A/N: prompt: sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn intense
minor spoilers for black widow #10
Bucky will later mumble that sleep is for the weak when he's staring into the cup of coffee he needs when his energy all but plummets when he's supposed to be doing something way more important.
Whenever he finds himself around a certain redhead, however, all of his priorities seem to shift. Who could blame him? He didn't think anyone could, not when so much of his life has been tied to hers since before he could even properly remember.
But when his eyes open for the first time that morning and she's looking at him with her own barely open eyes, he can't seem to care about what he should be doing. He only cares about what he could be doing. Certainly not caring about the should as she inches closer, the bed sheet slipping further down to expose herself to him. It's all so natural, as if no time passed between them. Mornings of their past she would do the same, kissing him just to tease, before she slips off. Work, she'd say, and the only thing he'd be finding was a cold shower.
She lingers, instead. She allows her fingertips to run over his arm and down his chest. The shiver causes his forehead to rest against hers, gaze moving back and forth between her eyes and her lips. He smirks when he thinks about what other places on his body her lips had been. The unstoppable urge to kiss her happens then, leaning forward just enough, to feel her lips.
His hand cups her face as he takes it slow, allowing them both to enjoy the moment as it presents itself. He never knows what kiss will be their last and he's losing himself in her lips. She's soft against him and as his fingers move through her hair does she remain as soft.
They break for a breath, to look at each other, smiles matching, as her finger traces her name along his chest. When his chest rises does she nuzzle against him, brushing her lips against his, but stopping herself from kissing him. The pattern of giving and taking remains for what feels longer than it was, before it fell as it usually did.
Neither were very good at playing nice and gentle, pretending to be something they weren't. Hard edges and dark nights followed each of them wherever they went. His bed is no exception.
"James," she whispers against his lips, brushing against them, a class smirk finding her all too easily.
The kiss is real after that. Lazy and dare he say sloppy, but real. It's not some dream he's had a thousand times over where he wakes up wishing he was somewhere else. She smells the same way she always had. Intoxicating, driving him wild, causing his grip to move to her neck, to become firm, his way of making certain she, this, all of it, is real.
It hardly takes any time at all before the beautiful reality before him sets in. She straddles him and he's never been more thankful in his life neither of them bothered to redress themselves after the night before. Half a thought he'd keep her like that, with him, forever.
Every part of him is awake then and the way she moves against him, slow, torturous almost, with reason, without pause, is cruel. He loves her more for it, if that's even possible.
Weakness was frowned upon when he was nothing more than the Winter Soldier, Natalia, so far gone from his mind. But he'll gladly be weak as she slides herself down on him and he can barely think.
Eager, the only word to describe them then, the way he bites at her lips, the way she moves faster and harder, bringing him to a place where words mean nothing. Not when it's sweet, sweet Nat on him, when she's causing a rush to fill him. Something he couldn't possibly recreate with someone else.
The patience only lasts so long, because she's suddenly on her back and he's doing anything but showing mercy. Her hands end up pinned above her head, flesh to flesh, flesh to metal, holding onto each other, lips meeting again. Harder. Desperate. Breathing only done enough to live but the way she's driving him mad, wrapped her legs around his hips as he gives and takes for them both, making passion the driving force, not survival.
When she bites into his lip and draws the blood it's over. "James," is all that's repeated and soon it's "Natalia," he's whispering. The series of Russian phrases slip then, almost taking them back to their stolen nights in Russia where he thought they were so clever. A long road took them to where they were and he can't help but wonder how many times it went wrong, how many more times it'll go wrong.
One last kiss finds them before she's gone, leaving him lying there in a state that is pure bliss…mixing with something else he won't acknowledge until he's forced to.
And later when she gives him a final kiss goodbye, telling him she'll see him when she sees him, he'll do his best to remind himself they both have missions. They have lives. It might never be what they once had, when they were…happy.
The moon brought them back, but ultimately left just another crater.