maskirovka | overflow / open post

When Bucky sees the agents move on, he starts to pull away when he feels Natasha's lips at his ear. The kiss had been damned good, yes, but it'd been an act to keep them from being found out. What she's doing now isn't a necessary part of the show and it sends a bolt of heat flashing down his spine.

"Yeah, let's board. Tell them you're pregnant or something so we can board early," Bucky says. "The sooner we're on the plane, the safer we're going to be. If they don't spot us, they won't get on and follow."

He hopes so, anyway. He's a little distracted at the moment.

She giggled, low and sultry, yet another aspect of their "cover". "We don't have to wait," Natasha told him with a coy little grin. "We have first class tickets." And she deftly plucked their boarding passes out of his jacket, waving them under his nose playfully. "But it's almost time anyway, so let's go." Taking his gloved hand in hers, Natasha towed her "husband" towards the terminal gates. "The sooner we get settled, the better."

Appropriately flirtatious and playful as she handed off their boarding passes to the gate attendant, Natasha kept a tight grip on her companion the entire time. She watched the crowd behind him carefully, every alert for any too-curious onlookers to appear over his shoulder. Only when they both stepped off of the extension bridge and onto the plane, greeted by solicitous crew members, did she let her shoulders ease, expelling a covert breath of relief.

...unless... Her eyes narrowed. No, there was no way SHIELD or even HYDRA could have predicted what flight they'd have taken, or that they were even leaving the country. And this was Canada, surveillance was scarce here. But she nevertheless dropped atop the small couch in their cabin, letting her head fall back against the panel when Bucky firmly closed the privacy door behind them.

"...finally."

"Smart move, booking first class. I would have gone coach to look unassuming but we get the privacy this way. Nobody's going to be looking for us up here." There's a chance that some of the flight crew might be plants but Bucky is hoping they aren't. There's no way to know that they'd be taking this flight, anyway, so it'd have been hard to plant in the first place.

"Do you mind if I stretch my legs a bit? These cabins suck when you're anything over 5'6"," Bucky says. "And I passed that when I was in sixth grade, doll, so I've got to have some room to move."

"Coach was too crowded, same for economy class. Nowhere to go if we were spotted." She snorted softly, switching to the padded chair to cede Bucky the couch. "At least up here, if we have to, we can hide a body without much difficulty."

A knock just outside had her glancing up sharply, but she adopted that same fake, vapid smile and quickly shoved Bucky down on the couch and half-draped herself across his lap, calling in that same inflectionless voice, "Yes? Come in." And made some show of sitting up properly, pretending to adjust her clothing as the smiling stewardess appeared around the screen.

"Good afternoon," the woman said in that rote, sing-song voice, then launched into her practiced spiel regarding safety, service, and satisfaction, indulging the "vacationing couple" their lovesick little nuances before discreetly withdrawing once more. Still seated on Bucky's thigh, her legs stretched out over his lap and the rest of the couch, Natasha rolled her eyes and vented another small snort.

"Maybe there won't be any more interruptions for the next several hours, eh? Unless they're bringing food, then that's all right."

"Might as well just make yourself comfortable. I'm only going to be comfortable this way," Bucky points out. "But you shouldn't be deprived of the couch just because my legs are longer. You don't weigh that much, after all."

That's said with a twinkle in his eye. He remembers the relationship they used to have even if Natasha doesn't have all of her memories and he can admit to himself he wants to be a little selfish and have her in his lap for eight or ten hours where there's no where else they can go.

"Only if you don't mind."

One of her eyebrows went up. "I don't mind," she told him, a little cheeky, "but there's more than enough room for little ol' me." Natasha gingerly shifted around until she was sitting astride Bucky's lap, and draped her arms over his shoulders as she gazed at him softly.

"This is better, da</i?" More fitting for their "cover", but who was pretending anymore? "We should take off soon, and land in about fifteen hours." Plenty of time for...what? Her gaze drifted across Bucky's face, resting briefly on his lips, before meeting his eyes again.

Bucky knows he ought not get too attached to this. It's a role right now, a game, and throwing themselves headlong into it is the best way to make it seem real for anyone they run into. Everyone they see is going to remember the nice Canadian couple on a romantic holiday and not two cagey Russians looking over their shoulder for agents from not one but two clandestine organizations. Bucky cups her cheek.

"I think you're supposed to have your seatbelt on right now, doll. You wouldn't want to go flying around the cabin or something."

It was sheer instinct to lean her cheek into his hand, rubbing her skin against his. Yes, she could insist that it was for the purpose of their cover, but internally Natasha knew that was just a fabrication. She was drawn to this man, for reasons she neither understood nor wanted, anymore, to understand. She simply didn't care. Their lives were forfeit, there was no way to know when a bullet would find either of them, so what was the point in pretending?

She turned her head slightly to press her lips to the center of his palm, and looked back at Bucky with hooded eyes. "Do you want me to move?" She knew he didn't, the tense muscles beneath her bespoke of his true inclinations, but prudence was probably the best idea, at least for the time being. So instead of waiting for an answer, Natasha sighed softly, shifted, and eased off of Bucky's lap to return to the seat across, silently buckling her seatbelt as the intercom came to life, informing all passengers of the plane's impending departure.

"No," Bucky says, voice low and husky. Having Natasha in his lap is dangerous for his resolve, really, and he doesn't know how long he's going to be able to keep up a facade that this is for show and real feelings aren't involved. He isn't certain that real feelings aren't involved - at least on his part.

"I'd rather you stay close. We've had a hard few days. I'd kind of like to keep you close for a little while so I don't have to worry about where you've gotten off to."

Well, that had things low in her stomach doing the Cossack dance. Natasha just stared at him, nonplussed, then the roar of jet engines shook her out of that trance - thank God - and she pressed back into the seat as the plane began to lumber along the runway. She glanced out of the window, not really seeing the asphalt rolling by.

"...when we reach cruising speed," she heard herself promise, then looked back across at her companion. It simply wasn't fair, she realized, gazing at him, that the man sported a jawline sharp enough to hone a knife. Or that a simple haircut had transformed his former rag-tag hobo appearance into something right out of a...a...Playgirl magazine.

"The couch folds out," Natasha told him, gesturing at the lever beneath the cushion. "We should be able to...get some sleep." Or something.

"I think so," Bucky says. He wishes that Natasha wasn't wearing the wig because he could play with her hair and lull her to sleep. After the days they've had, they deserve the respite, and he wants to rekindle their relationship. It's horrible that she cannot remember but he cannot help but think but maybe she could remember if they kissed and touched the way they had before.

"Probably should, since we're going to have to hit the ground running. I'll hold up the facade while we doze. Nobody is going to question two lovebirds cuddling in a private bunk, right? He doesn't think so.

The dilemma was easily solved when Natasha absently pulled out the few pins holding the brunette locks in place, pulling the wig off of her head and letting scarlet curls tumble free. The blasted thing itched, anyway. And she could always reset it before they deplaned; she was an old hat at altering her appearance. Her mouth twitched in amusement, however, at Bucky's comment, and she shook her head as the plane rumbled down the runway, picking up speed as the engines accelerated.

"No, I don't think they would." They'd better not, if they knew what was the smarter option.

True to her promise, she slipped out of her shoes, jacket, and jeans, the better to settle down for a long trans-Atlantic doze. When the cockpit signaled it was safe to unbuckle belts and move about, she made Bucky get up so they could pull out the small couch and the redhead was the first to crawl into it, flopping down with a tired sigh, but immediately held out a hand, beckoning.

"Lie down with me, James...please.."

Bucky can't resist her invitation and he slides closer, pulling Natasha into his arms. He loves her and never stopped. It makes this harder than it ought to be, honestly, because he wants more than Natasha can truly give him right now. He doesn't want to push but when he has an invitation like this...who is he to refuse? He can't. He's not good enough for that.

"I'll keep you safe. I always have," Bucky promises her. "And just so you know? You're the only woman that's ever called me James. Everyone else has called me Bucky. Not James. James only belongs to you."

It was simplicity itself, to slide right into those strong, mismatched arms. Natasha let him pull her close, instinctively molding her small frame against his. The bunk was on the small side, but they managed, with the redhead all but draped across the soldier's broad chest, her arms tight around his torso and one bare leg thrown over his hip. Even before they stopped shifting, her lips were seeking his, for soft little kisses that had her whimpering in short order.

"I believe you," she whispered against his mouth. She might not recall everything they had shared, but she did indeed believe that he'd protect her with his last breath. He'd proven that already. A small hand skated through Bucky's short hair, cupping his cheek as she kissed him again, lips lingering with reciprocated want. "Da," she agreed, voice gone husky with barely suppressed desire, "James is mine. Mine and only mine."

She nuzzled his nose with hers, all but purring as she shifted and slid against him. "...just as Natalia is always yours..."

This is more than he expected in a semi-public place and while Bucky isn't exactly a prude he also wants to do a hell of a lot more with Natasha than the cabin of an airplane is going to let him do. He has to settle for her draped across his lap, smooth curves and delicate features, and he has to kiss her.

It's a deeper kiss than before, no longer dancing around the edges. He wants and it's evident in the way he cups her face in his hands and slants his mouth over hers.

They could die at any moment. Natasha wouldn't have been too surprised if the privacy screen suddenly ripped aside and a HYDRA kamikaze soldier barreled into them with a live grenade ready to explode. She wouldn't put it past that hellish organization, not in the slightest. But she was tired of living in fear, paranoia had been her constant companion for as...long as she could remember. And her memories were so jumbled, so exhausting to sort through, now.

Kissing James Barnes, though; that just made the most sense. She obligingly tilted her head to fuse their lips tighter together, parting her mouth to taste him more. He tasted sweet, and Natasha moaned softly into his mouth, hands gripping the back of his head to keep him exactly where he was. This was insanity, and she knew it, but there was no denying this ache down in the pit of her stomach, yearning for him.

"We can't have sex in here," he murmurs on an exhale, settling Natasha firm in his lap while he leans in to kiss her again. God, but he wishes they could because he doesn't remember the last time he was this worked up over a woman. He doesn't even think there have been any since Natasha, actually, other than flirtations that have gone nowhere fast. Steve had tried (and failed) to set him up with Maria over at SHIELD and it had just gone to hell in a handbasket.

"There's a lot between kissing and sex, though, and I'm willing to work out just how far we can push it."

"Wanna bet?" She wasn't interested in talking anymore. Nor was she interested in putting this off any longer. It had started a day or so ago, waking up in his arms warm, safe, and content. And had reached culmination in the airport concourse. Strong fingers gripped Bucky's head, anchoring his mouth for hers, and she kissed him hard, settling even more snugly astride his thick thighs.

"All the way," Natasha breathed into his open mouth, licking at his lips with a greedy, eager tongue. "Stop talking and kiss me," she ordered in a breathless voice, nearly whining as she ground down over his lap. She was burning up under her skin; she wanted him now. "Need you, James," she managed to pant, knees gripping his hips tightly. She knew he was hard between her thighs, and she pressed her lower body roughly over his. "Get inside me, malyutka...hurry, please.."

"Someone is going to walk in here when they hear is," Bucky says, voice low and rough because he's goddamned turned on right now. He knows he's not going to tell her no exactly but he doesn't think it's going to be a good idea to draw attention to themselves like this. What if someone on the flight crew is an agent of either SHIELD or HYDRA? This is playing into their hands.

But Natasha is kissing him and rubbing against his cock and he knows he's lost. They can fuck with most of their clothes on, anyway, right? He reaches under her shirt and bra, tries to cup her breast without taking anything off.

Her back arched when he fondled her, and she nipped sharply at Bucky's lower lip, not really having the patience for his damnable teasing but unable to pull back or push him away. "Then we'll have to be...quiet," she moaned between their eager, sloppy kisses, knowing that was all but an exercise in futility. Natasha tugged his lower lip with her teeth, licking back into his mouth, and snaked her hands down between them even as he groped her, jerking at the button and zipper of his jeans.

She had them open in record time, and wasted little more sliding her hand beneath the rough fabric to grip his cock, warm hand rubbing and stroking with sinful desire. She had more than half of a mind to slide out of his lap and take him in her mouth, but her loins clenched, rebelling that idea in favor of mutual satisfaction. So she pulled her hand free and hastily pulled aside the thin panties barring the way, and sank down on his thick shaft with a low, guttural hiss.

Natasha bit back a strangled cry, sinking her teeth into Bucky's ear to keep from moaning obscenely. "...James..." she breathed instead, quivering around his cock buried inside her, seated all the way to the hilt.

It's honestly better like this. Their clothes mostly cover where they're joined and there's no reason to think they're doing anything other than kissing. Just to be sure, Bucky covers Natasha's mouth with another long, slow kiss whens he says his name so that any sounds they make are muffled by his mouth.

He cups her hips to guide her, rocking up into Natasha as he sets a rhythm. She's still the most beautiful woman he's ever known and the only one that just fits all his rough edges perfectly. There's no one who has a hold over him like Natasha Romanoff. No one.

Just feeling him inside of her (again, her mind whispered greedily) had Natasha shuddering in short order, her fingernails digging into Bucky's shoulders, skin and metal beneath his shirt. He filled her completely, and she wasn't at all surprised to find that they moved together perfectly, a synchrony that could have only been achieved by familiarity, or lots and lots of practice.

Her hips moved sinfully under his guiding hands, rolling to seat him deep each time he rocked upwards into her, and although she wanted nothing more for him to throw her over and take her like the beast she knew lurked beneath that delectable flesh, there was still a slow, erotic thrill to this; coming together with the near-certainty of danger and death looming just beyond. It had her moaning into his mouth, their kisses becoming sloppy with teeth and tongues as they tried to devour each other.

Slim thighs flexing smoothly against Bucky's thrusting hips, Natasha rode him slow and deep, making every stroke last as long as it could before sinking back down on him again. They had twelve or more hours of flight time, after all. And she was so hungry for him.

Bucky doesn't think he's ever done this on a plane. Contrary to popular belief, he hadn't been particularly promiscuous before being shipped off to Europe and when he was in the war, he was more focused on staying alive than getting with women. He's had plenty of experience since then, of course, and a good bit of it was with Natasha during her training. He doesn't regret it, even if the early part of the relationship might be viewed as coercive on his part. He'd been her teacher, her trainer, and he'd taken advantage of her.

There's no sense of that now. Natasha's taking him in completely and even though there's not the most room to move in their compartment, she's making the most of what they have. Bucky keeps one hand at the small of her back and gets his other on her breast, thumb rolling and teasing her nipple into a stiff peak. He wants to get his mouth on it but it's probably going to have to wait for them to get on solid ground again unless they start performing better tricks than the Moscow Circus.

"Didn't think I was getting inducted into the Mile High Club tonight," Bucky quips, catching her mouth in another messy, breathless kiss. His teeth tug at her lower lip a bit and when he pulls away, her mouth looks even fuller than usual and her green eyes have lost their normal feral, haunted look. She looks as if she's at home with him and it's a remarkable difference from the woman he'd had at Avengers HQ just a week or so ago.

Natasha didn't remember if she'd ever done this on a plane. Probably not, but that was rumination better left for later. Because right now, she had to chuckle into Bucky's mouth, her low, dark alto slithering between their wet lips, and she smirked into their sloppy kisses, murmuring, "Lucky you, da?" To drive that point profoundly home, she jerked her hips hard into his, her nails tightening on his shoulders and her head falling back with a sibilant hiss.

Her back arched into his hand, breasts aching and heavy behind their constricting layers, but the sharp discomfort only added to the pleasure already beginning to course through her, igniting fire in her blood. A particularly sharp thrust had her suddenly gasping a soft scream, muffling it in the side of Bucky's neck as she quaked, the climax having snuck up and crashed right over her, but she kept her deep, deep rhythm, clenching and squeezing around his cock as she rode the wave right over the edge.

There was more to come, she knew it, and she wanted to pull him right along with her, regardless of how or when. Natasha shifted higher on her knees, the better to buck her hips over Bucky's lap, strong hands gripping him tightly as she bounced, gasping sharply with every deep, hard stroke.

For some reason, knowing that they must be quiet makes it even more pleasurable for him. Bucky hasn't ever been the kind of guy to want to hide the girl he's with but he feels like hiding because he's doing something he shouldn't be doing in a public place is definitely not the same.

Natasha's body clamps down on his cock and it feels like the entire world has centered on just the feel of her around him, their hands sliding across sweat-slicked skin, her soft little cries as she tries to muffle the sound of her pleasure against his neck. He wishes she could be loud about it, really, but the fact she can't stokes him hotter than anything he remembers before.

It doesn't take him long to follow, not with her changing the angle and keeping hold of him like she never intends to let him go. It's been a while since he's come and even longer since he's been with a woman (and the last one was her) so it feels so good for having been such a long time. He comes, white-hot, and then he tips his head back against the headrest and pants a bit, trying to catch his breath.

"I don't know how we're going to get away with this more than once, you know. We will, of course, but I don't know how."

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