Touch-starved. Needy. Eager. Responsive.
Bucky Barnes hasn't felt this way since the 40s. He didn't know it was possible- he thought the Hydra experiments did away with this part of him once and for all. His wires were crossed, and desire was a dist...
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"Told you it was worth the drive. Beautiful, isn't it?"
You tugged the hem of your knee-length skirt straight and giggled. "Would be a lot more beautiful if I could see anything."
The corner of Bucky's mouth turned up, revealing that boyish, lopsided grin that had earned him a reputation over the past couple of years. The one that made girls giggle and whisper to each other when he walked by. The one that made even you blush when it was aimed in your direction.
You were right; you couldn't see much of anything from this parking lot when it was so dark. The scenic bluff was worth the trek out of the city in the daylight, but Bucky drove you out here for a different reason that night: there were no streetlights way out here. There were no other cars in the lot. It was just you, and him, and glorious privacy.
"Look, y'can see the reflection from the moon on the water... Over here, it's plenty bright." He pointed out through the windshield, but you were shaking your head, laughing. "Come here, you can see it from this angle. I swear."
You scooted across the car's bench seat until you were pressed up against his right side, and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He glanced down to see your scarlet-red smirk before you hid it, pursing your lips into a more proper smile.
"Never thought I'd say this, but... you're right." You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, though your sly smile remained. "It is way better over he—"
Your words were cut off when Bucky pulled you into a kiss. Gentle at first, and sweet, but then he felt your lips moving hungrily against his— so eager, so cautiously hopeful, and he was immediately dizzy from the hormones that surged through his body and his heart. His hand crept from its spot on your hip up under the hem of your blouse, and his quick, raspy breaths filled his head with your scent. It was enough to make a man feel drunk. But he swallowed roughly, his motions stalled, when he felt your fingertips on his thigh.
Bucky's wool slacks felt paper-thin, each of your fingertips red-hot coals that burned straight through into his skin.
He tried to whisper something sweet in your ear, but he stumbled over his tongue as a flush spread across his face. His thoughts were jumbled and incoherent, and he couldn't string together the words he needed to say— all of his blood had left his brain to gather elsewhere. Sure, he had a reputation as a flirt, but that was all— it was just innocent fun. But this? He was in over his head. There was no way you didn't notice him stiffening under your touch, but you weren't deterred by his body's indecent reaction.
Your fingers were exploring, little fluttering motions up and down his inner thigh, dancing over where his swollen length strained against his slacks with increasing pressure. He settled back into the seat with a sigh and let his legs spread slightly. The steering column was in the way, but at least this gave you easier access. If you wanted easier access, that was.
