"Felt like I ought to apologize," Bucky says. He's dripping water all over her stoop and he's pretty sure that his shoes are never going to dry out. The Army's not going to like that too much but right now, he doesn't much care what the US Army thinks.
"I couldn't let us go and not...I didn't want that to be the last memory we had of one another," Bucky says. "Especially since we have no way of knowing what's going to happen once we get over there."
He's scared to death of dying, scared of loss, scared of everything. He's never shown this vulnerable side to anyone, preferring to bury it deep down beneath cockiness and charm so he can forget it exists. He's made a connection with Natalie, though, and he can't let their last words be practically an argument.
"I had to make it better. I had to fix it - or at least try to fix it as best I could."
If she were smart, she'd slam the door in his face and go back to bed, ignoring the piteous pleas of her own heart. But, because he was there; he'd come back; Natalia, after a moment, opened the door further and moved aside for him to come in.
"You're dripping all over the floor," she noted, closing and locking the door again. She turned on a lamp, flooding the apartment with gentle warm light. "Get out of those wet clothes so I can hang them in the tub." A brief rummage in her closet saw her returning with a couple of plain white towels and a larger terrycloth robe, one large enough to swallow her - she'd filched it from a hotel in Spain on one of Howard's "business trips, because it was warm and comfortable and perfect for her to snuggle beneath.
"Here. This is all I have that might fit you." Natalia draped the garments over the back of the chair, then moved into the small kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Something warm, at least." She put water in the kettle, lit the stove, and set the pot to boil, fetching two cups from the cabinet.
She wasn't entirely sure why he'd come back, but she did know she couldn't afford to let herself get invol--oh, that was such bullshit, she scolded herself. She was more than involved, and now she had to deal with the consequences.
It doesn't take long for Bucky to change into the robe and when she offers him tea, he nods. He's a coffee guy in the morning, just like most American guys, but he's always liked a nicely done cup of tea in the afternoon. It's what happens when you're raised almost entirely by women.
"Didn't mean to be dripping everywhere," Bucky says, still scrubbing water from his hair. "Rain got started and there wasn't anywhere I could get an umbrella this time of night." And, well, it'd fit his mood. He has a different mood now.
She shrugged, it was just water. It'd mop. Natalia kept her back to James as he changed; she didn't think it too fair to ogle him as he stripped out of his wet clothes, but that didn't stop her whorishly traitorous mind from visualizing every ridge, every muscle beneath those sodden garments. She had to put the cup down a little harder than was necessary, just to keep herself from indulging that pathetic need.
"No, I'm okay. Thanks." Her apartment was an open floor plan, kitchen, dining area, and living room all blending into one another without a separating wall. Her bedroom, the spare room, and the bathroom were situated down a short hallway, and each sported their own door. Tea was easy to make; she added the leaves to the simmering pot and let it steep on low heat, turning around and carefully picking up his sopping uniform.
"I have some extra hangers, I can hang these in the tub to dry." The bathroom had its own heater, which she lit and after hanging Bucky's uniform up on the shower rack, she closed the door so the heat would assist in drying the drenched fabric. When she came back to the main room, the tea was more or less ready, and she poured two cups, bringing them to the small table and sitting down with hers.
Natalia kept her hands cradled around the warm mug, hunched small in the chair.
"I shouldn't have said what I said," Bucky starts out. He cups his own mug of tea and blows on it lightly before taking a sip. It's good tea, honestly, and he wonders where she got it or what flavor it is exactly; maybe that's a question for a different time. They have bigger things to deal with just now.
"And I'm sorry I said it. I didn't want the last conversation we had to be that one. That's why I came here tonight to make it right."
He's so goddamn afraid about going to Germany and he's so afraid he won't come back. He doesn't know what he's going to do in the thick of it even though he'd been so damn good at basic and further training that he got promoted to sergeant before ever setting foot in Europe. Can he actually shoot a man, flesh and blood? Can he fight toe to toe with Nazis like the war reels? He doesn't know.
"I love you, Natalie. That's true and that's for always. I...I know you aren't in that place, I know you might never be there. But I can't fly to Germany tomorrow and lay in a sniper's nest to try and shoot someone with flesh and blood like me and not tell you how I feel. I might not live through the rest of this war and I wanted you to know it."
She'd promised herself never to regret saying 'yes'. But it was a hard one to keep, especially right now. Natalia propped her head on a hand, staring unseeing at the top of the table. "...James..." she began, sighed, and gave up. Closing her eyes, she refused to cry, but felt the sting of tears anyway. Though she didn't let them fall, it was a near thing, and a traitorous sniffle managed to escape.
"You shouldn't. Love me, I mean." She wasn't worth it. Not hardly. "You don't even know me, and--" But she bit it off. It likely wouldn't ever make sense, there was no use in trying to make him understand.
"But...but you don't have to be sorry about it, either." It was whispered, and she lifted her head slightly and once again curved her hands around her tea mug. "And I'm glad that you do. Love someone, I mean." A rueful grimace, mostly at herself. "Even if it is me."
She stalwartly refused to lay her own emotions - confusing and entangled as they were, God - out for examination; the less she gave in to this, the better. But it was so tempting just to...just to get up, slide into his lap and hold him close, trading soft kisses and sweet touches for as long as they could. Even if it would only lead to more heartache.
"Natalie, stop," Bucky says, trying not to get upset again and ruin this when they're shipping out tomorrow. "I love you. You said yourself I shouldn't feel bad about it. Why do you feel bad that I do love you? If I can't be sorry about loving you, you can't be sorry that it's you I love. Those are the rules."
It sounds a little juvenile, maybe, but he wants to get it across to her that if he's not supposed to be guilty because he'd said he loved her, she shouldn't feel guilty that he does.
"No more feeling bad. We might not have a chance to have this again and I want to make the most of it, all right?"
Well, he did have a point. Even though it wasn't a very fruitful point, it nevertheless counted, she supposed. She let go of her tea mug, pulled her hands into her lap, and sat back, shaking drying curls over her shoulders.
"All right, all right." A ghost of a smile teased a corner of her lips. "If you say so." Finally lifting her eyes enough to look into his beautiful blues, Natalia offered a soft shrug. "No more feeling bad."
But...now what.
She fiddled with the sash on her robe, suddenly and irrationally feeling self conscious to be sitting here half-naked with a man she'd spent an entire night with just a short week ago. But try as she might to deny it, there was still, even now, the unconscious pull between the both of them, one she'd been trying to ignore since he and the other Howling Commandos had trooped into Stark's lab.
With work between them, it'd been...manageable. Not easy, but doable. Now, with no distractions, with nothing but a couple of tea mugs and a table between them, it was damn near impossible not to feel it. Resolutely, so she wouldn't do the first thing that crossed her mind, looking at him sitting there, Natalia abandoned her chair and crossed the small living room to stand at the window, gazing unseeing out over the rainy city night.
As long as they kept the room between them, they might stand a chance.
Bucky isn't really sure why she'd left to go and stand in front of the window but he joins her after a short while, staring out over the city. There's lights even now in the middle of the night and it's relaxing to see them twinkling all over the city. Bucky had been able to see the stars overhead when he went to Wisconsin for basic but not here. Will be be able to see the stars in Germany?
"What's that you say to me sometimes?" he asks. "Moya zvezda? Is there anything else that's a...well, something sweet to say? It seems like your grandmother's Russian is something you like to do."
And he wants something that feels special to her, something unique that isn't baby, doll or some combination thereof.
"...it was the first language I learned," she finally confessed, gently rubbing her chilly arms. "I didn't know my parents, and, well, my...grandmother more or less raised me." If Madame could even count as a "grandmother". "I didn't learn English until I started school." Truth, sprinkled with a few lies here and there.
She could feel the warmth from his body, close at her shoulder, and it was so tempting to just...lean back into it, let him put strong arms around her and hold her tight, but she resisted, though she hated her common sense just then.
"There are a lot of endearments in Russian," Natalia told him, not looking away from the window. "There is kiska, which means 'kitten', or printessa, which means 'princess', obviously, and there's also lisichka, which means 'little vixen', and is mostly used for saucy redheaded children." She gave a soft chuckle.
"The language sounds harsh, but it's actually quite beautiful, when spoken correctly.
"Lisichka," Bucky says, settling on that one. He likes princess and kitten, naturally, but there's something about little vixen that settles on him and just feels right. He chances coming closer to her at the window, hand reaching out so he can brush fingers with hers.
"Did I say it right? Lisichka?" He hopes he had, or his attempt at being romantic had failed completely, and more than anything he just wants Natalie to forgive him for being an ass to her earlier.
"Thanks for letting me in." Most dames wouldn't after what happened.
"Close enough," she told him with a little smile. "Your accent is pretty good, for a Brooklyn boy." She let her fingers slowly tangle with his, a soft gesture that tugged hard at her still-falling heart. "Just...be careful how and where you say it." Howard understood more Slav than he let on, and she wanted, for various reasons, all of this to be kept close under wraps. Neither of them needed any more complications in their lives than they were already dealing with.
"Well, you said it yourself, James," Natalia told him after a minute or so of quiet. "I'm not like most dames." She chanced to give him a small smile, a fond gentle glance, before turning back to the watery lights of downtown and the sheeting rain on the window. "...but, you're welcome."
"You mind giving me a photograph or something? I don't know where in Germany they're deploying the Commandos," Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck a bit with his free hand. It's embarrassing, talking about this, but she already knows he loves her. How can be asking for a photograph be worse?
"I'd like something to look at while I'm out there. Something to remind me of the benefits of coming back in one piece."
He doesn't know what the war is going to do to them but he hopes it's all right, that they'll be able to come back and have a real, out in the open relationship.
That request surprised her a bit. But it shouldn't have; didn't men take photos of their dames off with them, to have something to keep them going, a reason to keep fighting? It was understandable, given what she knew of the human condition. Motivation, after all.
"I...I don't think I even have any, James." Which was a shame, really. "But I'm sure Howard could take a couple, before we fly out." And would probably be delighted to; any opportunity to use something technological and Stark was all over it, automatically coming up with ways to improve it.
A recollection tickled her mind, and she had to smirk, glancing at him over her shoulder. "My stockings aren't enough, Sergeant?"
Bucky honest-to-God blushes at the mention of the stockings and he's quiet for a minute before he mumbles something out. It's low and soft and it's the kind of sappy shit she probably doesn't want to hear; Natalie wants to have a good time and he's the one who fell too fast.
"Wanna remember your face," he mumbles. "Not sex with you. It's not...it doesn't matter. If you think the stockings are enough, I'll just keep those. I don't want to put anyone out when we're trying to win a war."
He hates that he's this insecure about it, this tied up over a woman.
Her brief mirth completely faded, seeing the blush begin to stain his cheeks, and Natalia wanted to kick herself. Again. Why was she so awkward around this man? Nothing she seemed to say ever came out right; she thought she might be better off saying absolutely nothing at all.
Because this is folly, she heard Madame say coldly. You know this.
"James, I--" She stopped, abashed at herself. "That's not what I meant. Of course I would give you a photograph, I just...I don't have any. I didn't--I didn't mean to tease you about it." She slowly let go of his hand and pulled away, hugging her arms again.
"We're not shipping out until the afternoon," Bucky points out. "And you're in Manhattan. There's a photo booth down on Broadway. Steve and I went once with some gals and he didn't end up in any of the pictures because he was too short."
Bucky closes the distance between them and slides his arm over Natalie's shoulders, tugging her close. It's something he feels like he needs to do because he's in love with this girl and he doesn't want what feels like their last night together to end badly.
"We'll run down there, do some pictures. It's a quarter and it does the whole thing right there - you get your pictures within ten minutes. Then we can both have some."
She let him pull her close, covertly relishing the comfort of his solid warmth. It took her a minute or so, but Natalia slowly snuck her arms around Bucky's waist, resting her head beneath his chin and closing her eyes on a soft sigh. Oh, this man...
But the photo booth was a good idea; she hadn't even realized there was one so close. "So..." she opened her eyes, staring out at the rain, "...you're staying the night, then?" And how she wanted him to. She didn't what could possibly be their last time together to be stilted, awkward, or sad or angry. He didn't deserve that.
When she tucks her head under his chin, she feels vulnerable in a way that Bucky's never felt from her. He's always appreciated Natalie's strength, the way she cuts across a room and is self-possessed and confident even in a man's world like Howard Stark's company, how she knows what she wants and how to get it. She's not like that right now. There's a softness in her green eyes that he hasn't ever seen before.
He slips his hand under her chin and tilts it up, looking into those beautiful eyes before he tips his head down and slants his mouth over hers for a kiss. This is a longing kiss, a kiss full of love and affection instead of fueled by lust and physical need. He doesn't know if he's ever going to get the chance to kiss Natalie again so he wants this one to last.
"What do you think, lisichka? I want to stay. You didn't even have to ask me if I wanted to - I always want to."
She hadn't been trained for this. She could slice through a man's jugular without batting an eyelash, she knew how to infiltrate the tightest security without leaving a ripple, and she was able to navigate a man's mind with wit, charm, and guile, but when it came to her own heart, Natalia Romanova was, sadly, a complete and utter stranger.
She didn't resist when James tilted her chin, lifting her face to his, not realizing just how vulnerable her eyes actually were before they closed, and she gave herself over to his sweet, sweet kisses, feeling her heart lurch at the inherent tenderness and care in his touch. A single stray tear escaped her lashes before she could stop it, but she let it fall, caring about nothing at all save for his mouth on hers.
Bucky whispered his agreement against her lips, and she nodded with a trembling smile, moving her arms from around his waist to around his neck, rising on her tiptoes to mold her body against his and kiss him again, and again. And again. The need for air broke them apart eventually, but Natalia rested her head against James's, shivering lightly in his embrace.
A few moments of quiet passed, then she hazarded to whisper, gazing up at him, "...will you--will you take me to bed, James?" She impulsively licked her lower lip, a little hesitant. "I want to hold you for as long as I can moya zvezda.."
Bucky loves these long, desperate kisses and he tries not to break them for long when he does have to come up for air. He cups the back of her head with his hand, cradling it, and keeps his other arm wrapped securely around her back to keep her pressed up to him and safe in his embrace.
When he finally breaks the kiss to look at her again, she speaks to him and calls him her star again. It doesn't feel like something a grandmother would use on a child, not how she says it, and he feels like it never was anything like that.
"I want to take you to bed," he says lowly. "But I want to do this my way. Do you trust me, Natalie?"
God help her, but she did. Regardless of the foolishness of doing so. So Natalia simply gazed up at him, lashes dark over gentle eyes, and nodded. Her fingers smoothed over the dark hair at the nape of his neck, but she wasn't about to let him go. Perhaps not ever again.
"I do, James," she whispered back, reaching up to rub her nose against his. "I trust you." And she wanted him to stay. Now, and forever. The thought of him walking out of that door was almost physically painful. This pull down in her gut was unfamiliar, but the longing for him that she felt was too easily recognized.
"...I don't ever want you to go," Natalia suddenly heard herself whisper, a second stray tear sliding down her cheek.
"Maybe we'll see one another again," Bucky says. He tugs her with him toward her bedroom and once he's there, he spends long moments just hugging her close and inhaling the scent of her hair and feeling her within his arms. She's muscled from what he guesses hauling Stark's stuff around but she's still soft, so very soft.
He starts to kiss her, so soft at first before gently taking her lower lip between his to start floating the idea of opening the kiss up to more. The tip of his tongue brushes against hers, seeking entrance, he deftly untying the belt of the robe that kept him from her skin. Belt gone, he pushes the robe away and ghosts his hands up and down the soft,soft skin of her back, settling them on her ass to pull her flush to him.
She had an inkling that they would see each other again, and more than likely quite often. The Howling Commandos were, after all, flying to Germany on Howard's plane. But tomorrow was a thought for later, much later, because now she was in her bedroom, the single lamp on the dresser glowing with a soft, golden light, and James was kissing her as if she were the most precious thing he'd ever seen.
A pilgrim at worship, perhaps.
All Natalia could do was just let him kiss her, those soft brushes of lips sending a slow, tantalizing ember smoldering down in her belly. She didn't deter his hands when they untied the sash of her robe and gently smoothed it over her bare shoulders, it whispering down her body to pool at her feet, and she reached up for him, all her barriers removed. He gripped her and she mewled, wanton, and pushed her own hands beneath his robe to seek warm, supple skin.
Their kisses remained soft, tender, slowly but surely spiraling her right out of her mind. Flushed with want, Natalia gently nipped at his upper lip, easy, but parted her mouth beneath his and voiced a long, low moan to finally taste him again fully.
Bucky doesn't know which way is up because these kisses with Natalie have him drunk. The light of the lamp is soft and golden and he deepens the kiss more as he slips his hand down to cup one of her breasts. His thumb teases over her nipple while he slides his tongue against hers.
He wants to worship her. He doesn't know if he'll ever see her again and he wants to make a memory with Natalie, make sure she knows that he'll never forget her and that she's going to be a part of him no matter how long he lives or where he ends up.
He keeps the kiss slow and exploratory and his hand is gentle at her breast. This isn't going to be the rush of a new coupling and it's not going to be desperate and needy. This is going to be like they have all the time in the world and that they're not saying goodbye tomorrow.
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"I couldn't let us go and not...I didn't want that to be the last memory we had of one another," Bucky says. "Especially since we have no way of knowing what's going to happen once we get over there."
He's scared to death of dying, scared of loss, scared of everything. He's never shown this vulnerable side to anyone, preferring to bury it deep down beneath cockiness and charm so he can forget it exists. He's made a connection with Natalie, though, and he can't let their last words be practically an argument.
"I had to make it better. I had to fix it - or at least try to fix it as best I could."
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"You're dripping all over the floor," she noted, closing and locking the door again. She turned on a lamp, flooding the apartment with gentle warm light. "Get out of those wet clothes so I can hang them in the tub." A brief rummage in her closet saw her returning with a couple of plain white towels and a larger terrycloth robe, one large enough to swallow her - she'd filched it from a hotel in Spain on one of Howard's "business trips, because it was warm and comfortable and perfect for her to snuggle beneath.
"Here. This is all I have that might fit you." Natalia draped the garments over the back of the chair, then moved into the small kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Something warm, at least." She put water in the kettle, lit the stove, and set the pot to boil, fetching two cups from the cabinet.
She wasn't entirely sure why he'd come back, but she did know she couldn't afford to let herself get invol--oh, that was such bullshit, she scolded herself. She was more than involved, and now she had to deal with the consequences.
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"Didn't mean to be dripping everywhere," Bucky says, still scrubbing water from his hair. "Rain got started and there wasn't anywhere I could get an umbrella this time of night." And, well, it'd fit his mood. He has a different mood now.
"You need any help in the kitchen?"
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"No, I'm okay. Thanks." Her apartment was an open floor plan, kitchen, dining area, and living room all blending into one another without a separating wall. Her bedroom, the spare room, and the bathroom were situated down a short hallway, and each sported their own door. Tea was easy to make; she added the leaves to the simmering pot and let it steep on low heat, turning around and carefully picking up his sopping uniform.
"I have some extra hangers, I can hang these in the tub to dry." The bathroom had its own heater, which she lit and after hanging Bucky's uniform up on the shower rack, she closed the door so the heat would assist in drying the drenched fabric. When she came back to the main room, the tea was more or less ready, and she poured two cups, bringing them to the small table and sitting down with hers.
Natalia kept her hands cradled around the warm mug, hunched small in the chair.
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"And I'm sorry I said it. I didn't want the last conversation we had to be that one. That's why I came here tonight to make it right."
He's so goddamn afraid about going to Germany and he's so afraid he won't come back. He doesn't know what he's going to do in the thick of it even though he'd been so damn good at basic and further training that he got promoted to sergeant before ever setting foot in Europe. Can he actually shoot a man, flesh and blood? Can he fight toe to toe with Nazis like the war reels? He doesn't know.
"I love you, Natalie. That's true and that's for always. I...I know you aren't in that place, I know you might never be there. But I can't fly to Germany tomorrow and lay in a sniper's nest to try and shoot someone with flesh and blood like me and not tell you how I feel. I might not live through the rest of this war and I wanted you to know it."
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"You shouldn't. Love me, I mean." She wasn't worth it. Not hardly. "You don't even know me, and--" But she bit it off. It likely wouldn't ever make sense, there was no use in trying to make him understand.
"But...but you don't have to be sorry about it, either." It was whispered, and she lifted her head slightly and once again curved her hands around her tea mug. "And I'm glad that you do. Love someone, I mean." A rueful grimace, mostly at herself. "Even if it is me."
She stalwartly refused to lay her own emotions - confusing and entangled as they were, God - out for examination; the less she gave in to this, the better. But it was so tempting just to...just to get up, slide into his lap and hold him close, trading soft kisses and sweet touches for as long as they could. Even if it would only lead to more heartache.
No. They couldn't.
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It sounds a little juvenile, maybe, but he wants to get it across to her that if he's not supposed to be guilty because he'd said he loved her, she shouldn't feel guilty that he does.
"No more feeling bad. We might not have a chance to have this again and I want to make the most of it, all right?"
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"All right, all right." A ghost of a smile teased a corner of her lips. "If you say so." Finally lifting her eyes enough to look into his beautiful blues, Natalia offered a soft shrug. "No more feeling bad."
But...now what.
She fiddled with the sash on her robe, suddenly and irrationally feeling self conscious to be sitting here half-naked with a man she'd spent an entire night with just a short week ago. But try as she might to deny it, there was still, even now, the unconscious pull between the both of them, one she'd been trying to ignore since he and the other Howling Commandos had trooped into Stark's lab.
With work between them, it'd been...manageable. Not easy, but doable. Now, with no distractions, with nothing but a couple of tea mugs and a table between them, it was damn near impossible not to feel it. Resolutely, so she wouldn't do the first thing that crossed her mind, looking at him sitting there, Natalia abandoned her chair and crossed the small living room to stand at the window, gazing unseeing out over the rainy city night.
As long as they kept the room between them, they might stand a chance.
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"What's that you say to me sometimes?" he asks. "Moya zvezda? Is there anything else that's a...well, something sweet to say? It seems like your grandmother's Russian is something you like to do."
And he wants something that feels special to her, something unique that isn't baby, doll or some combination thereof.
"I want something I can call you."
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She could feel the warmth from his body, close at her shoulder, and it was so tempting to just...lean back into it, let him put strong arms around her and hold her tight, but she resisted, though she hated her common sense just then.
"There are a lot of endearments in Russian," Natalia told him, not looking away from the window. "There is kiska, which means 'kitten', or printessa, which means 'princess', obviously, and there's also lisichka, which means 'little vixen', and is mostly used for saucy redheaded children." She gave a soft chuckle.
"The language sounds harsh, but it's actually quite beautiful, when spoken correctly.
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"Did I say it right? Lisichka?" He hopes he had, or his attempt at being romantic had failed completely, and more than anything he just wants Natalie to forgive him for being an ass to her earlier.
"Thanks for letting me in." Most dames wouldn't after what happened.
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"Well, you said it yourself, James," Natalia told him after a minute or so of quiet. "I'm not like most dames." She chanced to give him a small smile, a fond gentle glance, before turning back to the watery lights of downtown and the sheeting rain on the window. "...but, you're welcome."
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"I'd like something to look at while I'm out there. Something to remind me of the benefits of coming back in one piece."
He doesn't know what the war is going to do to them but he hopes it's all right, that they'll be able to come back and have a real, out in the open relationship.
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"I...I don't think I even have any, James." Which was a shame, really. "But I'm sure Howard could take a couple, before we fly out." And would probably be delighted to; any opportunity to use something technological and Stark was all over it, automatically coming up with ways to improve it.
A recollection tickled her mind, and she had to smirk, glancing at him over her shoulder. "My stockings aren't enough, Sergeant?"
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"Wanna remember your face," he mumbles. "Not sex with you. It's not...it doesn't matter. If you think the stockings are enough, I'll just keep those. I don't want to put anyone out when we're trying to win a war."
He hates that he's this insecure about it, this tied up over a woman.
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Because this is folly, she heard Madame say coldly. You know this.
"James, I--" She stopped, abashed at herself. "That's not what I meant. Of course I would give you a photograph, I just...I don't have any. I didn't--I didn't mean to tease you about it." She slowly let go of his hand and pulled away, hugging her arms again.
"...I'm sorry."
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Bucky closes the distance between them and slides his arm over Natalie's shoulders, tugging her close. It's something he feels like he needs to do because he's in love with this girl and he doesn't want what feels like their last night together to end badly.
"We'll run down there, do some pictures. It's a quarter and it does the whole thing right there - you get your pictures within ten minutes. Then we can both have some."
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But the photo booth was a good idea; she hadn't even realized there was one so close. "So..." she opened her eyes, staring out at the rain, "...you're staying the night, then?" And how she wanted him to. She didn't what could possibly be their last time together to be stilted, awkward, or sad or angry. He didn't deserve that.
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He slips his hand under her chin and tilts it up, looking into those beautiful eyes before he tips his head down and slants his mouth over hers for a kiss. This is a longing kiss, a kiss full of love and affection instead of fueled by lust and physical need. He doesn't know if he's ever going to get the chance to kiss Natalie again so he wants this one to last.
"What do you think, lisichka? I want to stay. You didn't even have to ask me if I wanted to - I always want to."
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She didn't resist when James tilted her chin, lifting her face to his, not realizing just how vulnerable her eyes actually were before they closed, and she gave herself over to his sweet, sweet kisses, feeling her heart lurch at the inherent tenderness and care in his touch. A single stray tear escaped her lashes before she could stop it, but she let it fall, caring about nothing at all save for his mouth on hers.
Bucky whispered his agreement against her lips, and she nodded with a trembling smile, moving her arms from around his waist to around his neck, rising on her tiptoes to mold her body against his and kiss him again, and again. And again. The need for air broke them apart eventually, but Natalia rested her head against James's, shivering lightly in his embrace.
A few moments of quiet passed, then she hazarded to whisper, gazing up at him, "...will you--will you take me to bed, James?" She impulsively licked her lower lip, a little hesitant. "I want to hold you for as long as I can moya zvezda.."
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When he finally breaks the kiss to look at her again, she speaks to him and calls him her star again. It doesn't feel like something a grandmother would use on a child, not how she says it, and he feels like it never was anything like that.
"I want to take you to bed," he says lowly. "But I want to do this my way. Do you trust me, Natalie?"
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"I do, James," she whispered back, reaching up to rub her nose against his. "I trust you." And she wanted him to stay. Now, and forever. The thought of him walking out of that door was almost physically painful. This pull down in her gut was unfamiliar, but the longing for him that she felt was too easily recognized.
"...I don't ever want you to go," Natalia suddenly heard herself whisper, a second stray tear sliding down her cheek.
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He starts to kiss her, so soft at first before gently taking her lower lip between his to start floating the idea of opening the kiss up to more. The tip of his tongue brushes against hers, seeking entrance, he deftly untying the belt of the robe that kept him from her skin. Belt gone, he pushes the robe away and ghosts his hands up and down the soft,soft skin of her back, settling them on her ass to pull her flush to him.
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A pilgrim at worship, perhaps.
All Natalia could do was just let him kiss her, those soft brushes of lips sending a slow, tantalizing ember smoldering down in her belly. She didn't deter his hands when they untied the sash of her robe and gently smoothed it over her bare shoulders, it whispering down her body to pool at her feet, and she reached up for him, all her barriers removed. He gripped her and she mewled, wanton, and pushed her own hands beneath his robe to seek warm, supple skin.
Their kisses remained soft, tender, slowly but surely spiraling her right out of her mind. Flushed with want, Natalia gently nipped at his upper lip, easy, but parted her mouth beneath his and voiced a long, low moan to finally taste him again fully.
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He wants to worship her. He doesn't know if he'll ever see her again and he wants to make a memory with Natalie, make sure she knows that he'll never forget her and that she's going to be a part of him no matter how long he lives or where he ends up.
He keeps the kiss slow and exploratory and his hand is gentle at her breast. This isn't going to be the rush of a new coupling and it's not going to be desperate and needy. This is going to be like they have all the time in the world and that they're not saying goodbye tomorrow.
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