Bucky's honestly more than a little surprised to be opening his eyes at all. The last thing he remembers is-- falling. Pain and cold, the surety of his own death as the train disappeared from view and all he could see was white, snow whipping across his vision, and then darkness. And yet as he looks around, that seems like a world away.
The room he's in has a sort of opulence he's never encountered in his life. Bucky's parents got by pretty well, enough to support him and his three siblings, and he'd worked at the Docks once he was out of school, picked up at gig at a bar not long before the war hit, so he'd been more or less comfortable for most of his life. But this is enough to all but put stars in his eyes.
He sits up slowly, like he expects the pain to come back in a rush the second that he moves the wrong way, but it doesn't. No bandages, no wounds that he can see, not even any bruising. He's never considered himself particularly religious, even if his parents were Protestant and Steve would always make a big deal about church around the holidays. But for a moment, he finds himself wondering if he's dead and this is some sort of afterlife.
He slides out of bed, and there's a hunger in his throat, scratching at the back of his awareness, that makes him wonder if maybe he's alive after all. How many days has it been? Since Steve and the Howlies had breakfast in camp before they'd gone after Zola? The idea that he'd been rescued, brought to some strange mansion hidden in the mountains seems too ridiculous. And if that's the case, where are his injuries? He remembers the feeling of bones breaking, remembers the cold, and yet there's not a sign of any of it on his skin.
He's in a pair of pants that aren't his own, although his boots and belts are laid out, cleaner than he can remember since the beginning of the war, since before he'd gone through training. Rescue is looking more and more likely, even if it seems almost like something out of a comic- of course with everything that's happened lately, happened to Steve, he's not sure if this's really the weirdest turn his life's taken. There's a sound at the door, and he stands up straight, and wishes he'd at least managed to get a shirt on, but he tries to look respectable anyway.
At least, he's pretty sure this isn't HYDRA. He's experienced their mercies before, and it's not this.
"Your know your mother will disapprove, Lady Natalia," the old retainer advised her back as she strode down the carpeted hallway. "You should not have brought him here." That rather sulking reminder brought her up short, and the redheaded woman abruptly stopped, whirled around, and bared an impressive set of gleaming, bone-white fangs at the old man, hissing like an agitated cobra. The gnarled codger braked in turn, recoiling from those deadly daggers as well as the blazing green eyes above them, and he realized that he'd pushed her temper a touch too far with his grousing.
"Mind your place, Anton," Lady Natalia Alianova Romanova warned her family's most trusted human servant, truly, her mother's favorite, assigned here at the Carpathian estate to "keep an eye" on the legacy's most erratic scion. She snapped those sharp canines at him and he immediately lowered his gaze, eyes on the floor, mollifying her somewhat, but she drilled the point home a moment more before sweeping back around and continuing on her way.
The subject of the debate was, naturally, the young American soldier she'd "rescued" some three nights before, found while she was out 'hunting' for Nazis who'd strayed a little too far from their encampments. She despised Hitler's "chosen" selecting her mountain as one of the spots to perform his little "experiments", and she always made sure to thin his ranks every time she was able.
But that morning, she'd returned not with a satiated hunger and the satisfaction that the "master race" had lost a few key members to her fangs and claws, but rather with different sort of soldier entirely. One more than half-dead from blood loss and exposure, was her first assessment. He'd been going into metabolic shutdown by the time she returned to the house, and her time window had been short.
Her first instinct was to simply let him expire; such was the way of human nature, and she had no right to interfere. Which was, in fact, one of the tenants of her species. But then he'd began calling out for someone in his delirium, sounded like "Steve", and then perhaps, "Rebecca" or "Becky", but soon thereafter he'd just begun to shake all over and beg, "please".
And that had simply broken her heart.
So she'd opened a slice in her wrist, letting just a few scarlet drops escape, smearing them on his lips simply to ease his suffering and hopefully ease his passing, but before she'd been able to even think twice about doing so, he'd grabbed her wrist in his one good hand and fastened his mouth over the cut in her skin, sucking greedily and so quickly all she'd been able to do was let him.
Things had followed the predictable course from there.
Anton had found them not long after; Natalia haphazardly lolling on the cold stone floor next to a dark haired soldier who was convulsing in agonizing seizures as pure virgin vampire blood began to work in his body, repairing what had been damaged, but also changing his cells to something...more. He'd thrashed like a creature possessed for a few moments more, then had fallen limply unconscious.
And had yet to wake, Anton had reported to his mistress, who'd recovered with no ill effects, other than a slight tingle in the wrist he'd bitten, and a strange but not at all unpleasant pull in the pit of her stomach, urging her to hurry upstairs, hurry, hurry.
So she all but flew up to the second floor, towards the guest room where Anton had, rather unceremoniously, lugged the new Romanova fledgling after the debacle in the foyer three days hence. As she approached the door, she realized that he was now indeed awake; she could hear him stirring about within. His dogtags were gripped tightly in her fist - not enough to bend the metal, but enough to leave slight indentions in her palm. "James B. Barnes", they read. "U.S Army, 107th Infantry", as well as other identifications, was also etched into the tin.
Well, his days of service to his former countrymen were over, she thought wryly, gently rapping a knuckle on the thick oak, then easing it open slowly. Ah, he was indeed awake and upright, Natalia realized, opening the door further and taking a gentle step into the room. He didn't seem much worse for wear, but then she'd had yet to even speak to this man with whom she'd shared her blood for the very first time.
Time to remedy that.
"Good morning," she told him with a soft nod, Slavic acccented English thick. "Or, good evening, rather." She moved further into the room, coming into the circle of soft lamplight, a small but strong woman with long red curls cascading over her shoulders and down her back, eclipsed by the dark suit covering her from neck to heel. "My name is Natalia Romanova, and you are in my house." She extended a small pale hand, holding out his tags.
"These are yours, I believe, Sergeant Barnes." Her head tilted as she observed him. "How do you feel?"
It was the first thing that Bucky registered as she stepped into the room, his voice catching in his throat for a moment, and so he just offered a gentle sort of smile, instead. Beautiful feels to plain, doesn't quite capture the intensity of the sentiment. He feels a draw to her too, something he can't quite explain. There's flashes, for a moment, her wrist against his mouth, her blood on his tongue-- it makes that low thrum of hunger twist a little inside of him. A dream? He isn't quite sure.
But he's sure he's seen her before. She must have been the one that brought him here.
"Thank you, Miss Romanova. Your hospitality is very generous," he says, polite as he can manage as he reaches out, his fingers closing around the dog tags that she holds out to him. "I feel.. good, actually. Better than I probably should, all things considered," he says with a slight tilt of his head. There are things that he wants to ask, but he's not quite sure about the words. So instead he puts his tags back around his neck, letting them hang against his bare chest, before meeting her eyes.
"You saved me," he says quietly, looking up at here with a quiet sort of intensity. It's something he knows to be truth, but isn't entirely sure of the how or the why. He takes a step closer, almost helplessly, but something about her draws him in, makes him very aware of the distance between them. She had an accent, but it was easy to understand. He'd actually picked up a fair bit of Russian when the Commandos had worked with the Soviets hitting one HYDRA base or another - she actually speaks English a lot better than most of the soldiers he'd known.
He feels different, in a way that he can't quite place or identify. "How long has it been?" He finally asks, not quite sure what to say to her. He's sure it's been more than a day, but how many more, he doesn't know. For all he knows he could have spent the last month in a coma. So far away from anything he knows, and all he knows for sure is that it's evening, and he's in the home of an exquisite woman that had saved his life when he fell from the train, ended up in the ice and the snow. He remembers the feel of the chill, of broken bones, but now it's all gone like a nightmare.
Steve surely assumes him dead, but he doesn't have a radio, and with his fall he's surely deeper in the mountains now than the few days travel the Commandos took to ambush the train. He doesn't know how long it would take him to get back, and the very thought of leaving, walking away from Natalia- it twists something unpleasant in his chest, and he almost wants to laugh at himself. He's always been a sucker for a pretty face, but never like this, knocked off his feet over a half-dozen words. Maybe part of it is just knowing that she saved him, kept him from dying out in the snow, lost to the world forever.
"Lady," she corrected automatically. "Lady Romanova." Then she bit her lower lip, amending, "But you may simply call me Natalia, if you like...seeing as you are now...part of the family, as well." A little cryptic, she knew, but she'd never experienced this sort of situation before - her kin looked with some distaste on those who had been changed from their former selves to join the darkling throng, and she knew that her mother, especially, was going to explode when she discovered that her only daughter had committed the unthinkable.
But she couldn't really dwell on her matron's ridiculous temper tantrums at the present moment; this James Barnes was staring at her with wide, almost enraptured eyes, and then stepping closer, rekindling the odd little pull she'd felt earlier, making it snap right back taut again. She knew what it was, of course; she'd heard others speak of the effects of creating another - it was a survival mechanism, the pull of a sire to a fledgling.
Fledgling vampires were usually bumbling, erratic creatures, prone to making rash mistakes and meeting an early demise. The sire bond was a failsafe, to keep them close to their creator and therefore safe, at least for the first few decades or so. But even though she knew more less how the mechanics of this sort of thing worked, Natalia had never dreamed of experiencing them first hand.
He stepped closer still and Natalia found herself lifting a hand to place to the center of his chest, just above where the identification tags hung. His skin was still human-warm, hers a little cool but not chill, and she could feel the beat of his heart, even yet regular, like clockwork. By contrast, hers was almost half as fast, slow but not absent.
"Yes," she answered quietly, lifting her eyes to his. Such beautiful blue... But she pressed on. "I found you nearly dead in that canyon, and brought you here to try and help you." Natalia nibbled lightly on her lower lip. "Three days ago, you nearly died on the parlor floor." She slowly withdrew her hand, though she didn't move away. Then decided to not beat around the proverbial bush any longer.
"At first I thought only to ease your passing, and to that aim I offered you but a few drops of my blood. But it seems your will to survive was stronger than Death's pull, for you caught my wrist and drank deeply before I could stop you." Her gaze softened, became nearly sympathetic. "With that much exposure...you survived. And are now even as I am, a Child of the Night, human no longer."
"Natalia," he repeats her name softly, like he realizes it's some sort of gift. There's a sort of cryptic foreboding in the way she talks about him being family now, and Bucky is sharp enough to pick up on the fact that everything is clearly not as it seems. Not that simple. He almost offers her his name, tells her she can call him Bucky, but he can't help feeling a little self-conscious. She is Lady Romanova and all he has to offer is a nickname that stuck. So he lets it stay as James, at least for now, when he's still a bit overwhelmed by the grandeur.
Her hand lifts to press against his chest, and he shivered a little at the contact. Her skin was cooler than his, but not uncomfortably so. He can almost feel the beat of his heart against her touch. He briefly considers stepping away, unsure if he'd stepped in too close for her comfort, but she doesn't push him away, so he stays. There's something about her that feels comforting, and he isn't sure if it's the fact that she saved him, or something else.
She meets his eyes, affirming what he'd already known in his bones, but filling in the parts that had been obscured in pain and darkness, things he hadn't been sure if they were dreams or reality. And then she tells him the truth, about her wrist at his mouth and her blood on his tongue. She tells him that he's not human anymore. If Bucky were someone else, or if he hadn't been through the sorts of things that he had in the past few months, he might have rejected it on principle.
"I remember," he says softly, slowly. "I thought that I must've been dreaming, but I remember your blood," he admits, with a slight touch of a flush. He's not entirely sure if he should say sorry, for taking something she hadn't intended, but he'd just wanted to survive, and so it seems disingenuous at best. And she deserves better than that, so he doesn't. Instead, it's just a tender sort of smile.
"Thank you," is what he says instead, in the end. For saving him, for enabling him to survive, for not leaving him freezing and broken at the bottom of the canyon. "So.. what am I now?" He asks quietly. Child of the Night, she'd said, but he didn't really know what that meant, even if it put certain images in his head, things like Nosferatu and Dracula.
The way he said her name - as if he were tasting it, tasting her - left shivers rippling over her skin. Natalia Romanova was no blushing ingenue; she'd had lovers here and there over her first century and a half of life. Not nearly as many as her kith, but she was hardly a stranger to intimacies partaken with another. But this James Barnes had her very blood heating, bringing soft color to pale skin, and all he'd done was ask a few questions!
And she realized, once she pulled her attention away from those lovely blue eyes and that sensual, full mouth, that he was taking everything...extraordinarily well. Most who'd woken to the darkness customarily went through a period of denial, disbelief, or disassociation, or sometimes all of the above. Yet this man didn't seem surprised that he'd woken up in a strange place, healed from his life-threatening injuries by a seeming miracle, and was no longer part of the same species that he'd been before.
Humans would never cease to surprise her, Natalia feared.
Hearing that he did indeed remember a few moments of his travesty was heartening, perhaps that helped him realize this new reality. Then, she blinked in surprise as he thanked her, and all she could do was stare at him, mesmerized by that soft, tender little smile. Perhaps Anton had been right, she thought in a daze, this could be such a dangerous thing...
She came out of her reverie with a small start, blinking away the first stirrings of lust she'd felt down in her belly - she was drawn to him, yes, but there was a time and place for everything, and this certainly wasn't it for that! - and flicked back an errant lock of hair over her shoulder.
Standing a little straighter, she lifted her chin and informed him in a softly prideful, formal tone of voice, "You are now one of the Vampira, the Rulers of the Night. Shadow Walkers, blood-drinkers, Nosferatu." Then her voice relaxed a bit, and she gave an impish little giggle. "Humans believe we're ghostly walking corpses sucking the lifeblood of virgins to fuel our unholy existence, and while their tales are amusing sometimes, they couldn't be further from the truth."
Natalia shook her head, curls bouncing lightly, then she gave her newborn Companion a tilted look. "Are you hungry, James? You should be." She gestured to the wardrobe standing against the far wall. "There's sure to be a shirt that fits you somewhere, you're about the same size as my youngest brother." Giving in to a previous impulse, Natalia closed the distance between them again, rose on her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to James's cheek.
"Come, finish dressing, then we'll go downstairs." Tender fingers touched his face lightly. "You've got to be starving by now."
He was almost helplessly attracted to her, but Bucky did his best to not come off as too overt about it. But she was gorgeous, something about the look in her eyes, the way that her lips curled as she spoke. Something to how she looked at him, too. She stared at him for a moment as he thanked her, and it occurred to him that it was perhaps not the most typical response. Maybe anger, maybe disbelief, denial. But this isn't his first time being saved by a miracle, even if she was much lovelier than his best-friend.
She listens as she tells him that he's now a vampire, and all his earlier suspicions of the term she'd used before are seemingly confirmed. She does point out, however, that the stories people tell about them are more amusement than truth, and he smiles a little. He can understand that, just from knowing Steve. The way that as amazing as the truth was, the stories were always bigger, and the longer people told them the more ridiculous they became (they'd been near Paris, and someone had been telling a story of how Steve had thrown a tank for christsakes).
But blood-drinking -- that part is apparently real enough.
"Yeah, a little," he admitted, even if he was underplaying the hunger that scratched insistently at his awareness, mostly out of politeness. He was about to say thank you when she told him to find a shirt in the wardrobe, but then she was rising up and pressing a kiss to his cheek, and that stole all of his attention. She kisses him, and he gives into the urge to reach up a brush fingertips against the red curls of her hair.
There was a desire to kiss her properly, but he wasn't about to push, so he just savored the moment, smiling with an almost boyish sort of eagerness in his eyes. He tilted into the contact a little as her fingers touched against his face. There's just something about her. He nods easily, taking a slightly rough breath as he looks at her. "Alright," he agrees, nodding easily as he looks at her, trying to not look as stunned as he feels.
He looks through the wardrobe, deciding on a white shirt and a dark blue vest, and he looks at her as he does the buttons with a lift of an eyebrow. "Do I look presentable?"
The former Sergeant wasn't the only one in the room feeling helpless. The current Lady of the House kept nibbling at the inside of her cheek and lip every single time they touched. It was all she could do not to melt into his arms right here and now, to reach back up and taste those beautiful lips, bring his blood to the fore and lap it from his skin. She'd heard the stories, of course, of sires becoming enraptured with the fledglings they created - indeed, most Companions were created just because of that very reason - but surely this had to be something...more. There was power here; it slumbered, but dozed like a great purring beast between them, just waiting for the moment to wake.
His cheek tipped into her hand, and Natalia bit her lower lip, needing the slight pain to bring her out of that dangerous reverie. But thank the Mother that he stepped away from her and towards the wardrobe, rummaging through it as she took several calming breaths to steady her erratic heart. She was somewhat more composed by the time he turned around, having shrugged on a fine white shirt and blue vest, and her own eyebrow rose in turn to his query.
"You do, indeed," she replied honestly, her feet moving of their own accord to once more stand in front of him, her hands reaching up to smooth the collar of his shirt down properly. "You look...very handsome, James," Natalia heard herself say quietly, almost girlishly, and she had to wonder just where in hell that coyness had come from. But it seemed to be a natural response to this man, for some reason, so she forced her hands away and took a guarded step back, not wanting to appear so damned eager.
Right. Well, then.
"Follow me," she invited, striding to the chamber door and pulling it open. "Anton will have a meal prepared, then we will...well, you will see." She led him down the corridor to the stairwell, it winding downwards with gentle curves, and lightly began to descend, explaining as they went. She told him that the stories surrounding their kind were largely fabrications, spooky old wives tales designed to shock and scare, but were mostly nonsense.
"Your body is not dead," she told him, rolling her eyes lightly. "Your heart still beats, you will still bleed if you are cut, all of your organs function as they did before. You are not now allergic to garlic or frozen by any sort of religious paraphernalia, such nonsense. You are of course able to eat solid food, seasoned however you wish, although most of us do tend to prefer meat over any vegetables, and generally cooked very rare, at that."
They descended another spiral. "What is true, however, is the need for blood. Human blood, specifically. You need not kill to obtain it, nor will ingesting blood from a recently deceased source poison you, but it will not sate you as well as a living source. The mutation that is vampirism does not allow our own blood to produce a certain chemical, and we must acquire that by outside means. Some of our people have been searching for a way to produce this chemical synthetically, but have not discovered the correct formula yet."
The first floor landing awaited, and Natalia stepped onto the marble with a bounce of red curls. "Animal blood is...a poor substitute, if morality brings about guilt - you may drink it, but it will not satisfy your hunger. It is...akin to drinking water when you require wine to survive." She turned to him as he joined her, gently clenching her fists to keep from reaching for him. Again.
"I have...never..." Natalia nibbled on her lower lip, a slight flush staining pale cheeks. "...I have never...had a Companion before now," she admitted, looking up at James through her lashes. "It is...uncommon among us. But," she insisted, tone growing firmer, "you are, nevertheless, mine, and it is my duty to...to take care of you." Temptation won out; she placed a slender hand on his chest, comforted by just that simple touch.
"So...so you must...tell me if...if...there is..." how had she not noticed how dark his lashes were before now? This was insanity, whatever it was. Lady Mother, now she knew why this was so forbidden! "...if-there-is-anything-that-you-need," all came out in a rush, but strong fingers curled in the fabric of his vest and shirt and Natalia both pulled him closer and stepped up against him, bringing them flush against each other.
"But-right-now-James," she managed to get off of her tumbled tongue, then slowly licked her lips, gaze falling to his lovely kissable mouth, "...I need...you-to-kiss-me-please..."
Bucky couldn't help the smile that he gave at her approval, straightening his shoulders a little, like a boy on his first date. She did something to him, got under her skin. Something in how she looked at him, that made him want her approval, want her in ways that he couldn't explain. He was no stranger to being attracted to a beautiful woman, but it hadn't felt like this in a very long time.
And if he didn't know better he'd think he wasn't the only one so affected.
But he obligingly follows after her, clearly listening brightly as she explains about his new condition. There's a definite curiosity, sharp interest as she tells him what it is that's happened to him. And only part of that is from just listening to the sound of her voice. Science has always fascinated him, and this is no different. And then she flushed, teeth nibbling on her lip, and Bucky's gaze is drawn like a sort of magnetism.
Something in him twists, hot and eager as she says mine. Her hand rests against his chest, and it feels like his heart flutters. His fingers flex, having to resist to urge to trace the flush on her face with his fingertips, or thread his hands through her red curls. Her words come out almost breathless, the rhythm strained, and there's an urge to kiss her, as if it could soothe away the strain he can see in her.
She's strong as she pulls him against her and his breath catches for a moment, having to fight the urge to do something improper, and then she asks and he doesn't have to tell her twice. One hand curling in her hair as his fingertips rest against the delicate line of her jaw as he softly presses his lips to hers. There's surety to it, but he doesn't press all at once. The contact is tender and soft, he doesn't devour her lips, but there's a suggestion there, his mouth pliant against hers -- he'll give her more if it's what she wants.
Bucky's always been good to the women he dates, a gentleman even when he was trying to get into their skirts. But Natalia-- he wants to protect her, wants to give her everything he can offer. He wants to kiss her, wants to take her to bed and learn every inch of her body, give her all the pleasure he knows how. Just kissing her feels like bliss, makes him respond like he's a teenager all over again. Maybe it's part of what he is now, his body more sensitive to the contact, but somehow it feels more like it's something about them, instead.
Something wordless, unknowable that stretches between them. He murmurs against her mouth, his fingers against her jaw stroking softly against her cheek. God, she was lovely, something in how her lips tasted, and he thinks he could forget about that hunger as long as he was kissing her.
Oh, but she'd been so right; those lovely lips were just as soft and as sweet as she'd imagined they'd be, still so warm and gentle, pressed lightly against hers. Natalia heard a quiet mewl escape and she instinctively tilted her head, the better to slant their mouths more firmly together. Small but strong arms gently stole around his waist, holding him close as she parted her lips, inviting him even further.
She could feel his heartbeat; steady, firm, loud. It echoed in her ears, and beneath her skin her blood began to slowly heat, waking her body to the poorly disguised arousal that such proximity with this man had provoked. As if in a daze, Natalia felt herself instinctively pressing closer, wanting to feel him against her. He was thicker than she'd first assumed, nicely formed in all the right ways, built to appeal to a woman's eye. She'd thought him moderately handsome when first she'd found him in that snowy canyon, but now here in her arms, he seemed to be the missing part of her very soul, yearning without knowing that it craved.
A throat cleared nearby, the interruption enough to bring her back from teetering on the edge of oblivion, blinking dazed eyes up at her newly-born Companion, lips kiss-bruised and parted slightly. She slowly licked the lower, gaze sliding downwards to rest on James' own shining mouth, and a bolt of regret clenched in her gut. Thus it was she turned a hard eye to Anton, the old wizened retainer standing prudently just out of immediate reach, his own gaze cautious, but truculent.
"Dinner is served, my Lady," was all he said, but his eyes slid over the newcomer, gauging, assessing.
"Thank you, Anton." There was little warmth in the sentiment, however. "James," Natalia began, stepping away a pace and gesturing between them, "this is Anton, my family's private retainer. He is caretaker here, and will be delighted to assist with anything you might need." The emphasis on her words was unmistakable. As was the drawing down of dark brows as she stared at the old man. Then it passed, and she continued in the same polite tone, "Anton, this is Sergeant James Barnes, who is now part of House Romanova. He has fully recovered from his injuries, which I thank you for your assistance in tending them."
The aged human inclined his head politely, but not without a modicum of arrogant stiffness, which Natalia rebuked with a warning snarl that ended on a soft hiss. Then she took her fledgling by the hand and strode past the old man, leading Bucky through the tastefully ornate ground floor to a small nook set off the formal dining room, where a casual supper service had been assembled. She bade him sit, dropped a soft kiss to the top of his head, then smiled and poured both of them a glass of rich, red wine before taking her own seat.
The meal was, as she'd intimated, heavy on the meats and poultry, with butter-slathered potatoes and few fresh vegetables to add. It was filling, and there was plenty of it, but she knew it would only serve to take the edge off the craving. What they both needed was blood, and while the meat ran red with pink flesh and gushed rich juice with every bite, it could only partially satisfy. But, good hostess, Natalia waited until her beautiful Companion had eaten his fill before catching his eye with a small smile, reaching over to brush away a drop of juice from the corner of his mouth.
"Better, da?" But he still no doubt craved more, and she knew there was but one way to sate it. She felt her stomach shiver, in anticipation.
She tilts her head just so, better angling their mouths together, and Bucky can't help but hum in gentle pleasure with the feeling of it. Like he needs her, like this is somehow- everything. He tries to tell himself that it's something to do with the change, with the war, with how it's been a while since he's had a beautiful woman pressed up against him like this, but none of it feels quite true.
Her arms curl around his waist, holding him close as her lips part, and Bucky takes that wordless invitation without any hesitation. Whatever this is between them, he feels it too. Feels like he could drown in her, and love every moment of it. He aches for her, can feel it almost in his bones, something warm and almost electric. She presses in, and he holds her there, against him. She's soft where his body is firm, and it feels almost perfect.
He breathes when they part, stiffening with the reflex of a boy that had been caught kissing someone's daughter when he'd been younger. And while this is a situation that involves a lot less yes sir, it's still enough to pull them back from that ledge they'd been teetering on. When he breathes it's rough, comes out almost like a gasp. He can feel Anton's gaze on him, and while he's still coming to grips with all of this, he doesn't shy from it.
He notes the way she emphasizes her words, and the way she hisses at his stiffness, but Bucky doesn't smile. There's just a simple nod of his head of acknowledgement, genuine in a way that comes from someone unaccustomed to the idea of retainers, and so he is honestly genuinely appreciative for the man's help with his injuries, even if Natalia is taking him by the hand and he's following after her before he can really get the words in.
The thought of the man is gone almost immediately, however, as the lovely redhead is leading him through the house to a cozy little nook off of the dining room. He sits at her urging, and he can't help the easy smile that blossoms across his lips as she kisses his hair. The meal is true to what she had discussed before- meats, tending toward rare, rich and filling. It had been a while since he'd had a good meal, really. Being in the field with Captain America and the Howling Commandos meant that their rations were better than most, but at the end of the day, rations were still rations.
So Bucky thoroughly enjoys his meal, and not just from hunger, but also just for the taste and the texture of it. Food that wasn't pasty or dried or some sort of stew. He has decent enough table manners, even with that hunger that gnaws at the back of his senses. He sips at the wine, and makes soft conversation about the vintage, even if his awareness of the details is transparently light- he can tell the difference between good wine and the stuff he used to bring him off his tips when he was working as a bartender and Steve was in art school.
She catches his eyes, and as he brushes away a drop from his lips he has to resist the urge to catch her finger. She feels dangerous, at least in terms of what she does to his self-control, the way that she sets him on fire just by looking at her. "Yes, much," he agrees with a slight nod of affirmation. He's going to leave it there, but he remembers what she'd said earlier, about how she needed to know his needs, so he doesn't hold back on account of being her guest.
"But food's not enough, is it?" He asks, looking into her eyes as he finishes the last of his wine, tip of his tongue licking against his lips.
If she was going to be constantly having these sorts of thoughts just from gazing at the man across from her, then Natalia feared it was going to be a very long eternity together, indeed. Because it seemed that every move he made was deliberately aimed to catch her attention, leave her overly warm and flustered with every minute gesture, and every single sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes. Not for the first time did she entertain heated thoughts of dragging him back upstairs and indulging them both in each other, but that would be overly barbaric, would it not?
But there was still a current of electric anticipation in the air between them; Natalia felt the keen edge of his hunger. Food and wine, no matter how rich, simply wasn't enough to sate them fully. So she shook her head, small smile plying about her mouth. "No," she agreed, eyebrow slightly arching as she watched the tip of that tongue ghost across his mouth. "It isn't." Finishing her own glass, Natalia too licked her lips, then rose from the small table, extending her hand to her brand new fledgling. "But we should remedy that, I believe. Come, I've arranged something for you."
She led him deeper into the house, up the back stairs to the second floor, actually not far from the room in which he'd woken earlier, but these quarters were a touch more furnished, more "lived-in", and encompassed a suite of rooms, the large bedroom overlooking the cliff beyond the main property. "These are my quarters," Natalia told him as they entered, "so, make yourself at home. It will be but a short wait."
Moving to her dressing table, the redhead began to pull pins from her hair and then removed her shoes, looking up as a soft knock sounded on the door and at her call it opened to allow a small but lovely young girl inside. "Katya," Natalia purred, smiling and extending a hand to the youth, who smiled in turn and took it eagerly, all but folding her ripe young form into the vampire's embrace. Natalia kissed the girl's forehead, murmuring softly, "Thank you for coming, sweet one," to which the girl sighed happily and nuzzled her mistress's pale throat, mewling in a gentle voice.
Gazing up over the teenager's head, Natalia addressed her Companion, saying, "This is Katya, and she will be the second half of our meal tonight, moya zvezda." She drew aside the girl's thick blonde braid, revealing several sets of small, very neat puncture marks decorating her slender neck. "Do with her as you will, she is a willing donor, born and raised here in this house." Katya lifted her head from Natalia's shoulder and softly nuzzled the vampire's cheek, full lips teasing at her mistress's mouth. Returning the girl's kiss with gentle heat, the redhead then pulled away slightly, turning the youth to face Bucky.
"Our new Companion, Katya," she told the girl, gazing at him over Katya's smooth shoulder. "Is he not lovely? A beautiful addition, da?" The girl's brown eyes roamed over the soldier before her, and she pursed her lips with an affirming nod. "Da, milady," she replied in a sweet girlish voice. "He is well-formed and so handsome." Katya giggled, turning her head for another kiss from her mistress. "I will gladly give to you both," she whispered, drawing up the female vampire's hands to cover her full, young breasts, ripe beneath the fine linen blouse.
"Mmmmm, takaya khoroshaya devushka," Natalia murmured at the girl's ear, prompting a shiver of delight from the human pressed back against her. She nipped a kiss at the girl's eager throat, but her eyes drew back to her Companion, and she beckoned him with a single crooked finger. "Come, moya zvezda," she entreated, "come and taste her with me." A purred chuckle wafted over the girl's shoulder. "'tis a much finer taste than the wine, I assure you..."
Despite having just eaten, he still felt vaguely famished, a hunger that scratched insistently against his awareness, an ache inside his bones for more. Something else, something different, something better. So when Nataslia extends her hand, he takes it, a slight smile of peaked anticipation as he allows himself to be lead along after her.
There's something to the air when they're back upstairs, in a room that looks very much more lived-in than the one where he woke up, when Natalia tells him that it's hers. That electric feeling that's been between them ever since he laid eyes on her feels like it flares a little hotter at the thought that he's standing in her bedroom. He nods, but isn't quite sure what to do with himself, so he leans near the window, giving Natalia space. He'd not quite sure how this works, if he wants to really think about it.
And then there's a knock at the door, and to his surprise, a young girl walks in. All he can think of at first is how young she is. Hardly any older than Rebecca would be now, he thinks. It makes the idea of feeding off of her awkward, but Natalia had said that you don't have to hurt the people you feed from, and so he's trying to get past his initial reservations, but then Katya and Natalia, the way they interact together, how they touch turns more intimate, the way they kiss. There's a slight heat his face, around the collar, toward his ears.
It's arousing and troubling all at once. But it's when Katya pulls the redheads hands up to cover her breasts that he takes a step back, his face flushing a heated pink, and his blue eyes look away from the pair of them, his face creasing softly. He shakes his head, exhaling a rough breath. "I'm fine," he says quietly. Which isn't true at all, but it seems a kinder sentiment than to tell Natalia that he can't do this, that this feels wrong to him in all the ways that it can be. His spine is overly straight, and his shoulders tense.
"I can- wait outside, if you like." Although he says it almost more like he's asking permission than making an offer. He's not the sort to tell her that what she's doing is wrong. Not when he's so very aware that he's stepped into another world, into a different culture, but Katya is young and girlish and the very thought of laying a finger on her makes him cringe.
The reticence writ across her Companion's face wasn't exactly...surprising. If anything, it only cemented what she'd initially suspected about him, and warmed her heart that much more. So it was with a genuine smile that Natalia released the blonde girl and, stepping around her, approached her fledgling child with gentle hands, taking his in hers and gazing up at him with soft eyes.
"James," she gently admonished, clucking her tongue and shaking her head with wry amusement, "there is no need. She is here for our nourishment, taking pleasure in each other is simply habit." Green eyes twinkled into blue. "We are creatures of seduction, luring the unwary is an excellent way to hunt. But it is not necessary, as I stated earlier."
She gave him a gentle tug. "If you wish to feed and naught more, then that is also acceptable." Then her expression became serious and her eyes firm. "But feed you must, regardless of how you hunt. Katya," she addressed the girl, who immediately came to her side, "sit upon the divan, sweet one, and wait."
The blonde girl obediently did as instructed, taking a seat on the low couch near the flickering fire. Natalia released James' hands, following the youth and taking the seat on her left, then took the girl's arm, bringing Katya's wrist to her lips. Eyes on her stoic soldier, the green in them deepened as behind red lips a pair of wickedly sharp canines emerged, and then deliberately sank deep into the giving flesh beneath them.
Blood welled, Katya stiffened then relaxed with a soft moan, and leaned against her mistress with heavy-lidded eyes. Dark red stained the vampire's mouth as she drank, but moments later lowered the girl's dripping wrist to lick her lips at Bucky, eyebrow arching just the slightest. "Come here, James," she quietly instructed, Katya's arm lying across her lap. "It is what you need, moya zvezda. She is willing, and there is no shame in taking what is freely offered."
"But she's a child," he answers, when she talks about taking pleasure and seduction. His tone isn't reproachful, he's not exactly judging her, but that's a fact he can't escape. How young she is, wide-eyed and girlish and adoring of Natalia in a way that makes him feel almost like he should be protecting Katya and he feels awful for the fact that there's some part of him that liked how they looked pressed together. And the fact is that he can't save her, because this is her life, and she doesn't want to be saved.
Bucky just feels in over his head. He feels hot and uncomfortable, flushed, and he sighs, reaching up and dragging fingers through his short hair, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. But, he's not going to lecture her on morality. Not in her own home, not when she saved him. The girl is obedient, pliant, and it twists in his gut. Natalia releases his hands, moving to the girl, and he looks away, pointedly refusing to watch the scene before him.
He feels like he should do something but there's nothing for him to do, so he balls his hands into fists, clenched tight so that he almost breaks skin. Because even if he doesn't watch, he can still smell it, he can hear it when the girl moans and it makes him flinch. And yet, when Natalia calls him to her side, he obligingly takes a few steps closer, even if there's a raw emotion in his eyes, a desire that almost makes him want to run. Makes him wish for the snow.
"I don't need this." He says with a shake of his head, a gesture of one hand toward the girl in Natalia's lap, a tremble in his shoulders with the things he can't- or wont- put into words. The poor blonde girl that seems more like a puppet than anything and he can't do anything for her. He knows it could be worse. That it was worse in the stories, and he should be glad for that, but Bucky's always had a protective urge towards young people, especially girls and he feels helpless here and that just makes it worse.
"And that's not true. There is shame in it." He says it softly, the way the last sentence almost hisses by accident. There's a touch of anger to it, his discomfort getting the better of him. And God help him put part of him still wants to kiss Natalia, wants her hands on him, wants to beg her for it. He should walk away, head for the door, back to his room, or the cold of the snow, but he can't walk away from her.
Edited (Where did those words go??) 2018-11-13 06:44 (UTC)
Natalia's gaze tightened just a fraction more at this new level of stubbornness, but she remained silent, slowly licking her lips clean of their scarlet stains. She hadn't anticipated he'd refuse twice; apparently he wasn't as hungry as she'd first supposed. That, or this James Barnes possessed a morality and a will more powerful than even the basest desires. Which was, she realized, interesting.
She didn't miss, however, the few steps that he took towards the divan; but then humanity reared its head and stopped his slow approach. He was warring with himself, she noted, and that too was unsurprising. What was, actually, was how long it had taken for the battle to arrive. Well, better late than never at all, she supposed. That he warred at all bespoke much about him, more than she'd initially surmised.
Her lips pursed, though, at his latter remarks, a frown settling over her brow as she sighed. "I am sorry you believe so," was all she said in reply, releasing Katya's arm - the marks weren't deep and the girl's blood had ceased flowing almost immediately. Giving the youth a kiss to her temple, Natalia softly bid her depart, and reaffirmed her command at the girl's moue of protest.
Once she and her fledgling were again alone in the room, Natalia rose from the divan, huffing a soft exasperated sigh, and moved to the large balcony windows, brushing aside the heavy curtain to gaze at the snow falling outside. She lightly crossed her arms, but it was not to the window that she spoke, when she finally did.
He breathes a little easier when she tells Katya to leave, though there's still that tension to his body, that mix of want and frustration, edged with anger. His eyes look to Katya's arm, sizing up the marks in a moment, glad that they don't look bad. He almost wants to bandage them for her, but the air feels too tense for it, and he's still trying to navigate this place, this like, Natalia. He wants to check on her later, though.
She moves to the window, and though that frustration is still clear in how he holds himself, in the flash of his blue eyes, he follows after her. He doesn't stand too close, but near, close to her, a little off to her left, watching her. He doesn't quite know what to expect, but he doesn't seem to fear her reaction either. At the question he sighs, exasperated. His fingers curl, but they're not clenched tight like they were before.
"There's gotta be something in between starving and victimizing little girls," he answered, his Brooklyn accent coming out a little bit more clearly. He'd been trying to sound a little more proper, a little less out of place, even when he knew that he was, among the lavish finery, the feeling like he'd stepped into Renaissance nobility. But the anger and the irritation and the hunger that scrapes against his insides makes it comes out sharper. They both have their accents.
He feels like he should apologize or explain, or something, but this is all new to him. He doesn't really know what to say. Part of him wants to hit something, because that's easier. Not her, but a wall, or someone who deserved it. He'd always had a temper. His father had pushed him to boxing, told him that he was a protector, not a bully, and Bucky had taken it to heart. But there were no easy answers here.
"I know I'm new to all of this. And I am thankful that you saved me. But the innocent are supposed to be protected not used, and I just-" He trails off, shakes his head. His issue isn't about feeding off people, but about Katya, about the way that everything about it had felt. The fact that she was probably not much older than Rebecca, if she was older at all. There's no words to fill in the space and his shoulders finally slump a little. It's harder to hold onto his anger when it's no longer in his face, but he still feels off, out of sorts, awkward about the whole thing.
Starving, too. Can still smell the blood and part of him wants to lick her lips to see if he can still taste it. He almost whimpers, at the way it makes him ache. This feeling that twists inside of him.
She hadn't expected the sudden rush of anger when he spoke of victimizing. Her first impulse was to whirl around and strap him with a sound tongue lashing for his ignorant impertinence, but Natalia was not her mother, and she thanked both God and the Lady for that every single night. The Romanova matron had no tolerance for those who did not know their proper place.
So, her daughter held her tongue and her temper, keenly noting that distinct American accent, it falling charmingly upon her ear. When she did deign to turn, look at him solidly, and speak, it was with crossed arms, a straight spine, and a flat, expressionless gaze.
"It bothers you that she is young?" An insightful observation, but an unnecessary one. Natalia sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Well...I suppose I can understand why it would. You American military men are conditioned to protect, are you not? Those weaker, lesser, unable to defend themselves, da?" She had very limited experience with that particular breed, but all of them seemed to share the same sort of mindset.
"And yes, you are very 'new to all of this', as you say. But let me soothe your worries in this, at least." A faint smile curved her lips, but didn't quite reach her eyes. She went on to explain that Katya and her family were descendants of those who had served the Romanova bloodline since feudal times, and worked here at the estate in exchange for living quarters, education, safety, and the promise of protection from whatever horrors might come slinking out of the mountains.
"They are not the only family to do so, either," Natalia added. "Anton's ancestors have been in service to my family for generations, and have prospered very well. A little blood not and again isn't much to offer in light of what they receive in return. And Katya is a woman grown - she has never been forced to offer her throat, but does so because it is a gesture of love and respect, a way to honor her family's service. She is a sweet, gentle child, and I take great responsibility in ensuring she is well taken care of."
Again, she shook her head and turned back to the window, gazing out over the frozen landscape. "There are few humans who are privy to the existence of our kind, James. And it is far better that it remain so. But, when our worlds sometimes overlap, it is well for us to protect those who serve us, it is the honorable thing to do, after all." A small shoulder shrugged lightly. "Some feel that it is their right to take advantage of those living beneath their family's roof, but House Romanova takes pride in the fact that all of our people are safe, secure, and content." Now, she did glance over her shoulder, a small twinkle in her eye.
"--even you."
But there was still the matter of him feeding. That itchy hunger would only grow the longer it was denied, and she had no desire at all to subdue him should he descend into that hunger like a mindless beast.
Natalia huffed a short, sharp sigh. "Nevertheless, you still must feed." Abandoning her sentinel post at the window, she moved over to the edge of her bed, sat upon it, and methodically began to unbutton her blouse. Pale, pure skin gleamed beneath it, porcelain in the fire's ruddy light, and she slipped it off of her arms and tossed it aside, but left the black silken corset intact as she leaned back on her hands and gave her brand-new Companion an expectant yet mildly amused look.
Again, she invited, "Come, James," and angled her head to offer her throat for him, pulse beating like a beacon in the delicate slope of her flesh. "Or will you refuse me, as well?"
When she asks that oh-so obvious question, Bucky nods, doesn't bother denying it. "She looks about the same age as my youngest sister," he admits softly, a little bit shyly. He offers that piece of information because he knows that as much as it rubs him wrong, that this is her life, and that the dynamic between the girl did not seem to be one of intentional cruelty. "And- yeah. Not all of us take it to heart, but I was like that even before the war."
Natalia seems like she's trying to understand more than tell him how wrong he is, which wins her points, so he tries to be open about it, to allow her to. And he knows that he's upset her, can see it in her eyes, and he doesn't want to, so he tries to understand her, too. So when she explains, he quiets and he listens to her talk about the way that this works in her family. It helps some, at least. Even if the idea of that girlish blonde, giggles and almost pouted sexuality as a woman grown doesn't seem quite right, he can understand the intention there, he thinks.
Katya is older than he took her for. Not old enough for him to have been comfortable with what was happening, he's fairly sure, but enough that he feels a little guilty for that earlier jab about victimizing children, at least. But really, he's just glad for the way she explains that while some of their kind consider it a sort of ownership, that the Romanovas value the safety of those that serve them.
He flushes a little when she looks at him back over her shoulder, with that way that her eyes glitter, and Bucky exhales a little. His heart twisting, as if somehow that hunger makes his desire for her more easily flared, but he pushes it down, nodding and running a hand through his short hair. "I'm glad. She seems like a nice girl," he offers. "And I'm... sorry if I was harsh. I've seen some of the bad things that can happen to girls." He admits. And Katya had seemed so pliant and helpless and it had tripped so much of that old wiring.
He nods, about to voice a casual I know when she points out that he still has to feed, but then she's unbuttoning her shirt and the words die on his lips. He stares at her helplessly, a sound in the back of his throat that's helpless and needy as he watches the way her skin looks by the firelight. That black silk corset accenting her waist, and he wants to slide his hands against it, hold her, undo the laces with his teeth so that his cheek can feel her skin.
But his gaze shifts from the curve of her breasts, to her throat with that entreaty that pulls a low mewling whine from his lips. He moves toward her, and she can probably see it in his eyes, the way that all that self-control that had been steadily fraying as he tried to hold onto it as they warred over Katya just came apart, melting under the heat of her and the way that she said those words.
"Never," he murmurs. He'd intended to sit next to her, to be soft and polite, but instead he ends up in her lap. He's careful, his knees to the sides of her waist, and he doesn't push her, but he can't resist the way that his hands go to her body. His fingers curling against her corset as his face presses to the side of her throat. His fingers softly sliding against the fabric, his body pressed close, desire and hunger blended but he doesn't push for more than she offers.
His tongue licks against the skin, and his breath comes shaky and heated. "Natalia, pozhaluysta," he breathes against her skin, and she can probably feel the sharp scrape of those newborn fangs. He asks in Russian, trying to be sweet, even if he's far from fluent. He'd been trying to make sure it was okay, but even that slight scrape draws blood and Bucky can't help himself, not when he's so close. That darting touch of his tongue and then fangs are sinking into her skin with a hitched gasp as he drinks.
It was interesting, hearing the tidbits here and there about her Companion's former life. That he had siblings back overseas. A life, probably a mother and father to fret that he'd never return. At least, not the same as he'd left. And Natalia listened intently as he spoke, setting aside her own judgment to actually learn about this man whom she'd saved, who was now bound her for as long as they both lived.
He was a soldier. A man conditioned for battle, and he could not be expected to understand the subtle intricacies of this brand new world into which he'd fallen. It was her duty to educate him, to care for him, to ensure he had everything he required to survive. Including nourishment, first and foremost. And while he wouldn't be able to take complete satisfaction from her blood - she was a vampire and her own life force lacked the nutriment that a human's blood carried - it would still sate him for a time, at least.
And Natalia had no qualm whatsoever about letting him close, near, even draping her arms around his waist when he settled over her, shivering at the first touch of his breath and lips on her unmarked skin. "Da, moi vozlyublennyye, da," she hissed in reply to his breathless plea, then he bit, and she couldn't help crying out in absolute bliss as she felt his fangs penetrate, then felt the seal of those lovely lips around the open wounds, and he drank from her - by the Mother, she'd never ever experienced anything so purely erotic.
She fisted one small hand in Bucky's short hair, to anchor him to her, then fell backwards across the bed, moaning and shuddering, unable to simply lie there and take it. He was pulling life right out of her veins, and she could do nothing but let him. Writhing in his grasp, Natalia wound her free arm and one shapely leg around her feeding Child, gasping his name in a breathless, broken voice. Golden tendrils of pleasure began to ripple beneath her skin, making her clutch him all the tighter. Oh, but she'd never dreamed--!
Until her eyes fluttered open and came to rest on the curve of James's dusky throat, his own beating pulse drawing her gaze like a magnet. Sharp fangs pricked her lower lip and Natalia gave a husky moan, almost a sob, before sinking them into that enticing flesh, tightening her legs around his hips when the first taste of his sweet, sweet blood hit her tongue.
She tastes so sweet, she tastes like honey and heat, like vanilla and spice and all he can do is hold onto her, trembling as her blood spills on his tongue. It feels like bliss, like ecstasy, and he murmurs into her skin. He tries to pace himself, to not drink too fast, to savor it, enjoy every breath of the heady pleasure. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before.
That's what he thinks at first, but then he remembers that fragile recollection of her wrist against his mouth. But this is real, present and vivid, not overshadowed by death, but tinged with desire, with pleasure. He knew enough Russian to understand the words she said, what she called him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he feels almost addicted to the taste of her.
She grabs his hair, falling back onto the bed, and he followed her down. The way that she moaned going straight through him. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't want to relinquish the hold of his fangs, either. She winds her body around him, and he can't resist the urge to touch, not with her gasping his name like a plea. One hand curls at the back of her neck, brushing through the curls of her hair, as the other trails up her side, cupping where her breast spills from the top of her corset.
He holds onto her, leans into her, absolutely helpless. The way she cries out, a moan that's almost a sob, and then her fangs are in his throat. His hips jerk against her, helpless, and he cries out, almost mewling against her skin. Unable to choke back that sound, but his tongue lapping at the marks that his fangs left, wanting to taste every trace of her. It might not satisfy him like a human would, but he's almost sure that no one could taste as good as she did.
He bares his throat for her, moaning at the feeling of it. "Natalia, moya milaya--" His grasp of Russian was what he'd picked up on the Eastern Front, working with Soviet forces against the Germans and HYDRA. It was mostly limited to complaining about the cold, complimenting a nice shot, and talking about women. He was suddenly rather glad for it, though, even if the words were a little clumsy on his tongue.
"You're perfect," he gasps, curling fingers in her hair, tugging her closer, encouraging her as she drank from him. He ached for it, his body shaking, hard against her where his hips pressed to hers. He felt almost delirious, but he still wanted. More of this, more of her, this feeling, the way her blood felt on his tongue and in her mouth, the way the pleasure of her fangs sang through him. He just wants. He's usually something of a gentleman, all smiles and gentle seduction, but she's stripped away all that control, has him burning as he kisses at what skin he can reach, touches her. His fingers hiking up her skirts so he can slide fingers against her thigh where her leg wraps around him.
"I need you," the words low, almost a whimper. His blue eyes are dark, pupils blown with desire as he strokes fingers against her silken skin.
She didn't dare take too much; to bleed him dry would defeat the purpose. But there was power in their shared feeding, and it rolled over her like a breaking wave, filling all of her senses with him, making her keen his name the moment her lips left his throat.
Then desire returned in hunger's wake, and Natalia clasped her Companion close, directing his roughened hands to her clothing, urging him with hasty kisses and whispered directions to remove them, even as she began to tug on the buttons of his own garments. Her cooler skin was heating nicely, flush from the rush of blood beneath it, and every inch revealed she immediately pressed against his, wanting to rub herself all over him, just like a purring feline, and be covered in his scent, so thick and delicious.
"...James," she heard her own voice whimper, hurriedly shoving the fine linen shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, tossing it away without a care. Feeling him hard between her thighs had her squirming in response, her skirt rucked up between them, and unwelcome barrier just like his trousers. Neither stopped her from lifting a smooth bare leg for his hand, coiling possessively over his back so that she might roll her hips against his, the friction delicious.
"I want you," she breathed against his blood-stained lips, licking away the remnants of her own blood and moaning at the taste of him beneath it. Drawing a shaking but deep breath, Natalia paused a moment simply to gaze up at her lover, green eyes heady, smoky. "You are...beautiful," she told him with a soft, sweet smile. She ran the tip of her tongue around her mouth, catching the last lingering drops of his blood. "So sweet, so very lovely." Fingertips brushed his cheek, her thumb ghosting over his lower lip.
"My lovely James...mine." Hands in his hair, Natalia drew him down to her for a long, heated kiss, whimpering at the slow, thorough dance of slick wet muscles behind their lips. "...I'm yours," she whispered to him moments later. "Take me as you will, vozlyublennyye.."
When she starts shoving at his clothes, there's no protest. He helps, getting her out of her corset, and he stares in awe, grinning impishly, his mouth still a little red with her blood. The way that she says his name, the way that his pulse races, and he can feel that sweet sweet ache where she drank from him- it's all intoxicating, perfect. He wants her, wants more of her, and all he can do is slide closer, nuzzle into her skin. His arms go up, helping her get the shirt off his chest, letting her toss it away. Her own shirt was stripped off before they began, and he sighs softly as he presses his bare chest against her own.
He wants to take her, gentle and soft, take his time, explore her body with his mouth and his hands, tease her to orgasm and then take her when she's trembling and aching for him. But this isn't the moment for it. His control is already gone, he's aching for her, every second feels a second too long. Her skin feels so soft against him, and he wants her now, lacks the patience for what he wants to give her. His fingers already undoing his pants, shoving them down off his hips as he presses between her thighs, navigating her skirts so that he can press against her through the scant barrier of their underthings.
They're wrapped together, and he doesn't want to let go just to strip them both down to the skin. So he makes do, shoving his own down, and-- well, he intends to just drag her own up her thighs, but he's tense and on edge, and the delicate fabric comes apart in his fingers when he tugs a little too hard. He looks at her, a little apologetic, kissing up against her chest, pausing to suck against her nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue and then murmuring a soft apology into her collarbone as he made his way up her body.
"Yours," he breathes, looking up at her with stars in his eyes. "My beautiful queen," he murmurs. "You're so lovely, so sweet-- and I need you," he murmurs in between kisses against her skin. There was something about her. He'd always had a thing for redheads, and she had rescued him, but it was more than that, too. There was a sharpness about her and a sweetness, and her every touch enticed him, unraveled him. She was an addiction he didn't want to escape.
They kiss, lips sealed and tongues sliding against one another, and at that invitation, still gasping for breath, he slides fingers between her thighs, rubbing against that bundle of nerves, and then dragging down to slide down against her sex. His fingers sink into her, thrusting a few times which is as long as he can stand, just wanting to make sure she's wet and ready for him. "You're perfect, Natalia--" It's all he can spare before one hand curls against her hip, the other steadying himself as he lines up against her and slowly sinks in with a choked gasp, and wide blue eyes that look down at her helplessly.
The subtle but unmistakable sound of ripping fabric brought her briefly up out of the depths of unbelievable desire, and Natalia blinked eyes gone hazy with passion, then bit her lower lip on an amused chuckle as she realized just what had happened. It tickled her mirth, and she squirmed a bit playfully under her lover's apologetic ministrations, the feel of his warm lips on her breast catching the breath in her throat.
Realizing that they were tangled with each other, haphazardly undressed but no less eager, Natalia willingly parted her mouth for James's tongue, kissing him as if she'd never be able to do so again. She arched upwards into his seeking hand, shivering with a muted moan against his mouth when rough fingers sank into slick, wet heat. She sighed soft encouraging endearments against his skin as he prepared her, hips bucking a little impatiently at such a bold, sure tease.
But then he was there, dragging hot and heavy against her, and she snatched a quick, steadying breath before - "...James...!" It was a keened cry, and she felt him penetrate her fully, easily, and she shuddered around him, squeezing tight, knowing she never wanted to ever let him go. He was hers. She was his. It may as well have been written in stone. Natalia knew they would never be able to go back, not now.
"My beautiful one," she whispered at his cheek, heated and flushed beneath him, her now-bare legs wrapped tightly around Bucky's hips. "I love how you feel...inside me." Even now, the urge for completion still frothed, but Natalia also wanted to savor him, despite the long years they'd have together. She shifted her hips, feeling a spike of pure pleasure bolt through her loins, and arched her back with a low moan, delighting in the way their bare bodies pressed and rubbed together. Her nipples hard against his chest, his hips tight against hers.
Bidden by an unknown desire, Natalia hissed a soft breath and flattened both of her hands to Bucky's back, only to draw eight white lines down the length of his spine, her nails marking him: hers, hers, hers. Her hips now bucked beneath his, a silent imperative; she wanted all of him, and her possessive kiss, made up of tongues and teeth, urged him for more.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
vampire au hijinks! <3
The room he's in has a sort of opulence he's never encountered in his life. Bucky's parents got by pretty well, enough to support him and his three siblings, and he'd worked at the Docks once he was out of school, picked up at gig at a bar not long before the war hit, so he'd been more or less comfortable for most of his life. But this is enough to all but put stars in his eyes.
He sits up slowly, like he expects the pain to come back in a rush the second that he moves the wrong way, but it doesn't. No bandages, no wounds that he can see, not even any bruising. He's never considered himself particularly religious, even if his parents were Protestant and Steve would always make a big deal about church around the holidays. But for a moment, he finds himself wondering if he's dead and this is some sort of afterlife.
He slides out of bed, and there's a hunger in his throat, scratching at the back of his awareness, that makes him wonder if maybe he's alive after all. How many days has it been? Since Steve and the Howlies had breakfast in camp before they'd gone after Zola? The idea that he'd been rescued, brought to some strange mansion hidden in the mountains seems too ridiculous. And if that's the case, where are his injuries? He remembers the feeling of bones breaking, remembers the cold, and yet there's not a sign of any of it on his skin.
He's in a pair of pants that aren't his own, although his boots and belts are laid out, cleaner than he can remember since the beginning of the war, since before he'd gone through training. Rescue is looking more and more likely, even if it seems almost like something out of a comic- of course with everything that's happened lately, happened to Steve, he's not sure if this's really the weirdest turn his life's taken. There's a sound at the door, and he stands up straight, and wishes he'd at least managed to get a shirt on, but he tries to look respectable anyway.
At least, he's pretty sure this isn't HYDRA. He's experienced their mercies before, and it's not this.
best kind, srsly <333
"Mind your place, Anton," Lady Natalia Alianova Romanova warned her family's most trusted human servant, truly, her mother's favorite, assigned here at the Carpathian estate to "keep an eye" on the legacy's most erratic scion. She snapped those sharp canines at him and he immediately lowered his gaze, eyes on the floor, mollifying her somewhat, but she drilled the point home a moment more before sweeping back around and continuing on her way.
The subject of the debate was, naturally, the young American soldier she'd "rescued" some three nights before, found while she was out 'hunting' for Nazis who'd strayed a little too far from their encampments. She despised Hitler's "chosen" selecting her mountain as one of the spots to perform his little "experiments", and she always made sure to thin his ranks every time she was able.
But that morning, she'd returned not with a satiated hunger and the satisfaction that the "master race" had lost a few key members to her fangs and claws, but rather with different sort of soldier entirely. One more than half-dead from blood loss and exposure, was her first assessment. He'd been going into metabolic shutdown by the time she returned to the house, and her time window had been short.
Her first instinct was to simply let him expire; such was the way of human nature, and she had no right to interfere. Which was, in fact, one of the tenants of her species. But then he'd began calling out for someone in his delirium, sounded like "Steve", and then perhaps, "Rebecca" or "Becky", but soon thereafter he'd just begun to shake all over and beg, "please".
And that had simply broken her heart.
So she'd opened a slice in her wrist, letting just a few scarlet drops escape, smearing them on his lips simply to ease his suffering and hopefully ease his passing, but before she'd been able to even think twice about doing so, he'd grabbed her wrist in his one good hand and fastened his mouth over the cut in her skin, sucking greedily and so quickly all she'd been able to do was let him.
Things had followed the predictable course from there.
Anton had found them not long after; Natalia haphazardly lolling on the cold stone floor next to a dark haired soldier who was convulsing in agonizing seizures as pure virgin vampire blood began to work in his body, repairing what had been damaged, but also changing his cells to something...more. He'd thrashed like a creature possessed for a few moments more, then had fallen limply unconscious.
And had yet to wake, Anton had reported to his mistress, who'd recovered with no ill effects, other than a slight tingle in the wrist he'd bitten, and a strange but not at all unpleasant pull in the pit of her stomach, urging her to hurry upstairs, hurry, hurry.
So she all but flew up to the second floor, towards the guest room where Anton had, rather unceremoniously, lugged the new Romanova fledgling after the debacle in the foyer three days hence. As she approached the door, she realized that he was now indeed awake; she could hear him stirring about within. His dogtags were gripped tightly in her fist - not enough to bend the metal, but enough to leave slight indentions in her palm. "James B. Barnes", they read. "U.S Army, 107th Infantry", as well as other identifications, was also etched into the tin.
Well, his days of service to his former countrymen were over, she thought wryly, gently rapping a knuckle on the thick oak, then easing it open slowly. Ah, he was indeed awake and upright, Natalia realized, opening the door further and taking a gentle step into the room. He didn't seem much worse for wear, but then she'd had yet to even speak to this man with whom she'd shared her blood for the very first time.
Time to remedy that.
"Good morning," she told him with a soft nod, Slavic acccented English thick. "Or, good evening, rather." She moved further into the room, coming into the circle of soft lamplight, a small but strong woman with long red curls cascading over her shoulders and down her back, eclipsed by the dark suit covering her from neck to heel. "My name is Natalia Romanova, and you are in my house." She extended a small pale hand, holding out his tags.
"These are yours, I believe, Sergeant Barnes." Her head tilted as she observed him. "How do you feel?"
yessss, this is gonna be amaaazing :>
It was the first thing that Bucky registered as she stepped into the room, his voice catching in his throat for a moment, and so he just offered a gentle sort of smile, instead. Beautiful feels to plain, doesn't quite capture the intensity of the sentiment. He feels a draw to her too, something he can't quite explain. There's flashes, for a moment, her wrist against his mouth, her blood on his tongue-- it makes that low thrum of hunger twist a little inside of him. A dream? He isn't quite sure.
But he's sure he's seen her before. She must have been the one that brought him here.
"Thank you, Miss Romanova. Your hospitality is very generous," he says, polite as he can manage as he reaches out, his fingers closing around the dog tags that she holds out to him. "I feel.. good, actually. Better than I probably should, all things considered," he says with a slight tilt of his head. There are things that he wants to ask, but he's not quite sure about the words. So instead he puts his tags back around his neck, letting them hang against his bare chest, before meeting her eyes.
"You saved me," he says quietly, looking up at here with a quiet sort of intensity. It's something he knows to be truth, but isn't entirely sure of the how or the why. He takes a step closer, almost helplessly, but something about her draws him in, makes him very aware of the distance between them. She had an accent, but it was easy to understand. He'd actually picked up a fair bit of Russian when the Commandos had worked with the Soviets hitting one HYDRA base or another - she actually speaks English a lot better than most of the soldiers he'd known.
He feels different, in a way that he can't quite place or identify. "How long has it been?" He finally asks, not quite sure what to say to her. He's sure it's been more than a day, but how many more, he doesn't know. For all he knows he could have spent the last month in a coma. So far away from anything he knows, and all he knows for sure is that it's evening, and he's in the home of an exquisite woman that had saved his life when he fell from the train, ended up in the ice and the snow. He remembers the feel of the chill, of broken bones, but now it's all gone like a nightmare.
Steve surely assumes him dead, but he doesn't have a radio, and with his fall he's surely deeper in the mountains now than the few days travel the Commandos took to ambush the train. He doesn't know how long it would take him to get back, and the very thought of leaving, walking away from Natalia- it twists something unpleasant in his chest, and he almost wants to laugh at himself. He's always been a sucker for a pretty face, but never like this, knocked off his feet over a half-dozen words. Maybe part of it is just knowing that she saved him, kept him from dying out in the snow, lost to the world forever.
absolutely indeeeed <33
But she couldn't really dwell on her matron's ridiculous temper tantrums at the present moment; this James Barnes was staring at her with wide, almost enraptured eyes, and then stepping closer, rekindling the odd little pull she'd felt earlier, making it snap right back taut again. She knew what it was, of course; she'd heard others speak of the effects of creating another - it was a survival mechanism, the pull of a sire to a fledgling.
Fledgling vampires were usually bumbling, erratic creatures, prone to making rash mistakes and meeting an early demise. The sire bond was a failsafe, to keep them close to their creator and therefore safe, at least for the first few decades or so. But even though she knew more less how the mechanics of this sort of thing worked, Natalia had never dreamed of experiencing them first hand.
He stepped closer still and Natalia found herself lifting a hand to place to the center of his chest, just above where the identification tags hung. His skin was still human-warm, hers a little cool but not chill, and she could feel the beat of his heart, even yet regular, like clockwork. By contrast, hers was almost half as fast, slow but not absent.
"Yes," she answered quietly, lifting her eyes to his. Such beautiful blue... But she pressed on. "I found you nearly dead in that canyon, and brought you here to try and help you." Natalia nibbled lightly on her lower lip. "Three days ago, you nearly died on the parlor floor." She slowly withdrew her hand, though she didn't move away. Then decided to not beat around the proverbial bush any longer.
"At first I thought only to ease your passing, and to that aim I offered you but a few drops of my blood. But it seems your will to survive was stronger than Death's pull, for you caught my wrist and drank deeply before I could stop you." Her gaze softened, became nearly sympathetic. "With that much exposure...you survived. And are now even as I am, a Child of the Night, human no longer."
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Her hand lifts to press against his chest, and he shivered a little at the contact. Her skin was cooler than his, but not uncomfortably so. He can almost feel the beat of his heart against her touch. He briefly considers stepping away, unsure if he'd stepped in too close for her comfort, but she doesn't push him away, so he stays. There's something about her that feels comforting, and he isn't sure if it's the fact that she saved him, or something else.
She meets his eyes, affirming what he'd already known in his bones, but filling in the parts that had been obscured in pain and darkness, things he hadn't been sure if they were dreams or reality. And then she tells him the truth, about her wrist at his mouth and her blood on his tongue. She tells him that he's not human anymore. If Bucky were someone else, or if he hadn't been through the sorts of things that he had in the past few months, he might have rejected it on principle.
"I remember," he says softly, slowly. "I thought that I must've been dreaming, but I remember your blood," he admits, with a slight touch of a flush. He's not entirely sure if he should say sorry, for taking something she hadn't intended, but he'd just wanted to survive, and so it seems disingenuous at best. And she deserves better than that, so he doesn't. Instead, it's just a tender sort of smile.
"Thank you," is what he says instead, in the end. For saving him, for enabling him to survive, for not leaving him freezing and broken at the bottom of the canyon. "So.. what am I now?" He asks quietly. Child of the Night, she'd said, but he didn't really know what that meant, even if it put certain images in his head, things like Nosferatu and Dracula.
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And she realized, once she pulled her attention away from those lovely blue eyes and that sensual, full mouth, that he was taking everything...extraordinarily well. Most who'd woken to the darkness customarily went through a period of denial, disbelief, or disassociation, or sometimes all of the above. Yet this man didn't seem surprised that he'd woken up in a strange place, healed from his life-threatening injuries by a seeming miracle, and was no longer part of the same species that he'd been before.
Humans would never cease to surprise her, Natalia feared.
Hearing that he did indeed remember a few moments of his travesty was heartening, perhaps that helped him realize this new reality. Then, she blinked in surprise as he thanked her, and all she could do was stare at him, mesmerized by that soft, tender little smile. Perhaps Anton had been right, she thought in a daze, this could be such a dangerous thing...
She came out of her reverie with a small start, blinking away the first stirrings of lust she'd felt down in her belly - she was drawn to him, yes, but there was a time and place for everything, and this certainly wasn't it for that! - and flicked back an errant lock of hair over her shoulder.
Standing a little straighter, she lifted her chin and informed him in a softly prideful, formal tone of voice, "You are now one of the Vampira, the Rulers of the Night. Shadow Walkers, blood-drinkers, Nosferatu." Then her voice relaxed a bit, and she gave an impish little giggle. "Humans believe we're ghostly walking corpses sucking the lifeblood of virgins to fuel our unholy existence, and while their tales are amusing sometimes, they couldn't be further from the truth."
Natalia shook her head, curls bouncing lightly, then she gave her newborn Companion a tilted look. "Are you hungry, James? You should be." She gestured to the wardrobe standing against the far wall. "There's sure to be a shirt that fits you somewhere, you're about the same size as my youngest brother." Giving in to a previous impulse, Natalia closed the distance between them again, rose on her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to James's cheek.
"Come, finish dressing, then we'll go downstairs." Tender fingers touched his face lightly. "You've got to be starving by now."
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She listens as she tells him that he's now a vampire, and all his earlier suspicions of the term she'd used before are seemingly confirmed. She does point out, however, that the stories people tell about them are more amusement than truth, and he smiles a little. He can understand that, just from knowing Steve. The way that as amazing as the truth was, the stories were always bigger, and the longer people told them the more ridiculous they became (they'd been near Paris, and someone had been telling a story of how Steve had thrown a tank for christsakes).
But blood-drinking -- that part is apparently real enough.
"Yeah, a little," he admitted, even if he was underplaying the hunger that scratched insistently at his awareness, mostly out of politeness. He was about to say thank you when she told him to find a shirt in the wardrobe, but then she was rising up and pressing a kiss to his cheek, and that stole all of his attention. She kisses him, and he gives into the urge to reach up a brush fingertips against the red curls of her hair.
There was a desire to kiss her properly, but he wasn't about to push, so he just savored the moment, smiling with an almost boyish sort of eagerness in his eyes. He tilted into the contact a little as her fingers touched against his face. There's just something about her. He nods easily, taking a slightly rough breath as he looks at her. "Alright," he agrees, nodding easily as he looks at her, trying to not look as stunned as he feels.
He looks through the wardrobe, deciding on a white shirt and a dark blue vest, and he looks at her as he does the buttons with a lift of an eyebrow. "Do I look presentable?"
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His cheek tipped into her hand, and Natalia bit her lower lip, needing the slight pain to bring her out of that dangerous reverie. But thank the Mother that he stepped away from her and towards the wardrobe, rummaging through it as she took several calming breaths to steady her erratic heart. She was somewhat more composed by the time he turned around, having shrugged on a fine white shirt and blue vest, and her own eyebrow rose in turn to his query.
"You do, indeed," she replied honestly, her feet moving of their own accord to once more stand in front of him, her hands reaching up to smooth the collar of his shirt down properly. "You look...very handsome, James," Natalia heard herself say quietly, almost girlishly, and she had to wonder just where in hell that coyness had come from. But it seemed to be a natural response to this man, for some reason, so she forced her hands away and took a guarded step back, not wanting to appear so damned eager.
Right. Well, then.
"Follow me," she invited, striding to the chamber door and pulling it open. "Anton will have a meal prepared, then we will...well, you will see." She led him down the corridor to the stairwell, it winding downwards with gentle curves, and lightly began to descend, explaining as they went. She told him that the stories surrounding their kind were largely fabrications, spooky old wives tales designed to shock and scare, but were mostly nonsense.
"Your body is not dead," she told him, rolling her eyes lightly. "Your heart still beats, you will still bleed if you are cut, all of your organs function as they did before. You are not now allergic to garlic or frozen by any sort of religious paraphernalia, such nonsense. You are of course able to eat solid food, seasoned however you wish, although most of us do tend to prefer meat over any vegetables, and generally cooked very rare, at that."
They descended another spiral. "What is true, however, is the need for blood. Human blood, specifically. You need not kill to obtain it, nor will ingesting blood from a recently deceased source poison you, but it will not sate you as well as a living source. The mutation that is vampirism does not allow our own blood to produce a certain chemical, and we must acquire that by outside means. Some of our people have been searching for a way to produce this chemical synthetically, but have not discovered the correct formula yet."
The first floor landing awaited, and Natalia stepped onto the marble with a bounce of red curls. "Animal blood is...a poor substitute, if morality brings about guilt - you may drink it, but it will not satisfy your hunger. It is...akin to drinking water when you require wine to survive." She turned to him as he joined her, gently clenching her fists to keep from reaching for him. Again.
"I have...never..." Natalia nibbled on her lower lip, a slight flush staining pale cheeks. "...I have never...had a Companion before now," she admitted, looking up at James through her lashes. "It is...uncommon among us. But," she insisted, tone growing firmer, "you are, nevertheless, mine, and it is my duty to...to take care of you." Temptation won out; she placed a slender hand on his chest, comforted by just that simple touch.
"So...so you must...tell me if...if...there is..." how had she not noticed how dark his lashes were before now? This was insanity, whatever it was. Lady Mother, now she knew why this was so forbidden! "...if-there-is-anything-that-you-need," all came out in a rush, but strong fingers curled in the fabric of his vest and shirt and Natalia both pulled him closer and stepped up against him, bringing them flush against each other.
"But-right-now-James," she managed to get off of her tumbled tongue, then slowly licked her lips, gaze falling to his lovely kissable mouth, "...I need...you-to-kiss-me-please..."
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And if he didn't know better he'd think he wasn't the only one so affected.
But he obligingly follows after her, clearly listening brightly as she explains about his new condition. There's a definite curiosity, sharp interest as she tells him what it is that's happened to him. And only part of that is from just listening to the sound of her voice. Science has always fascinated him, and this is no different. And then she flushed, teeth nibbling on her lip, and Bucky's gaze is drawn like a sort of magnetism.
Something in him twists, hot and eager as she says mine. Her hand rests against his chest, and it feels like his heart flutters. His fingers flex, having to resist to urge to trace the flush on her face with his fingertips, or thread his hands through her red curls. Her words come out almost breathless, the rhythm strained, and there's an urge to kiss her, as if it could soothe away the strain he can see in her.
She's strong as she pulls him against her and his breath catches for a moment, having to fight the urge to do something improper, and then she asks and he doesn't have to tell her twice. One hand curling in her hair as his fingertips rest against the delicate line of her jaw as he softly presses his lips to hers. There's surety to it, but he doesn't press all at once. The contact is tender and soft, he doesn't devour her lips, but there's a suggestion there, his mouth pliant against hers -- he'll give her more if it's what she wants.
Bucky's always been good to the women he dates, a gentleman even when he was trying to get into their skirts. But Natalia-- he wants to protect her, wants to give her everything he can offer. He wants to kiss her, wants to take her to bed and learn every inch of her body, give her all the pleasure he knows how. Just kissing her feels like bliss, makes him respond like he's a teenager all over again. Maybe it's part of what he is now, his body more sensitive to the contact, but somehow it feels more like it's something about them, instead.
Something wordless, unknowable that stretches between them. He murmurs against her mouth, his fingers against her jaw stroking softly against her cheek. God, she was lovely, something in how her lips tasted, and he thinks he could forget about that hunger as long as he was kissing her.
no subject
She could feel his heartbeat; steady, firm, loud. It echoed in her ears, and beneath her skin her blood began to slowly heat, waking her body to the poorly disguised arousal that such proximity with this man had provoked. As if in a daze, Natalia felt herself instinctively pressing closer, wanting to feel him against her. He was thicker than she'd first assumed, nicely formed in all the right ways, built to appeal to a woman's eye. She'd thought him moderately handsome when first she'd found him in that snowy canyon, but now here in her arms, he seemed to be the missing part of her very soul, yearning without knowing that it craved.
A throat cleared nearby, the interruption enough to bring her back from teetering on the edge of oblivion, blinking dazed eyes up at her newly-born Companion, lips kiss-bruised and parted slightly. She slowly licked the lower, gaze sliding downwards to rest on James' own shining mouth, and a bolt of regret clenched in her gut. Thus it was she turned a hard eye to Anton, the old wizened retainer standing prudently just out of immediate reach, his own gaze cautious, but truculent.
"Dinner is served, my Lady," was all he said, but his eyes slid over the newcomer, gauging, assessing.
"Thank you, Anton." There was little warmth in the sentiment, however. "James," Natalia began, stepping away a pace and gesturing between them, "this is Anton, my family's private retainer. He is caretaker here, and will be delighted to assist with anything you might need." The emphasis on her words was unmistakable. As was the drawing down of dark brows as she stared at the old man. Then it passed, and she continued in the same polite tone, "Anton, this is Sergeant James Barnes, who is now part of House Romanova. He has fully recovered from his injuries, which I thank you for your assistance in tending them."
The aged human inclined his head politely, but not without a modicum of arrogant stiffness, which Natalia rebuked with a warning snarl that ended on a soft hiss. Then she took her fledgling by the hand and strode past the old man, leading Bucky through the tastefully ornate ground floor to a small nook set off the formal dining room, where a casual supper service had been assembled. She bade him sit, dropped a soft kiss to the top of his head, then smiled and poured both of them a glass of rich, red wine before taking her own seat.
The meal was, as she'd intimated, heavy on the meats and poultry, with butter-slathered potatoes and few fresh vegetables to add. It was filling, and there was plenty of it, but she knew it would only serve to take the edge off the craving. What they both needed was blood, and while the meat ran red with pink flesh and gushed rich juice with every bite, it could only partially satisfy. But, good hostess, Natalia waited until her beautiful Companion had eaten his fill before catching his eye with a small smile, reaching over to brush away a drop of juice from the corner of his mouth.
"Better, da?" But he still no doubt craved more, and she knew there was but one way to sate it. She felt her stomach shiver, in anticipation.
no subject
Her arms curl around his waist, holding him close as her lips part, and Bucky takes that wordless invitation without any hesitation. Whatever this is between them, he feels it too. Feels like he could drown in her, and love every moment of it. He aches for her, can feel it almost in his bones, something warm and almost electric. She presses in, and he holds her there, against him. She's soft where his body is firm, and it feels almost perfect.
He breathes when they part, stiffening with the reflex of a boy that had been caught kissing someone's daughter when he'd been younger. And while this is a situation that involves a lot less yes sir, it's still enough to pull them back from that ledge they'd been teetering on. When he breathes it's rough, comes out almost like a gasp. He can feel Anton's gaze on him, and while he's still coming to grips with all of this, he doesn't shy from it.
He notes the way she emphasizes her words, and the way she hisses at his stiffness, but Bucky doesn't smile. There's just a simple nod of his head of acknowledgement, genuine in a way that comes from someone unaccustomed to the idea of retainers, and so he is honestly genuinely appreciative for the man's help with his injuries, even if Natalia is taking him by the hand and he's following after her before he can really get the words in.
The thought of the man is gone almost immediately, however, as the lovely redhead is leading him through the house to a cozy little nook off of the dining room. He sits at her urging, and he can't help the easy smile that blossoms across his lips as she kisses his hair. The meal is true to what she had discussed before- meats, tending toward rare, rich and filling. It had been a while since he'd had a good meal, really. Being in the field with Captain America and the Howling Commandos meant that their rations were better than most, but at the end of the day, rations were still rations.
So Bucky thoroughly enjoys his meal, and not just from hunger, but also just for the taste and the texture of it. Food that wasn't pasty or dried or some sort of stew. He has decent enough table manners, even with that hunger that gnaws at the back of his senses. He sips at the wine, and makes soft conversation about the vintage, even if his awareness of the details is transparently light- he can tell the difference between good wine and the stuff he used to bring him off his tips when he was working as a bartender and Steve was in art school.
She catches his eyes, and as he brushes away a drop from his lips he has to resist the urge to catch her finger. She feels dangerous, at least in terms of what she does to his self-control, the way that she sets him on fire just by looking at her. "Yes, much," he agrees with a slight nod of affirmation. He's going to leave it there, but he remembers what she'd said earlier, about how she needed to know his needs, so he doesn't hold back on account of being her guest.
"But food's not enough, is it?" He asks, looking into her eyes as he finishes the last of his wine, tip of his tongue licking against his lips.
no subject
But there was still a current of electric anticipation in the air between them; Natalia felt the keen edge of his hunger. Food and wine, no matter how rich, simply wasn't enough to sate them fully. So she shook her head, small smile plying about her mouth. "No," she agreed, eyebrow slightly arching as she watched the tip of that tongue ghost across his mouth. "It isn't." Finishing her own glass, Natalia too licked her lips, then rose from the small table, extending her hand to her brand new fledgling. "But we should remedy that, I believe. Come, I've arranged something for you."
She led him deeper into the house, up the back stairs to the second floor, actually not far from the room in which he'd woken earlier, but these quarters were a touch more furnished, more "lived-in", and encompassed a suite of rooms, the large bedroom overlooking the cliff beyond the main property. "These are my quarters," Natalia told him as they entered, "so, make yourself at home. It will be but a short wait."
Moving to her dressing table, the redhead began to pull pins from her hair and then removed her shoes, looking up as a soft knock sounded on the door and at her call it opened to allow a small but lovely young girl inside. "Katya," Natalia purred, smiling and extending a hand to the youth, who smiled in turn and took it eagerly, all but folding her ripe young form into the vampire's embrace. Natalia kissed the girl's forehead, murmuring softly, "Thank you for coming, sweet one," to which the girl sighed happily and nuzzled her mistress's pale throat, mewling in a gentle voice.
Gazing up over the teenager's head, Natalia addressed her Companion, saying, "This is Katya, and she will be the second half of our meal tonight, moya zvezda." She drew aside the girl's thick blonde braid, revealing several sets of small, very neat puncture marks decorating her slender neck. "Do with her as you will, she is a willing donor, born and raised here in this house." Katya lifted her head from Natalia's shoulder and softly nuzzled the vampire's cheek, full lips teasing at her mistress's mouth. Returning the girl's kiss with gentle heat, the redhead then pulled away slightly, turning the youth to face Bucky.
"Our new Companion, Katya," she told the girl, gazing at him over Katya's smooth shoulder. "Is he not lovely? A beautiful addition, da?" The girl's brown eyes roamed over the soldier before her, and she pursed her lips with an affirming nod. "Da, milady," she replied in a sweet girlish voice. "He is well-formed and so handsome." Katya giggled, turning her head for another kiss from her mistress. "I will gladly give to you both," she whispered, drawing up the female vampire's hands to cover her full, young breasts, ripe beneath the fine linen blouse.
"Mmmmm, takaya khoroshaya devushka," Natalia murmured at the girl's ear, prompting a shiver of delight from the human pressed back against her. She nipped a kiss at the girl's eager throat, but her eyes drew back to her Companion, and she beckoned him with a single crooked finger. "Come, moya zvezda," she entreated, "come and taste her with me." A purred chuckle wafted over the girl's shoulder. "'tis a much finer taste than the wine, I assure you..."
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There's something to the air when they're back upstairs, in a room that looks very much more lived-in than the one where he woke up, when Natalia tells him that it's hers. That electric feeling that's been between them ever since he laid eyes on her feels like it flares a little hotter at the thought that he's standing in her bedroom. He nods, but isn't quite sure what to do with himself, so he leans near the window, giving Natalia space. He'd not quite sure how this works, if he wants to really think about it.
And then there's a knock at the door, and to his surprise, a young girl walks in. All he can think of at first is how young she is. Hardly any older than Rebecca would be now, he thinks. It makes the idea of feeding off of her awkward, but Natalia had said that you don't have to hurt the people you feed from, and so he's trying to get past his initial reservations, but then Katya and Natalia, the way they interact together, how they touch turns more intimate, the way they kiss. There's a slight heat his face, around the collar, toward his ears.
It's arousing and troubling all at once. But it's when Katya pulls the redheads hands up to cover her breasts that he takes a step back, his face flushing a heated pink, and his blue eyes look away from the pair of them, his face creasing softly. He shakes his head, exhaling a rough breath. "I'm fine," he says quietly. Which isn't true at all, but it seems a kinder sentiment than to tell Natalia that he can't do this, that this feels wrong to him in all the ways that it can be. His spine is overly straight, and his shoulders tense.
"I can- wait outside, if you like." Although he says it almost more like he's asking permission than making an offer. He's not the sort to tell her that what she's doing is wrong. Not when he's so very aware that he's stepped into another world, into a different culture, but Katya is young and girlish and the very thought of laying a finger on her makes him cringe.
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"James," she gently admonished, clucking her tongue and shaking her head with wry amusement, "there is no need. She is here for our nourishment, taking pleasure in each other is simply habit." Green eyes twinkled into blue. "We are creatures of seduction, luring the unwary is an excellent way to hunt. But it is not necessary, as I stated earlier."
She gave him a gentle tug. "If you wish to feed and naught more, then that is also acceptable." Then her expression became serious and her eyes firm. "But feed you must, regardless of how you hunt. Katya," she addressed the girl, who immediately came to her side, "sit upon the divan, sweet one, and wait."
The blonde girl obediently did as instructed, taking a seat on the low couch near the flickering fire. Natalia released James' hands, following the youth and taking the seat on her left, then took the girl's arm, bringing Katya's wrist to her lips. Eyes on her stoic soldier, the green in them deepened as behind red lips a pair of wickedly sharp canines emerged, and then deliberately sank deep into the giving flesh beneath them.
Blood welled, Katya stiffened then relaxed with a soft moan, and leaned against her mistress with heavy-lidded eyes. Dark red stained the vampire's mouth as she drank, but moments later lowered the girl's dripping wrist to lick her lips at Bucky, eyebrow arching just the slightest. "Come here, James," she quietly instructed, Katya's arm lying across her lap. "It is what you need, moya zvezda. She is willing, and there is no shame in taking what is freely offered."
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Bucky just feels in over his head. He feels hot and uncomfortable, flushed, and he sighs, reaching up and dragging fingers through his short hair, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. But, he's not going to lecture her on morality. Not in her own home, not when she saved him. The girl is obedient, pliant, and it twists in his gut. Natalia releases his hands, moving to the girl, and he looks away, pointedly refusing to watch the scene before him.
He feels like he should do something but there's nothing for him to do, so he balls his hands into fists, clenched tight so that he almost breaks skin. Because even if he doesn't watch, he can still smell it, he can hear it when the girl moans and it makes him flinch. And yet, when Natalia calls him to her side, he obligingly takes a few steps closer, even if there's a raw emotion in his eyes, a desire that almost makes him want to run. Makes him wish for the snow.
"I don't need this." He says with a shake of his head, a gesture of one hand toward the girl in Natalia's lap, a tremble in his shoulders with the things he can't- or wont- put into words. The poor blonde girl that seems more like a puppet than anything and he can't do anything for her. He knows it could be worse. That it was worse in the stories, and he should be glad for that, but Bucky's always had a protective urge towards young people, especially girls and he feels helpless here and that just makes it worse.
"And that's not true. There is shame in it." He says it softly, the way the last sentence almost hisses by accident. There's a touch of anger to it, his discomfort getting the better of him. And God help him put part of him still wants to kiss Natalia, wants her hands on him, wants to beg her for it. He should walk away, head for the door, back to his room, or the cold of the snow, but he can't walk away from her.
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She didn't miss, however, the few steps that he took towards the divan; but then humanity reared its head and stopped his slow approach. He was warring with himself, she noted, and that too was unsurprising. What was, actually, was how long it had taken for the battle to arrive. Well, better late than never at all, she supposed. That he warred at all bespoke much about him, more than she'd initially surmised.
Her lips pursed, though, at his latter remarks, a frown settling over her brow as she sighed. "I am sorry you believe so," was all she said in reply, releasing Katya's arm - the marks weren't deep and the girl's blood had ceased flowing almost immediately. Giving the youth a kiss to her temple, Natalia softly bid her depart, and reaffirmed her command at the girl's moue of protest.
Once she and her fledgling were again alone in the room, Natalia rose from the divan, huffing a soft exasperated sigh, and moved to the large balcony windows, brushing aside the heavy curtain to gaze at the snow falling outside. She lightly crossed her arms, but it was not to the window that she spoke, when she finally did.
"Do you intend to starve, then?"
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She moves to the window, and though that frustration is still clear in how he holds himself, in the flash of his blue eyes, he follows after her. He doesn't stand too close, but near, close to her, a little off to her left, watching her. He doesn't quite know what to expect, but he doesn't seem to fear her reaction either. At the question he sighs, exasperated. His fingers curl, but they're not clenched tight like they were before.
"There's gotta be something in between starving and victimizing little girls," he answered, his Brooklyn accent coming out a little bit more clearly. He'd been trying to sound a little more proper, a little less out of place, even when he knew that he was, among the lavish finery, the feeling like he'd stepped into Renaissance nobility. But the anger and the irritation and the hunger that scrapes against his insides makes it comes out sharper. They both have their accents.
He feels like he should apologize or explain, or something, but this is all new to him. He doesn't really know what to say. Part of him wants to hit something, because that's easier. Not her, but a wall, or someone who deserved it. He'd always had a temper. His father had pushed him to boxing, told him that he was a protector, not a bully, and Bucky had taken it to heart. But there were no easy answers here.
"I know I'm new to all of this. And I am thankful that you saved me. But the innocent are supposed to be protected not used, and I just-" He trails off, shakes his head. His issue isn't about feeding off people, but about Katya, about the way that everything about it had felt. The fact that she was probably not much older than Rebecca, if she was older at all. There's no words to fill in the space and his shoulders finally slump a little. It's harder to hold onto his anger when it's no longer in his face, but he still feels off, out of sorts, awkward about the whole thing.
Starving, too. Can still smell the blood and part of him wants to lick her lips to see if he can still taste it. He almost whimpers, at the way it makes him ache. This feeling that twists inside of him.
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So, her daughter held her tongue and her temper, keenly noting that distinct American accent, it falling charmingly upon her ear. When she did deign to turn, look at him solidly, and speak, it was with crossed arms, a straight spine, and a flat, expressionless gaze.
"It bothers you that she is young?" An insightful observation, but an unnecessary one. Natalia sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Well...I suppose I can understand why it would. You American military men are conditioned to protect, are you not? Those weaker, lesser, unable to defend themselves, da?" She had very limited experience with that particular breed, but all of them seemed to share the same sort of mindset.
"And yes, you are very 'new to all of this', as you say. But let me soothe your worries in this, at least." A faint smile curved her lips, but didn't quite reach her eyes. She went on to explain that Katya and her family were descendants of those who had served the Romanova bloodline since feudal times, and worked here at the estate in exchange for living quarters, education, safety, and the promise of protection from whatever horrors might come slinking out of the mountains.
"They are not the only family to do so, either," Natalia added. "Anton's ancestors have been in service to my family for generations, and have prospered very well. A little blood not and again isn't much to offer in light of what they receive in return. And Katya is a woman grown - she has never been forced to offer her throat, but does so because it is a gesture of love and respect, a way to honor her family's service. She is a sweet, gentle child, and I take great responsibility in ensuring she is well taken care of."
Again, she shook her head and turned back to the window, gazing out over the frozen landscape. "There are few humans who are privy to the existence of our kind, James. And it is far better that it remain so. But, when our worlds sometimes overlap, it is well for us to protect those who serve us, it is the honorable thing to do, after all." A small shoulder shrugged lightly. "Some feel that it is their right to take advantage of those living beneath their family's roof, but House Romanova takes pride in the fact that all of our people are safe, secure, and content." Now, she did glance over her shoulder, a small twinkle in her eye.
"--even you."
But there was still the matter of him feeding. That itchy hunger would only grow the longer it was denied, and she had no desire at all to subdue him should he descend into that hunger like a mindless beast.
Natalia huffed a short, sharp sigh. "Nevertheless, you still must feed." Abandoning her sentinel post at the window, she moved over to the edge of her bed, sat upon it, and methodically began to unbutton her blouse. Pale, pure skin gleamed beneath it, porcelain in the fire's ruddy light, and she slipped it off of her arms and tossed it aside, but left the black silken corset intact as she leaned back on her hands and gave her brand-new Companion an expectant yet mildly amused look.
Again, she invited, "Come, James," and angled her head to offer her throat for him, pulse beating like a beacon in the delicate slope of her flesh. "Or will you refuse me, as well?"
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Natalia seems like she's trying to understand more than tell him how wrong he is, which wins her points, so he tries to be open about it, to allow her to. And he knows that he's upset her, can see it in her eyes, and he doesn't want to, so he tries to understand her, too. So when she explains, he quiets and he listens to her talk about the way that this works in her family. It helps some, at least. Even if the idea of that girlish blonde, giggles and almost pouted sexuality as a woman grown doesn't seem quite right, he can understand the intention there, he thinks.
Katya is older than he took her for. Not old enough for him to have been comfortable with what was happening, he's fairly sure, but enough that he feels a little guilty for that earlier jab about victimizing children, at least. But really, he's just glad for the way she explains that while some of their kind consider it a sort of ownership, that the Romanovas value the safety of those that serve them.
He flushes a little when she looks at him back over her shoulder, with that way that her eyes glitter, and Bucky exhales a little. His heart twisting, as if somehow that hunger makes his desire for her more easily flared, but he pushes it down, nodding and running a hand through his short hair. "I'm glad. She seems like a nice girl," he offers. "And I'm... sorry if I was harsh. I've seen some of the bad things that can happen to girls." He admits. And Katya had seemed so pliant and helpless and it had tripped so much of that old wiring.
He nods, about to voice a casual I know when she points out that he still has to feed, but then she's unbuttoning her shirt and the words die on his lips. He stares at her helplessly, a sound in the back of his throat that's helpless and needy as he watches the way her skin looks by the firelight. That black silk corset accenting her waist, and he wants to slide his hands against it, hold her, undo the laces with his teeth so that his cheek can feel her skin.
But his gaze shifts from the curve of her breasts, to her throat with that entreaty that pulls a low mewling whine from his lips. He moves toward her, and she can probably see it in his eyes, the way that all that self-control that had been steadily fraying as he tried to hold onto it as they warred over Katya just came apart, melting under the heat of her and the way that she said those words.
"Never," he murmurs. He'd intended to sit next to her, to be soft and polite, but instead he ends up in her lap. He's careful, his knees to the sides of her waist, and he doesn't push her, but he can't resist the way that his hands go to her body. His fingers curling against her corset as his face presses to the side of her throat. His fingers softly sliding against the fabric, his body pressed close, desire and hunger blended but he doesn't push for more than she offers.
His tongue licks against the skin, and his breath comes shaky and heated. "Natalia, pozhaluysta," he breathes against her skin, and she can probably feel the sharp scrape of those newborn fangs. He asks in Russian, trying to be sweet, even if he's far from fluent. He'd been trying to make sure it was okay, but even that slight scrape draws blood and Bucky can't help himself, not when he's so close. That darting touch of his tongue and then fangs are sinking into her skin with a hitched gasp as he drinks.
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He was a soldier. A man conditioned for battle, and he could not be expected to understand the subtle intricacies of this brand new world into which he'd fallen. It was her duty to educate him, to care for him, to ensure he had everything he required to survive. Including nourishment, first and foremost. And while he wouldn't be able to take complete satisfaction from her blood - she was a vampire and her own life force lacked the nutriment that a human's blood carried - it would still sate him for a time, at least.
And Natalia had no qualm whatsoever about letting him close, near, even draping her arms around his waist when he settled over her, shivering at the first touch of his breath and lips on her unmarked skin. "Da, moi vozlyublennyye, da," she hissed in reply to his breathless plea, then he bit, and she couldn't help crying out in absolute bliss as she felt his fangs penetrate, then felt the seal of those lovely lips around the open wounds, and he drank from her - by the Mother, she'd never ever experienced anything so purely erotic.
She fisted one small hand in Bucky's short hair, to anchor him to her, then fell backwards across the bed, moaning and shuddering, unable to simply lie there and take it. He was pulling life right out of her veins, and she could do nothing but let him. Writhing in his grasp, Natalia wound her free arm and one shapely leg around her feeding Child, gasping his name in a breathless, broken voice. Golden tendrils of pleasure began to ripple beneath her skin, making her clutch him all the tighter. Oh, but she'd never dreamed--!
Until her eyes fluttered open and came to rest on the curve of James's dusky throat, his own beating pulse drawing her gaze like a magnet. Sharp fangs pricked her lower lip and Natalia gave a husky moan, almost a sob, before sinking them into that enticing flesh, tightening her legs around his hips when the first taste of his sweet, sweet blood hit her tongue.
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That's what he thinks at first, but then he remembers that fragile recollection of her wrist against his mouth. But this is real, present and vivid, not overshadowed by death, but tinged with desire, with pleasure. He knew enough Russian to understand the words she said, what she called him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he feels almost addicted to the taste of her.
She grabs his hair, falling back onto the bed, and he followed her down. The way that she moaned going straight through him. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't want to relinquish the hold of his fangs, either. She winds her body around him, and he can't resist the urge to touch, not with her gasping his name like a plea. One hand curls at the back of her neck, brushing through the curls of her hair, as the other trails up her side, cupping where her breast spills from the top of her corset.
He holds onto her, leans into her, absolutely helpless. The way she cries out, a moan that's almost a sob, and then her fangs are in his throat. His hips jerk against her, helpless, and he cries out, almost mewling against her skin. Unable to choke back that sound, but his tongue lapping at the marks that his fangs left, wanting to taste every trace of her. It might not satisfy him like a human would, but he's almost sure that no one could taste as good as she did.
He bares his throat for her, moaning at the feeling of it. "Natalia, moya milaya--" His grasp of Russian was what he'd picked up on the Eastern Front, working with Soviet forces against the Germans and HYDRA. It was mostly limited to complaining about the cold, complimenting a nice shot, and talking about women. He was suddenly rather glad for it, though, even if the words were a little clumsy on his tongue.
"You're perfect," he gasps, curling fingers in her hair, tugging her closer, encouraging her as she drank from him. He ached for it, his body shaking, hard against her where his hips pressed to hers. He felt almost delirious, but he still wanted. More of this, more of her, this feeling, the way her blood felt on his tongue and in her mouth, the way the pleasure of her fangs sang through him. He just wants. He's usually something of a gentleman, all smiles and gentle seduction, but she's stripped away all that control, has him burning as he kisses at what skin he can reach, touches her. His fingers hiking up her skirts so he can slide fingers against her thigh where her leg wraps around him.
"I need you," the words low, almost a whimper. His blue eyes are dark, pupils blown with desire as he strokes fingers against her silken skin.
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Then desire returned in hunger's wake, and Natalia clasped her Companion close, directing his roughened hands to her clothing, urging him with hasty kisses and whispered directions to remove them, even as she began to tug on the buttons of his own garments. Her cooler skin was heating nicely, flush from the rush of blood beneath it, and every inch revealed she immediately pressed against his, wanting to rub herself all over him, just like a purring feline, and be covered in his scent, so thick and delicious.
"...James," she heard her own voice whimper, hurriedly shoving the fine linen shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, tossing it away without a care. Feeling him hard between her thighs had her squirming in response, her skirt rucked up between them, and unwelcome barrier just like his trousers. Neither stopped her from lifting a smooth bare leg for his hand, coiling possessively over his back so that she might roll her hips against his, the friction delicious.
"I want you," she breathed against his blood-stained lips, licking away the remnants of her own blood and moaning at the taste of him beneath it. Drawing a shaking but deep breath, Natalia paused a moment simply to gaze up at her lover, green eyes heady, smoky. "You are...beautiful," she told him with a soft, sweet smile. She ran the tip of her tongue around her mouth, catching the last lingering drops of his blood. "So sweet, so very lovely." Fingertips brushed his cheek, her thumb ghosting over his lower lip.
"My lovely James...mine." Hands in his hair, Natalia drew him down to her for a long, heated kiss, whimpering at the slow, thorough dance of slick wet muscles behind their lips. "...I'm yours," she whispered to him moments later. "Take me as you will, vozlyublennyye.."
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He wants to take her, gentle and soft, take his time, explore her body with his mouth and his hands, tease her to orgasm and then take her when she's trembling and aching for him. But this isn't the moment for it. His control is already gone, he's aching for her, every second feels a second too long. Her skin feels so soft against him, and he wants her now, lacks the patience for what he wants to give her. His fingers already undoing his pants, shoving them down off his hips as he presses between her thighs, navigating her skirts so that he can press against her through the scant barrier of their underthings.
They're wrapped together, and he doesn't want to let go just to strip them both down to the skin. So he makes do, shoving his own down, and-- well, he intends to just drag her own up her thighs, but he's tense and on edge, and the delicate fabric comes apart in his fingers when he tugs a little too hard. He looks at her, a little apologetic, kissing up against her chest, pausing to suck against her nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue and then murmuring a soft apology into her collarbone as he made his way up her body.
"Yours," he breathes, looking up at her with stars in his eyes. "My beautiful queen," he murmurs. "You're so lovely, so sweet-- and I need you," he murmurs in between kisses against her skin. There was something about her. He'd always had a thing for redheads, and she had rescued him, but it was more than that, too. There was a sharpness about her and a sweetness, and her every touch enticed him, unraveled him. She was an addiction he didn't want to escape.
They kiss, lips sealed and tongues sliding against one another, and at that invitation, still gasping for breath, he slides fingers between her thighs, rubbing against that bundle of nerves, and then dragging down to slide down against her sex. His fingers sink into her, thrusting a few times which is as long as he can stand, just wanting to make sure she's wet and ready for him. "You're perfect, Natalia--" It's all he can spare before one hand curls against her hip, the other steadying himself as he lines up against her and slowly sinks in with a choked gasp, and wide blue eyes that look down at her helplessly.
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Realizing that they were tangled with each other, haphazardly undressed but no less eager, Natalia willingly parted her mouth for James's tongue, kissing him as if she'd never be able to do so again. She arched upwards into his seeking hand, shivering with a muted moan against his mouth when rough fingers sank into slick, wet heat. She sighed soft encouraging endearments against his skin as he prepared her, hips bucking a little impatiently at such a bold, sure tease.
But then he was there, dragging hot and heavy against her, and she snatched a quick, steadying breath before - "...James...!" It was a keened cry, and she felt him penetrate her fully, easily, and she shuddered around him, squeezing tight, knowing she never wanted to ever let him go. He was hers. She was his. It may as well have been written in stone. Natalia knew they would never be able to go back, not now.
"My beautiful one," she whispered at his cheek, heated and flushed beneath him, her now-bare legs wrapped tightly around Bucky's hips. "I love how you feel...inside me." Even now, the urge for completion still frothed, but Natalia also wanted to savor him, despite the long years they'd have together. She shifted her hips, feeling a spike of pure pleasure bolt through her loins, and arched her back with a low moan, delighting in the way their bare bodies pressed and rubbed together. Her nipples hard against his chest, his hips tight against hers.
Bidden by an unknown desire, Natalia hissed a soft breath and flattened both of her hands to Bucky's back, only to draw eight white lines down the length of his spine, her nails marking him: hers, hers, hers. Her hips now bucked beneath his, a silent imperative; she wanted all of him, and her possessive kiss, made up of tongues and teeth, urged him for more.