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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"And I'm not? Wanda, do you think I care about your powers? You've never hurt me. I feel...myself with you. More myself than I've felt since before I fell. I still have nightmares but the days are good so it balances out. I don't care about your powers. You're not gonna hurt me with them because if you were, you already would have done it. You can read my mind without a book. You can control me without HYDRA's code words. You haven't because you're a good person."

Bucky reaches his right hand across the table to touch Wanda's. "If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I won't mention it again. I just thought I should be honest that what I feel for you isn't simply friendship and that I want...well, I want you. And I haven't wanted anything for myself in a really long time. It means something to me to have these feelings because it means I trust you with the most vulnerable parts of me."

He rubs his thumb against her skin. "It's up to you, though. If you don't want me to ever mention it again, it drops right now. We go back to being friends and nothing changes. But if you're interested in it, we could try it out and see if it fits. I think it will. I think we're suited for one another. I'm not the same as Vision, I know that, but maybe I can still be good enough."

Her powers were always her backup wall erector if she ever needed them. She'd done so with Vision plenty of times, and he had been too kind and patient and literal to ever question it. But Bucky isn't a synthezoid learning how to walk like a human and talk like a human. He already is one.

She's so used to being the one in the room who knows everything. She can prepare for anything. Of all the things she had tried to prevent or be ready for, this had never crossed her mind.

She looks down at his hand on hers, distracted by the movement of his thumb. Whenever Bucky touches her, she wants him to touch him even more. That's the only information she's ever let herself have about this. She's always tried to subtly encourage him to touch her more, to reach out and grab her. It all seemed to help him feel more at ease, and it had selfishly let her feel, well…

"I've never…" She keeps her gaze down and her brows furrowed. "I've never done… anything like this before. Ever."

Bucky's lived a life, even one that had been cut short. Wanda's always been envious and enthralled with his stories because she's never gotten to experience what he did. She wishes she had. She always imagined it as herself in his stories. When she looks up at him, she says earnestly, "I don't know even how to dance. You should want someone who can dance."

It's silly, she knows, but she's not as great as he thinks she is. She can't dance. He likes dancing. It's an oversight and an important one.

"I can teach you how to dance," Bucky says. He frowns a little though. "You and Vision never...? Ever? Because I don't mind doing the teaching I just figured you had some experience."

Bucky doesn't even know how sex with Vision would work other than he'd assumed she'd had it with him even if she'd had no partners before him. It's something he'd assume of anyone her age and now he has to look at her differently. It's all right, though. If she needs someone to teach her, he's more than happy to do it. Being the more experienced one is erotic, in a way, and he's not going to take much to warm up to the idea.

"We can take it slow if you need to. I don't need you to jump into bed with me for dessert or anything. If you need to ease into it, I'm more than happy to do it. I just wanna be with you. There's not a statute of limitations on when and there's not any rules on the how."

"I've had sex before," she says a little indignantly in an attempt to ignore her furious flush.

This is why it's easier to stay friends with very attractive almost-one hundred-year-olds! It means that his infinite amount of experience is shared in little anecdotes that make her long to travel back in time and see him in his prime. It means that there's some distance between them, where her inexperience is kept under wraps while she acts as a sponge for all of his.

Her face and neck are hot. Wanda could easily make the room chilly—she's been working on that, even if she hardly understands it—but doing so will alert Bucky, and she doesn't particularly want him alert to anything at all at the moment.

"I've done some… things. When there was time." Given her house arrest, Wanda did have some time on her hands. God, she's making her face feel even worse.

"I don't need to know what you did," Bucky says softly. "I just need to know what you like, that's all. I want to make sure you enjoy it as much as I enjoy it. That's the point of it, after all, and you should always be enjoying yourself. Your life should be full of joy."

Bucky doesn't know how much he contributes to that but he wants to, desperately and it seems like Wanda isn't saying no to him. He turns her hand over, stroking his fingers against her palm. Her skin is soft, so soft, and it's so much different than his hand that is calloused from years and years of shooting firearms.

"When we're together, I'll make sure that you enjoy it. I'll do everything I can do to ensure that. If you can trust me, I'll make you happy. It's all I want to do." He smiles a little. "And I'll teach a little witch how to dance. You're beautiful when you fight. I'm sure you will pick up dancing quick as anything."

"Do you ever think of yourself?" All that indignation and furious flushing are gone. It's always about her, what she likes, and what she enjoys. Wanda's enjoyed every little thing that Bucky's done for her, even the things that she was never aware she would like.

It's something she's noticed for a while now and has never quite known how to address it. She's always wanted to be delicate, knowing that his focus on others comes from a place of healing and from some unfounded need to atone for every little thing he's done to everyone, even those he never directly hurt. But she supposes being blunt is appropriate now, especially given…

"I trust you," she says, looking at him. She closes her fingers around his, wanting to momentarily stop his distracting movements and to make sure that he understands it through a language he seems to prefer. "And it's important to me that you enjoy it, too. It's fine if you end up not liking it."

God, she's talking about having sex with Bucky Barnes.

Bucky frowns at that, at the implication that he might not like it, that thinking of her is somehow wrong. Shouldn't he be thinking of what she likes and how good it feels for her? He doesn't want it to feel bad for her or remind her of something bad and now he feels like she's turning that on him and he doesn't like examining it.

"Why wouldn't I like it, Wanda? Why shouldn't I think of you more than me? I haven't wanted anyone in decades. I want the closeness of it, the intimacy. I don't want you to run from me. Is that a bad thing? To want you to feel good and find that important, more important than what feels good to me?"

Maybe he's taking it the wrong way. She did say she wanted him to like it too. It's just the it's fine if you end up not liking it that bothers him. Does she know something he doesn't know, something she picked up on accident? It worries him.

"Men are easier to please than women, Wanda."

There are a few reasons she can think of that could be the reason why he doesn't like it. She's not as experienced. She's different. What makes her different makes her dangerous. Wanda has to assume the other women he's been with were different to her—normal, without powers, and possibly without all the baggage that follows her.

"It's not just about me, Bucky. It's sweet that you're so focused on me, but… you're going to be there, too." She grips his hand, and this time it's her turn to sweep her fingers over his.

"You should like it, too. That's important to me," she says quietly. "There's a chance—maybe a really small chance—that you won't like it, and I want you to know that's okay."

She knows deep in her soul that he'd tell her the same thing. It's okay for her to not like it; he won't be offended. Wanda just happened to get there first.

"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like it. 99.99% confident that I'll love it, actually," Bucky says, laughing softly. "But we don't have to go run in there to do it right this second. It's usually better if you warm up to these kinds of things and set a mood. Why don't you let me clear the plates and we'll watch something? Maybe something we've already seen?"

If they've already seen it, he won't be compelled to take in every detail the way he does every time he sees something new and he can spend more time touching Wanda instead. He needs the background noise as a crutch to ease into the intimacy and he thinks Wanda will probably feel more comfortable with it as well. He doesn't know what Vision was like intimately and he knows Wanda doesn't know about any of his partners (and they're all probably dead by now anyway) so they'll come into this with clean slates.

"Go get comfortable and let me handle the mess? I like doing it, so I don't want any arguments from you. Maybe I can't do magic but manual labor? I'm great at it. I want to make your life easy and nice. I love taking care of you."

That furious flushing and heat return promptly at his confidence. Sometimes she wonders if Bucky's aware of it and does what he does on purpose. She likes to think he's oblivious, but there are times when she's convinced he's well aware of what he's doing and enjoys it.

She sighs heavily, regarding him with a look of not being amused. It's on the tip of her tongue to argue with him and even do the dishes herself, but if it gives him something to do and a moment to mull over what they've spoken about, then she'll give it to him this last time.

She reluctantly pulls her hand away from his to grab her glass of wine. Pushing out her chair, she stands, and rests her other hand against her hip as she looks down at him sternly. "You're annoying," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. While he might have taken the mantel of wanting to treat her well and do everything for her, she thinks it's only fair that he sees her pay it back in kind by letting him get away with it.

Turning away from the table, she states matter-of-factly, "If it's not done in five minutes, I'm coming in to do it. Charming words or not." And that's a threat she intends to uphold. She glances over her shoulder to regard him sternly so he's aware of how very serious she is about her threat.

Reluctantly, she returns to the living room and sits in the corner of the couch she tends to claim. She doesn't feel as comfortable as she usually does. There's an expectation now. She's too aware of herself and how she's sitting and how her dress is falling across her thighs. She listens intently to Bucky in the kitchen for something to focus on that isn't herself.

The cleaning helps him get his head straight and he thinks he might go over the five minutes but luckily he's fast and efficient so he has everything in the dishwasher, the counters wiped down, and the wine put away by the time he thinks his time is up. He knows Wanda could do it with a wave of her hand but he likes doing the work. He likes taking care of her because it makes him feel like he's doing something good and putting happiness into the world, even if it's happiness for one Sokovian witch and not anyone else.

When he's done, he wipes his hands on a dishtowel and goes to sit next to Wanda. He's hyperaware of her now because the penny has dropped and he knows he's allowed to look at her openly instead of sneaking glances when he thinks she isn't looking. Wanda is beautiful, her features delicate but hiding the incredible power she has behind them. She doesn't look like she can be capable of what she is and it's very easy to forget she doesn't need his protection. He slides his arm around her shoulders.

"Let's start with this," he says quietly. "Sit in my lap for a little while and we can just watch tv. It'll be new but we can get used to it."

She cocks her brow at him as she smiles, although she's not going to decline his suggestion. Sitting on his lap might be nice, even though it's clear to her where this will lead. She wishes she had more time with his arm around her shoulders; it's grounding in a way that isn't suffocating, and if she could somehow keep that arm around her while she sits a little too close beside him, she would. It's a gesture that's given her confidence since they came here.

She does as he suggests, moving onto his lap. At first, she sits ramrod straight, resting her hands on either side of his thighs like she's unsure of whether she's going to tip over or not. The last thing she wants to do is hurt him or make him uncomfortable, but she's thinking too much. When she overthinks, the world starts making noises and the last thing she wants to do is let all the noise from the neighbours and beyond the street infiltrate the wall she's erected in her mind. She relaxes on her own, pulling at the strap of her short red dress up her shoulder and leans back against his chest as she rests her hands easily in her lap.

"I liked your arm," she says quietly, looking straight ahead at the television. Even though she's moved, she thinks it's something he can know now without her admission feeling stupidly weighted and weird. "I like it when you put it around me."

The dress is too damn short. He noticed it before, of course, but now he can't do anything but notice it because it shifts up a little when she sits in his lap and he can see long, slender legs and soft skin and thighs he just wants to touch. Not yet, though. He looks and he's probably staring and it's only when Wanda says something that he pulls his eyes up to look at her profile as she watches the television.

"Yeah? I think it just reminds me that I'm ruthless but if you like it, I guess I'll just have to get over that. Makes me strong enough to hold you all night, though, so I'll take it. A normal man would get tired but not me. You're tiny. I could throw you over one shoulder if I felt like it. I won't, though. We're not at that point."

Wanda isn't looking at him so he puts his right hand on her knee and sweeps his thumb along the inside of it. He wants to kiss her while he shoves his hand under this microscopic dress but that's for later. He's going to ease into this so he doesn't frighten her off by being so hot for her that decades and decades of nothing has suddenly let the floodgates go.

"Tell me if you need to stop," he says, low and a little rough. "And I'll stop."

"Only if you do the same," she murmurs. It might sound silly now since all she's doing is sitting in his lap, but Wanda intends for Bucky to understand and accept that there's a possibility he might want to stop. For whatever reason. She wants to be self-deprecating enough to believe it'll be because he's not into it, but she's too distracted by his hand on her knee to really feed the thought.

"And you're such a caveman," she says with a sigh. She wants to relax. She wants to be as relaxed as she's come to be with him, easily letting her guard down and poking fun at someone who could possibly kill her within seconds. But she's aware of his hand on her knee and what that means, and all she can do is sit tensely despite not wanting to.

As a distraction, she looks at his hand on her knee and glides the nails of her right hand down his arm before tracing what she can of his fingers.

"I doubt you can carry me up the stairs over your shoulder. You look frail, old man." Her words lack the usual heat and sharp challenge, but she thinks he'll see the gauntlet for what it is. She doesn't wish to be passive, even if she's letting him lead this dance and he's giving her the grace to step on his feet a number of times.

Wanda shifts her left leg in an effort to get comfortable and in a tiny attempt to goad his left hand onto her skin.

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.

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