It started the moment they met. A whirl-wind of emotions: infatuation, longing, love.
An initiation was made. By one of them, either of them, or none of them, it doesn't matter. It was a quiet affair; natural even. A chaste kiss in his hut as the first rain of the season thunders outdoors.
It's electric, the energy outside seeming to course through their very veins, igniting fires they didn't think could be stoked. It's telling, that there's something so different about this; about them, now.
Different indeed.
Another one the next day in her lab.
"Then maybe I'll make a noise."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try, find out."
Quick movements are made, mouths join, and as predicted, not a single peep is heard from the outside.
They never talked about hiding. It just happened. And slowly though, the reality of that unsaid decision set in. Funny enough, the storm signified the calm. When the rainwater dried up and the dirt was back to chalk under their feet, the plants shriveled.
The seeds of those short-lived plants - their love - that first initiation, that was left in the wind, long forgotten. There was the present, and a multitude of pain-staking decisions. They kept to their bubble, however, choosing none.
How naïve they'd been for that.
It's especially sad because in the beginning it was exciting, truly.
In public he got her riled up. Little touches here, caresses there. Sometimes he found it in him to whisper the most obscene things in her ear. And kept his straight face all along, turning back to be the resigned confidante everyone knew him as. What he should've been, simply.
She gave him the locations of the most private corners, updated his arm in the most...suggesting of ways. Then left him hanging, made him jealous, contributed to the game.
"Perhaps I can make you yell" was erotic, tinged with the promise of pleasure. The true meaning was ignored. Then 'will they, won't they?' turned to 'could they?'.
Could they really make it work? Their...fantasy, could they make it last outside of their little bubble?
And as aforementioned, the answer was a heart-shattering no. It always was. That bubble lost its shape oh so long ago.
But they tried anyway.
Each of them, to each other, was the glimmer of the sun's reflection in a pond. So close. So...real. But in that same reality tragically unattainable.
Their fingers only slipped through the water with every attempt.
"I just want to love you - truly. Out in the open, because I love you. An- and- and I'm tired. I'm so...fucking...tired..." one said.
And then the other looked at them with those soft, caring eyes and Bast-damnit that was all it took for them to fall into each other's arms again, and kiss each other to ruins, tears flowing, and all past resignations left in the wind.
So they tried again, and again, and again. The cycle, it seemed, never ended. Their fingers pruned. The sun set.
"I can't do this anymore."
One went closer. Th other's single finger lifted.
"I mean it. I'm done."
A frightening glare.
"You told me," a finger pointed, "You told me-"
"You think I don't know what I told you? You think I don't think about it every fucking day I wake up and you aren't there and there's absolutelynothing I can do about it?"
Silence.
"Because I do. It's better this way...for the both of us. Trust me."
Was it better? They would never know, because they numbed themselves. Found partners that simply sat on the edge of the shore waiting for them. They did this so that they'd never have to touch the water again, never have to come face-to-face with their tarnished fingers. Unknowingly, saving them for one person and one person only.
They didn't give as much as they should have to those new relationships. Found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place. Ultimately, they circled right back to each other.
Shuri takes his face into her hands, almost laughing when his stubble tickles her hands. She doesn't. She mustn't. "You came back to me?" she only asks quietly, as if raising her voice will scare Bucky off.
"I'll always come back to you," he laughs, but the sound is absent of real mirth, "I don't know why I ever told myself otherwise," Then he smiles again, genuinely this time, brushing braids out of her face and looking at her carefully.
"I was a fool. A fool in love. I still am."
In love with her? Still? The mere thought makes her want to jump from his lap and pump her fists up, screaming out in joy. She doesn't. She mustn't.
She doesn't respond to the declaration, the call for a do-over. She sits silent, lip bit in contemplation, as her hands trail down to his neck.
Bucky, he can practically hear her thoughts. Even he knows just being here is idiotic, but all they ever do is try, right? He continues, "Let me love you. Give in."
Give in? She scoffs, the motion emerging in a shallow breath. Give in? She doesn't. She mus-
Why does she even try?
Those damn eyes. They fixate on her lips, intention unmistakable.
His thumb crosses over her bottom lip, turning inwards and upwards so that it scrapes his nail scrapes her tooth. He meets her eyes with a final offer, "Let me love you for real this time."
All past resignations left in the wind.
She lets him, wordlessly, darting her tongue out to his thumb. He removes it, placing the hand with the other on her hips. Then his fingers tug at the soft material as his eyes look to her in question. She answers, once again wordlessly, because any words feel lodged in her throat.
Guilt floats around her head, whispers of "she mustn't", because she knows what's happening. Knows what's going to happen. But she doesn't stop it. She lets him.
Lets him make a futile attempt to kiss her worries away. And then her shirt is pulled over her head and he's sucking hickeys onto her neck and lower. He asks again, "Let me love you for real this time." and this time he gets an answer.
A simple "Yes".
But he knows. He knows no matter what he or she says they're both going to regret this later. But his hands are already in her pants and hers are pulling his off and everything else just has to wait.
Has to wait till he's made her cum over and over again and she's screaming yes.
Has to wait till that voice stops whispering in her head.
Has to wait till she lets him make love to her. And they pour everything they hadn't before into it and convince themselves once again that they can really make this work.
It rains outside.