This is not the Endgame

Bucky found himself increasingly looking forward to Saturday. He selected a nice-looking restaurant for lunch, put the GPS coordinates into his phone, and downloaded the directions to the orchard, just in case. The day was supposed to be warm, so he gassed up the motorcycle and washed it, borrowing an extra helmet from work. He worked hard on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings, conducting his surveillance activities and information gathering so that he could stop by Ava's apartment on Tuesday and Thursday night after she'd been home long enough to eat and relax. They talked, getting to know each other as they were now, and when she suggested the game each time, was prompt to agree. On Tuesday, this meant that the kissing was slightly more vigorous, and she introduced a nip to his lower lip that immediately captured his interest. On Thursday, she ran her hands through his hair and used her tongue a little, flicking at his lips. He enthusiastically followed where she went, although as normal, her hair was up in a braided knot. It felt smooth and silky under his fingertips, however.

He was prompt at her door on Saturday, smiling in response to her greeting. When she learned that they were going on his motorcycle, she looked a little apprehensive. "I haven't ridden very much." Shit. He should have anticipated this. He felt like an idiot.

"I can get a car--"

"No, this will be a new experience," she said. "I just have some questions."

"Of course. Whatever I can answer."

"I'm not trying to put you on the spot or question your competence," she said nervously. "But you're ridden with passengers, right?" He flashed back. Normally his passengers had been Hydra operatives on the occasions when he'd worked with another individual or team; he'd had extensive training.

"I have. I have a motorcycle endorsement on my drivers license, and I have insurance," he said promptly. He knew a lot of people didn't bother with either these days. "I have a helmet for you."

"Had any crashes?"

"Not since the Snap, and only a few in the years before. I'm older and wiser now." As he hoped, that made her smile. His Hydra training had included forced accidents so they could see how much trauma he could endure. He decided not to mention this.

He waited patiently as she thought a moment and put a windbreaker over a short jacket suitable for their fall weather, and she rummaged in the armoire, coming up with heavy leather winter gloves.

"How's this?" she asked. He assessed her appearance; she was wearing jeans and what looked like work boots, a sensible choice for a ramble out of doors.

"You look good," he said, and cleared his throat when his voice went husky. She smiled and went up on her toes to give him a light kiss as they moved into the hall. They walked over to the garage, and he asked questions about her week and her work, interested in what a civil engineer actually did. At the bike, he showed her the exhaust system and provided warnings about what not to touch. She looked nervous but put on her helmet. He checked the fit; it was good, and he explained the order of getting on and off the bike, the importance of keeping her feet on the pegs, even at a stoplight. He got on the bike, putting the kickstand up, and she got on behind him.

"During braking or acceleration, you may find yourself being pushed up or back on the seat. don't worry; it's not going to bother me if you slide up against me. If you'd like more control, you can grip with your legs. It happens sometimes that helmets bump, and that's not a problem. Are you comfortable?"

"I am," she said. "It feels kind of weird that my seat is higher than yours, though."

"Good. The thing with the seat is so that you can see past me when we're riding," he said, divining her discomfort. "It's safe, you're not going to go ejecting over the top if we stop hard." He'd guessed right; she looked relieved. "Communication is necessarily limited, but if you pat me, I'll stop. Severity of the problem is dictated by the number of pats; one is 'when convenient' and three is 'urgent.' When we're making turns or going around curves, keep your weight right where it is, lean in to the turn slightly, and I'll take care of the rest. Put your hands on my waist, not my shoulders or arms, because that can impair my driving ability. Any questions or concerns?"

"No, actually, you explained things really well. I'm looking forward to this." Which might mean that she hadn't been. He really should have gone for the car. Too late now. He started the engine and they rolled down the ramp and out onto the street. They had a nice lunch at a bistro. From there, it took twenty minutes to get out of the city, and once they reached a turnoff, he had her get off and walk around a bit. The hips and thighs could hurt if you weren't used to riding. He held her hand as she got back on, and it was another thirty-five minutes to the orchard. When she pulled off her helmet, she looked excited and happy. Whew. Bucky paid their fee at the stand at the front of the orchard, and they were given buckets for collecting the apples. The yield should fit comfortably into the saddlebags on the motorcycle.

This particular orchard had several different varieties of trees, and they ambled around, picking at least a few of each kind. They chatted as they traded going up and down ladders for the fruit, and after an hour went over to another stand where they had apple cider that was fresh pressed in front of them, and ate apple spice cake donuts that were delicious.

By the time they were walking back to the motorcycle, he felt relaxed and comfortable with her, enough to casually take her left hand in his right as they walked along the road. Conversation had been easy and interesting, discovering several commonalities. At the motorcycle, they put on their helmets and stowed their apples. He swung his leg over and held out his hand so she could steady herself as sat down. He'd gotten the bike started and was steering it down the road before he realized that he'd used his left hand for the action and that she hadn't seemed to notice. That it moved like his regular hand. He decided not to fret about it now; it had already happened. And it went completely out of his mind when her hands slipped around his midsection in what might be called a hug and she cozied up to him a bit as they turned back onto the paved road.

This was really nice. Really. Nice.

He focused on driving; paying close attention because he didn't want to be in a position where she was frightened by the traffic. She was tough, he thought, but in an accident, there were no safety features to protect her. And he let himself enjoy the sort-of cuddle. The city came into view too fast.

At the parking garage, they stowed the helmets in the built-in lockers that were the main reason that Bucky had chosen the place, retrieved their apples, and sauntered back to the apartment in the late afternoon sun, chatting about the orchard. She seemed to have enjoyed the outing. As was his habit, he kept vigilant in case there were signs of ambush, but all was calm. He noticed when she casually took his right hand and lightly laced their fingers. In the lobby, they retrieved their mail and as they turned for the stairs, his phone chimed. He checked it and scowled. A text from Sam. There was a meeting tonight, unexpectedly. His attendance was required. Well, he still had some time, and he had a few things to talk to Ava about.

"Everything ok?" she asked as they started up.

"I have a meeting later," he said. "Wasn't planning on it." At her door, he leaned against the wall and looked at her. Her shiny, smooth hair had been disarranged by the helmet, but she didn't seem to care, her face happy and open. "Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?" he asked, feeling like he was pushing his luck.

"Sure," she said, opening the lock. She didn't seem as happy.

He set his apples down just inside the door and automatically helped her out of her jackets, which she separated again and tucked into the armoire. She set her apples in the kitchen and they arranged themselves on the couch.

"I had a great time this afternoon," he said. He exhaled against his nerves. "But--"

"Here it comes," she muttered.

"What? I just..." he floundered briefly. "Ok. I really enjoyed being with you. So you said that we'd talk about... being physical together. It makes me really nervous, but I'd like to ... start."

"Oh, god," she said, putting her hand to her forehead. "I thought you were going to tell me you didn't want to see me anymore."

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, puzzled.

"I dunno, I'm too aggressive, not feminine enough, too fat, too bossy, not interesting enough, too smart--" Bucky looked at her, appalled.

"That's crazy, doll," he said. "I like you just the way you are. Why would you say that?"

"Because those are things that I've heard before."

"Whoever said that's a fathead. But... as much as I want to head toward bed with you, I still have my problems. I don't want to hurt you. Physically or emotionally. Sometimes I have nightmares about what's happened to me. I wake up, kind of flailing around."

"Ok, that's a concern," she said, taking his right hand. "You're seeing a therapist, getting help?" He nodded.

"Things have gotten a lot better, but I'm still worried. My therapist is a lot more confident in me than I am. Says I'm safe, but the only way to find out for sure is to do it, be intimate. Physically. It's risky, because what if they're wrong about me?"

"I understand that, and I'm glad you're concerned about my well-being too. I'm willing to risk it, though. I like you and I'm attracted to you. It's enough for the short term, at least. If it works out... I have some ideas, though. Give me a little time and we can talk about it in more detail." She shot him a wicked look that went straight to his cock. He sat up.

"Don't suppose you have seven minutes available," he said, and she laughed and moved over. This time, for the first time, he took the lead, kissing her more assertively, even touching her face gently with his gloved hand. His flesh hand smoothed along her arm down to her thigh just above her knee, and from there back up to her waist, where his thumb stroked her side.

"Wow," she said, kind of breathlessly after their seven minutes were up. He felt complacent that maybe his old skills were returning and chuffed that he'd managed to please her. He stroked his thumb over her plump lower lip.

"Wish I didn't have to go, Ava," he said regretfully.

"Well, maybe tomorrow we could try for fourteen minutes," she said hopefully.

"That's a goal I can get behind," he said, then reluctantly got up. He noticed a lockset in a plastic clamshell, a good brand, heavy-duty, on the chair. "I'll replace your lock tomorrow. Then we can see how doubling our time in heaven goes."

"Can't wait," she said. She looked enchanting to him, lips red and slightly swollen from the kissing. He went down the hall to his apartment, steps dragging just slightly.

When he put his apples away and got the backpack he'd need to take the spare helmet back to the complex, he was surprised to see that she was locking her door. She smiled at him. "Where are you off to?" he asked, absently offering his arm as they walked down the hall to the stairs.

"Bookstore."

"The big one?"

"Uh-huh. I checked yesterday, they have the book I want." She shot him a teasing look. "And since I have the evening free..."

He groaned, then laughed. "I'd rather still be with you, doll. I can drop you, if you'd like." So they walked back to the garage and she got back on the bike with no hesitation. This time he was conscious of the warmth of her inner thighs against him and wished that the trip was longer. At the bookstore, she handed him the helmet and he put it in his backpack. "I'd rather be headed inside rather than to a da-- to a meeting."

"You like to read?"

"What's not to like? All those worlds, printed out between two covers."

"Maybe this could be our next date," she suggested a little nervously. He grinned.

"Then we could sit around and read together." He laughed at himself. Some exciting date he was.

"I warn you, I like to read the good lines aloud," she warned him, and he laughed out loud.

"Sounds like a date," he said.

"Stop by if your meeting doesn't run too late," she said, and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Yeah," he said, staring at her mouth. "I'll see what I can do to hurry things along." She couldn't manage much, his helmet protected his jaw and restricted access to his face, so she kissed the tip of his nose.

"You do that," she said, and walked into the bookstore. Bemused, he flicked the face shield down and drove into the night.

***

There was a little sliver of light under her door when he came back home around eleven. There was no need to have a meeting on Saturday night, he thought moodily. The Avengers needed to get out some, meet people, have dates so they'd stop horning in on his personal life. He listened intently, heard pages turning, so he knocked softly. He heard the lock opening with flattering speed. She smiled up at him, having changed into her warm at-home clothes, including thick fluffy socks on her feet. "Mission accomplished?"

His smile faltered for a second. In the past, a phrase like that often meant being wiped and popped back into cryo. But she didn't know any of that. "Why they couldn't have waited, I don't know. It wasn't as critical as they made it sound."

"Well, come in so I can show you my book." She took the closest arm--his left--and tugged him inside. He was instantly distracted by her hair; for the first time he'd seen, it was down, a river of silk flowing down her back. It was most often in a braid or up; the only time he'd even seen it in a ponytail was the first day he'd seen her. It was thick, with some shorter layers cut in by her face, like his, a few longer layers in the back. He couldn't help himself; he reached out to stroke his fingers through that shining curtain, feeling somehow that seeing her like this was special.

"Wow," he said softly. She grinned at him over her shoulder, tugging him to the sofa. "Why don't you wear it down more often? It's so beautiful."

"It also gets in the way a lot, it's easier to have it back. And it tangles, I don't like having to work out a lot of knots. I just like to play with it, do different things with it." She patted the sofa by her side and he sat. She picked up a small black book. "So I've been giving your wishes some thought, and this is what I came up with." He refocused. His wishes... he sorted this out. Right. The sex?

"This book is about sex positions," she said, and his eyebrows shot up. So that was a major change in the modern world; when he was young, you couldn't walk into a mainstream bookstore and just buy a book like that without jumping though a lot of hoops and brown paper wrapping. The Comstock Law forbade the use of the US Postal Service for obscene materials like contraception, pornography, sex toys, even letters with sexual content, and another later law had extended this ban to other carriers, making it difficult to obtain materials. There were always some, of course, but the risk carried a criminal record for obscenity and that had mattered a lot back then. "You said that you don't want to hurt me, which I appreciate," her smile gentled. "So the descriptions in this book explain how to do each position, whether penetration is deep or shallow, who does the moving, how much pleasure each partner is likely to get out of it. So I've identified a few positions that are fun, where I can control penetration, if that's what you're worried about. And there are a couple where you can run the show but penetration isn't deep." Bucky looked at her, jaw hanging slack.

"I thought it could be fun to try different things..." her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"It will be," he said hastily. "I -- this is-- it's so thoughtful. Can you show me?" Her smile came back and she moved over so that their sides were touching. She flipped pages to show him the picture of the position and the information. Times certainly have changed, he thought, putting his right arm around her shoulders as they paged through. And this opened up a new alley of uncertainty.

"This looks like a lot of fun," he said. "But I'm going to be honest. It's been a long time since I had sex. I used to think I was pretty good, but now I'm not sure. Maybe the women were just being polite? Everybody seems to know a lot more about sex than they used to."

"Well, once it started to get studied academically, social acceptance was assured once the research hit the mainstream. People may know more, but it's the same motions that people have been doing since there were first people. And who doesn't like sex? It's fun to learn about. Fun to do. It sounds like you were raised pretty strictly, though, this stuff has been available for a while now. We can make some guidelines, too. We can agree on a safe word, and if at any time either of us wants to stop, we just say it and we stop immediately. It takes awhile for two people to get to know each other sexually, what they respond to or what turns them off. It's going to take some experimentation to find that out. And I'm open to negotiation about almost anything," she said gently, and held up the book between them. She looked at him side eye. "I don't want you to feel like I'm pushing you someplace you don't want to be. Or too fast. Tell me if you need me to slow down or don't want to do something. And I'll be honest with you too. I like you, and I look forward to learning more about you when you feel it's safe to tell me. I like getting laid a whole lot, but truthfully, what I'm really hoping for is more of an emotional connection. To feel like I matter to somebody again. If you don't want that, it's fine, we can still have a really good time, but I'd appreciate it if you were up front."

"I'll be as honest with you as I can," he said. "Right now, I'm really interested in you, in the sex, but the intimacy of it kind of scares me." He took a deep breath and let it out. "You do matter to me. I value you. It's just going to be tough to open up." He looked at her through the hair on his face, then impatiently shoved it back. "You got some time for a few minutes in heaven?" She grinned at him and leaned in, but he surprised her, scooping her up and placing her on his lap. She squeaked, then grinned again, adjusting so that she was straddling his thighs, sitting back toward his knees rather than closer to his groin. He grinned too, then smoothed the hair over the back of her head before gently pressing her head toward him for the kiss. This time there were tongues, flirting with each other, and he played with her hair, stroking her back lightly. He leaned back into the sofa cushion, bringing her with him, enjoying the feel of her lightly settled against him.

He broke off the kissing gently. She checked her watch. "Nine minutes," she said, and he stroked her cheek.

"I'd better go," he said regretfully. "I'd like to stay, but I'm just not there yet." She slid off his lap without complaint. "But can I take this with me?" He held up the book.

"For as long as you'd like," she said. Was that a purr? He thought so, yeah.

"I'll be by tomorrow to replace the lock," he said, and stood. She walked with him to the door.

"Sweet dreams," she said. He smiled, following one lock of her hair from roots to tips with his right fingers.

"I'm sure they will be," he said, and reluctantly stepped into the hall.