Eyes of Fire | Bucky Barnes

57

Bucky was a fairly intense person.

The grim set of his mouth and shoulders, the unending weight of the world that made his brows dip into that hard line. Bucky felt more than he let on, was affected by things people said and did, let the blows rain like ash against his skin and said nothing.

Uxolo had learned long ago that Bucky did not welcome comfort easily, that he felt it was something he did not deserve to receive.

He craved it, wanted it, longed for it.

But he felt as if he should not crave it, want it, long for it.

He'd told her as much, over and over, the weight of her gentle hands against his skin like burning embers.

He wanted it. He so badly wanted to sink into that flame, but he was worried it would burn him alive, melt him down into something unrecognizable.

Bucky was intense.

He was hard and wild and something close to broken some days, when reality drifted in and out of focus, when the world was best left in the hands of... anyone else.

There was always a beating heart of anxiety behind everything he did, that this time he won't be enough, that this time he wont be fast enough, that this time the universe would get the last laugh again.

This night, he had come to her like the storm bred inside him, the hatred of self and fear of a future he could not control, of a tentative reality of things only he could see.

He was intense, like the weight of the all consuming world poured out. Salt water in wounds. When he pressed forward to kiss her softly, she got the sense that he was mourning, like the act is grief, something lost that he was stealing back from the gods. Something that was definitely not for him.

And then, Bucky got rough.

Uxolo didn't mind.

A last stuttering breath passed her lips, eyes screwed closed, pleasure lighting up the insides of her veins, molten, like a river of fire that never ends.

Bucky's fingers slid up her arms, massaging as he went, until he reached her clenched hands, gently uncurling them from the fabric of the sheets until he could twist his fingers with hers.

She didn't mind his weight against her, it settled the frantic beating of her heart, drenched her in warmth.

Today, he was too silent, drifting his nose along the curve of her ear. But then Bucky pulled away from her. He got up, and he left.

Pushing herself up was a monumental task, the ache of her bones like the grinding of cinder blocks against her flesh. She glanced over at the door.

Then there was a clatter from the bathroom and the door swung open, Bucky emerging in only a pair of briefs. He still didn't say anything as he approached and encouraged her with gentle hands to roll over, the brief warmth of a washcloth between her legs.

He still didn't speak as he climbed back into bed, handing her his discarded shirt, which he gingerly helped her sit up and slip on. 

Her throat was tight when he pulled away again, brows drawing tighter together with each passing second.

"My love. Come to me." Uxolo leaned back down and held out her arms.

She half expected him to huff out an exasperated breath and lay back but avoid her touch. But he didn't.

He curled into her arms, nudging his nose into the hollow at the base of her throat. He cradled her close, inhaling gently. To her utter surprise, he let her smooth her hands over his shoulders, through his hair.