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
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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.
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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.