On the plains in Wakanda, Bucky could see for miles. It helped to make him feel a little more secure, knowing who was approaching well before they hit his hut. But that evening, as day turned to twilight and the stars started to twinkle up in the sky, Bucky wasn't paying attention to the horizon. Couldn't pay attention.
His attention was focused on his hand, trembling slightly. He twisted his fingers in his shawl in an effort to stop the trembling, but it didn't help, and he let go with a disgusted sigh.
They'd told him, as the Hydra shit left his head and his body, that he'd go through a period of adjustment before his body settled into something resembling normal — if he could manage something as mundane as normal. After seventy years of suppressants, no one was exactly sure what would happen to his body. At least they were aware that his system would be flooded with testosterone and hormones, and the potential for ruts.
Bucky shifted on his feet, leaning against the well he had, meant for his sole use, and a soft growl escaped him. He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. With an impatient gesture, he pushed it back and pushed off the edge of the well. Energy crackled in his veins, but after so many years, he couldn't tell what it was, if he'd even been aware of it before. If it had even happened before Hydra.
According to Steve's latest message — they talked over text messages and video calls, Steve's biology incompatible with his at the moment — they were sending someone to help. He hadn't clarified and Bucky didn't have anything more, no who or why or when. Whoever it was, he just hoped they could help with the burning itch beneath his skin. After seventy years of his body being a tool, he hated having it taken from again because of fucking biology. Another growl escaped him, and he kicked the brick of the well.
The first time Steve had asked her to do this, she'd said no. And the second. And the third. The fourth time, she'd finally relented, albeit reluctantly. And only then because she'd finally gained access to the files no one had wanted to see; recorded testimony of what James B. Barnes had suffered at HYDRA's unmerciful hands. Steve had tried to keep it under wraps - Natasha understood the why of it - but she'd been insistent that if she was going to try and help his best friend acclimate to his own body's biology without chemical interference, then she needed to know just how he'd reacted while actually on those particular drug cocktails.
In her youth, she'd had difficulty settling into her own presentation; Omegas were stereotyped to be passive, less aggressive, and more even tempered than their volatile counterparts, but Natasha's formative years had been their own testimony to suffering, pain, and abuse. She'd emerged from that hell a perfect marble shell, cool-headed, even-keeled, but with an underlying, dangerous energy thrumming just beneath that glassy surface. She could absolutely hold her own against whatever Alpha came snarling into her path.
Which was the main reason Rogers had all but begged her to do this.
Recalling only too vividly what it was to feel betrayed by one's own body, and a prisoner to one's own emotions, Natasha had finally agreed, and she was currently en route to Barnes' little farm out on the Wakandan plain. The sun was setting over the savanna, the natural beauty not at all lost on the redhead, even if she was a bit...distracted. But the transport arrived soon enough, and the palace guardsman indicated the Wakandan bracelet on her wrist, that should she need assistance, it would arrive as soon as possible.
Leaving her escort to return to the palace, Natasha shouldered her duffel and began a steady pace towards the house, eyes and ears missing very little. The place seemed neat, evidence of care given to the fence, house, and small shed behind it, a small garden, a few fruit trees, indicative of a single occupant and the lack of a supermarket within walking distance.
But then she smelled him, and her nostrils flared of their own accord, inhaling the distinctive scent of fresh-baked bread, sunshine, and a darker tang, something like...gunpowder and mint. It filled her nose, nearly lifting her up on her toes to take in more, but Natasha sternly shook her head and reminded herself just who was in charge around here, and resumed her steady pace for the front door. It was open, but Natasha wasn't about to just barge in; that was a rookie mistake.
Instead, she leaned in the doorway slightly, peered this way and that, and rapped a knuckle on the frame. "Barnes?!" Her alto echoed softly in the dimness. "Barnes, you home?!"
Bucky smelled Natasha before he saw her. He'd retreated to the house as the evening grew darker, wanting something to do to escape the itch burning beneath his skin. He'd left the door open to catch the cross breeze and it carried a scent to his nose, the smell of clean sheets and warm summers, a jumble of spices blending together, with steel and vanilla beneath. Bucky breathed in, letting it out as he shifted his shoulders, something settling in his body. The burning beneath his skin was still there but settled, waiting for the right time.
A growl escaped him as he heard footsteps draw closer but it wasn't the frustration of earlier or even a warning growl he'd given to Steve when the man had tried to visit. Low, vibrating in his chest, it was.... Bucky shook his head, refusing to think about it was, or why his body was settling with that scent on the air.
When he emerged from the bedroom, Bucky stalked forward. Over the months, he'd been working on learning to walk without terrifying people, finding some of his natural grace again, but with all of this going on in his body, he couldn't help it: he stalked.
"Yeah, I'm here," he answered, his voice still low, matching hers. "Rogers send you?" It was a dumb question and he knew it — Natasha wouldn't be there on her own, he was sure — but he wanted the clarification, the acknowledgment that he wasn't going to be invaded by someone else.
He stopped in the body of the room, eyes glued to the petite figure in the doorway, arm held loose by his side, the stump of his left arm covered by the usual shawl he wore during the day. He itched to reach out and touch, but that was an instinct, the behavior of an alpha around an omega. It felt like his body was still not his own, driven by these instincts he didn't quite understand. "Didn't know you were an omega."
He hadn't known. Had barely remembered that Steve was an Alpha and that only because of what the museum and the internet and his resurfacing memories told him. Even after he'd escaped Hydra, he'd found suppressants and that helped hide the scents and designations of everyone around him.
She smelled him before she saw him. That intriguing scent intensified, filling her nose and sending a warmth flooding beneath her skin, but it was the growl that had her hackles going up, invisible hairs lifting all over her body. Natasha very nearly lifted her lip in response, but then Barnes appeared in the fading sunlight, and she didn't miss his predatory stance, but it wasn't in her to be intimidated. By anyone.
So she forced herself to calm, to ease, to adopt a casual stance in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame and a hip lightly cocked as she nodded to his question. "He asked," she clarified gently, "and I said I'd do what I could to help you out." Natasha softly tapped her fingers against the door frame, shrugging to his next comment.
"Yeah, well, I don't exactly go around advertising." A soft snort. "Tends to cloud people's judgments." She'd seen enough Omegas squashed into submission by overly-pushy Alphas, grouped into the stereotype that the general public seemed to believe held true for the different presentations. "Neither of us are what anyone would consider 'typical' for our presentations."
Green eyes slowly looked him over; even from here, Natasha sensed the buzzing frustration thrumming just beneath his surface. He didn't look too rough, about what she'd expected, really. Steve had made it sound like Barnes was rolling around on the floor chewing the carpet, but then, Rogers had always been a little over-exuberant when it came to James Barnes. Still, his hidden agitation was enough to make her want to offer comfort, to soothe him however she could, and Natasha almost took that step, but reined in her traitorous feet just before she could.
No. This had to be his decision. She wasn't going to make the choice for him.
"So," she said in her customary cool tone, "do you want me to stay? It's okay if you don't. No one wants to intrude on your privacy, or force you into anything. But I'm willing to help, if you'll let me."
At her comment about not being 'typical' for their presentations, Bucky snorted, although he refrained from commenting. He didn't think he'd been all that typical of an Alpha back before the war since Steve cared about him something fierce and he didn't think Steve would love someone bad, but he might have just been good at hiding the posturing.
And now, of course, he didn't know what an Alpha even did, or what would be described as typical. Even with the Hydra shit out of his head, he had to learn to be human again, remember what that looked like.
He shrugged his shoulder, then nodded at her. "You can come in. Rather you than anyone else." It wasn't an actual welcome or even all that nice but it wasn't an outright refusal. And he really would rather do this with her than anyone else, or try to resist his rut. Any annoyance or frustration was directed at his body, and the terrible history he had with his body, not at Natasha.
"It's not supposed to hit for a few days yet, at least according to the doctors, so we've got time to settle." He paused, looking at her again. "If you decide to leave, no hard feelings."
He retreated back toward the single bedroom, standing in the doorway, so she could come in further, only to realize she'd need to set her stuff down in the bedroom and moved into the little kitchen he had, sparse to fit his needs.
She wasn't expecting the red carpet or five-star treatment. James Barnes had literally been through hell - she'd know, better than most - and was still in the process of learning how to be a person, instead of a primed weapon just waiting for a target. So Natasha took the acquiescence for what it was, calmly stepping inside, bag in her left hand, leaving her right free - a habit, that.
Already acutely aware of Bucky's presence within the small hut, Natasha politely kept her distance, not wanting to crowd into his space or make him uncomfortable with unwanted proximity. Which...was going to be a challenge, given the close quarters of his home. She watched closely, but calmly (calm, calm is good, we are just going to be calm), as the alpha stepped back towards the only bedroom, apparently thought better of it, then slunk into the kitchen, leaving her to surreptitiously quirk her lips in mild amusement, move to place her duffel just inside the bedroom door, then join him in the other room, coming to lean just inside the doorway.
Clasping her hands in front of her, Natasha adopted casual nonchalance as she gazed at her new housemate, and offered a soft smile, barely a curve of lips, but the sentiment was there, regardless.
"So," she began, keeping her husky alto even (and calm), "a few days. Good. That'll give us time to set out some guidelines, then. First and foremost, I'd ask that you be honest with me. About everything. I'm here to help you, and I'll do whatever I can to that end, I promise. If something doesn't sit well with you, tell me. If something does, same thing."
Natasha couldn't help inhaling a covert breath just then, his captivating scent filling her nose and washing over every nerve ending. "We...haven't been...around each other enough to...pick up the nuances..." Her lashes softly fluttered and she inhaled again, nearly taking an involuntary step forward, wanting more of that delectable smell. But caught herself with a small ironic laugh, shaking her head.
"...but I don't think that's gonna be a problem for very long...because damn, Barnes, you smell...so amazing..."
He suspected, if it had been anyone else, there would be a lot more concerned looks and frowning going on, and at least Natasha wasn't doing that to him. It was an immense relief, one he couldn't precisely find words for at the moment.
Bucky knew they would have to get closer eventually, considering the entire reason why she was there. They couldn't very well fuck with three feet between them. But he needed to ease into that; even with knowing someone was going to help him, he wasn't exactly ready for a new person to invade his space.
He listened to her guidelines, nodding at the end. "You, too. If something doesn't sit right, tell me. Especially if I'm hurting you." God, he hated the idea that he might inadvertently hurt her during hi rut, knowing it was an intense situation. "And if you like something. I ain't so good at reading those tells anymore."
He'd been great at it once, and he did know how to read people during combat. But pleasure was a different story.
As she drifted closer, almost involuntarily, he caught another whiff of her scent, making his mouth water. It had been so long since he'd smelled something like that, smelled someone like that. It put his senses on edge, sharpened them, although all of them were directed at her. There was an omega, and his body told him it was someone he needed to protect and fuck, provide for and take to bed.
"It shouldn't be a problem," he muttered, turning away and rummaging for a glass. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"I will," she promised, nodding slowly. "But don't worry so much about the former, all right? I wouldn't have come out here if I didn't think I could handle you." She wasn't by any means weak or defenseless; she'd fought for survival her entire life. And yes, Barnes in the frothing madness of a rut was hardly anything to take lightly, Natasha fully believed that he'd never intentionally harm or hurt her, in any way or form. She wasn't afraid of him.
"Water's fine. Thanks." Even if he did have anything stronger, it was probably best for her to keep a clear head, at least for the next few days. Natasha noted the stiffness in Bucky's stance when he turned away from her, and she quietly stepped up beside him near the counter, close but not touching. "You're on edge," she observed, "and that's normal, too. I know it's been a very long time for you." She turned around to gently lean against the counter, lacing her hands over her stomach.
"I know touch is a difficult subject, but we're going to have to address it sooner rather than later." Natasha craned her neck to meet Bucky's gaze. "I need to know what your limits are, where I can put my hands without being invasive. If it helps," she added quietly, "you can touch me whenever, wherever you like. Especially if it'll help ground you, ease out some of the tension."
She slowly tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "Are you okay with that?"
He didn't want to hurt anyone intentionally, but with the fact that this was the first rut in so many years, he didn't exactly know what to do with himself during it, or what would happen. But as Nat said, she wasn't defenseless, and that knowledge helped ease some of the tension in his shoulders. It still didn't sit right on him, all of this, but his restlessness and anger were more fueled by the surging hormones in his body than anything else.
He busied himself with pouring a glass of water for Natasha, then one for himself, watching her from the corner of his eye. She didn't get too close, but the fact that she was in his space settled something inside his gut, even while it stirred a feeling he couldn't exactly describe. Even if he hadn't gone through Hydra and all their bullshit, he wouldn't have the words to describe the feeling — he'd grown in up in 1920s and 1930s America, not a time and place known for discussing feelings.
He started to slide the glass across the counter to her, then changed his mind and held it out, deliberately placing his hand in spots where she'd have to touch his fingers to take it from him. He wasn't exactly comfortable with people touching him, beyond the kids who'd come talk to him sometimes, but this was a way to work up to it.
"Don't touch the shoulder," he said, lifting his left shoulder slightly. "Not exactly the best spot. Don't put anything in my mouth. If something else bothers me, I'll tell you." Hopefully without throwing her across the room.
Natasha didn't hesitate; she smoothly reached out with her left hand and took the offered glass, letting the tips of her fingers graze across the backs of Bucky's knuckles. The initial contact sent a warmth rushing beneath her skin, and she swore she felt her cheeks flush. But she took the glass, drank a small sip, and nodded agreement.
"That's fair," she replied quietly. She took another slow swallow from her glass, green eyes never leaving blue as she did. Lowering the glass slowly, Natasha unconsciously licked her lips, feeling her breath catch ever so slightly. This was going to be...interesting.
"You've relaxed a little," she observed after another long moment passed. "That's a good sign." She held her glass easily in both hands, keeping her casual lean against the kitchen counter. "Try not to think about it so much. It's hard to analyze, it's just something you...well, feel, really." Natasha turned slightly and placed her glass back on the counter, then deliberately unzipped her jacket, shrugged it off of her shoulders, and set it aside. The black tank top was stark against her pale skin, eclipsed by the long red curls that fell when she pulled the ponytail free.
"So, let's try something, da?" Natasha tilted her head slightly, a silent invitation. "Touch me, James. Let's see if you can do it gently, and maybe we can settle you down a little more.."
That simple touch wasn't terrible, like he'd secretly feared it might be; instead, it lit up something inside him, made his shoulders relax even as it made him want to be closer. He unconsciously slid half a step closer, watching her drink the water. Like the touch, knowing he'd provided for her did something to his gut, sending satisfaction thrumming through his veins.
He knew it was the alpha coming out, his hormones guiding him through this as best they could after seventy years of suppressants and drugs, and it was a good sign; Bucky just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to face having less control over his body. Still, as he'd talked to the doctors, it was better to deal with it now, in a careful, controlled environment with someone he respected and trusted — and he respected and trust Natasha — and he did trust her, and not just because Steve trusted her.
He watched quietly as she pulled off her jacket, her scent even more pronounced now that she had it off. His nostrils flared, lust banking in his blue eyes, and when she asked him to touch her, he was ready. More than.
When he reached out, his hand was steady despite the urge to just reach out and pull her close, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, barely touching her. His hand was a whisper against her shoulder, and he trailed his fingers down her bicep, still light, almost as if he were afraid to put more force behind his touch.
She'd expected hesitation, or even an outright refusal, so when Bucky stepped closer and reached out to let his fingers drift over her skin, Natasha was, admittedly, taken a little aback. Particularly with the spike in his scent, gunpowder and mint immediately flooding into her nose and making her blood begin to race. Her own nostrils flared in response, and she couldn't help that her lips parted on a soft sigh, lashes slowly drifting over deep green.
His touch was so light. Almost reverent. But somehow, sure. The calloused pads of Bucky's fingers were a sensual roughness against her pale skin, and Natasha bit back a very small moan as sensation began to blossom from that small point of contact. Christ, but she hadn't expected this to take so fast. Although they shared violent histories and carried burdens that would crush most normal people, they were still relative strangers. But something was building between them, something that coiled and purred and yearned.
And she felt it; the instinctual urge to become soft and submissive, caring and comforting, to be willing to soothe the Alpha in front of her however was required, and Natasha didn't even realize that she'd lifted her own hand to rest on Bucky's elbow, dexterous fingers trailing the opposite direction as they smoothed upwards to caress his tricep then feather softly over his right shoulder. She didn't want to push too far into his comfort zone, but these small steps were so important; she needed him to trust her with his body, to know that every move she made was for his benefit.
But she didn't realize that her other hand had moved to flatten against his left ribcage, fingernails gently catching in soft fabric. The closer they became, the stronger the urge to touch grew. The redhead took another involuntary step, placing her small frame between Bucky and the kitchen counter, and tilted her head a little more, offering him her throat.
"You can scent me," she murmured in a throaty whisper, "if you want." Teeth nibbled at her lower lip, and Natasha's hands tightened on Bucky's body, just a fraction. "...I want you to," she admitted.
He wanted to hold off, give it more time. Had it been anyone but Natasha, he’d still be across the room, eyeing whoever it was with wariness. But it was Natasha, who he knew, both in this life and from his time as the Winter Soldier, even if she was mostly a stranger. She was safe, in the very way that she wasn’t, in the way that they shared a history, knew the burdens they carried. She could hold her own against him, if the situation was such that he needed to be subdued. Not that anything in him said violence; it was the exact opposite thrumming in his veins. A desire to possess, yes, but also treasure and comfort and protect, all wrapped up together in something Bucky couldn’t untangle. Wasn’t sure he wanted to try to untangle.
He always had been protective, in his own way. He remembered that much.
He deliberately keeps his touch light and delicate. Over the months, he’s learned how to temper his strength but he’s still somewhat cautious about people, especially people he hasn’t touched before, until he learns what they like, what they don’t like. He’s not afraid of crushing Natasha, but doesn’t want to push her in a way she doesn’t want. Watching her bite back a sound makes him wonder; it doesn’t seem bad, especially since she isn’t drawing away. Bucky finds he wants to keep going, wants to push a sound out of her, any sound — every sound.
Hyper aware of his body, he knows instantly when she touches him. It makes him tense slightly, but not so much that he freezes or shakes off her touch. They’re small steps, and he knows they’re necessary to get to the bigger things looming on the horizon. He makes a soft noise, halfway between a moan and a growl, as she slides between him and the counter, and it’s easy to get lost in the sensation, slide in just a little to press her closer. He wants to consume her, his hormones screaming at him. Almost in a daze, he dips his head to her throat, the pale expanse of skin bared to him calling out to every instinct he has. His nose runs along the curve of her throat, scenting, practically able to feel her scent on his tongue, and he wants to mix his scent in with hers, wants to bite —
And then he’s three feet away, breathing heavily, and staring at her with heavy eyes.
She didn't need protecting. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, and had done so for longer than she could remember. But nevertheless, despite all of her strength, when Bucky lowered his head to her throat, the flare of his nostrils soft against her skin, Natasha had instantly let her head fall back further, feeling every nerve beneath her skin blaze to life instantly. She heard him make a soft thrumming growl and it had her gut clenching almost painfully, suddenly needing the pressure of his teeth sinking into her willing flesh.
Her breathing quickened, not out of fear but from sheer anticipation, and she'd just begun to slide her arms around him, to hold him close, and to lean back on the counter, spread her thighs and take him completely...
But then he was ripped from her arms, and halfway across the kitchen, leaving her propped against the counter on unsteady knees, panting softly, and staring right back at him with eyes gone wide and dark with barely restrained desire. Natasha gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles aching with the strain, and that small pain helped her swim up from the depths of absolute lust in which she'd been drowning, and she blinked several times, giving her head a minute shake in an effort to clear her fogged mind.
It took her several tries, but she finally managed to find her voice again, and it only sounded a little breathless when she could speak again, though she tried to pretend the huskiness in her tone wasn't from the still-clinging want yearning below her stomach.
"...okay. ...it's...okay. That was...that was...a little far. Wasn't it." Not really a question, considering that he was staring at her as if either of them might suddenly burst into flame right in front of the other.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
the 'verse we talked about
His attention was focused on his hand, trembling slightly. He twisted his fingers in his shawl in an effort to stop the trembling, but it didn't help, and he let go with a disgusted sigh.
They'd told him, as the Hydra shit left his head and his body, that he'd go through a period of adjustment before his body settled into something resembling normal — if he could manage something as mundane as normal. After seventy years of suppressants, no one was exactly sure what would happen to his body. At least they were aware that his system would be flooded with testosterone and hormones, and the potential for ruts.
Bucky shifted on his feet, leaning against the well he had, meant for his sole use, and a soft growl escaped him. He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. With an impatient gesture, he pushed it back and pushed off the edge of the well. Energy crackled in his veins, but after so many years, he couldn't tell what it was, if he'd even been aware of it before. If it had even happened before Hydra.
According to Steve's latest message — they talked over text messages and video calls, Steve's biology incompatible with his at the moment — they were sending someone to help. He hadn't clarified and Bucky didn't have anything more, no who or why or when. Whoever it was, he just hoped they could help with the burning itch beneath his skin. After seventy years of his body being a tool, he hated having it taken from again because of fucking biology. Another growl escaped him, and he kicked the brick of the well.
yay! <33
In her youth, she'd had difficulty settling into her own presentation; Omegas were stereotyped to be passive, less aggressive, and more even tempered than their volatile counterparts, but Natasha's formative years had been their own testimony to suffering, pain, and abuse. She'd emerged from that hell a perfect marble shell, cool-headed, even-keeled, but with an underlying, dangerous energy thrumming just beneath that glassy surface. She could absolutely hold her own against whatever Alpha came snarling into her path.
Which was the main reason Rogers had all but begged her to do this.
Recalling only too vividly what it was to feel betrayed by one's own body, and a prisoner to one's own emotions, Natasha had finally agreed, and she was currently en route to Barnes' little farm out on the Wakandan plain. The sun was setting over the savanna, the natural beauty not at all lost on the redhead, even if she was a bit...distracted. But the transport arrived soon enough, and the palace guardsman indicated the Wakandan bracelet on her wrist, that should she need assistance, it would arrive as soon as possible.
Leaving her escort to return to the palace, Natasha shouldered her duffel and began a steady pace towards the house, eyes and ears missing very little. The place seemed neat, evidence of care given to the fence, house, and small shed behind it, a small garden, a few fruit trees, indicative of a single occupant and the lack of a supermarket within walking distance.
But then she smelled him, and her nostrils flared of their own accord, inhaling the distinctive scent of fresh-baked bread, sunshine, and a darker tang, something like...gunpowder and mint. It filled her nose, nearly lifting her up on her toes to take in more, but Natasha sternly shook her head and reminded herself just who was in charge around here, and resumed her steady pace for the front door. It was open, but Natasha wasn't about to just barge in; that was a rookie mistake.
Instead, she leaned in the doorway slightly, peered this way and that, and rapped a knuckle on the frame. "Barnes?!" Her alto echoed softly in the dimness. "Barnes, you home?!"
no subject
A growl escaped him as he heard footsteps draw closer but it wasn't the frustration of earlier or even a warning growl he'd given to Steve when the man had tried to visit. Low, vibrating in his chest, it was.... Bucky shook his head, refusing to think about it was, or why his body was settling with that scent on the air.
When he emerged from the bedroom, Bucky stalked forward. Over the months, he'd been working on learning to walk without terrifying people, finding some of his natural grace again, but with all of this going on in his body, he couldn't help it: he stalked.
"Yeah, I'm here," he answered, his voice still low, matching hers. "Rogers send you?" It was a dumb question and he knew it — Natasha wouldn't be there on her own, he was sure — but he wanted the clarification, the acknowledgment that he wasn't going to be invaded by someone else.
He stopped in the body of the room, eyes glued to the petite figure in the doorway, arm held loose by his side, the stump of his left arm covered by the usual shawl he wore during the day. He itched to reach out and touch, but that was an instinct, the behavior of an alpha around an omega. It felt like his body was still not his own, driven by these instincts he didn't quite understand. "Didn't know you were an omega."
He hadn't known. Had barely remembered that Steve was an Alpha and that only because of what the museum and the internet and his resurfacing memories told him. Even after he'd escaped Hydra, he'd found suppressants and that helped hide the scents and designations of everyone around him.
no subject
So she forced herself to calm, to ease, to adopt a casual stance in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame and a hip lightly cocked as she nodded to his question. "He asked," she clarified gently, "and I said I'd do what I could to help you out." Natasha softly tapped her fingers against the door frame, shrugging to his next comment.
"Yeah, well, I don't exactly go around advertising." A soft snort. "Tends to cloud people's judgments." She'd seen enough Omegas squashed into submission by overly-pushy Alphas, grouped into the stereotype that the general public seemed to believe held true for the different presentations. "Neither of us are what anyone would consider 'typical' for our presentations."
Green eyes slowly looked him over; even from here, Natasha sensed the buzzing frustration thrumming just beneath his surface. He didn't look too rough, about what she'd expected, really. Steve had made it sound like Barnes was rolling around on the floor chewing the carpet, but then, Rogers had always been a little over-exuberant when it came to James Barnes. Still, his hidden agitation was enough to make her want to offer comfort, to soothe him however she could, and Natasha almost took that step, but reined in her traitorous feet just before she could.
No. This had to be his decision. She wasn't going to make the choice for him.
"So," she said in her customary cool tone, "do you want me to stay? It's okay if you don't. No one wants to intrude on your privacy, or force you into anything. But I'm willing to help, if you'll let me."
no subject
And now, of course, he didn't know what an Alpha even did, or what would be described as typical. Even with the Hydra shit out of his head, he had to learn to be human again, remember what that looked like.
He shrugged his shoulder, then nodded at her. "You can come in. Rather you than anyone else." It wasn't an actual welcome or even all that nice but it wasn't an outright refusal. And he really would rather do this with her than anyone else, or try to resist his rut. Any annoyance or frustration was directed at his body, and the terrible history he had with his body, not at Natasha.
"It's not supposed to hit for a few days yet, at least according to the doctors, so we've got time to settle." He paused, looking at her again. "If you decide to leave, no hard feelings."
He retreated back toward the single bedroom, standing in the doorway, so she could come in further, only to realize she'd need to set her stuff down in the bedroom and moved into the little kitchen he had, sparse to fit his needs.
no subject
Already acutely aware of Bucky's presence within the small hut, Natasha politely kept her distance, not wanting to crowd into his space or make him uncomfortable with unwanted proximity. Which...was going to be a challenge, given the close quarters of his home. She watched closely, but calmly (calm, calm is good, we are just going to be calm), as the alpha stepped back towards the only bedroom, apparently thought better of it, then slunk into the kitchen, leaving her to surreptitiously quirk her lips in mild amusement, move to place her duffel just inside the bedroom door, then join him in the other room, coming to lean just inside the doorway.
Clasping her hands in front of her, Natasha adopted casual nonchalance as she gazed at her new housemate, and offered a soft smile, barely a curve of lips, but the sentiment was there, regardless.
"So," she began, keeping her husky alto even (and calm), "a few days. Good. That'll give us time to set out some guidelines, then. First and foremost, I'd ask that you be honest with me. About everything. I'm here to help you, and I'll do whatever I can to that end, I promise. If something doesn't sit well with you, tell me. If something does, same thing."
Natasha couldn't help inhaling a covert breath just then, his captivating scent filling her nose and washing over every nerve ending. "We...haven't been...around each other enough to...pick up the nuances..." Her lashes softly fluttered and she inhaled again, nearly taking an involuntary step forward, wanting more of that delectable smell. But caught herself with a small ironic laugh, shaking her head.
"...but I don't think that's gonna be a problem for very long...because damn, Barnes, you smell...so amazing..."
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Bucky knew they would have to get closer eventually, considering the entire reason why she was there. They couldn't very well fuck with three feet between them. But he needed to ease into that; even with knowing someone was going to help him, he wasn't exactly ready for a new person to invade his space.
He listened to her guidelines, nodding at the end. "You, too. If something doesn't sit right, tell me. Especially if I'm hurting you." God, he hated the idea that he might inadvertently hurt her during hi rut, knowing it was an intense situation. "And if you like something. I ain't so good at reading those tells anymore."
He'd been great at it once, and he did know how to read people during combat. But pleasure was a different story.
As she drifted closer, almost involuntarily, he caught another whiff of her scent, making his mouth water. It had been so long since he'd smelled something like that, smelled someone like that. It put his senses on edge, sharpened them, although all of them were directed at her. There was an omega, and his body told him it was someone he needed to protect and fuck, provide for and take to bed.
"It shouldn't be a problem," he muttered, turning away and rummaging for a glass. "Can I get you something to drink?"
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"Water's fine. Thanks." Even if he did have anything stronger, it was probably best for her to keep a clear head, at least for the next few days. Natasha noted the stiffness in Bucky's stance when he turned away from her, and she quietly stepped up beside him near the counter, close but not touching. "You're on edge," she observed, "and that's normal, too. I know it's been a very long time for you." She turned around to gently lean against the counter, lacing her hands over her stomach.
"I know touch is a difficult subject, but we're going to have to address it sooner rather than later." Natasha craned her neck to meet Bucky's gaze. "I need to know what your limits are, where I can put my hands without being invasive. If it helps," she added quietly, "you can touch me whenever, wherever you like. Especially if it'll help ground you, ease out some of the tension."
She slowly tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "Are you okay with that?"
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He busied himself with pouring a glass of water for Natasha, then one for himself, watching her from the corner of his eye. She didn't get too close, but the fact that she was in his space settled something inside his gut, even while it stirred a feeling he couldn't exactly describe. Even if he hadn't gone through Hydra and all their bullshit, he wouldn't have the words to describe the feeling — he'd grown in up in 1920s and 1930s America, not a time and place known for discussing feelings.
He started to slide the glass across the counter to her, then changed his mind and held it out, deliberately placing his hand in spots where she'd have to touch his fingers to take it from him. He wasn't exactly comfortable with people touching him, beyond the kids who'd come talk to him sometimes, but this was a way to work up to it.
"Don't touch the shoulder," he said, lifting his left shoulder slightly. "Not exactly the best spot. Don't put anything in my mouth. If something else bothers me, I'll tell you." Hopefully without throwing her across the room.
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"That's fair," she replied quietly. She took another slow swallow from her glass, green eyes never leaving blue as she did. Lowering the glass slowly, Natasha unconsciously licked her lips, feeling her breath catch ever so slightly. This was going to be...interesting.
"You've relaxed a little," she observed after another long moment passed. "That's a good sign." She held her glass easily in both hands, keeping her casual lean against the kitchen counter. "Try not to think about it so much. It's hard to analyze, it's just something you...well, feel, really." Natasha turned slightly and placed her glass back on the counter, then deliberately unzipped her jacket, shrugged it off of her shoulders, and set it aside. The black tank top was stark against her pale skin, eclipsed by the long red curls that fell when she pulled the ponytail free.
"So, let's try something, da?" Natasha tilted her head slightly, a silent invitation. "Touch me, James. Let's see if you can do it gently, and maybe we can settle you down a little more.."
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He knew it was the alpha coming out, his hormones guiding him through this as best they could after seventy years of suppressants and drugs, and it was a good sign; Bucky just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to face having less control over his body. Still, as he'd talked to the doctors, it was better to deal with it now, in a careful, controlled environment with someone he respected and trusted — and he respected and trust Natasha — and he did trust her, and not just because Steve trusted her.
He watched quietly as she pulled off her jacket, her scent even more pronounced now that she had it off. His nostrils flared, lust banking in his blue eyes, and when she asked him to touch her, he was ready. More than.
When he reached out, his hand was steady despite the urge to just reach out and pull her close, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, barely touching her. His hand was a whisper against her shoulder, and he trailed his fingers down her bicep, still light, almost as if he were afraid to put more force behind his touch.
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His touch was so light. Almost reverent. But somehow, sure. The calloused pads of Bucky's fingers were a sensual roughness against her pale skin, and Natasha bit back a very small moan as sensation began to blossom from that small point of contact. Christ, but she hadn't expected this to take so fast. Although they shared violent histories and carried burdens that would crush most normal people, they were still relative strangers. But something was building between them, something that coiled and purred and yearned.
And she felt it; the instinctual urge to become soft and submissive, caring and comforting, to be willing to soothe the Alpha in front of her however was required, and Natasha didn't even realize that she'd lifted her own hand to rest on Bucky's elbow, dexterous fingers trailing the opposite direction as they smoothed upwards to caress his tricep then feather softly over his right shoulder. She didn't want to push too far into his comfort zone, but these small steps were so important; she needed him to trust her with his body, to know that every move she made was for his benefit.
But she didn't realize that her other hand had moved to flatten against his left ribcage, fingernails gently catching in soft fabric. The closer they became, the stronger the urge to touch grew. The redhead took another involuntary step, placing her small frame between Bucky and the kitchen counter, and tilted her head a little more, offering him her throat.
"You can scent me," she murmured in a throaty whisper, "if you want." Teeth nibbled at her lower lip, and Natasha's hands tightened on Bucky's body, just a fraction. "...I want you to," she admitted.
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He always had been protective, in his own way. He remembered that much.
He deliberately keeps his touch light and delicate. Over the months, he’s learned how to temper his strength but he’s still somewhat cautious about people, especially people he hasn’t touched before, until he learns what they like, what they don’t like. He’s not afraid of crushing Natasha, but doesn’t want to push her in a way she doesn’t want. Watching her bite back a sound makes him wonder; it doesn’t seem bad, especially since she isn’t drawing away. Bucky finds he wants to keep going, wants to push a sound out of her, any sound — every sound.
Hyper aware of his body, he knows instantly when she touches him. It makes him tense slightly, but not so much that he freezes or shakes off her touch. They’re small steps, and he knows they’re necessary to get to the bigger things looming on the horizon. He makes a soft noise, halfway between a moan and a growl, as she slides between him and the counter, and it’s easy to get lost in the sensation, slide in just a little to press her closer. He wants to consume her, his hormones screaming at him. Almost in a daze, he dips his head to her throat, the pale expanse of skin bared to him calling out to every instinct he has. His nose runs along the curve of her throat, scenting, practically able to feel her scent on his tongue, and he wants to mix his scent in with hers, wants to bite —
And then he’s three feet away, breathing heavily, and staring at her with heavy eyes.
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Her breathing quickened, not out of fear but from sheer anticipation, and she'd just begun to slide her arms around him, to hold him close, and to lean back on the counter, spread her thighs and take him completely...
But then he was ripped from her arms, and halfway across the kitchen, leaving her propped against the counter on unsteady knees, panting softly, and staring right back at him with eyes gone wide and dark with barely restrained desire. Natasha gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles aching with the strain, and that small pain helped her swim up from the depths of absolute lust in which she'd been drowning, and she blinked several times, giving her head a minute shake in an effort to clear her fogged mind.
It took her several tries, but she finally managed to find her voice again, and it only sounded a little breathless when she could speak again, though she tried to pretend the huskiness in her tone wasn't from the still-clinging want yearning below her stomach.
"...okay. ...it's...okay. That was...that was...a little far. Wasn't it." Not really a question, considering that he was staring at her as if either of them might suddenly burst into flame right in front of the other.