One-Shot
It always started out the same.
Sam wasn’t home for the night, Bucky had you over to watch a movie, and then his hand started sliding up your thigh.
Small movements at first; his thumb would brush past your knee and his fingertips would skim under your shorts. And then his palm would come down and lay flat on your skin, the warmth vibrating in your veins.
He would shift from beside you, picking his hips up slightly to readjust as you leaned under his arm. The movie became static noise at that point. You would track every one of Bucky’s movements in your peripheral and feel your skin burn everywhere he touched.
You would ask him a question. Something inconsequential about the movie or his day that you probably already knew the answer to. But it gave you the excuse to look up at him, and have him look down at you, and then you could watch as his eyes flickered down to your lips.
It took a few moments—always at least thirty seconds—and then he would lean down and capture your lips with his.
Bucky loved cupping your face when he kissed you. He would place his palms on your cheeks and somehow pull you closer each time your lips touched. His fingers would slide down to your neck, feeling the vibrations he was rewarded with as he nipped at your bottom lip or demanded entry to your mouth.
But he would slide his hands from your cheeks to your waist in order to pull you onto his lap. It was easier to kiss you that way; easier to press his swollen lips to your neck and hear all the pretty sounds you breathed into the quiet air.
Sometimes as he kissed the column of your throat he would cast his eyes upwards, his chest overwhelmed with adoration and devotion. He couldn’t understand how he could love one person so much. How you could possibly hold so much power over him and still move on his lap as if you didn’t. Still grip his shoulders as if he were the one calling the shots.
When your hips would start to move against his, he would always stop.
Bucky had had sex plenty of times before. It was always meaningless, quick. Oftentimes he wouldn’t even kiss the girl as he pushed into her on whatever rickety bed he found for the night.
He was okay with that; it left him sated and gave his drunken mind something to do. But after he recognized his feelings for you, those nights became a thing of the past.
You were it for him, and he needed it to be perfect. He needed your first time to be proof. He needed you to be able to pour yourself into him, all his mistakes forgiven and his mind free to worship you in the way he wanted to—needed to.
So he stopped you every time he felt it going too far. He would press his hands to your hips and flip you over on the couch and kiss you harder. It was an apology he was conveying between lips, and he would keep apologizing like that until he felt he had redeemed himself; until you felt like he deserved everything.
You were sick of it. Bucky had proved himself twice over in the months you had been dating, and you wished he would see that. When you pushed against his hips to feel the hardness there, you wished he would see that you had forgiven him fully. You were ready for everything Bucky could give you.
So when he pulled back tonight, you let out an indignant huff from his lap. “If you don’t ever want to have sex with me, you better let me know now.”
His lips abruptly ceased on your neck, and he yanked himself back so quickly it jostled you. “What? Baby, why would you say that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because every time I try, you pull yourself away like I’m trying to—like I’m trying to ruin you or something.”
You could feel your face heat as you spoke, your eyes refusing to meet his. You thought you would be having the opposite problem when you started dating Bucky.
He took your chin between his fingers and forced your gaze down. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to do this with you?”
“Well, we’ve been together for a few months and you always brush me off. I know you… have a lot of experience. So if you don’t want me, then you should probably just tell me so I can stop making a fool—”
“Hey, stop. Stop it, you're completely wrong. God, doll, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d see it that way.”
“How else am I supposed to see it?” Your face had twisted into an uncomfortable grimace and Bucky wanted to kick himself.
“I was tryin’ to make sure it was good for you. I wanted to make it big and important and not just on my couch, you know? And I wanted you to be sure you wanted that with me, and didn’t just feel like you had to since you’re my girl.”
You sighed, moving your hands against the scruff of Bucky’s beard. “When I agreed to be your girl, I agreed to all of it, Buck. I agreed to forgive you and have everything with you—including this. I don’t want something big and fancy. I just want you.”
That feeling he got when he looked up at you returned. He felt his chest tighten when you breath fanned over his lips and he was kicking himself again at just the thought of making you wait.
“Are you sure?”
Your heart picked up. “I’m more than sure.”
And then he was kissing you again. His broad hands tangled into your hair as his lips bruised yours, and he hoisted you up as he stood.
“I’m still not doin’ this on the couch.”
You giggled against his mouth, struggling to keep him close as he maneuvered down the hall.
His bed was familiar and comfortable when he laid you down. His body hovered over yours as he took you in, eyes glazed and alert and filled with glint you hadn’t seen before. Something he had been holding back all those other times.
“You tell me if you wanna stop, okay?”
“I don’t,” you breathed back.
His hands were pushing back your clothes at an excruciatingly slow pace. He took his time as each sliver of skin was exposed, kissing across them and then traveling back to kiss your lips. He didn’t miss once.
And when he trailed down to bury his face between your legs, he kept a hand intertwined with yours—a reminder that he was doing this because you loved him. It was the first time he had experienced that; the first time the person underneath him kissed him when he came back up.
His hands brushed along your body so softly. It was as if he was mapping out the areas that made your breath become uneven and finding out what made your skin tighten under his fingers. You would never get tired of the way he touched you.
He would never get tired of touching you.
When he pushed into you, breath escaped both bodies. He let his hand run back to support your neck and pressed his forehead to yours as he moved within you. His lips formed words of adoration that were almost lost on your incoherent ears, but you could make out each time he told you he loved you; each time he told you he was never going to lose you.
He pulled you against him as he reached his peak, damp hair against your chest and heavy breath on your skin. Your head was buzzing in ecstasy as he gripped you; his fingers kneaded into your skin in comfort and reassurance.
Bucky had never felt like this before. He laid you back against his mattress and took you in as you glowed beneath him, and he felt like die right there and be happy about it.
You cut through this intense gaze with a joyous laugh. “You like what you see?”
“‘Course I do, baby,” he smiled fondly. You could feel that smile on your neck as he laid beside you. “Never get tired of looking at you.”
He kissed up your shoulder and you shivered. “Are you still trying to flirt with me?”
“Depends,” he quipped, all of his earlier hesitance gone. His body was comfortably pressed to yours and his face was light. “Is it working?”
You feigned a groan and tried to roll away from him but he caught your waist just as quickly. You could blame that on his athleticism, but in truth, you didn’t want to leave. You would be quite content, actually, to lie in bed with him for the rest of the weekend and not move. It seemed like Bucky felt the same way.
He fell asleep before you, apparently exhausted from the overthinking. His arms were wrapped possessively around your middle with his head resting on your stomach. You couldn’t move if you tried, but you didn’t mind all that much.
Because Bucky needed the reminder that he was loved and you were there. That you had forgiven him fully and that this was it. There wasn’t anything that could make you happier.
Unfortunately, Bucky was still going to spend his entire life proving you wrong.