In the days following Stark's impromptu gathering, they find an easy rhythm. Something of a routine.
Most days, Bucky has work, which leaves Amel to entertain herself, though Wanda often visits. Voluntarily spends her off-hours entertaining the she-wolf when Bucky is otherwise indisposed.
The younger girl brings her sugary snacks and paints her nails in varying neon shades. Tells her stories about her dead twin brother. Amel tells her about her dead packmates.
She's glad for the company, and understands the girl's loneliness. Looks at her like something of a kindred spirit. But, her eyes are forever watching the clock. Counting down the minutes until the front door swings open and Bucky comes sauntering in, a soft, almost relieved smile on his handsome face.
When he's away, Bucky finds himself in a near constant state of discomfort and agitation. Between the seemingly never-ending whispering of the Soldier in his ear - he's certain now of this - and the tumbling thoughts of Amel, he's unfocused and practically useless. However, in Amel's presence, the voice is nearly silent. Content, apparently, to be near her.
She's no longer sneaking into his room at night. Instead, she's simply there when he gets out of the shower, sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed, looking small and sweet, her gold-rimmed eyes flashing up at him and her bare legs peeking from beneath whatever oversized shirt she's chosen to sleep in that night.
He dreams, of course, of winter and fire. Images underscored by shadow and heavy with the scent of pine. Of Amel. He instinctively reaches for her upon waking. Pulls her in as close as he can with his flesh and blood arm, still hesitant to touch her with the metal one, though the voice wants him to. Urges him forward. Tempts him to claim her with both hands.
Things are good. Quiet. Easy.
Mostly.
It's on one of these nights when they're laying tangled together, talking about everything and nothing in particular, both very much aware of the presence of the other, that Amel says something which immediately sets Bucky on edge. Brings back his insecurities.
"I need to get out of here."
Amel, comfortably nestled against his side, her thin fingers tapping out a lazy rhythm at the base of his ribcage, feels the tension rocket through him. She realizes after a moment exactly what she's said. What it sounds like.
Bucky unconsciously curls his arm much tighter around her waist. Jerks a bit when she rises up on an elbow to stare down at him.
"That's not what it sounded like," she assures him. Then tries not to laugh at his almost stricken look.
He stares at her a long moment. Watches faint shadows shifting over the contours of her face. Wants to pull her down and kiss her incredibly soft-looking lips. In the handful of nights they've spent like this, they've gone no further than this languid, innocent cuddling.
"What do you mean?"
She lifts a hand. Brushes a lock of dark hair from his cheek. "I'm going stir crazy, Bucky," she says, and he catches a hint of strain in her voice. "I'm a wolf. I'm not made to be cooped up like this."
He licks his lips and her eyes track the movement. She smooths her hand down the center of his chest. Loves the feel of her body molded against his. Between the restlessness of her wolf and her ever-growing neediness now that she and Bucky have gotten rid of the pretenses, she's become quite a mess. She wants him, though she isn't sure how much longer she can tiptoe around it, if she's completely honest.
His dark brow furrows. He can feel her heart beating at his side.
"You want to go home?"
It aches just saying the words aloud. Despite all this, this nearness and the time they've spent together, getting to know one another, that thought still hangs over his head.
She reads it in his eyes. "No, Bucky. I just mean, I need to run. To hunt. Something."
Relief wavers through him, soft and edging on hopeful. "You'll still stay?"
She smiles. Scratches her nails along the scruff of his beard. "Yeah. I like it here."
His arm trails up her back. Thick fingers flatten between her shoulderblades.
"What about… him?"
She supposes they would have come to it eventually. She hasn't said anything about what happened at Stark's dinner party. Hasn't mentioned overhearing his conversation with Steve. She understands his uncertainty. Feels a shadowy bit of guilt and sadness flutter through her stomach.
She shifts. Rests her hand on his chest and her chin on the back of it. "I came here for the Soldier, of course, and yes, I still had some hope…"
Her gaze drifts, eyes going unfocused for a moment, and Bucky's heart thumps soundly inside his chest. He can see the longing in her eyes. The sadness. Thinks of how strange it is to be jealous of himself.
But, she's smiling again when she looks at him. "I like you. I like you a lot. You're kind. And sweet. And, you've been good to me, even though you had no idea who I was. Who I am."
She moves and his breath catches in his throat when she nuzzles her nose into the side of his neck. Brushes her smooth cheek against his rough one.
Since his conversation with Steve, he knows what Amel is doing now. And the combination of her marking him and her honest admission fills him with a flickering sort of joy.
He smiles.
"I'm glad," he says. "Really glad."
She chuckles. Pulls back enough to grin teasingly down at him. "Sounds more like 'relieved'."
He doesn't stop the laugh that rises in his throat, something he's doing much more of lately.
"Yeah. Okay. Relieved."
His fingers drift along her spine. It's an absent touch, innocent really, but the weight of his fingers even through the fabric of her shirt sends a shiver tickling up her spine. Has her wolf, who's been so close to the surface these days, equally as needy and wanting as her mistress, rising up and pushing rebelliously against the barrier of her skin and bones.
Bucky seems to feel it as well. Concern shifts in his blue eyes. "You ok?"
Amel nods. "Yeah. Yes. Just… my wolf's getting impatient."
She tries to laugh it off, but the sound comes out strained. Uneasy.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Can you hold on until tomorrow night? I can take you somewhere outside the city."
She nods. Relaxes as much as she can with her wolf moving beneath her skin. Rests her face in the curve of his shoulder. Enjoys the the warm, clean smell of his skin. The electric scent of his metal arm.
"Yeah. I can keep it together."
"Do you need to shift now? Would that help?"
It probably would, but she doesn't want to give this up. Doesn't want to let go of him.
Unthinking she presses in even closer. Brushes her lips over his neck, the need for touch growing larger. More forceful.
Heat washes over Bucky's skin at the contact, at the smooth feel of her lips and the pillowy softness of her breasts against his side. He should tell her to stop, has no idea of the type of control he has now, especially when it comes to her, but he can't get his mouth to form the words.
Instead, his arm curves around her back. His head turns as she follows the line of his jaw to his chin, and he accepts the kiss she places against his lips.
It's gentle. Almost chaste. Just the molding of mouths. A simple bit of pressure and heat. He opens his eyes to look down at her. Her own are shimmering pools of pure, molten gold. She looks wild and beautiful, and she's kissing him again before he can pull her back for more.
Amel doesn't know how she's held off this long. Bucky's so warm and real and alive. She slants her mouth over his, the hunger, the need rising higher. Vibrating sharper. Shuddering and dancing over her flesh. Coaxing her wolf forward. And when she opens for him, he willingly slicks his tongue between her parted lips. Sighs at the sparking taste of him exploding over her tastebuds. She curls her fingers in his hair to pull him closer. To drink deeper.
Her wolf stretches. Moves. Has her rising up and over him.
And Bucky gasps at her sudden movement, anxiety welling up inside his chest despite the delicious weight of Amel atop him. He reels back. Manages to suck in a quick breath before she's kissing him again.
She feels so perfect, her knees on either side of his hips. Her luscious, rounded breasts. Her lips. Every long, hungry swipe of her wet tongue around his own. And, then - oh, fuck - she's settling over him and he can feel the heat of her cunt through the flimsy layers of their clothing.
His brain grows hazy, cloudy with lust but, even so, he is mindful of the metal arm. He cups his flesh and blood fingers around the back of her neck. Holds her steady so he can kiss her deeper still, lost in the dark taste of her. She doesn't seem to mind his eagerness. In fact, she meets it in equal measure.
Amel only realizes she's moving when Bucky moans into her mouth, when pleasure spirals up from her core where their bodies are pressed flush, and straight to the base of her skull. It pulses in dark writhing reds and dancing royal blues. Makes her wolf keen, high and needy. She rolls her hips, seeking more of the wonderful friction, and Bucky huffs out another moan.
She pulls back enough to look down at him, and is caught by the beautiful sight of him, his tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips. She shifts. Feels the head of his cock rubbing firmly against her clit, and shudders.
"Fuck, Amel," he murmurs, brow furrowed, hips rising hesitantly to meet her, his body instinctively seeking her warmth. He wants to stop. Knows he should but, God, she looks so fucking amazing moving above him like this. He's already ridiculously, embarrassingly close. Feels like some inexperienced teenager on the verge of losing it. It's just been so long...
She sees the struggle in him. Smiles to herself knowing she's making him feel this way. Wants to see him shatter beneath her, to know he feels just as wild and out of control as she does.
So, she keeps moving, this time slipping gracefully down the long line of his body, her hands immediately curling under the waistband of his sweats.
He stiffens. Stares down at her, at her sparking, golden eyes, knowing full well that if he let's her do what she looks like she's intending to do, he's a goner for sure.
But, then she's smiling, slow and sweet, and he doesn't care anymore. Even lifts his hips to help when she starts to tug at his pants, because the thought of those beautiful, sinful lips on him is enough to short-circuit his brain. Enough to make him forget about the Soldier, or the fact that he's certain he won't last this first time around.
She tugs until his cock springs free. And he's beautiful. Long and thick. Arching up over his lower stomach. Her mouth waters at the sight of it. Her wolf makes some low, hungry sound that echoes at the back of her throat.
Bucky breathes deep, the fingers of both hands curled into the cover top, knowing in an instant that she's going to wreck him. Leave him more of a broken mess than he was before he met her.
She leans forward. Places both hands on either side of his waist. Noses along the cut of one well-defined hip. Thinks to herself that one man should not be this beautiful. But he is. And he's hers.
She drags her tongue across his skin. Sinks her teeth lightly, playfully into the taut muscle of his right thigh. Rolls her gaze upward to watch him when she licks a slow, thick stripe up the underside of his twitching cock.
The air locks in his lungs the moment her soft little tongue touches him. It's just her tongue, she hasn't even taken him into her mouth and already his brain is melting.
Pleasure curls through his balls. Shudders through his gut. Ignites in a jagged line of flickering flame up his spine. She licks him again and he's hissing out air through tightly clenched teeth.
Perhaps it's her wolf, perhaps it's simply feminine pride, but Amel likes him like this. Likes him shaking and on edge and hardly in control. Wanting and needy. This nearly stoic man who's treated her with such gentleness, such respect, is coming apart for her. She closes her lips around the thick head of his cock. Tastes the salt of his precum. Watches his eyelids flutter as he tries to keep his gaze on her.
"Amel," is all he can say, and he's not certain if he's asking for more or pleading with her to stop. And when she dips lower, takes more of him into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth, the sight of his pale shaft disappearing between her dark, luscious lips is almost too much to bear.
The sounds that come out of him border on tortured. Torn. He's fighting a primal urge to fuck into her mouth. He lifts his Hand and fists it in his own hair. Tugs sharply to offset the overwhelming need to come.
Amel quickly finds a rhythm, rippling her tongue along his shaft on each deep advance and sucking hungrily on every retreat. She marvels at the slick taste of him. Adores the heavy weight of him in her mouth and the shaky, breathless curses he's rasping above her. He's holding on so tightly, trying so hard to keep himself in check and she admires him for it, but she wants more. Craves it. Burns for it.
Without thinking she stretches a hand up, slips it under the hem of his t-shirt and lightly drags her nails down his stomach.
He doesn't know why but the sharp prick of her nails in his skin sets him off, sends him crashing over the edge. Every muscle in his body locks up as pleasure floods him, his whole world shrunk down and centered entirely on the hot pull of Amel's wonderful mouth. He comes hard and long, hips spasming, mouth open and filling the air around them with rough grunts and harsh groans. And Amel takes it. All of him.
She releases him slowly, reluctantly. Licks her lips in an effort to savor his taste. Then, crawls gingerly back up his body as he works to catch his breath. He's watching her, blue eyes with pupils blown impossibly wide gazing at her in complete awe and utter adoration.
When she's close enough, he clamps his flesh and blood hand over the back of her neck. Pulls her in. Kisses her roughly. Possessively. Her wolf stirs, momentarily sated, though still very hungry.
"I'm sorry," he says, breathless, his voice low and a little hoarse. He rests his forehead against her temple. "It's been…a long time."
"Don't you dare apologize for that."
She smiles into his skin. Presses soft kisses to his cheek. The corner of his mouth. "I like making you feel good."
She's far too good for him. He doesn't deserve her. He's one thousand percent certain of it. He never wants to let her go.
"Lemme return the favor."
He thinks she giggles, light and airy, and he reaches for the hem of her shirt. Bunches it in both hands before tugging it swiftly over her head. He stops to look at her. Pauses to take in the shadowy slopes and lines of her form where she kneels next to him on the bed.
Seeing her naked that first time, when she'd shifted, had been a mess. His brain had been twisted up in anger and desire. But, now, he sees her. Sees the darkness of her skin and the tempting swell of her breasts. Hips made to grasp. To hold. To press. Lean, curvy legs curled under a decidedly round and perfect ass. He wants to touch her, every inch of her. To mark her skin with his lips and tongue.
He stares at her for long moments, merely drinking in the sight of her with dark, hungry eyes. Her skin hums with all the energy it's taking to contain her beast. Her thighs are slick with desire. Trembling.
Finally, thankfully, he lifts his large flesh and blood hand. Flattens his palm and splays his long fingers at the base of her throat. She's certain he can feel the rapid beating of her heart. The thick pounding of it just below the surface of her skin.
His hand glides lower. Curves around the outside of one heavy breast. Hefts its weight in his open palm. He watches the movement of his hand and she watches him, involuntarily arching into his touch. Then, he's leaning forward to place a tender kiss against her skin, right above her swollen, aching nipple, before dipping his head and sucking it into his mouth.
Amel moans quietly, pleasure spiking and arcing like lightening straight to her core. She lifts her own hand to curl through his hair. Holds him there as his mouth works at her tit, alternating between short swipes of his tongue and hot, steady pulls on the sensitive bud.
She shifts. Tries to push more of her flesh into his mouth. Feels him chuckle, the sound echoing through her and causing her stomach muscles to jump and twitch.
"Bucky," she sighs out, and the soft utterance of his name is full of all the longing twisting up her spine and sparking through her brain.
He releases her nipple with a soft pop. Turns his face to place gentle kisses in the valley between her now shallowly heaving breasts, where the skin is smooth and fragrant. Focuses his attention on the other breast. Adds teeth to his ministrations to pull more deep moans out of her.
He loves the sounds she's making for him, the shuddering sighs and the low, needy groans. Loves that he can make her feel good. Can't remember the last time he'd put any energy into making someone feel good.
That's a dangerous line of thought, so he focuses on the feel of her flesh between his lips, the way it gives beneath his teeth and feels himself beginning to stir again, the need already growing thick and heavy in his gut.
How many times had she thought about Bucky's lips, wondered what they would feel like on her body? And the reality of it is so much better than what she could have conjured inside her overheated mind. The light scratch of his beard is a delicious tease. She wants more.
Bucky's arm snakes around her waist. Pulls her in flush against him. He uses the weight of his big, strong body to turn her and lower her gently to the bed. And it's a relief to have him even closer still. To feel the weight if him over her, pinning her to the mattress.
Bucky can smell her need, her desire for him. It's thick and heady, and he reluctantly releases his hold on her breast to follow the tantalizing scent to its source. He trails his lips lower, bracing his hands on either side of her body as he places long, lingering wet kisses over her skin.
She writhes beneath him. Sighs. Startles him when she closes her fingers around his metal wrist.
She senses the change in him immediately. Feels the tension overtake his body. Of course she knows how he feels about the limb, hasn't failed to notice how he manages to keep it from ever really touching her. But, she doesn't care about that. Has never cared about it. Wants him to know that she wants and accepts all of him, especially here and now, with her open and ready for him.
He tries to slyly pull his wrist out of her grasp. Tries to distract her with the pressure of his teeth in her side, but she's having none of it, and disappointment slithers sharply through him.
"Amel," he pleads lowly, briefly resting his forehead against the soft slope of her stomach. He leans back. Gazes up the line of her body. Watches the light dance and flicker in her lovely eyes. He doesn't want to ruin this wonderful moment.
She understands. God, does she understands, but she won't allow it to come between them. Won't allow him to hide from him anymore.
"Don't you dare hold back on me, Bucky. And, don't you dare half-ass this." Her voice is low, but she's demanding, pleading with him to let this go.
She releases him. Reaches out to trail her slim fingers down his scruffy cheek. Over the jumping pulse in his throat. Along the curve of his shoulder where flesh gives way to metal. He flinches, expecting pain, but there's none. Only the feather-soft caress of her fingertips.
There's a long moment of indecision. He's crouched above her, waiting for her to realize what she's asking for. But she only smiles at him. Allows her hand to drift lower, smoothing over the shining metal. He can't feel the touch, not really, only the pressure and weight of her palm.
Her eyes beg him to let go. To trust her. To trust himself. To give himself a chance. And maybe it's the hopeful light in her eyes, maybe it's the scent of her wafting up and tickling tantalizing fingers through his brain. Whatever it is, he finds himself moving, giving in, relief washing through him as he presses his hand against her side, allowing his cool metal fingers to splay out of her ribcage.
She doesn't pull away. She makes a low, content sound. Smiles as her eyes flutter shut.
He can give this to her. His arm doesn't have to be a weapon anymore, especially if she can believe it to be otherwise.
Inside Amel is rejoicing. If she could, she thinks she would be jumping for joy as Bucky finally begins to relax. Instead, she's squirming at the smooth glide of his metal hand down her side. It moves over and under her hip. Firmly cups one rounded ass cheek. And it feels so fucking good.
He's kissing her again, marking her flesh with fiery kisses. She yelps, then giggles when his tongue dips into her belly button. Lower still. He noses through the short, soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. Uses his broad shoulders to open her legs wide.
Bucky thinks this is heaven, this wild, beautiful woman laid out before him, his face so close to her core he can see the droplets of her desire clinging to her dark, velvety folds. He inhales. Pulls her spice and earth smell deep into his lungs. Holds it there. Feels the moisture gathering at the tip of his tongue, his own desire forming a tight ball inside his chest. He wants to take his time with her. To enjoy her. To give her the pleasure she'd so willingly given him. But the need is too sharp. Too big and full.
The first pass of Bucky's tongue brings Amel's hips rocking up off the bed. The second has her gasping and she opens her eyes to look down at him, her breath stalling in her chest.
Bucky's deep blue eyes are watching her from beneath the messy fall of his hair that's shadowing his face, his mouth open as he uses the tip of his thick tongue to split her open. He looks dangerous. Predatory. And her wolf keens at the sight of him nestled between her thighs, feasting on her flesh.
Amel's taste is overwhelming. Delicious. Perfect. Calls him deeper, lapping and licking with fervor even he hadn't expected. And her body shifts and moves over e need, appearing to be dancing for him as he pulls the pleasure from her. Drinks it down.
She's saying his name, calling out to him, chanting it and he doesn't think he's ever heard his name spoken in such a way. He doubles his efforts, wanting more, determined to watch her come apart.
When his metal fingers slip along her core, she's nearly done. Amel tenses, waits, then practically melts when he slips a single metal finger inside her.
"Ohhhh, fuck," she rasps, hands digging into the covers, pleasure swelling and rocketing through her. Bucky pulls back. Slowly slips his finger back into her clutching core. She moans. Snakes her hips. Begs him for more.
And, Bucky willingly obliges, sealing his lips over her clit as he begins to fuck her with short, shallow thrusts.
Amel can't breathe, can't think past the feel of him moving inside her, past the relentless lashing of his tongue against her pulsing clit. The pleasure rises, flashes like lightning behind her tightly closed eyelids and, suddenly, she's coming. Crying out in harsh bursts. Wantonly grinding against Bucky's hand.
Amel coming is possibly the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And the fact that she's come on his metal fingers, from the pleasure he gave her with them, is not lost on Bucky.
He rides her through her orgasm, thrusting his fingers slowly within her tight, hot sheathe. Watches her shuddering breasts and winding hips until he can pull no more from her.
When she's come down, when all that's left is the sound of her stilted breaths filling the air, he softly kisses her thigh and moves up to lay down beside her. Pulls her in close and tight with both arms. Buries his face in the slick skin of her neck.
She coos quietly. Nestles in close to him.
They are silent. Wallowing in the moment. Content. Connected now in this new and wonderful way. Words are not needed. They're not necessary. The pounding of their hearts, their clutching hands, tells it all.
Eventually, they begin to drift.
Sated.
Lazy.
Happy.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky realizes the whispers have ceased. It's only him and Amel cuddled close in the quiet stillness of his bedroom, his strong body curved protectively around her small one. And…
Silence...