, thick and dripping with pure animal lust. It had her trembling beneath him, teeth digging into her lower lip to keep from falling apart entirely.
"--I need your cock," she finally rasped, voice gone husky and low with everything thrumming through her blood. "I need you inside me, Soldier, filling me up over and over again." She whined as he pulled at her hair, letting her head fall back as she whimpered and begged. Her thighs shivered with her effort not to just drive her hips back into his, and Natasha keened a strangled moan, biting at her lips as she pleaded with both her body and her voice.
"...please-please-please...give it to me, I'm your good girl, yours-yours-yours..."
Her words make him shake a little, his fingers against her hip curling a little too tight, holding a little too rough with the feel of his desire. How much he wanted her, needed her, and how hard it hit him to hear her say those words, filthy and sultry and perfect, admitting that she was his. His good girl.
"Mine," is the answer he gives her, one word, growled low as he nuzzles against her spine, and there's no other warning when he sinks into her. He doesn't take his time, just gives it to her all at once, fierce and needy as he fills her with his cock, making her take all of it with a groan.
The messages in his head are all tangled, criss-crossed, and part of him feels like it's been so very, very long since he's hand her beneath him like this. And from a certain perspective he's not entirely wrong. "You're such a good girl, my little Natalia," he murmurs, teeth nipping against her shoulder as he tugs her head back, enjoying how it makes her back arch with him buried inside of her.
He doesn't stay still for long, his hips pulling back and then driving forward, rough and demanding. She's tight and slick around him and the way his hips rock into the skin of her rear, the skin warm from where he'd spanked her sends a certain thrill up his spine. He can't get enough of her, and his hand on her hip comes away to palm against her chest, cupping one of her breasts and pinching against her nipple as his hips drive his cock deep inside of her.
"I know you need this," he hums the words against her skin. "You're so good for me." His voice catches in a sharp gasp as he rocks into her again, his thrusts hard and fast, the sound of flesh striking flesh loud in the small space as he held her body against him, keeping her in place beneath him as he moves. She's beautiful, and she's his, and there's something to it that's a little darker than when James echoes similar words.
Not ownership, not the way the people that gave them orders had seen them, but possessive. Like he'd lose her if he let go. Like there were men in uniforms that could tear them apart, and it just makes him more desperate for her, for this. "Always mine."
She gave a strangled little cry when Bucky all of a sudden impaled her, but it was a sound of pure satisfaction rather than pain or surprise. Her body instantly convulsed around him, trying to draw him in further and deeper and never let him go. Natasha clenched her teeth, jaw tight, and had to drop her forehead to her upper arm to keep from screaming while he pounded into her, rough, hard, and fast, and she felt she might just shatter into a million glittering pieces at any moment. But she reveled in his brutality, wanted it so bad...
"Yours...!" she moaned, throwing his head back when he tugged at her hair, feeling his teeth assaulting her quivering flesh. "Oh, God, only ever yours, yes baby, yes...!" Unable to "obey" his commands any further, Natasha arched her back and parted her thighs even wider, offering him everything, begging for it. She pressed her breasts against his rough palm, nipples tight and hard, sensitive.
God, but she did need it. Needed him to soothe that dark passion that simmered beneath a pale, serene surface, to sate that demon that lived within them both. She'd never ask, never intentionally, because she knew how much he hated that part of himself, but it was still part of him, and if this was the way to feed it, then so be it.
Bucky held her tight for their ruthless fucking, and Natasha met him thrust for thrust, driving her hips back into his, moaning at the salacious wet sounds of flesh in flesh. She moaned with every breath, feeling her body begin to tighten and contract, squeezing his cock tight every time he battered back in.
All he could do was groan at the way that Natasha felt, her heat wrapping so tight around him that it made him shiver. It didn't stop the way that he moved, however, those rough, biting thrusts, the staccato rhythm of flesh on flesh as he drove his hips against her. It wasn't cruelty, he wasn't trying to hurt her, but the softness in how James even at his most desperate, his most needy touched her wasn't there.
His fingers wound in the red curls of her hair, tugging her head back and moaning low at the words she said, the way she sounded, caught up in that same current of need and desire. She opened her body to him, for him, and he took, sinking in deep over and over again, his breath coming hot and rough in the space between their bodies. His free hand palming over the swells of her breasts, the way that they fit in his hand, tugging against her nipples and then letting her rub them against her palm with a low throaty hum of almost-amusement.
He couldn't help the way he enjoyed her own desperation, the way it was a match for his own. That need, that darkness- the Soldier wanted to hold her and never let go. A subtle sort of possession, afraid of losing her, and even the part of him that was all ice and metal recognized just how important she was. Beautiful and perfect, even if at the moment his hands were rough, and his eyes were dark.
He holds her tight, too tight, close against him as he thrusts into her, low gasps at the feel of it, how her body grasps against him. He could feel her beginning to contract around him and he picked up the pace, those last few thrusts hard and deep, both of them sure to give out soon, and the soldier was selfish enough to push the edge of it.
Moments until his stamina gives out, and the way her body squeezes against him tips him over into his orgasm with a growl, his teeth finding that join of her neck and shoulder as he buries his face into her hair as his body slumps against hers.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
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Even through the murky depths of memories and crossed wires, he looks almost apologetic. Not the answer that he'd wanted. But he'd been her teacher, and he hadn't always been kind about it. He hadn't really been allowed to be, for both of their sake, especially when the men in uniforms would watch them through glass. And they'd had to pretending they didn't know they were there, as he knocked her down and she got up stronger. So one hand comes away from one of her wrists, touches against the line of her jaw as she presses her cheek to the floor. "You're not that good yet, Natalia," he murmurs in sort correction, reaching to brush red hair back behind her ear, faint affection in his fingertips. Maybe she is now, but she hadn't been then, and that's what he's caught on.
But she arches up against him, and that makes his breath catch, his hips twitching against her as she moves so their bodies are flush together. It's not entirely what he'd intended when he'd pinned her down, but it's a helpless reaction to how she moves against him- the same back then as it was now. "Safe." He echoes the word, but he doesn't question it, doesn't doubt her. He knows somehow that it's true. There aren't eyes here, the walls aren't concrete that never really keep out the chill of the snow outside.
Her wrist gently twists in his fingers, and he doesn't fight her on it, doesn't tighten metal fingers, but he doesn't let her go, either. Something about holding onto her, about having her in his hands, knowing that she's here, that he has her here. His other hand comes up to stroke against the side of her face. "I have to keep you safe, too." A low whisper, still in Russian, because that's easier for the moment, though he clearly has no trouble understanding her words. He remembers teaching it to her. He remembers-- so much, really.
He leans down over her a little, nudging against the tip of her chin. "You'll get yourself into trouble," he murmurs, almost chiding, though it isn't really. "Always too stubborn." Although the truth was that he'd always liked that about her. The way she fought, tooth and claw, always getting up, pushing back. "Can we stay?" Somehow, he seems to understand that she knows the answer to that question better than he does. And he trusts her, troublesome though she might be.
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Natasha saw the hesitance in Bucky's eyes, felt it in his fingertips as they touched her face, so carefully. He'd never, not once, handled her roughly of his own accord, not even when she'd been at her most tempestuous, her most frustrated. But then, his silence had been enough to take the wind right out of her sails, able to quiet her rages with nothing more than a look. But even now, she recognized that reticence, the unwillingness to hurt, regardless of what the voices between his ears shrieked in demand.
"We are safe, James," she reiterated again, gazing up at him with calm eyes. Her own breath caught when she felt him respond to her stimulation - at least she could still reach him, if in the most unconventional way. He wasn't going to hurt her. She trusted him. And even in his darkest dreams, she knew he'd still trust her just the same. A lifeline, an anchor to sanity both of them shared.
Natasha tipped her head back when he nuzzled against her chin, breathing words against her in that low, guttural voice. He wasn't wrong; she knew she'd been more than a handful all those years ago, and she'd been more stubborn than even he had anticipated, but doing so had seen her able to weather even the most strenuous training then known to the world - she'd endured it and survived. "You're here to watch over me, my star," she whispered back, turning her head to nuzzle at his temple in return, easing one wrist free so that she might stroke her fingers through his hair, soothing, soft.
"Let's stay forever," she said afterwards, slowly hitching her knees around his hips, cradling his big body against hers. "I don't ever want to leave you again. We'll keep each other safe, yes?" Still moving slowly and gently, Natasha coaxed Bucky down to meet her lips, brushing hers against his tenderly, softly. "You're not him anymore, James. But I love you anyway, no matter what mask you wear."
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But she tips her head back as he nuzzles in against her, and he can't help the soft kisses he presses to her throat, the side of her neck, burying his face into her skin, breathing in the scent of her hair. She'd always felt like a safe space. Like when they were alone, when he could curl his arms around her that they were okay. He sighs softly as she says that he's here to watch over her, and it's true. He keeps an eye on her when he can, does what he can to keep her safe, to make sure no one thinks she's too far out of line that they pay attention to her skill and not her temper.
"Forever. I like the sound of that. I want to keep you forever, my precious Natalia." Her knees press to his hips, and he shifts a little, sliding his arm underneath her. His metal hand that holds her other wrist gentle but firm, fingers stroking against her skin. She always makes him feel alive. "Yes. We'll be safe as long as we're together," he murmurs. Which hadn't been true then, no matter how much he'd tried to make it so, they'd taken him away. But here, now, it can be. They can watch over one another, make sure nothing hurts them.
Bucky murmurs as her lips press to his, and he leans into her, and he kisses her like he's drinking her in, like he's drowning, heady and desperate. And when their lips part, and she whispers words to him in soft Russian, he lets it wash over him. When he speaks, his voice is a little unsteady, a little lost. "Natasha?" He looks her over in the dim light, fingers not pulling away from her, but like he's unsure-- making sure that she's safe.
He wants her, wants to make her writhe, but he also wants to hold her tight, bury his face into her skin and just listen to her heartbeat until dawn. He couldn't articulate it exactly, but he knows what it is to lose her. He knows how precious she is to him. Natalia. Natasha. Both and something in between, and somehow in this moment the names and the masks feel like they don't matter because always, it's always her and him.
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The need for breath pulled them apart - regretfully - but Natasha opened her eyes to hear Bucky speaking her name, minus the Soldier's guttural growl. Her eyes opened, meeting icy blue once again, her heart breaking to see the confusion still lingering in them. The uncertainty. The borderline helplessness, that he was unable to control even his own mind. But she nodded, making her lips curve into a soft, gentle smile.
"I'm here, James." Her fingers carded through his still-shaggy hair, feathering down to stroke his cheek. "It's okay, baby," she breathed in the heated space between them. "I'm right here." They had finally come full circle: from a frozen wasteland in the icy Siberian north to a sun-drenched plain near the center of the world. But she knew that as long as they were together, no one could ever hurt either of them ever again, and that was her most passionate wish, now and forever.
"You had a nightmare," she told him in a soft voice. Finally, she managed to wiggle her wrist free of his metal grip, lacing her fingers with those cool digits and tucking their hands in close. "Just a little bad dream, that's all." Better to make light of it, than worry him about it further. She still cradled him between her thighs, unwilling to relinquish even the slightest hold. A bare knee slowly eased up and down the outside of his leg, soothing, tantalizing.
Natasha nuzzled at Bucky's cheek, kissing him softly - no hard edges or sharp points here. "Wanna get back in bed, Sarge?" Her lips twitched and she huffed a small chuckle. "Floor's not exactly a pillowtop."
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She says he had a nightmare, and her fingers lace with his, and it feels less disjointed, shadows of ghosts that he can't entirely name. He doesn't entirely remember the dream as much as he remembers the dark, the voices, the scraping sound of metal. Natasha holds him fast, pulls him together, keeps him from falling away, even to his own mind. She makes it sound smaller, less threatening, something not to worry about, and he lets himself believe that, at least for the moment. His breath catches a little as her knee drags against his bare leg.
He reaches up, curls fingers in her hair, moving so they cup the side of her face. "I want-- you," he voices, earnest, guileless, still rough around the edges. Not so much broken as he'd been at the first, but it takes time to soften those edges again, to pull all the tension and the chill out of him. He wants her, a helpless undeniable truth. But he gets the fact that she's not a big fan of the floor, so he moves, but he doesn't let her go. His hand sliding down to secure her against him, his other hand still curled with hers as he moves onto the bed, the blankets tangled half on the mattress and half on the floor from how he'd thrown himself to the floor.
"My Natalia," he says, but his voice is hushed, not edged in that rough growl from before.
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Always together.
Her work with Rogers and Wilson had begun to taper off; she wanted less and less to do with the world these days, preferring to spend her time soaking up the quiet peace of this small, happy place, although she knew that eventually she'd have to pick back up again, but that was a problem for later, when late-night desire wasn't building with each small nuzzle and hungry kiss as Bucky levered them both up off of the floor and back into the rumpled bed.
Natasha wiggled her shoulders against the edge of the mattress, undulating her way back into bed, pulling her shaken soldier with her and cradling him once more in her arms and between her knees. She reclined against the pillows, holding him tightly, and meeting his lips with hers, sighing into their deep kisses. He seemed to be "back" with her now, although she knew that might change in a mere moment. But she knew both men in this same body; knew them and loved them both the same, thus she wasn't afraid as she sinuously wiggled out of Bucky's t-shirt, letting it disappear somewhere before sliding her arms back around his torso and rubbing bare breasts against his chest.
"Yes, moya zvezda," she whispered huskily, smirking slightly to feel him thick between her thighs, a little more Brooklyn etched in his tone and across his features, "only yours."
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She slipped out of his shirt and he gasped softly, breathing into the curve of her neck. He was hard already, and the feel of her curves pressing against him, her breasts with their hard nipples pressing to his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed against her neck with a slight nip of teeth, a low sigh into her skin at the words that seemed to offer him some measure of contentment as he pressed against her, a twitch of his hips between her thighs. He'd only worn a pair of boxer briefs to bed, so there's little fabric between them, even if it's still too much for his desire.
"Good. Because I need you," he murmurs. Something possessive to the way his hands hold her, the tone of his voice. It's something he doesn't usually admit to, let alone let her see, but right now she feels too important for anything else. She's his anchor, she's safe in a way no one else is. He dips his head down, brushing kisses against her collarbone, then he claims her lips with a sudden surge of need, desperation. The ache of it, raw desire, shakes through his whole body, leaves him with half-formed images of what he wants.
He reaches up, curling fingers in her hair, twisting in silken strands. His touch is a little bit rougher, but there's an edge of something awed to it, too. He's better, calmer, the the pieces are still a little rough in places. He knows her, knows what they were, but hasn't quite worked out how they got from there to here. He believes her when she says that they're safe, but he still holds a little too tight; like he's afraid of losing her.
"Close your eyes," he demands in the dark. The words a little sharp, but mostly wicked. That edge that promises pleasure, even if he's a little bit selfish, lost between the two halves of himself.
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She felt him hard and ready against her, only the barest layer of fabric separating them now, and she couldn't help but roll her hips beneath him, pliant and inviting, always. Her calves flexed against the back of his thighs, and Natasha caught her breath on a muted whimper when Bucky surged up and kissed her hard, the rough edge of barely-leashed desperation surging between them. She fisted a hand in his hair, anchoring him against her, and returned his roughness with just enough of her own, just enough to send the embers into a flame.
Bucky tugged on a thick scarlet curl, making her dig teeth into her lower lip, but she gasped soft breaths between their increasingly frantic kisses, until she heard him growl an edged command into the night. Close your eyes. It was in her to refuse, full of mischief, but the wicked, guttural purr in that order sent a spike of pure want down into her loins. But even as her lashes drifted closed, and her sensitive fingers skimmed over warm flesh and cool metal, she couldn't resist a mild, pouted protest.
"But I want to see you, my beautiful star.."
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"Afterwards, my little spider. I'll make it worth it, I promise. And you wouldn't want me to have to punish you," he teases, words whispered against her ear as he holds her. His larger frame draped against hers, his broader build that much more visceral as he all but wraps himself around her. An edge of something a little possessive in how he holds her, touches her. She's his and he needs her, needs to hold onto her, keep her. He likes this, the way it feels with his body over hers in part because it allows him to believe that no one can take her from him.
He wasn't actually entirely teasing about punishing her. Something that could only come from the Soldier, the man that had been her teacher, had been willing to take her over his knee in the bedroom once or twice. When she'd keep pushing him, until eventually he'd push back and make her pay for her insolence in ways that they both enjoyed. It wasn't that Bucky didn't remember those things, but he wasn't that man anymore. And the idea of it was a little scary. He fought so hard for control, to be able to be good that giving in like this was a hard thing for him to manage without the impetus, without the way that the two halves of himself were closer than they usually were.
He touched her so sweetly in part because he couldn't help how touching her was almost like worship. But also because he didn't trust himself to let go, to unleash some of those impulses.
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That he could utilize all of that pain and suffering for anything other than killing was a blessing in disguise, as well as a testament to his impressive emotional and mental strength.
But Natasha let him move her where he would, gripping the head rail of the bed and arching her naked body back into his, wanting to feel him all around her. Oh, yes, she knew he'd make it worth the while, she had no doubt of that, but she just had to tease him, just a little, and parted her thighs invitingly, enough to cock her hips backwards and rub sinfully wet flesh along the ridge of those stretched briefs, tossing her head as she did so, scarlet curls tumbling down her bare back.
Licking her lips, Natasha obediently kept her eyes closed, but it was a whorishly wanton moan that escaped as she begged, "Punish me, Soldier. Please...punish me as you see fit, my star...please..." She trusted him, trusted him more than any other soul, and she wanted him to know that she could handle his roughness, his need for aggressive control.
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Her body arching back against him and his breath catches at the way that she shifts her hips back against him, dragging that slick wetness against him, pressing against the erection ill-hidden in his briefs. There's a low growl at the feeling of it, his fingers twitching against her, holding too-tight for a moment. His desire flaring, part of him wanting to just push the fabric down and feel her around him, but he wants so much more. And he wants to make her writhe.
It feels like so long since he's heard her beg like that, and it makes his insides twist with heat, want, need. There's something to the tone, the cadence of her voice, wanton and all irresistible sexuality and it went straight through him. He'd do anything for her if she asked him like that.
There's a memory of words whispered in shadows and stolen moments, promising, offering, allowing him to take and know that it was something they both needed sometimes. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, but it doesn't stop his hands from running over her skin, soothing away the red fingerprints. He doesn't apologize, just leans in, bending so he can nip teeth at the skin, his hands tugging her hips back a little, spreading her legs.
He moves slightly off to the side, his breath low and rough as he looks at her. There's a pause- silence, stillness, like he might not actually follow through. And then his flesh hand comes down on the raised curves of her ass. Not gentle, but not meant to hurt, either. Enough to sting, to leave heat and pink skin in the wake of his fingertips, the sound loud in the small room. And then there's another.
She hadn't really done anything to earn it yet, but she'd asked for it and that's even better. The trust. There's a pause as he leans in, dragging cool metal fingers over where he'd spanked her, tracing the curves of her rear, both soothing and a promise of more.
"Count them for me, my sweet one." His eyes sharpen, a glint in those blue eyes as his eyes drag over her body, his fingertips just barely dipping between her thighs, wanting to feel the heat of her, just for a moment. His fingers pull away and there's almost a moan on his breath, just from how much she affects him. "How many do you think you deserve?"
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The smack on her ass, however, had her lurching forward with a small yelp, the second strike earning a high moan, and Natasha dropped her head forward and arched up for more, rolling her hips in frustrated desire. She felt cool metal smooth over the heated skin and she whined, her loins aching for satisfaction. She began to count as instructed, but the too-brief dip of those fingers between her quivering thighs had her whimpering, rolling against them in lustful enticement. She felt so goddamned hot, arch of her rear still stinging, but her breasts throbbed, nipples tight and peaked, and she ground her teeth in effort to keep her voice even.
"That's two," she hissed softly. Then Natasha moaned, soft and pleading, back bowing as she wiggled like a sinuous serpent, legs spread and back arched, long scarlet eclipsing pale skin. "Two more," she moaned over her shoulder, lashes still closed. She didn't think she could take any more than that before going out of her mind with need. "Please, Soldier. Give it to me, baby...pleeeease.."
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She yelps and he grins, not vicious, but pleased. A low growl that's not a threat and instead is all heat and desire, taken in by her beauty, how she moves, the sounds that she makes. He needs her, wants her. Wants her in so many ways, and where James' focus would be on her pleasure, the Soldier was willing to be a little selfish, to take where he knew they'd both enjoy the result. Because even to the Soldier, he loved her.
She asks for two more, and he doesn't say anything, but dutifully doles out two more swats of his hand against her rear. Even in the dim light, his gaze is on her, that pale skin, and how it turns pink under the impact. He spreads it out, both so it's not too much in one place, and so that he gets as much coverage as possible. He wants her to feel it when he's inside of her, when his hips rock against her--
For a moment his hand comes down like he might give her a third, but instead his hand stops at the last second, instead shifting to reach up and curl tight in her hair as his metal fingers curl against her hip. He presses himself up against her, letting his cock press against the heat of her. He shakes with that slick heat, and he dips his head, teeth biting into her shoulder for a moment, moaning hot and heavy.
"Don't move. But I want you to tell me. Tell me what you need, my little spider." His voice is thick with his own desire, and his hips twitch, giving away the fact that he aches for it as much as she does. He wants to just sink inside of her, wants her to feel it as he sinks into her, his hips presses to the heat of her pink skin.
But oh, he loves hearing her beg. Something about how wanton he can make her, and the knowledge of how that side of her is his and only his.
"All you gotta do is ask nice," he adds. His voice is all thick Brooklyn accent, a piece of something tripped in between the lines and broken edges when all he can do is focus on her, on how much he wants her, how he wants to feel her. She's more intoxicating than vodka, he thinks idly as his fingers tighten in her hair, firm but not cruel.
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His teeth in her flesh made her moan, another following the first in initial response to his growled command. She flexed her fingers on the headboard rail, trying not to rock back and forth on her knees, but it was almost an impossibility, given how hot her skin felt at that moment. And she heard the sheer need in Bucky's own voice, thick and dripping with pure animal lust. It had her trembling beneath him, teeth digging into her lower lip to keep from falling apart entirely.
"--I need your cock," she finally rasped, voice gone husky and low with everything thrumming through her blood. "I need you inside me, Soldier, filling me up over and over again." She whined as he pulled at her hair, letting her head fall back as she whimpered and begged. Her thighs shivered with her effort not to just drive her hips back into his, and Natasha keened a strangled moan, biting at her lips as she pleaded with both her body and her voice.
"...please-please-please...give it to me, I'm your good girl, yours-yours-yours..."
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"Mine," is the answer he gives her, one word, growled low as he nuzzles against her spine, and there's no other warning when he sinks into her. He doesn't take his time, just gives it to her all at once, fierce and needy as he fills her with his cock, making her take all of it with a groan.
The messages in his head are all tangled, criss-crossed, and part of him feels like it's been so very, very long since he's hand her beneath him like this. And from a certain perspective he's not entirely wrong. "You're such a good girl, my little Natalia," he murmurs, teeth nipping against her shoulder as he tugs her head back, enjoying how it makes her back arch with him buried inside of her.
He doesn't stay still for long, his hips pulling back and then driving forward, rough and demanding. She's tight and slick around him and the way his hips rock into the skin of her rear, the skin warm from where he'd spanked her sends a certain thrill up his spine. He can't get enough of her, and his hand on her hip comes away to palm against her chest, cupping one of her breasts and pinching against her nipple as his hips drive his cock deep inside of her.
"I know you need this," he hums the words against her skin. "You're so good for me." His voice catches in a sharp gasp as he rocks into her again, his thrusts hard and fast, the sound of flesh striking flesh loud in the small space as he held her body against him, keeping her in place beneath him as he moves. She's beautiful, and she's his, and there's something to it that's a little darker than when James echoes similar words.
Not ownership, not the way the people that gave them orders had seen them, but possessive. Like he'd lose her if he let go. Like there were men in uniforms that could tear them apart, and it just makes him more desperate for her, for this. "Always mine."
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"Yours...!" she moaned, throwing his head back when he tugged at her hair, feeling his teeth assaulting her quivering flesh. "Oh, God, only ever yours, yes baby, yes...!" Unable to "obey" his commands any further, Natasha arched her back and parted her thighs even wider, offering him everything, begging for it. She pressed her breasts against his rough palm, nipples tight and hard, sensitive.
God, but she did need it. Needed him to soothe that dark passion that simmered beneath a pale, serene surface, to sate that demon that lived within them both. She'd never ask, never intentionally, because she knew how much he hated that part of himself, but it was still part of him, and if this was the way to feed it, then so be it.
Bucky held her tight for their ruthless fucking, and Natasha met him thrust for thrust, driving her hips back into his, moaning at the salacious wet sounds of flesh in flesh. She moaned with every breath, feeling her body begin to tighten and contract, squeezing his cock tight every time he battered back in.
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His fingers wound in the red curls of her hair, tugging her head back and moaning low at the words she said, the way she sounded, caught up in that same current of need and desire. She opened her body to him, for him, and he took, sinking in deep over and over again, his breath coming hot and rough in the space between their bodies. His free hand palming over the swells of her breasts, the way that they fit in his hand, tugging against her nipples and then letting her rub them against her palm with a low throaty hum of almost-amusement.
He couldn't help the way he enjoyed her own desperation, the way it was a match for his own. That need, that darkness- the Soldier wanted to hold her and never let go. A subtle sort of possession, afraid of losing her, and even the part of him that was all ice and metal recognized just how important she was. Beautiful and perfect, even if at the moment his hands were rough, and his eyes were dark.
He holds her tight, too tight, close against him as he thrusts into her, low gasps at the feel of it, how her body grasps against him. He could feel her beginning to contract around him and he picked up the pace, those last few thrusts hard and deep, both of them sure to give out soon, and the soldier was selfish enough to push the edge of it.
Moments until his stamina gives out, and the way her body squeezes against him tips him over into his orgasm with a growl, his teeth finding that join of her neck and shoulder as he buries his face into her hair as his body slumps against hers.