ostavil | don't touch that dial

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wanda

don't touch that dial

They're the two most terrifying people on the planet and wanted by several governments but they're playing house in the middle of nowhere and not a single person can tell. Bucky's used to being invisible and silent and he'd managed to hide out in Romania for longer than he should have been able to by living on cash only, working under the table, keeping to the shadows. This is different. This is a real life that he can have, out in the open, and nobody even thinks he's suspicious at all.

It's a very, very good thing that HYDRA no longer has control of Wanda Maximoff.

When they're out in public, he keeps his face away from cameras and his arm hidden; a hat and Wanda's tricks do the rest. He can take his time picking out food, plan meals, pretend to have the friendly banter that a husband and wife would have. It's nothing he's never had before and this kind of stability almost feels like he's stealing the life he was supposed to have after the war. There's some other version of him who died falling from that train and maybe it's that version that's getting a new lease on life now.

It's autumn and the leaves have started to turn, yellow like the sun and scarlet like Wanda's hair and there's a brisk wind that says there's gonna be a storm in a day or two. Rain or snow, he isn't sure, but it's Canada so it can go either way. He has his left arm slid into Wanda's to cover up that it doesn't hang naturally the same as his right does and nobody suspects a thing. Their neighbors aren't ever curious, there's no surveillance, there's nothing to worry about. It's a strange feeling but a good one.

"You know, if you can figure out how to explain it to my tiny soldier brain I would love to know how you managed to keep our house invisible from everyone else. Small words, though. I'm all brawn and no brains."

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Bucky draws in a sharp breath when she draws her fingers up his arm and it's distracting enough that he doesn't notice at first when the fingertips of his left hand stray from fabric to the soft skin just below her hem. When he realizes it, though, he freezes and tries to decide how he can pull them away. He doesn't know if she wants that or not and he doesn't want to just surprise her with something as crazy as his hand.

She's saying something, though, and when it dawns on him what she's said, he slides the fingers of his right hand higher. Her skin is so soft and wants to get her off right here in his lap just to prove he still knows how to do it. It's been such a long time.

"I could do it right now if you don't believe me. Flip you right over my shoulder like a caveman and haul you upstairs. Make the stars in the sky realign. Promise it."

Wanda snorts, scrunching her nose in amusement. She thinks to comment on his line—she's pretty sure she's the one who can realign the stars if she so wished, even though she's unsure of just how far her power even extends in strength—but he seems worried. She doesn't mean to sense it; it niggles at her mind even if he doesn't mean for it to reach her.

She presses her left hand firmly against his and digs the heel of her palm down. No matter how hard she pushes down, he can easily tug his hand free. But she doesn't think he will, not when she's physically noted it's there. The metal's cool on her skin and unnaturally heavy, but she hardly minds.

"If you want to do this, then it's all of you," she says, looking at him from over her shoulder.

Bucky blinks at her, confused for a moment, but he doesn't move his hand. She'd been pretty clear by pressing his hand down that she wants it there and he thinks she can tell he's nervous about it but now that it's out in the open, he's not really sure what to say. He parts his lips and then closes them before speaking again.

"I can't feel anything with it," he says softly. "It's cold and heavy and it's a weapon. I don't...you want it? I might hurt you on accident."

He'd hurt himself before hurting Wanda, hands down, and he doesn't want to leave bruises on her skin because he just can't feel how hard he's pushing down with his hand or that his fingers are too tight. It's different when the bruises are on purpose. Women in the 40s weren't into that but he...he's different now. He doesn't mind the idea of leaving bruises if he does it with his right hand. The left, though...the left worries him.

"I know you'd never hurt me," she says softly, looking down at his left arm.

She removes her hand from his right arm and slowly traces the back of his metal hand with her fingers. It's curious how he can't feel anything in the arm, but he's so conscious of it despite that. She doesn't want him to be distracted by it—or worse, afraid if he does happen to accidentally miscalculate his weight and hurt her.

"I can bring someone's nightmares to light," she murmurs thoughtfully as she glides a finger down the length of one of his. "Maybe I can do this." She doesn't finish her thought aloud; Wanda focuses, unsure of what she intends to do other than do something with his arm.

As she moves her fingertips lightly up and down the back of his hand, tendrils of red magic are left in her wake. She watches as it sinks down between the seams of the metal plates of his arm and keeps moving her hand back and forth. His arm is cold and feels deader than a mind, but Wanda doesn't stop sending lines of red along the metal. If she so wants him to be able to feel his arm, even at a slightly lesser extent than he can with his flesh arm, then she'll will it into existence. She's already made so much happen with a simple thought. Why not this?

Bucky can feel it. He hasn't felt anything in his left arm since 1943 and it isn't the same as his right arm but it's there and it's real. He should have known that Wanda's magic could fix this problem but he hadn't really put two and two together until she started working on it. He presses his fingers down harder just to prove it's real and then he slides his right hand up her body to cup her breast.

"I can feel it," he murmurs. "Kiss me. I wanna see how much I can feel now that you magicked it all up. You don't mind, do you?"

He doesn't think she will, considering she brought it up, but he thinks if he can't kiss her, he'll die of thirst, and he knows it won't be a soft, polite kiss like he originally intended. He'd intended all of this to be soft and gentle and he thinks she let the brakes off something a lot more fierce than that. Brave little witch.

That's definitely a way to say 'thank you', even if Wanda's not entirely sure what he can feel. She wants to pry. Can he feel the heel of his palm? His fingertips? Knuckles? How does it feel?

Her breath hitches before she twists as best she can to face him. It's a little awkward; she should've straddled his lap and turned to face him, but she knows she hadn't been brave enough, preferring to hide with her back to his front.

She pulls her right hand away from his metal arm and reaches awkwardly to touch his face. "I don't mind," she murmurs, leaning back toward his left shoulder and turning her face toward him.

She plants her left hand on the top of his metal one and frowns. "Is it okay?" Even when there's pleasure to be had, Wanda's still all business.

"Better than okay. Just feels like I've got a glove on," Bucky says, leaning in and kissing her before he says something stupid like thank you or please or some unintelligible noise. He tugs his teeth against her lower lip and slides his left hand up higher, gripping the softness of her thigh under a hand that hasn't felt sensation since the 40s. It's amazing and terrifying and wonderful all at once.

He cups her breast in his right hand, kneading lightly as he kisses her as if his life is dependent upon it and it probably is. He's never felt so alive in his life. Who knew that one little spell could change everything like turning on the lights in the dark recesses of his mind.

"Gonna haul you up those stairs any minute now," he murmurs, breathing heavy as he pulls away from the kiss. "Just gotta get over how good it feels to finally feel something in the left after so long. You're driving me insane."

"Sorry," she murmurs, although she's hardly sorry. She's distracted by touching his face lightly with her fingertips. They don't glow red, not that she particularly wants them to. If she can make up for the horrors she's been responsible for by somehow changing what she can sense in his metal arm, then she will. Bucky may not believe he deserves much, but this is something he can't take care of without her.

She gently touches the other side of his face with her other hand, gazing down to watch her fingertips glide along his jawline. Pressing her fingertips against his mouth, she traces the curve of his bottom lip with her thumb. She much prefers to touch like this, as though she can feel every little cell beneath his skin. And she supposes she could, if she wanted to, but there's nothing she wishes to change about Bucky's face other than to see his lips curve upward rather than down and imprint what makes him feel like him into her fingertips.

"I like your face," she says, then she laughs, doing her best to ignore the way her cheeks flush as scarlet as her power. But she likes his face; she's liked it since she first saw him, in his photographs when he seemed lighter and more boyish, and even now, despite everything that weighs him down.

"Good thing you do, since you're gonna be seeing a hell of a lot of it." He smiles when she traces his lips and he kisses her flushed cheek. She blushes easily, the color lighting up her cheeks and neck, and he wonders if she blushes everywhere and if he can make that pretty red wash down all of her pale skin.

"C'mon. It's time to go upstairs." Bucky has to stop touching her to shift position but he intends to make good on his promise and he lifts her easily, slinging her over his left shoulder in a fireman's carry so she can see that when he makes promises, he follows through on them. It's fun, too, to feel the light weight of her in his arms and know that she's going to be naked with him soon.

"Better hang on to something if you don't want to lose your balance up there." He'd never drop her but he has to make the joke about it, keep it light, because if he doesn't he'll do something ridiculously possessive like curl his fingers into her thigh just hard enough to leave bruises that will last a few days. After so many years of not controlling anything or being able to have anything, he wants to hang on tight to this.

Wanda laughs loudly, gripping the back of his shirt. It's ridiculous. She can levitate into the air and soften her falls, but she acts like she's not a girl who can quickly pull the couch over toward her if she was to fall out of his arms. Is this what it's like to feel normal?

Her heart pounds heavily as she lets herself relax momentarily. This might be the only moment where she can go boneless. She wants to enjoy it before she gets worn out being as taut as a string on a bow. The tension she's carrying lets go of her temporarily as he makes his way up the stairs, and she does her best not to let it come back.

"If you drop me, you'll be sleeping outside for the rest of your life," she says sternly, although she breathes hard. She continues to grip his shirt, not wanting to accidentally shift her weight to work against him. "And I'll make sure all the mosquitoes get you."

"I'm not dropping you, gorgeous," Bucky says, laughing at the thought of it. He decides to go to her bedroom instead of his and he's glad for the choice. The colors are softer, more muted, and there's more of her touch in here instead of the clean lines and minimalism that's in his own room. It feels more intimate here than how his room would feel.

He eases her down onto the edge of the bed and kneels there, slides his palms up her thighs. Her dress is tiny, tinier than her, and he starts easing it upward as he tips his face up to look at her.

"I need to get this off you," he murmurs. "Are you ready for that or is that too much too soon?" He wants to check in, at least this first time, because he doesn't know what sex with Wanda is like yet and he wants to make sure he doesn't do anything that she dislikes or isn't comfortable with. They've both been used hard by HYDRA and that leaves scars. He doesn't want to poke at them.

She doesn't lean back and rests her hands against the bedsheets. She wishes she would. If she did, that'd mean she can relax, but she leans forward and digs her hands into the bed beside her thighs. She'd rather be bowed toward Bucky than lean away from him.

While she likes the fact he asks, it gives her too much to think about. And Wanda tends to spend more time in her head than anywhere else, keeping to herself in the fear of responding to something that had been a thought rather than a spoken word.

"It's fine," she answers quietly. If she doesn't do it now, she might not do it later, and Wanda doesn't particularly want to lose her nerve. Being around Bucky has quickly taught her that he's perceptive. She's unsure if that's him or if it had been something he'd learned in the army that had been abused by HYDRA. She supposes being a sniper requires a keen eye and an intense focus. He sees things about her that she thought she'd hidden well enough from plain view.

She's already felt half-naked around him with each and every perception he notes to her, but there's a difference between emotional nakedness and her being half-naked and just in her panties in front of him.

"But don't rip it," she says, although she doesn't sound stern at all. "I like this dress."

"Not gonna rip something I wanna see again. But you better get something you're not attached to so I can rip it next time," Bucky says, licking his lips as he looks at her. He pushes the little dress up and off and he's pleased to see there's nothing under it but her panties. God. It's been entirely too long since he's been with a woman and this isn't just any woman, it's Wanda.

"Lay back and relax for a minute. I need to get undressed if I'm gonna do this the right way." The more aroused he is, the more his consonants slur and slide back to Brooklyn even though years as the Winter Soldier erased his accent from him. He can speak 32 languages but right now the only language he can speak is fuck and now and he thinks it's probably sufficient. At least Wanda can read his emotions and knows how little he's thinking right now.

He tugs his t-shirt off in one fluid movement and then brings his hands to his jeans, fingers fumbling over the fly for a moment before he can get them undone. He draws a little closer and reaches for Wanda's hands. "You wanna push them down for me or do you just wanna watch?"

Perhaps it's a good thing he takes her hands as she'd felt the impulsive need to wrap her arms around herself. Rather than bat his hands away, Wanda leans forward and threads their fingers together as best as she can. She doesn't look away from his face as she tilts her head to the side and smiles a close-lipped smug smile.

She might be out of her element here, but she refuses to lose what little confidence she continues to gain. She grips his hands and, with her eyes flashing a dull red without her realising, she telekinetically tugs his pants down his legs to bunch at his ankles.

"I prefer to watch," she says with a toothy smile before she laughs a little breathlessly. While she'll try and keep her powers as far away from the bedroom as possible, she can't help but have a little harmless fun. Bucky's already taken her by surprise. She doesn't want things to remain too predictable for him—and this is the only way she knows how.

But when she looks away from his face, it's to admire the slope of his neck and his broad shoulders. Her eyes linger on where his metal arm connects to his shoulder. The way his skin has healed has led to ugly scarring, but Wanda much prefers it to his right arm. It's a sign that he survived despite it all.

The telekinesis is hot. Maybe he's only seen it as a useful weapon in the field before now but having a woman yank his pants off with nothing but her mind has changed his opinion on the matter greatly. He kicks off his jeans and pushes down his boxers so he can just be naked and done with it before licking his lower lip and just watching her for a moment. God, she's beautiful.

"I don't even know where to start with you," he murmurs. "I just know I wanna take my time. Slide up the bed a little so I can get my hands all over you, yeah?"

He thinks he'll touch her first, experiencing the new sensation in his left hand until he can get used to it, and then he'll follow it up with his mouth. She's more than just the first woman he's seen in decades. She's someone who would be special no matter what. She's Wanda and he's been carrying a torch for a while.

She reluctantly lets go of his hands and does as he suggests, looking at him as she does so. She sits toward the headboard and watches him, keeping her gaze on his face before she slides it down his body.

This isn't the first time Bucky's been naked before her. While his body had been fully dressed, his stories and anecdotes and what she thought to be tiny secrets had left him exposed to her each and every time he trusted her with a piece of himself. Wanda had never needed to pry into Bucky's head to know what he was thinking; most of the time, he'd tell her.

Except this. Wanda definitely missed this.

She doesn't want to stare. It'd be particularly gaudy of her. But this is the first time she's seen a man stand naked before her and look at her like she was something more than just a miracle object that happened to be created out of pure luck. Vision had been different. She always knew Vision was different.

"You're not going to take too long?" she asks, arching her brow slightly. "The ice will melt if you take your idea of time."

Bucky laughs softly. "You're an impatient girl, Wanda Maximoff. You haven't ever had a man spread you out on the bed and make you sing from head to toe? Because that's what I'm gonna so and I think you're gonna like it." He hopes so, anyway, but if she's more about getting to the point he guesses he's going to have to get used to that.

He moves to lay alongside her and cups her breast in his right hand before leaning over to kiss her softly. The earlier kiss had been a little frantic and desperate and he wants this one to be slow and pleasurable, something to remember when the nights get cold.

Her skin is so soft under his fingertips and he rolls his thumb against her nipple, trying to get it to peak for him. Bucky wants nothing more than to make her fall apart and stop thinking for a little while and once he has, then he'll take the chance to do the same for himself.

Before she can even answer that, he's kissing her again. Wanda turns onto her side so she can be closer to him and reaches out to faintly curl her fingers against his collarbones. She isn't afraid to touch him, but she doesn't know where she even wishes to begin. There's so much of him exposed. Before, she used to let him dictate touch, accepting his left arm looped around hers as she covers its bulkiness by almost cuddling it to her chest.

Now… she likes holding his hand. She knows it's not something she can do outside of the four walls of their makeshift little home.

As she arches her breast into his hand, she brushes her toes against his calf and plants her palm against his shoulder, moaning softly against his mouth. She presses down against the heel of her palm as she drags her hand from his shoulder to his pectoral, sweeping her thumb across his nipple.

If she's feeling inspired, he only has himself to blame.

It feels so good. Bucky thinks it's mostly because it's Wanda and he wants her so badly but some of it is because it's been so goddamn long since anyone has touched him. He wants to roll to his back and let Wanda's little hands run all the way over all his skin but right now, he wants to make it about her. He wants her to want to be with him again.

"I need to get my mouth on you," he murmurs. "Every single place I can put it, I want it. Please?"

Maybe he shouldn't ask and should just do but he thinks he needs to ask more for him than for Wanda. He needs to know that his touch is wanted and needed. He wants to know that she's enjoying herself and that his hands can bring someone pleasure instead of pain for once.

She nods. "Just a minute," she says quietly. "Let me touch you."

Wanda glides her hand down his chest to tuck it against his hip. Rather than kiss his lips again, she nips at the underside of his jaw. If she lets him do as he wants, he'll never give her a chance to simply touch him.

And all she wants to do is touch him, even if she has to do so shallowly. She slides her hand from his hip to the small of his back and follows the notches of his spine to his nape. There's so much of him to touch. All she wants is to feel almost a century of life beneath her fingertips and feel it move beneath her hand.

It feels good to be touched, to feel Wanda's curious fingertips tripping over his skin. It's good enough that Bucky moans and rolls to his back so she can touch more of him if she wants. He still intends to make good on his promises and get his mouth all over her but if she wants to spend some time touching him, well. It's about what she wants, isn't it?

Physical touch is something that he was deprived of as the Winter Soldier except as a tool to keep him in check. Touch has been associated with pain for him for longer than his natural lifespan and to feel it now as a gentle thing, exploratory and arousing, is brand new for him.

"You can touch as much as you want. Anywhere you want."

With Bucky now on his back, Wanda shifts so she can twist her upper body and lie on her stomach against him. She traces her index finger along his right shoulder, pressing down hard enough to leave a temporary white streak in her wake.

If he's going to let her touch him the way she wants, then she's going to take advantage of it and enjoy it for as long as possible. She doesn't want to devour him in the same hungry way he seems to want to do so to her; she wants to take her time and see the way his muscles move beneath the various weights of her hand. It's how she learns to manipulate her power; she wants to be able to take her time to feel the movement of his muscles than rush and miss it and not learn the locations of the little sensitive spots that are hidden away by hard muscle. He's always been difficult to read; she much prefers to read this way.

Watching the movement of her hand, she traces the lines of the muscle in his pectorals before gliding to his belly. "Is this okay?"

The touch feels good. Bucky hadn't realized how much he missed a touch like this until he's gotten it and now he doesn't know what he'll do without it. It'll make it very difficult if he and Wanda ever part ways but he can't start courting disaster at the very beginning; he's a catastrophist but he shouldn't ruin a good thing up front.

Her hands are soft against the hard lines of his body and when she presses down a little, it's unexpected. What isn't unexpected is when she glides her hands lower, past his chest and down toward his belly. If he hasn't had a touch on his upper body, he definitely hasn't on his lower body and he nods eagerly.

"Yeah, God, do whatever you want. It feels good."

Wanda watches his face as she trails her hand over his hipbone and against the side of his thigh. She doesn't think he'd lie to her, but she wants to see his reactions and be able to learn how to read him through another avenue that isn't touch or the little nigglings she feels in her mind before swatting every desire to pry away.

She's content to touch him this way and have his body react in ways that tell her where his most ticklish spots could be. Even after all the calluses he's developed during his time as the Winter Soldier, she likes that she can feel his muscles contract beneath her hand.

If he hadn't been such a stubborn pest earlier, Wanda would take what he says to be literal. He wants to be touched any way she wants to touch him—and while she suspects that's very true (Bucky seems so easy to please), she thinks it's only fair of her to press her earlier point. And she does so with a harder dragging of her nails against his upper thigh, stretching her arm to his knee before trailing her fingertips back up to his hip. "What do you want?" She smiles, "Because I am very happy doing this for a very long time."

"I mean, I want to get off but not before you do," Bucky says. Her touch feels good enough that he's closed his eyes and he knows his face must look content and relaxed for the first time in a long time. He doesn't do a lot of relaxed in his life. He's always hypervigilant, always watching to make sure they're safe. He doesn't have to here, though, and it feels amazing.

Her fingertips are soft against his skin until her nails dig into his thigh a little and the mix of sensations is enough to make him moan a little even if he didn't really intend to do it. She's gonna undo him before he even gets a chance to undo her and he doesn't think that's particularly fair.

"I haven't been with someone I wanted to be with since before the war," he says softly. "You're the first person who's touched me that I wanted touching me, that I wasn't forced to touch or that touched me when I didn't want it. It's...amazing."

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