A/N: Hey guys, this is my first time writing fanfiction in present tense. I pretty much just let my imagination take over, so hopefully the result is entertaining.
Trigger warning: dubious consent and brief knifeplay.
Edit: I had to re-write this in first person to respect FFNET's policy, but you can find the original second-person narration on Archive Of Our Own. I have the same username on that site, and the fic has the same name.
Winter Heat
"Thanks again for dinner." I rock my weight onto my toes, moving a fraction of an inch closer to him. Steve is holding my hand outside my front door. He's facing me and he's close enough to kiss me, if he wanted to. It's the perfect evening for our first kiss.
"My pleasure." He brings my hand to his mouth and presses the back of my hand against his lips, maintaining eye contact with me. I hold my breath until he places my hand back down at my side. "Have a good night." He gives a nod and turns to walk down the steps.
I try to keep the smile on my face to hide my disappointment. I knew Steve was an old-fashioned guy, but I was hoping he'd at least kiss me on the lips. If only Steve could read my mind…
I open my purse and dig around for my keys. When I find them, I turn my head and see Steve sitting in his car, waiting for me to enter the house before he drives away. I smile, thinking about what a sweetheart he is. I insert my key into the lock and open the door, waving to him with my free hand. He waves back and starts the engine. I enter the house, which is completely dark except for the moonlight shining through the window. After I close the door behind me, I look through the window and watch him drive away.
Yes, if only Steve could read my mind, he'd know how turned on I am and that I desperately need some kind of release. I sigh. The trouble with nice boys is that they play it safe. And the trouble with bad boys is they're too much trouble. If only I could marry the nice boy and fuck the…
"Did you have a good time?" A dark voice comes from several feet behind me.
I jump and whip around, my heart racing. I bring a hand to my chest and, once I determine that I'm not dying of shock, I look for the source of the voice. A man is sitting at my kitchen table and a beam of moonlight illuminates his eyes. I squint, trying to discern his identity. He is wearing a mask over his nose and mouth and the rest of his body remains shrouded in darkness. "What are you doing in my house?" I hope he can't smell my fear.
He remains silent but his eyes flicker, as if he knows I need an answer and is purposely withholding it from me. The silence makes me uneasy.
I raise my voice. "Get out, or I'm calling the cops." I intended for my voice to come out steady, but instead it wavers and is too high, almost like I'm about to cry.
He slowly stands up and I notice how broad his shoulders are. My eyes trail down his body and I notice his left arm is glinting in the moonlight, as if his sleeve is made of some shiny material. His other arm is encased in leather but I can tell it's just as muscular. I wonder what each arm is capable of doing. What both arms are capable of doing together. I wonder how intense his workouts must be in order to maintain that kind of muscle. Stop it, I tell myself, because I realize his hands are strong enough to crush my throat. I inhale sharply, hoping the extra oxygen will help me maintain my wits.
As I stare at his arms, he approaches me slowly, his shoulders swaying as he saunters over. I've never seen a guy swagger quite like this before. I think it's sexy for just a moment before pushing that thought out of my head. There's a crazy guy in my house, I have no idea what he's doing here, and I'm thinking about how sexy his walk is. I force myself to stop staring at his upper body and instead lock eyes with him. I hope to shoot back and equal amount of dominance with my gaze – this is my territory, I think – but my eyes widen. As he draws closer to me, I can see his dilated pupils, a few locks of his brown hair falling in his eyes. His hair looks like he's just had sex on top of the roof of a ten-storey building during a hurricane. He's standing directly in front of me now and tilting his head down, causing more of his hair to fall into his eyes. I feel an impulse to brush his hair back with my fingers, although that might be due to my slight OCD tendencies. Definitely not due to the fact that I actually might want to run my hands through his hair.
I don't realize my hands are shaking until he brushes his fingertips against my hand and wraps his fingers around my wrist. I shiver; his touch is ice cold. I look down at his glinting arm. It's solid metal. Despite the strength of his arm, his grip is gentle. I look back up at him. It couldn't be…? My lips part slightly as I search for a name.
He watches me and his grip tightens. He pushes my hand down to the waistband of my jeans, where my cell phone is tucked away in my pocket. His grip is still loose, and I realize that I'm letting him guide my hand. No. I'm the one in control of my body, I think, and stiffen my arm so he can no longer guide my hand. Since his nose and mouth are masked, I focus even more intently on his eyes. He doesn't look too pleased. I keep myself steady, refusing to hand over my power so easily. I lift my chin, trying to look confident and not like I'm worrying about how he'll react.
He turns my wrist so my palm is facing up and places the phone in my palm. "You want to call the cops, go ahead." He speaks quietly and I can't figure out if he's threatening or teasing me. He lets go of my wrist, turns his back and walks to the table.
A part of me almost feels rejected by him turning his back to me. I lower my eyes to look at my phone but find myself distracted by his body. He looks even taller from behind. Through his black uniform, I can tell his back is just as muscular as his arms. His waist tapers in and I hold my breath as I trail my gaze further down. I can't help it; I check out his ass. It's absolutely perfect, like two scoops of heaven's ice cream. His thighs also don't disappoint. I can't remember the last time I thought that a man's thighs were nice. Usually with men it's shoulders-pecs-arms, but this man seems to have the total package. Uh oh. Don't think about his package, don't think about his – I try to reel myself back in. But his thighs… they're the kind of thighs that could totally support me if I straddled him. Not that I'm thinking of straddling him. Get it together, I tell myself.
I press a button on my phone to light up the screen. Before my thoughts can completely run away from me, something clicks into place in my mind. I speak the name I've been searching for. "Bucky?"
He keeps his back to me, but turns his head to look at me sideways. The muscles of his neck tighten, worrying me. I scold myself for speaking without thinking. Did I just piss off this super-strong crazy guy?
The moonlight reflects off the side of his face that is turned to me. "Who the hell is Bucky?"
"Steve told me about -"
He darts toward me. Before I can react, he's got me in his arms. He slams me against the wall and I stagger back, not having nearly enough strength to compete with his force. I push my body against his, trying to make some room for myself to breathe. If he pressed against me any harder, he'd crush my ribcage.
He grabs my wrists with his large hands and slams them against the wall above my head. The cell phone flies out of my hands. I wince; his grip isn't so gentle this time.
My legs feel like rubber and I feel like I'm about to faint from the rapid, tiny breaths I'm taking. My shoulders fit perfectly between his arms. "What are you -?"
"Shut the hell up." There's a glimmer in his eye, as if he's smirking. "Or I'll call the cops."
My face heats up. He's too close. This is too intimate. I look up at him because it's either that or stare directly at his pectoral muscles… No, must maintain eye contact.
I curl my fingers into fists, pushing my wrists against his grip. He pushes back, keeping me secure against the wall. He's pressing against me with his hands and upper body and he's stooping down slightly to account for the height difference. He keeps his groin and legs away from me. Not that I'm thinking about his groin. I have to think about how to get a hold of that phone.
My heart is pounding in my chest. Or is that his heart I'm feeling? A part of me wonders if he's nervous at all. The look in his eyes clearly says: I'm in charge. I take a sharp breath through my nose, catching his scent. He's perspiring; he's definitely excited. I inhale again, deeper. For the oxygen. Not because he smells good.
Okay, maybe he smells good. Really good.
He lifts his eyebrows slightly, suggestively, and I realize he's waiting for me to say something. I open my mouth, hoping something comes out. His eyes are blue, almost silver in this light, and his pupils are huge. Staring at them is only scrambling the words in my head. His gaze falls to my lips. I suck in my breath, feeling even more pressure to say something. I turn my head away. "What do you want?"
He takes his metal hand and moves it from my wrist to my palm, slowly enough to make me worry about his intention. I squeeze my eyes shut. He intertwines his fingers with mine and brings my hand to his head. He grasps my wrist again and guides my fingers through his hair. I open my eyes and look at him. I watch my fingers move through his hair and he lets go of my wrist. I can't peel my eyes away. I concentrate on breathing, not wanting him to detect a change in my breaths.
I catch a glimpse of something silver in his hand. He tosses it into the air beside him and then his hand is at my throat and I realize the glimmering silver is the blade of a knife holy shit. I press my head against the back of the wall as hard as I can, trying to increase the distance between my neck and the blade. I gulp and his eyes smoulder at my reaction. He presses the knife against my throat. "Don't ask stupid questions."
I whimper but, despite the pressure he's applying, I don't feel the blade. I look down, trying to get a better look at the knife.
He smirks and brings the knife up to my line of vision. The blade is facing him; the blunt end was against my neck. "Or I'll use the other side."
My cheeks heat up as the blood comes back to my face. I scowl. He thinks he can just mess with my head and get away with it? Now it's my turn to mess with him. I fist my hand in his hair, close to the root, and tug. "Should've used the sharp side first, Bucky."
He winces ever-so-slightly before hardening his gaze and giving the knife another flip in the air. As it flies, I grab his hand, interlocking our fingers. The handle of the knife hits my shoulder before it falls on the floor. He glances down at it and then looks back at me. I brace myself, anticipating his fury.
Instead, his eyes crinkle. He uses one hand to rip the mask away from his face, revealing his smile and perfectly white teeth. He trails his hands down my sides, resting them at my waist. With my hands free now, I graze them up his arms, feeling my right hand losing heat and my left hand warming up. The combination of metal and flesh is foreign and I know I shouldn't like it. I bite my lip and my hands find their way up to his shoulders.
He leans in closer. "You're my kind of girl."
"I'm -?"
He thrusts his face forward and presses his mouth against mine. His lips are warm from being under the mask and his tongue is even hotter. He licks my lips until I open my mouth ever so slightly and his tongue enters, overwhelming me. His hands run up and down my back, his fingertips light at first, until he flattens his palms against me and applies more pressure with his caresses. I run my thumbs over his jawline and lean my pelvis towards him, trying to close the remaining space between our bodies.
He pulls his head away. I try to pull him back, tugging his hair again and breathing out, frustrated. His voice is husky. "Why did you go out with him?"
I open my eyes and am met with his shocking blue eyes, his pupils two massive dark holes. "I don't under—"
"Why him?" His hands tighten around my waist. His brow furrows, casting a shadow over his eyes.
"Steve? He asked me."
"And what if I asked you?"
I blink. Well, I've never dated two guys at once, I want to say, but bite my lip. Better to maintain some mystery. "I…"
He runs his hands up my back, pulling me away from the wall and into his chest. "Would you say yes?"
My lips part. He stares at my mouth and his brow unfurrows. Despite his leather uniform, he looks so vulnerable. His hair is mussed up and he's got puppy-dog eyes, which is pretty much my kryptonite. I've always found it so hard to say no to guys with nice eyes. I feel my mouth begin to say yes…
Wait a sec. "If you wanted to date me, why did you break into my house?"
His lips are soft, but he somehow manages to make his mouth harden. "I just want to know if you'd say yes."
"But then -"
"I don't want you to be his best girl. I want you to be mine."
I open my mouth to protest, but he kisses me again, cutting me off. I exhale sharply through my nose. Could this guy be any more frustrating?
The ends of his hair tickle my cheeks. I run my hands over his shoulders, in awe of just how broad and hard they are. I could sit on them and there would still probably be room left for a friend. Not that I'd let a friend sit on his shoulders. Am I being possessive of him? He's kissing me as if he possesses me; maybe it's rubbing off.
As if to draw my attention back to him, he bites my lower lip.
I gasp, but his tongue is in my mouth again and he doesn't leave me any time to focus on the pain. I can date two guys at once. I only had one date with Steve and he didn't kiss me on the lips. And I'm just kissing Bucky, it's not like we're going all the way…
I imagine his uniform on the floor, and him completely - No, we're keeping our clothes on.
He breaks away from my lips, only to trail kisses down my jawline to my ear, pausing to breathe into my ear, and then kisses slowly down my neck. I release a moan just as he decides to sink his teeth into my neck, and my moan turns into a shriek.
He presses his mouth against my ear. He breathes out once through his mouth. "You'll wake the neighbors."
I flip his teasing tone right back at him. "I don't have neighbors."
"Well then." He licks the inside of my ear and grabs my ass, hoisting me into the air and against his pelvis. He slides his hands to support my thighs, wrapping them around his waist. I shriek, my eyebrows rising as I feel just how supportive his hands are. I hold onto his shoulders and press my chest against him so I don't topple backwards. He is so much taller than me, it feels a little strange and slightly exhilarating to be up this high.
He carries me over to the living room, which is just as dark as the kitchen. I hope he doesn't trip over anything. My mind is racing. Okay, I'll keep my clothes on.
He lays me down on the couch, with my head resting on the pillow right by the arm of the couch. He sits between my legs, his back to the window and the moonlight casting a silhouette of his wild hair and huge arms. His hands fly to the waistband of my jeans and his metal fingers click against the button of my fly as he unzips it. He peels my jeans off, turning them inside out as he pulls them off my legs.
I raise my head. "Leave my underwear on."
He smiles with his eyes, as if to say, yeah right. His right hand is caressing my thigh, making it hard to think. He takes one finger of his left hand and slips it under the hem of my underwear, where my leg meets my pelvis. I shiver, the metal cold against my overheated skin. He rubs my thigh with his right hand and throws my leg onto his shoulder. He turns his face to kiss my calf. He makes eye contact with me, and then slowly brings out his tongue.
My lips part as I watch him lick my skin. The way he's using his tongue against my calf is way too suggestive, as if he's trying to say, are you sure you want to leave your underwear on? I heard once that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body, and that's a little hard to believe when it comes to Bucky, but watching him work his tongue – the way he curls it, vibrates it – makes me wonder what that tongue would feel like against other parts of my body. Not that there are any in particular.
I want to close my eyes to give myself a chance to clear my head, but he's making it so hard to look away. His metal hand is lightly following the line of my underwear along my hip, close enough to make me sigh, but not close enough to the part I'm dying for him to touch.
I close my eyes. If Steve asked me out again, would this count as cheating? Would I have to tell him? Would I have to tell Bucky that I told him? I bury my hands in my hair. It was hard to think straight when I had a cyborg in my pants.
The doorbell rings, jarring me out of my thoughts.
I sit up, drawing my leg away from his mouth. I put my hands on the leather straps of his uniform. "I have to get that."
"No you don't." He grabs me around the waist and pulls me onto his pelvis, holding me there as he turns and sits back against the couch. He grabs my legs and positions them so I'm straddling him. His thighs are just as hard and muscular as I imagined they'd be. He grabs my ass and bounces me a few times, his biceps contracting, making his arms swell even more. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he unbuckles the straps around his chest and tosses them beside the couch, then reaches behind his neck to unfasten the leather vest.
Now that he's stripping his clothes off, I have to muster all my strength to say, "What if it's Steve?"
He whips off the vest so forcefully it slaps against the ground. He growls and bites my neck.
I gasp and push against his chest with my hands, tearing my neck away even though it hurts. "Let me go."
To my surprise, he releases me. I jump off his lap and race to the door, pushing aside the curtain and peeking out the window. I see Steve standing on the steps and he looks at me, smiling. I reach for the door handle.
Suddenly I feel my back slam against the door. Bucky grips my waist and pins me against the door. "Hey," I shout.
He grins at me before kissing me again, dominating my lips.
I hear Steve on the other side of the door. "Hey, I forgot something."
I manage to tear my mouth away from Bucky. I'm panting, struggling to catch my breath. "I'm -"
He clasps a hand over my mouth and slams me up against the door again. His eyes flash with a warning. He supports my ass with his metal arm and brings his other hand underneath me to tease me through the fabric of my underwear. I grab onto his metal arm, in awe that he's actually able to keep me steady with one arm.
Steve knocks on the door. "Are you okay?"
Bucky's hand slips between my underwear and my skin. I sigh, until his finger strokes my most sensitive spot. I squeeze my eyes shut. "Yes."
"Can I come in?"
I feel soft lips against my ear. "No," Bucky murmurs.
His fingers are driving me crazy. I pull his turtleneck away from his throat and kiss the skin between his jaw and shoulder. His neck smells dark and spicy, just like the rest of him, and tastes even better. I pull his shirt up and spread my fingers wide, trying to feel as much of the mountains and valleys of his abdominal muscles as possible. Holy shit, does his abdomen turn me on. I run my hands over him like I have taste buds in my fingertips and my hands are starving.
I squeeze my thighs around his waist, my muscles tensing as his fingers coax me faster. I moan and lay my head back against the door, leaving my neck open for him to dive in and practically tear my flesh apart with his teeth. I sigh again. "Yes."
"Could you unlock the door, please?"
"Just a -" I manage to say, before Bucky's fingers become overwhelming. He slams me against the door again and slips a finger inside me, eliciting a moan from a place I didn't know I had. He moves his mouth so he's sucking on my neck between my clavicles.
It's too much. I fist my hands in his hair and tug, frustrated at him for doing this to me. He slips another finger inside and it's enough to break me. I fall apart in his arms. He kisses up my neck and along my jawline until he reaches my mouth and fastens his lips against mine.
When my body finally relaxes, he keeps me secure in his arms, still pinned against the door. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.
"What in the world? Is that Bucky?"
My eyelids snap open. Steve has his face pressed against the outside of the window, straining his neck to look sideways at Bucky and I. His mouth is open, his eyes hurt, as if he's trying so hard to convince himself he's hallucinating.
I curse and bury my face in Bucky's neck. I'm a horrible person. I straighten my legs and wiggle free from his grasp.
Bucky sets me down and stands directly in front of the window, pushing the curtain back the entire way. He straightens his back and throws his shoulders back, as if he's trying to look bigger than Steve. "She's my best girl now."
I stand there, a part of me feeling humiliated and ashamed. Another part of me feels turned on, watching Bucky become possessive of me. I duck my head and peer up at him. When he looks at me, I try not to smile, but it's no use.
He smirks back at me. He takes me into his arms and picks me up, carrying me into the living room. "Let's finish this."