He kisses her slow, long, drawn out once she gets her mouth on him. Grinning as his hands guide her legs around his waist helping her cling to him so that he can lift her to take back to the bed across the small apartment.
"I love the idea of that, I'm pretty sure that it is something I still have confidence in. The rest of it, not so sure..." he says laying her out on the bed and climbing on top of her with a grin looking down at him.
Agreeably, she wraps her legs around him as he carries her to the bedroom, her mouth trailing idly along his jawline as he navigates. "You just keep letting me know where you're at," she responds with a smile as he climbs over her. There's no wrong timeline or angle of approach. Her hands settle at his waist for a moment before she runs them slowly up along his back, enjoying the way the familiar planes of his muscles feel through his shirt.
She can't help but chuckle a little at the question. "We talked about how you could picture things you wanted to do with me, but you couldn't remember doing them before. So you knew you'd done them, but you didn't have the context for when. And how I'd never been with someone who was with me instead of a cover." Her mouth lilts into a little smirk. "I believe you used the term muddlin', so it's safe to say there were some nerves."
His hand is cupping her cheek, stroking a thumb over it as she tells him these things. He closes his eyes for just a moment, listening to it before he huffs out a laugh, opening his eyes and shaking his head.
"And now I remember those other times, but not you..." he says and bites the bottom of his lip, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry about that, Natalia..." he wants to remember her. He can't really believe he can't, how could he have touched, kissed, and loved the most beautiful women in existence and come out of it nothing. It's not fair to either of them.
"You never have to apologize for that," Natasha counters without missing a beat. One of her hands runs over the back of his neck, idly tracing along his hairline. "Both of us have spent too much time used as weapons by other people. I meant it when I said any way you are is exactly enough for me." She can't help but smile a little. "Besides, you always find your way back to me."
No matter how big the obstacle. If they could both weather the years apart, what was a hole in his memory by comparison?
He leans his head back into her hand like he's seeking more attention from her fingers, because it feels natural to seek that out. Carefully he leans down to press soft kisses to his lips, not the kind of a fumbling teenager, but one from a man who knows exactly what he wants, but is in now rush to get there. Pressing his lips to hers, over and over a couple times before he even parts her lips and works his tongue into her mouth.
It's gentle, and soft and is an eternity before it breaks but when it does he smiles at her.
"We'll just have to make new memories then, our own this time. Natalia and James."
She can feel the way his head leans into her touch, and she brings her other hand up to carefully work the elastic out of his hair that's securing it up. Her mouth meets his each time as she finger combs his hair, then massages his scalp. She squeezed her legs gently around him as the kiss lingers, just a long, unhurried moment of enjoyment.
When he pulls back, her mouth quirks into a half smile. It's a sweet sentiment. "I'm looking forward to it."
He doesn't quite realize what she's doing when she undoes his hair he pulls away from the kiss and grins at her. Honestly, he's about to say something when he gets hit with the a thought about how pretty she is.
"You're too pretty for your own good..." he says with a laugh before adding, "and what I meant to ask was, do you like the long hair? You play with it a lot."
His hands slide over her sides stroking along them, still over her shirt, but exploring the curves of her petite form.
"You'd think you hadn't seen any beautiful women in the last fifty years," Natasha teased him with a quiet chuckle. She could feel his hands moving slowly over her sides as she wound a lock of his hair around her index finger to give it a light, playful tug.
"I've never seen you with short hair. This is the longest I've ever seen it. I'd still be doing this with short hair, though." She lifted her head to drop a quick kiss on his mouth as she curled her fingers into his hair to rub against his scalp, her tone full of mischief when she spoke again. "You always lean into my hands when I do this. I like doing something that makes you feel good."
He laughs at that, "to be fair, I don't really remember any..." he says with a chuckle. His hands stilly stay over clothes but enjoy the roaming free long her curves her her hips down to her thighs, just taking each bit of her in like it's the first time.
He grins at the comment about his hair and leans into it with a nod.
"I love it when you touch my hair, I can't really explain why? But maybe because of all the weird sensors and shit they did with my head whenever they wiped me? Or the general head pain, it's always relaxing though..." he says with half a smile, like he's sad remembering it, but likes that he can at least make the connection.
Natasha's glad that she can give him a nice association with someone touching his head. She'll happily spend the rest of the day laying there idly rubbing his scalp. Her mouth quirks in a little smile as she takes in the look on his face. "Maybe we'll have to set you up by the sink sometime and I'll shampoo and dry your hair for you."
One of her hands moves down, the pad of her thumb tracing along his cheekbone fondly. "Oh, don't worry. Your hands feel great. But I'm open to suggestions if you have something you'd like to try."
"I think I would like that," he says softly before ducking down and leaning in to give her a few more kisses. It's easier to kiss then get distracted by that, giving it just a few moments before he slides off to her side and lays his head on her shoulder, just relaxing against her.
"When I start thinking about doing more I get nervous, like I'm afraid to fuck things up."
Her fingertips stroke down along the back of his neck and over his shoulders, meeting him for each kiss until he shifts to lay next to her. She hums thoughtfully as she listens to his concern, turning her head so she can look at him.
"I'm not in a rush. What are you afraid to fuck up?"
"Everything," he says. It's true, the pressure of all of this is sometimes too much. Not like, specifically like a relationship, but this life that he has outside of being the Winter Soldier. It feels like it's too good to be true, like sand that could slip through his fingers and he wont be able to hold on to it.
"It's like this is all too good to be true and someone is going to show up and shove me in a tank again."
Natasha understands intimately what that feels like. The inescapable thought that maybe - just maybe - they let her go as a test. That they'd reel her back in one night and punish her for trying to escape. She shifts onto her side so she can face him, sliding her hand up to rest against his cheek as her eyes skim his.
"It takes time, but that feeling fades. It took me months after I escaped before I was comfortable staying in one place for more than a week. It took even longer to stop expecting the Red Room to be there when I looked over my shoulder." A sad smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She hates that this is something they both understand.
"Is there anything you think would help you feel better about being out?"
Bucky leans closer and lays his head on her shoulder. He's quite for a long moment after she asks if anything will feel better. It's hard to just assume that anything could, it's not as simple as just fixing. If he could find a way to turn off his brain he probably would, it's not that simple though.
"Sometimes when I'm with you, I can almost forget for moments. When I get distracted by things, like how soft your lips are or how pretty you are. Or how the taste of a peach makes me remember how much I like to get down between your legs and drive you absolutely wild with my tongue..." Yeah, so that's what he'd been referring to in the kitchen.
"But it feels like my brain never wants to let me complete any of those actions or thoughts, and it's dumb."
Natasha's hand strokes over the back of his head as he leans into her shoulder, holding the quiet as she lets him have that moment to think. Her fingers curl into his hair when he starts to speak, and she listens with a sad half smile on her lips. Even if she can't help the quiet chuckle that escapes when he references what he'd meant in the kitchen. Even that shows her that he can get where he wants to be with enough time and space to get there - the fact that he can suddenly voice it when he'd shied away from it earlier. But she knows that needing the time and space is part of what's frustrating. There's no guarantees of when for any of it.
There's not a lot she can offer to help, but there is at least one thing.
"Look at it this way," she says after a moment, "you know you like those things. There's other things that you can remember doing. You've done them before. Which means you'll be able to do them again. But this is the first time you've had so many opportunities to make choices. You'll get to the things you want to do when you're ready."
"Sometimes I think we should really just tear each others clothes on and get it on with..." he chuckles against her shoulder but makes no move to suggest that he's actually going to make a move on her. His head is still on her shoulder and he drapes an arm around her waist, fingers sliding against her side slowly over her shirt.
"What was it you said I called it the first time, muddling? How'd we make it past that bit, was my dick just really hard?" He huffs out a laugh obviously joking about the last bit.
His comment is met with a snort of laughter, her fingers giving his hair a gentle, playful tug. "Muddling like teenagers on prom night," she elaborates as the corner of her mouth twitches into a little smile. Even though she's teasing him, there's a hint of fondness in her voice. It's a good memory. Even if the events that led up to that night in the hotel room weren't exactly good themselves.
She's quiet and thoughtful for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his hand moving along her side as she strokes the back of his neck. Even though he'd been joking, she doesn't mind finding an answer.
"It was the first time I was with someone that knew who I was. And you talked about how you could think of things you'd like to do, but you couldn't remember doing them." There's a pause, and it's obvious by her tone that she's smirking when she continues. "I think it helped too that we'd been undercover in a strip club. You really liked watching me dance."
He lifts his head and looks her in the eyes. His eyes are squinting like he's looking for some sort of of memory that's hiding in his brain. Working for it trying to picture her dancing in a strip club but instead he just shakes his head.
"Did you murder someone with your hairpins, Natasha?" He asks curiously, wondering if that was the actual mission that he was thinking of. A shiver runs down his spine as the thinking about it. He knows she's the best Widow that ever was made out of the red room, but there's still something terrifying about the ruthlessness of that level of killing.
And hot, something very very hot about it. He moves to straddle her as he waits for a response.
Natasha meets his gaze patiently as she watches him try to find a corresponding memory. There's maybe a hint of amusement there, an upward tick at the corner of her mouth. That expression is strangely familiar to her. That sense that he knows something is there if he can just turn over the right stone. A few times she'd woken him up after a mission, after his handlers wiped him, she'd seen that exact face as he began to recognize her.
It's why she can never be mad at him for forgetting her. She always surfaces again in the end.
His question doesn't surprise her, but her head tips a little, her eyes skimming his expression. She shifts back onto her back as he moves over her. It's an interesting response - maybe a little bit afraid. Maybe a little bit into it.
"Yes."
There's no point in lying to him about it. There never has been. "He was helping to butcher the women at the club. Dreykov sent me on that mission to prove that he could still make me vicious." A better person would have seen the club owners arrested and put away forever with the evidence they'd gathered. Every day, she tries to be a better person. For all the red in her ledger, from that night, what she regrets most is that she proved Dreykov right.
He frowns as he settles back on his knees, sitting on her thighs. The idea of cannibalism that was just discussed throwing him off even more cocking his head to the side. He's turning over more things in his brain, trying to unlock things that may stay there. He might not get anymore of this, but it's a win to at least remember any of that night together. It seems like it was important.
"Is it bad that I find it kind of attractive?" he asks curiously, it's not about what was going on at the club, but her viciousness that he's referring to.
"You giving men what they deserve, making them pay for their crimes, I mean?" It's a half question, half statement that he sounds confused about even as he asks it. He reaches out both hands to run down her upper arms stroking them affectionately though, trying to reassure himself and ground him while he does so.
Natasha can't help but chuckle a little at the question he finally lands on, though it sounds more like she's surprised by the question than anything. And that she's more charmed than genuinely amused. "No." One shoulder lifts in a shrug to punctuate her response, and she watches him as he explains it. She can tell he's easing a foot out onto shaky ground.
"You asked me a few times in the Red Room if your metal arm bothered me. And it doesn't because it's just a part of you. Violence has been a part of both of our lives for a long time. And it can even be attractive. It's nice to know the person you're with can handle themselves and anything the world throws at them." As she talks, she shifts her own arms so she can return the gesture, her hands running over the backs of his arms as his trail over her upper arms.
Given how often the world decides to throw things, well. She can't say he's the only one who finds that sort of righteous violence appealing.
He's torn between leaning back into her hands, and exploring more. It feels nice when Natasha touches him, the kind of touches that slowly pull every bit of tension from him. Of course, they wind up his stomach in an entirely different way, but he decides to push past it and lean down to give her another long, slow kiss.
There were some promises about making out for a long time, so maybe this was the way to start. He brings one hand up from her shoulder to her cheek and cups it gently as he kisses her long and slow until they're both breathless because it's been going on for so long. What is time anyways?
Her chin tips up so she can meet him for the kiss. She lets herself enjoy it as it lingers, her fingertips stroking slowly down the length of his back and up again. It's a nice opportunity to enjoy the warmth of his body and the closeness between them. There's something almost nostalgic about it, a reminder of their stolen moments caught up in dark corners and empty rooms. It's hard to think they might actually have time now. But no surprise that her feelings haven't changed over the years.
Her cheeks are a little pink as the kiss winds down, and she bumps her nose against his playfully as she takes a breath. Her eyes study his for a moment as she considers her answer and how to phrase it.
He can't help but flush a little more at that response shaking his head. He didn't mean to suggest she wasn't her at all, he hadn't been even thinking it in that sort of way. His eyes are soft though, as he watches her shaking his head slowly.
"Natalia, I didn't mean to suggest you could actually belong to anyone..." he murmurs softly. It's a funny comment, they had both previously belonged to the Red Room, many years ago. Yet, even in those times, he has an idea that Natasha could never truly belong to anyone.
"I just meant, more..." he brings up a hand to stroke his fingers along the side of his cheek, "How am I the guy that's lucky enough that you wanna do this stuff with."
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"I love the idea of that, I'm pretty sure that it is something I still have confidence in. The rest of it, not so sure..." he says laying her out on the bed and climbing on top of her with a grin looking down at him.
"Tell me, was I nervous the first time?"
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She can't help but chuckle a little at the question. "We talked about how you could picture things you wanted to do with me, but you couldn't remember doing them before. So you knew you'd done them, but you didn't have the context for when. And how I'd never been with someone who was with me instead of a cover." Her mouth lilts into a little smirk. "I believe you used the term muddlin', so it's safe to say there were some nerves."
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"And now I remember those other times, but not you..." he says and bites the bottom of his lip, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry about that, Natalia..." he wants to remember her. He can't really believe he can't, how could he have touched, kissed, and loved the most beautiful women in existence and come out of it nothing. It's not fair to either of them.
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No matter how big the obstacle. If they could both weather the years apart, what was a hole in his memory by comparison?
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It's gentle, and soft and is an eternity before it breaks but when it does he smiles at her.
"We'll just have to make new memories then, our own this time. Natalia and James."
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When he pulls back, her mouth quirks into a half smile. It's a sweet sentiment. "I'm looking forward to it."
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"You're too pretty for your own good..." he says with a laugh before adding, "and what I meant to ask was, do you like the long hair? You play with it a lot."
His hands slide over her sides stroking along them, still over her shirt, but exploring the curves of her petite form.
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"I've never seen you with short hair. This is the longest I've ever seen it. I'd still be doing this with short hair, though." She lifted her head to drop a quick kiss on his mouth as she curled her fingers into his hair to rub against his scalp, her tone full of mischief when she spoke again. "You always lean into my hands when I do this. I like doing something that makes you feel good."
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He grins at the comment about his hair and leans into it with a nod.
"I love it when you touch my hair, I can't really explain why? But maybe because of all the weird sensors and shit they did with my head whenever they wiped me? Or the general head pain, it's always relaxing though..." he says with half a smile, like he's sad remembering it, but likes that he can at least make the connection.
"I want to make you feel good too though, Nat."
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One of her hands moves down, the pad of her thumb tracing along his cheekbone fondly. "Oh, don't worry. Your hands feel great. But I'm open to suggestions if you have something you'd like to try."
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"When I start thinking about doing more I get nervous, like I'm afraid to fuck things up."
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"I'm not in a rush. What are you afraid to fuck up?"
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"It's like this is all too good to be true and someone is going to show up and shove me in a tank again."
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"It takes time, but that feeling fades. It took me months after I escaped before I was comfortable staying in one place for more than a week. It took even longer to stop expecting the Red Room to be there when I looked over my shoulder." A sad smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She hates that this is something they both understand.
"Is there anything you think would help you feel better about being out?"
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"Sometimes when I'm with you, I can almost forget for moments. When I get distracted by things, like how soft your lips are or how pretty you are. Or how the taste of a peach makes me remember how much I like to get down between your legs and drive you absolutely wild with my tongue..." Yeah, so that's what he'd been referring to in the kitchen.
"But it feels like my brain never wants to let me complete any of those actions or thoughts, and it's dumb."
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There's not a lot she can offer to help, but there is at least one thing.
"Look at it this way," she says after a moment, "you know you like those things. There's other things that you can remember doing. You've done them before. Which means you'll be able to do them again. But this is the first time you've had so many opportunities to make choices. You'll get to the things you want to do when you're ready."
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"What was it you said I called it the first time, muddling? How'd we make it past that bit, was my dick just really hard?" He huffs out a laugh obviously joking about the last bit.
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She's quiet and thoughtful for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his hand moving along her side as she strokes the back of his neck. Even though he'd been joking, she doesn't mind finding an answer.
"It was the first time I was with someone that knew who I was. And you talked about how you could think of things you'd like to do, but you couldn't remember doing them." There's a pause, and it's obvious by her tone that she's smirking when she continues. "I think it helped too that we'd been undercover in a strip club. You really liked watching me dance."
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"Did you murder someone with your hairpins, Natasha?" He asks curiously, wondering if that was the actual mission that he was thinking of. A shiver runs down his spine as the thinking about it. He knows she's the best Widow that ever was made out of the red room, but there's still something terrifying about the ruthlessness of that level of killing.
And hot, something very very hot about it. He moves to straddle her as he waits for a response.
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It's why she can never be mad at him for forgetting her. She always surfaces again in the end.
His question doesn't surprise her, but her head tips a little, her eyes skimming his expression. She shifts back onto her back as he moves over her. It's an interesting response - maybe a little bit afraid. Maybe a little bit into it.
"Yes."
There's no point in lying to him about it. There never has been. "He was helping to butcher the women at the club. Dreykov sent me on that mission to prove that he could still make me vicious." A better person would have seen the club owners arrested and put away forever with the evidence they'd gathered. Every day, she tries to be a better person. For all the red in her ledger, from that night, what she regrets most is that she proved Dreykov right.
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"Is it bad that I find it kind of attractive?" he asks curiously, it's not about what was going on at the club, but her viciousness that he's referring to.
"You giving men what they deserve, making them pay for their crimes, I mean?" It's a half question, half statement that he sounds confused about even as he asks it. He reaches out both hands to run down her upper arms stroking them affectionately though, trying to reassure himself and ground him while he does so.
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"You asked me a few times in the Red Room if your metal arm bothered me. And it doesn't because it's just a part of you. Violence has been a part of both of our lives for a long time. And it can even be attractive. It's nice to know the person you're with can handle themselves and anything the world throws at them." As she talks, she shifts her own arms so she can return the gesture, her hands running over the backs of his arms as his trail over her upper arms.
Given how often the world decides to throw things, well. She can't say he's the only one who finds that sort of righteous violence appealing.
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There were some promises about making out for a long time, so maybe this was the way to start. He brings one hand up from her shoulder to her cheek and cups it gently as he kisses her long and slow until they're both breathless because it's been going on for so long. What is time anyways?
"Are you really mine?"
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Her cheeks are a little pink as the kiss winds down, and she bumps her nose against his playfully as she takes a breath. Her eyes study his for a moment as she considers her answer and how to phrase it.
"I'm my own. But I've always been yours too."
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"Natalia, I didn't mean to suggest you could actually belong to anyone..." he murmurs softly. It's a funny comment, they had both previously belonged to the Red Room, many years ago. Yet, even in those times, he has an idea that Natasha could never truly belong to anyone.
"I just meant, more..." he brings up a hand to stroke his fingers along the side of his cheek, "How am I the guy that's lucky enough that you wanna do this stuff with."
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