ostavil | open post

This time, her sigh was completely exasperated, and the roll of her eyes a surrender. "Okay, fine," she groused, flopping back on her pillow with a soft snort. "But tomorrow," she told him, giving his side a jab with an elbow. "First thing, right after breakfast."

She wasn't upset, more resigned, because she'd always been one to take care of the work before anything else. And this was so different, lying about being lazy and pregnant; Natasha didn't really know how to start.

"...have you thought about any names?" She'd rattled around a few, but hadn't dared write them down or speak them aloud. Not yet, not while it was so new. "I don't really care if it's a girl or a boy, as long as it's healthy."

"I like Michael," Bucky says. "Or if we have a girl, I'm pretty fond of Alexandra. I don't know, I like traditional names but if there's something that really sticks out to you, we can talk about it. I don't care if we have a boy or girl. It's gonna be my baby. I'm gonna love whoever they are."

Bucky trails his fingertips along the curve of her neck and then across the neckline of her gown.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you every moment of every day?"

"I like Michael, too." Natasha smiled, thinking of middle names to go with it. "Maybe, Michael James? After you and your dad? Michael James Barnes...we could call him MJ for short." The more she thought about it, the more she liked it. And she knew Bucky's father would be delighted to no end.

She hadn't really given much thought to any little girl names, and that particular train of thought more or less derailed right there when Bucky's calloused fingers drifted over her skin. They left gooseflesh in their wake, and Natasha couldn't help the slight shiver. Or the reflexive intake of breath, followed by a nervous little gulp.

"...not...really, no...?" And she wasn't playing hard to get; she'd just steadfastedly refused to let herself imagine such a thing.

"Yeah," Bucky says, smiling slowly. "I just look at you in this pretty little nightgown and think, nobody's ever worn anything like this for me. This isn't the kind of girl who wants me. Too sweet for me. I'm not a good enough guy to have the sweet girl. I'm a little bad."

He stretches out beside her in bed and keeps running his fingers over her skin. Nothing other than just her neck and collarbone and hair but he desperately wants to go lower.

"I'm all inked up and play guitar for a living and I've got this pretty, sweet little thing in my bed. What'd I do to earn that?"

She couldn't help the slow flush that spread upwards from her neck to her cheeks, and Natasha lowered her lashes, suddenly terribly shy. She'd never been good at this sort of thing, this gentle flirting that naturally evolved when two people actually cared for each other. Yet his fingers felt so good against her skin, sensitive and waiting for his touch, and Natasha took a deep, soft breath.

"...you're not a bad guy, James," she managed to whisper, lashes lifting to meet his gaze. "You're the sweet one, not me." Almost unconsciously, one of her hands rose to touch his cheek, feeling the night's bristles prick her skin gently. An interesting sensation. "--and you earned it because you're the sweetest guy there ever was, even if you do have more ink than a billboard sign."

"Mmm, glad you think so," Bucky says, turning his face into the touch. He slides his hand lower and cups her breast, grateful that the gown is thin and almost flimsy and he can feel a lot more than he might otherwise. Maybe this is too forward but he wants to do it and if it's too much, she can tell him.

"Feel pretty sweet to me," he murmurs. "You consume me. You've spread all over me and all I can ever think and feel and want is you. I feel like you're gonna set me on fire one of these days and I'm gonna want it."

She still had a thing for his voice. It flowed over her, silken as water. Natasha's eyes closed out of pure reflex, letting Bucky's low baritone caress her ears. Her breath hitched lightly when she felt his hand gently cup a breast, but she didn't pull away. He was going to be her husband, after all; she might as well push her insecurities aside and play the part.

"...those sound like song lyrics," Natasha heard herself murmur, lips tilting in a small smile. Unbidden, her own fingertips trailed over one of the tattoos decorating his shoulder and bicep, fingernails skating along the inked outline. Her lashes lifted, slowly meeting his gaze, and her smile tipped further. "You really feel like that? --about me?"

"Mmm, of course I do," Bucky says. He knows she must think it's surprising because she always asks and he knows what her old relationship was like but it still makes him sad that she can't trust what he says and just know they're true. Because he does feel this way. The words might be pretty but it doesn't mean they're made up or commercial.

"Maybe I speak in lyrics sometimes but it's just because you inspire me so damn much," he murmurs. "I wrote a whole album about you - love and heartbreak and jealousy and everything. I feel so much for you that I can't keep it inside."

"It's okay," Natasha breathed back, both touched and a bit amused. "I don't mind." She felt her blush deepen and she shrugged slightly, still a little bashful. "...I...actually kinda like it." It was a novel way to express feelings, that was sure. And given that she'd spent a good part of her adult life with a man who preferred passive-aggressive affection, if it could even be labeled as such, Bucky's idiosyncratic method was a welcome change.

He was still stroking her softly, gently but persistently mapping out her body, but Natasha found that she didn't really mind so much. Not anymore. "Jealousy?" That perked her particular interest? "Did you really write a song for that album about being jealous, Bucky Barnes?"

"You were with someone else," Bucky says casually. "You really didn't listen to Ivy, did you? That whole song is me being jealous of you being with Alex because you're perfect for me. I could sing it for you again if you forgot what the whole thing was about. I kinda know it real well."

Bucky slides one big hand down to cup her waist and rubs his knuckles there against the curve of it. It won't be this way in a few months but for now, he can feel the shape of her.

"You didn't think I was jealous of him?"

Hearing that, Natasha blinked a little. "I didn't, no. I really didn't think about it that way at all." But now that he'd pointed it out, it was more than a little obvious. Shaking her head, Natasha chuckled at herself, rolling her eyes lightly. "I don't really have your artistic soul, James. I never learned to read between the lines with these sorts of things."

She didn't protest when his hand ghosted down her side and curved against her waist; Natasha absently eased a knee over Bucky's thigh, her leg just resting quietly atop his. She was so starved for gentle affection, her body knew exactly what to do without consulting her at all.

"You don't have to sing it for me, James," she told him. "It's probably my favorite song of yours, so far."

Natasha is getting closer and closer to him and honestly, Bucky is more than fine with it. He's ecstatic. He's thrilled. He's a million little things that he cannot even describe with words and just have to let wash over him in feeling.

"Yeah, you're not supposed to have favorites but it's mine. I like Ruin too though because you can ruin me a million little times any time you feel like it, soon-to-be Mrs. Barnes."

Natasha's brows furrowed and she clucked her tongue at him. "I'd never do something like that, Mr. Barnes. And you know it." Still, hearing the "soon-to-be Mrs. Barnes" resonated, down in her belly. Next to their child. Speaking of...

"...have you given any thought to this wedding? I'll be honest, I have no idea about weddings - I think I've only ever attended two in my entire life. And I was a guest of a friend, at that. I know there's a white dress and flowers involved, but that's about it."

And Bucky's sisters had nearly bowled her over with all sorts of questions, from colors, to refreshments, to plate patterns, to bridesmaids; her head had been spinning with all of those details.

"Nope because we literally decided to get married less than a week ago," Bucky points out. "I know it has to be fast but it doesn't have to be in twenty four hours. We are resting in this bed today. No talking about work, weddings, or you know who. We are relaxing. We are having a good time. Stop stressing so much."

Bucky sighs a little and plays with her hair. "I'll help you with all the wedding stuff from top to bottom, I promise, it just doesn't have to happen right this second. Do we have a deal?"

This time, Natasha couldn't help the mildly exasperated roll of her eyes, and the soft huff that went with it. But she was smiling, albeit indulgently, when she turned her gaze back to her bedmate. "All right, all right, 'Dr. Bucky'...I'll shut up about everything. Will that suit you?" But she was teasing, evidenced by the slight upward turn of her lips and the hidden mirth in green eyes.

"What would you like to talk about, then?"

They were relaxing, nearly wrapped around one another, Natasha suddenly realized, but it wasn't...a bad thing. She was comfortable, and safe, and these soft, gentle touches were actually helping her to unwind, unbend just a little. Bucky's hand still rested at her waist, Natasha's knee over his thigh, and without thinking, she brought a hand to his shoulder, feathering a light, gentle touch upwards to brush against his cheek.

"Mmm, well, let's talk about how beautiful you are," Bucky says, laughing softly. She's wrapped up around him and this is exactly where he wants to be. There's no place in the world that's better than this one right here and he tilts into her touch before speaking again.

"All I can think about is running my mouth all over your body and trying to find every freckle you have. You have a couple, you know. Not too many - you stay inside and stay pale and pretty - but you have a few and I'm curious to figure out where they all are."

He pauses for a moment. "I want you. Every moment of every day. Even if it's just holding you like this, Natasha."

"...you really know how to make a girl blush, James Barnes," Natasha said in a low voice, feeling one heat her cheeks, her neck, and chest. Her lashes lowered, chin ducking slightly. She was hardly used to such compliments, although hearing them in his delicious baritone did things way down below her stomach. Natasha wasn't naïve enough not to recognize desire when she felt it; it had simply been a while since it'd last paid her a visit.

She knew she should play coy, coquettish, and flirt right back, but her tongue had all but frozen in her mouth, not used to playing such games. Instead, Natasha continued her light exploration of her intended's tattoos, delicate fingertips skating along a few outlines.

"How many tattoos do you have?" she murmured, truly curious. "They're all so intricate..."

"God, I think I lost count after twenty," Bucky admits, laughing softly. It's nice, the way she's tracing her fingers over them, though, and he pulls her fingers down to a blank space on his wrist. It's the only blank space he's got on either of his arms and it's right there on his right wrist - prime real estate.

"Getting one for you right there. I mean, you'll get more than one," Bucky assures her. "But that's where the first one is going so everyone can see your name. You're not supposed to get names tattooed on you, it's bad luck, but I'm gonna hope you're not going anywhere?"

If she does, he's not sure if he can recover from that but they're not going to borrow trouble today.

Before he moved her hand, Natasha queried, "Didn't they hurt?" She was terrified of needles in all fashions, so getting a tattoo had never been anything she'd considered. Then she started a bit, realizing what he'd just said. "My name? Right here on your arm?" Oh, God. But, it was supposed to be flattering, she knew, even if she couldn't help the flush that flooded her cheeks. Again.

God, but this man just had the most uncanny way of making her feel...warm.

"That's...that's so sweet, James." A soft smile followed the words, and a gentle little chuckle. "Not planning on going anywhere," she reassured him. Turning her hand over in his, she guided his palm to her tummy. "I'll be good and weighted down in just a few months, so no chance, mister."

"Yeah, well, you have really been trying not to get weighted down so you gotta forgive a man for being a little paranoid," Bucky says, laughing softly. It's not as easy a laugh as he wants to give because he is still a little worried she'll bolt but if Natasha's telling him she wants to stay put, he's got to accept that. No more running.

"As far as any of them hurting? Well, the ones on my ribs hurt some. Oh, shit, you haven't seen the new one yet have you? Well, I guess they probably all run together for you, you haven't really been spending that much time with me naked."

Bucky rolls over a little so he's on his stomach. "Look about...two inches south of my shoulderblade. Left side. It's lyrics. I think it's probably kind of vain to get my own lyrics tattooed on me but it's our song. It's not done, just the linework for right now, but it won't take but another session."

When he turned over, Natasha obediently followed Bucky's direction and slid her eyes down his back, eyebrows going up to see the small lines of letters. Her lips moved as she read them, and a slow flush stained her cheeks when she realized that she was, indeed, reading "Ivy" across his skin. Gentle fingertips slowly drifted over the ink, digits trembling slightly.

"Are...are you having the entire song done?" That would be...insane, she thought, wondering where all of the words were going to even fit. "This ink isn't unhealthy, is it?" Because if he was deliberately getting all of this art done at the expense of his health, she was going to clobber him with the breakfast tray.

"Nah, just the chorus. And if tattoo ink was gonna kill me, I would have been dead twenty tattoos ago," Bucky points out. "It's not in my veins, doll, it's just right under the upper layer of my skin. It's not going anywhere, I promise. The only place it goes is out and that's when I need to get touch-ups."

He stretches his hand up so she can see it. "See these on my knuckles? I have to get them redone all the time because the ink is always migrating out. Now, if you want me to get something really painful and dangerous, you can always try to talk me into a piercing. Depending on what it is, I might do it."

A moue of mild exasperation crimped her lips when he pointed out the obvious, and Natasha couldn't help but give those inked ribs a bit of a sharp poke. But she obligingly shifted over to look closer at his knuckles, noting the faded designs in the creases of his skin.

"Um, no," Natasha shook her head, negating his offer of a piercing. "I hate needles, in all forms, shapes, or fashions, so I will most definitely pass, thanks. And you don't have to get any to impress me, I promise."

She resumed her place at his side, head propped on one hand as she reclined on the pillows, facing him. "I don't even have pierced ears, myself. I just always use the fake ones."

"Really? I figured you just got 'em done as a baby. That's what my sisters did," Bucky says. He doesn't remember a time when his sisters didn't have pierced ears and while he'd done his in a garage as a teenager, he doesn't think that's a story to tell Natasha. Or about his first tattoo being a scratcher from some guy who had just done time in jail for dope.

"You think you're gonna be ok with medical stuff? Or should we go look into midwives and doing things natural? Susan went granola for her second one and did the whole home birth thing. Everything came out great and she liked it a lot."

Natasha didn't say anything outright, but her expression fell just a little when he mentioned her as a baby. She hadn't known her parents, nor even if she still possessed any blood-kin at all. But she didn't point it out, as doing so might be...undiplomatic.

Instead, she just shifted about to sit up again, propping several pillows behind her and tugging up the sheet to cover her lap, absently fiddling with the fine silken hem. "I'll be fine," she assured him, her "soothing" PR voice back on display again. Even though she was still terrified, inside.

"My obstetrician is very good, and I like her a lot. I...think I'd rather rely on medical science for this, if that's all right with you."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject