"Hi." His voice was faint. Delicate, almost. It was like he was afraid that if his voice was even a bit louder, it would startle you.
You felt the heat of the sun rays on the back of your arms and over the curve of your bare shoulders.
Your front felt chilly, bared and exposed to the air, making you fully aware that your entire upper half was exposed to him.
It takes you a moment to remember what happened last night. You open your eyes to see a set of blue orbs already looking right at you.
All the dreadful emotions overwhelm you first: peace, contentment, and the best kind of sore. Next comes the silence, followed by the consequences of your actions, leading you into an abyss of regret.
What have you done?
Bucky looks at you timidly from underneath dark lashes. He looked soft red hues on the tops of his cheeks, lips swollen from being bitten, and hair sticking up in every direction. He looked shy. It was a stark contrast given how he had he had taken you against the king bed last night, literally fucking the energy and anger out of you.
You began to feel self conscious under his intense gaze. You were beginning to read things in them that weren't possible.
The memories of last night wash over you in gradual tidal waves. You remember his face as he had turned away from you when you went in for a kiss. You remember his heavy hands on the dips of your hips as you sat in his lap, and most of all you remember the carnal driven fuck when he had your back up against him.
You close your eyes but then quickly open them again. Your gaze focuses on the whites of the sheets between the both of you. The few feet of distance felt like miles and the silence unbearable.
You look away from him, trying to process what happens next, and trying to process what was left of your dignity.
The unexpected feeling of his flesh finger tips on your upper arm ignites a fire in your heart. This makes you fully aware that your entire upper half was exposed to him.
He watches you as you recoil and his face falls as you bring the edges of the comforter up under your chin.
Pressing your thighs together, you cringe. You could feel what could only be his and your cum mixed together, smeared between your legs. You hiss, tender to the touch and still slightly sore.
You're surprised when you feel him gently drag the pad of his thumb across your cheek bone.
Opening your eyes, you're shocked to see the sea of emotions on his face.
With a hard swallow, he removes his hands, but continues to stare at you.
The heat underneath the sheets quickly became unbearable, his body giving off heat like a radiator.
He continued to watch you, face somber, as you sat up, bringing the sheets with you. It was obvious you weren't trying to expose your breasts to him.
He caught on to that and he looked away, blinking.
One night and for what?
You felt unsatisfied. And, If possible, even more heartbroken than before.
You look down at him briefly to see that he's not looking at you and you take that chance to drop the blanket and grab some clothes from the closet.
You didn't blame him for anything, you had agreed to it.
You were just as compliant to it as he was. But it didn't mean you didn't regret it. You regretted having that taste; the taste of him. You felt the heat crawl up your neck. Would things be awkward now between you? You knew that what you still felt was love but he wanted the opposite. And now there was no way you could go back to the way things was. Not when Bucky Barnes had seen you naked, not when Bucky Barnes had flicked your clit, fingered you, and worst of all - took your virtginity.
How could things go back when your heart and emotions were one hundred percent involved with whatever this relationship was?
Bucky tried to control his breathing as he listened to you ruffle through clothing, his gaze looks out into the rising sun in the city sky line.
What did I do?
As his hand ran over the spot where you had just been laying, the warmth running into his palm, he felt a twinge in his heart. He should've known it was a stupid choice on his part to make. Who was he to think that sleeping with you would make him feel more at ease for being around you? It was the complete opposite. Now, everything he felt before had only amplified.
Him not allowing himself to kiss you was the only thing he had left to keep himself from falling off the edge.
What had he done to you and himself?
He messed up, and now there was no going back. Not when he felt the way he did about your presence, about you.
This couldn't happen. This was everything he was trying to avoid.
His fingers spread over the cotton.
Your body had molded perfectly to his.
When you had told him you were a virgin, he had wanted to take you slow. The old him would've had. He would've made it memorable for you because he knows how special those first times should be.
His heart had swelled at your words, and with those few words you had made the arrangement into something more than what it was supposed to be. You made it mean more.
It ate away at his heart to take you the way he had, the way he needed to because he was selfish. Because he needed to protect his heart and protect you. He didn't do it to hurt you, even though he still probably did.
Realization hits him like a cold shower. He came in you twice, and neither of you had any protection. The last thing you needed on this mission was a child. Somehow, the thought of it makes him emotional. In more way than one.
He could never throw that burden on you.
He had deep feelings for you and he had masterfully curated your feelings into disliking him. You had taken what you wanted from him last night and he allowed you to. He had even allowed you to tell him how much you dislike him, hoping that it would make him feel better about what he was doing, in some twisted way.
But it did just the opposite.
What he felt was now deeper and he was unsatisfied; utterly broken.
The world's most dangerous assassin and redeemed avenger, fallen at the hands of a girl.
It's not long until he hears the hum of the shower.
You felt like crying in the shower, but you didn't. Instead, your mind was clouded with thoughts of Bucky. Aside from his boyish hi to you, which your regretfully didn't respond to, you wondered how your next conversation would go. Would his eyes linger on you, and remember how you sounded when your voice had said you hated his cock? Would he remember the sounds you made? Would he still see you like an object?
Your fingers drag to your center as you cleanse yourself. Pulling your fingers away you see some left over cum mixed in with red spots - your blood.
You never imagined your first time to be like this. And he couldn't't even give you one damn kiss.
You wash your hair under the hot water.
Part of you was also stunned at how humane he was this morning. He was emotional and he had been intimate. You wondered what was going on in that head of us, you wondered if he was satisfied by what you had done. If it was enough to get his distaste for you out of his system.
You wondered if that's why he was acting to different that morning. He finally got the fuck that he wanted. Your heart tore as you watched the suds wash away down the drain.
You didn't have to go into work today, so after your shower you change into a camisole, a long cardigan, and a pair of white underwear you had pulled the closet. When you leave the bathroom, the cool air of the loft contrasts with the hot air behind you and you pull the sweater tighter around yourself, shivering.
You stop in your tracks as you watch Bucky pull a new white sheet over the side of the bed. He got clean sheets. The old ones probably had your blood on them. You look away, embarrassed.
His movements stop and his soft eyes linger on you. He takes a deep breath, his gaze darting over you from head to toe. He slowly looks away, pulling the new duvet over the bed, too.
You needed to say something. He had given you an opening this morning and you, still stunned, had refused to reciprocate. Still not looking up, you take a few steps closer until you're officially within the quarters of the bedroom.
"Hi." You say quietly.
Bucky's head snaps up, his eyebrows up, mouth slightly agape. He closes it quickly and clears his throat.
"Hi." He says.
"I hope things aren't weird now, between us I mean." You say, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.
He lets go of the duvet, letting it settle onto the bed. His eyes are still soft and you couldn't bare it.
He shakes his head.
"No, no I—" he looks away and then back to you again, "Are you," his eyes dart down and you know what he's asking, "okay?"
You don't answer him, feeling the tears once again make their way into your eyes. You close them before he can see it. As far as he knew, you didn't love him anymore. You weren't going to show him that that was no longer true. You nod, turning away.
He watches you, craving you.
You decide to venture your way into the kitchen for a snack, codeword for distraction. You needed anything to get away for a moment. You leave the lights off as you make yourself a warm cup of coffee.
Halfway through mixing in some honey, you look over to seem him standing at the entrance of the kitchen. He looks solemn and you feel a natural need to pull him to you and hold him. Something that should be the last thing you should want to do. But despite the sliver of dignity you had left, you couldn't help that you still cared about him.
You take a sip, watching him intently. You put your cup down when you notice a little white and pink box in his flesh hand.
Your stomach falls. Hard.
He must've ordered it while you were in the shower. How long were you in there for?
The sound of his bare feet over the floor is loud in your ears as he makes his way over to you.
It's only then, when he hands you the box, that you understand his hesitance. It doesn't insult you, and you know it's out of precaution. Neither of you had been prepared for what happened last night. And just the thought of probably getting pregnant with a baby he would despise more than you, made you sick.
With a short and understanding nod, you take the Plan B box from him.
Neither of you talk again for the rest of the day. The silence isn't uncomfortable, this time. If anything it felt pre-climatic and hot.
He spends the rest of the morning quietly looking over plans and revisions for the mission at the AI desk. You walk by him quietly when he's making a snack around noon. Early afternoon, you go out onto the balcony. It was nearing the end of winter and the weather was starting to get warmer, but it was still brisk.
Tonight was different than all the others. You weren't sure what exactly it was if it was the weather or the circumstances that had changed, but all you knew was that last night changed something, including you.
Knees to chest, as you stared at up at the sun, you felt a selfish carnal need brew inside you as well as mental. Despite the torrential hurt inside your chest, you wanted to feel him again.
You wanted to sleep with him again so much that it wasn't until your looked down at your knees that you realized they were soaked with your fallen tears.
He's in the kitchen again when you walk in. This time pouring himself a cup of water. You could feel your heart in your head, and your hands felt clammy. You stare at him, feeling a magnetic pull that you can't even form into words.
You know he can feel it too, because when he places his cup down, his hands go to the counter top, and he leans holds himself up as his back muscles flex. He knew you were there without even having to look up.
He knew you were there the entire time, feeling the same thing.
You make your way over to him until your front is flushed with his back.
Bucky closes his eyes, fingers flexing as he holds on tighter to the counter. A breath he didn't know he was holding escapes his lips when he feels your hot breath on his spine.
He turns around and you move up closer to him. He stares down at you, eyes filled with doubt and heat.
There was that scared look again.
A long breath escapes his lungs, and he throws his head back when he feels you run your hands down his chest.
When he feels your fingers hooking into the band of his sweats, he takes your hand in his.
You're both in a blurry fantasy, too intoxicated by all kinds of feelings to even process what was happening.
He grabs you by your hips, spinning you around until your back was to the counter. With his head tilted down, he stares down at your nose and lips, both of your heavy breathing mingling when he helps pull you up onto the counter.
There's no waiting. You drape your arm over his shoulder, hands clinging tightly to his shirt, bringing him closer to you.
He's biting his lip as uses his left hand to help pull your panties down your legs. His flesh arm is tucked under your arm that holds onto him, and he holds you tight. He leans his face down until his forehead is completely flushed with your shoulder, and he shoves his sweatpants down.
He gives himself a few strokes and then with his metal arm, he hooks it behind you and above your ass. He pushes you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning himself at your entrance.
You hear him suck in a sharp breath as he enters you and you shove your face into the same shoulder you desperately hold onto.
He begins to piston into you and the feeling sends waves of pleasure into your toes and waves of torment into your chest.
A sudden sob escapes you and you bring your other arm around him, as if you were holding onto him for dear life.
With his flesh hands, he holds onto your head, and the vibranium arm stays on your hip.
He fucks and fucks and fucks you until he's groaning into your neck. You feel his mouth there and the heat of the air that escapes his nose.
This was breaking you in ways you found intoxicating. He was making you addicted to something that was so bad for you. He was your poison to your venom.
How could this happen again? How could he do this to you?
You felt wetness gathering in your cardigan and for a second you wonder if he's crying. You quickly dismiss that when you remember who he is and all the terrible things he's ever said to you.
You cry into his shoulder as the pleasure transpires between the both of you.
You feel your end approaching and you know he's close, too.
He lets out a heavy groan as his pace picks up and your ass slides back against the counter from your perspiration.
Why. Why were you cumming?
You let out a shout as you cum, your right hand grabbing his shirt into a fist. Your tears soak his left shoulder as you tell him over and over how much you hate him, as he continues to ride you through your orgasm.
You're too caught up in every emotion to notice him pull out and stroke himself, coming into his own hand.
A few more of his tears fall onto your shoulder and he prays that you didn't notice.
Ashen is walking back and forth. Behind him is a large window looking out into the city. In the room he is in there is a single glass desk with a microscope and some text books. The rest of the room, while large, is empty minus a brown leather couch.
"Where did you say they caught it?" He asks, concern lacing his voice.
Another man in a grey suit and black tie, stands off to the left side of the door. His face is stern.
"Just outside the fence. Stark technology." He says in an American accent.
"And do we know the day it was traced to?" Ashen asks.
"About fifteen days ago."
Ashen stops and looks up at the man.
"They're here."
"Yes."
