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
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.