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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“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he murmurs. “Did you have plans?”
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"Not really," she says, quiet. Her workdays are so busy and so long that when she can relax on a weekend, that's often all she wants to do. "Why?"
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She studies him, drinking him in as well as she can in the dim light. "The next two weeks are going to feel too damn long."
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He puts his hand over hers. “Get a safe phone. I’ll text you.”
Still, she’s not wrong.
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Which will be something, at least. Just not this: him warm and real and solid beside her.
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“It helps.”
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"Some distraction might help."
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Bucky leans down to kiss her, gentle at first, but quickly growing deeper and more passionate.
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But she is, of course. It’s impossible to worry about the next two weeks - or even tomorrow morning - when he’s making her feel so good. She shivers at his warm breath on her cheek and ear, at his sweet words, and wraps her arms around him, clinging to him as he moves and slowly sets her aflame all over again. “Baby,” she murmurs back, “you drive me crazy.”
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The first rush had dated her desperation; now she luxuriates in him, in the slow build like adding log after log to a fire, like water on the simmer. “Please.”
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In return, she bites lightly at his shoulder, then laves the spot with a kiss. Her breath comes fast and hard as she rolls her hips up into him, so full of this sweet ache that she doesn't know how she can stand it.
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Sharon unwinds her legs from his hips and sets her feet on the mattress to give herself leverage, meeting his new angle with a groan and a rock of her hips. "Please," she begs when this kiss breaks, with no idea what she's asking for: more, deeper, harder, faster. More. Anything he wants to give her.
She kisses him again, desperation lacing back through her with every roll of his hips and press of his body to hers.
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This time she doesn't go up all at once, without warning: it uncoils inside her and then expands like a dying star. Her head falls back and she shakes with the force of it, every muscle tightening, every nerve alight with pleasure.
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Gasping for breath, he drapes himself over her and draws her into his arms again, holding her against him, making sure that enough of his weight is to the side so that he doesn't smother her.
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