James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes (
nerves_of_ice) wrote2022-01-24 03:11 pm
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Leipzig AU: the choices we make
It's a month after Thessaloniki when he slips the unmarked, unstamped postcard in the mail at Sharon Carter's apartment.
(It had taken him the entire month to decide to reach out. He'd spent most of the time burying himself in his self-imposed work and not allowing himself to think about anything other than the mission. Eventually, he'd realized that it wasn't working, and that there was only one way to find out what he now needs to know, even if he can't admit even to himself exactly why he does.)
Of course there's always the chance she'll think it's just an advertisement and ignore it. If she does, he'll try again with something a little more obvious before deciding she's not interested in reconnecting. Still, he thinks she's clever enough to catch it, and to decode the message, which isn't that subtle when it comes down to it: time, place, location.
It takes far less than a minute to pick the lock on the mailbox security panel - two seconds, maybe three, and he's able to pull it open, drop the card on top of her mail, and secure it once more.
Bucky makes his way from her apartment back down the Berlin street quickly and quietly, cap pulled down to hide his face, and disappears into the crowd.
(It had taken him the entire month to decide to reach out. He'd spent most of the time burying himself in his self-imposed work and not allowing himself to think about anything other than the mission. Eventually, he'd realized that it wasn't working, and that there was only one way to find out what he now needs to know, even if he can't admit even to himself exactly why he does.)
Of course there's always the chance she'll think it's just an advertisement and ignore it. If she does, he'll try again with something a little more obvious before deciding she's not interested in reconnecting. Still, he thinks she's clever enough to catch it, and to decode the message, which isn't that subtle when it comes down to it: time, place, location.
It takes far less than a minute to pick the lock on the mailbox security panel - two seconds, maybe three, and he's able to pull it open, drop the card on top of her mail, and secure it once more.
Bucky makes his way from her apartment back down the Berlin street quickly and quietly, cap pulled down to hide his face, and disappears into the crowd.
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Hook, line, sinker. She places kiss after kiss against his mouth, breathes him in, tips her head to kiss along his throat as she skims her hand down his side to his hip. "You've got me, baby."
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She trails her fingers over the shivering skin of his thigh, then lightly up so she can wrap them gently around his length, stroking slow as she looks down into his face.
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"Yes," she whispers, and moves her hand down to lightly draw the tip of her finger up between his legs before she wraps around him again.
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Sharon savors a few moments here, licking lightly over his stiff, sensitive nipple before drawing it up into her mouth, then works her way down along the ladder of his tensing stomach muscles, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below his belly button as she moves inexorably lower.
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"Baby," she murmurs, deeply, sweetly fond, then returns to kissing along the cut of muscle that angles towards his groin, finally shifting herself between his legs so she can replace her fingers with her mouth, taking him deep in a single smooth motion.
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She's sweet and giving and her mouth is warm and soft and it's all he can do to keep his hips from bucking, pressing them flat to the bed and trying not to move.
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Each shift and moan directs her as she searches for the things he likes best, the ones that will make him feel as good as he's made her feel already.
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It's only fair she return the favor, so she moves faster, hollowing her cheeks as she draws him in, as she traces light circles with her fingertip, ruthless in her plan to drag him straight over the edge.
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Sharon breathes out and smiles, pleased, as she drapes an arm over him.
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Already she hates the thought of morning, of him slipping away again to who knows where, of two weeks without him –
But there are still hours left until morning.
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"Are you warm enough?"
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"Are you comfortable?"
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