Chapter Text
Theirs was a whirlwind, victory courtship - caught up in the emotions following the war, the burst of hopes and dreams after so many dreary years, and somehow, after just a few short months of flirting and dancing and holding hands on the train, they found themselves in wedding clothes, in a threadbare apartment in Brooklyn, with very little clue of how to go about making it work.
But it’ll be enthusiastic, however it’s done.
It feels different, kissing his wife is a darkened bedroom than a steady girlfriend under harsh street lights. But he likes it; he likes how she feels so soft and pliant beneath him, how he can get lost with her flowery scent filling him up from the soul out. How he can nibble her throat just so, and she’ll moan for him all pretty and rich. Drawing out the tender moment as long as he can between panting breaths, squeaks of the bedframe as he presses against her - not inside her, not yet - and lifting his head every so often to watch the sparkling of her dark, though dazed eyes.
“Are you teasing me, Bucky Barnes?”
Tremoring words break the thick, heady air. He grins down at her pinched, hazy expression, the way impatience simmers beneath the contours of her face. The silky straps of her negligee have sunk down over her shoulders, baring more smooth flesh, all ready and waiting to be worshipped with lips and whispered adorations - and he’ll get there. He has time.
“Don’t you think we oughta take our time, darlin’? On our wedding night, at least.” Bucky bares his teeth in a wolfish smile, a shiver crawling up his spine as her laugh bursts out in a firework of joy, lighting his very soul.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t wanna drag me out of the vestibule and have your way with me in a bathroom,” she teases back - his wife, teasing him, in their own bedroom, their own apartment. Humble and small, but the feelings are big.
“Oh, you could tell?” Bucky jokes back - dips his head to nuzzle his nose against hers.
“I think everyone in the church could tell,” she retorts tartly. “Even your Ma. My ma.”
“Well - if they want grandchildren…” This shrug, this suggestive tilt of the brows is met with giggles. Which feel wonderful, pressed so close like this, even though he’s about ready for skin to meet skin. He’s ready to meet her. All of her.
He remembers that first night easily – she’d worn red; he’d been in civilian clothes for the first time in years, wearing them awkward and stiff. Lipstick-red smile and matching lacquer on her nails; bows on her clicking heels as she’d walked smartly down the sidewalk, determined and stunning. And he…well, he doesn’t remember so much those details. He hadn’t fallen in love with himself, after all.
A sharply ragged gasp, parting her lips as Bucky shifts, fingers looping beneath one strap of her nightdress. It won’t pull down - he frowns, and lowers his head anyway.
New taste. Virgin flesh - he’s never kissed her here before, in the hollow of her shoulder, where her musky scent is unblemished by perfume and wholly her.
“I’ve got you all night, darlin’,” he whispers, and his teeth graze her collarbone. “Baby - all night long. If this isn’t the best night of your life, you can march right down to the courthouse tomorrow and demand an annulment.”
“You’re talkin’ pretty big there, James Buchanan Barnes.” Shaking voice, but her smile is sure. Barely tinged from lipstick at this point, though he’s sure his lips are plenty stained. A low chuckle from his chest, and he presses kisses to her other shoulder next, and she curves beneath him, and fingers tangle in his hair.
“I know how to make my girl sing.” A husky promise, and one he intends to make good on.
Every bit of that negligee drawn away - every inch of skin bared to his hungry eyes; he swallows thick, following the trail of silk as he slides it away.
“Wow,” he whispers, and his palm curves around a breast, heaving slightly as she breathes harshly. Bucky just stares. And then licks his lips, eyes darting back up to meet his wife’s. “Can - can I?”
A pretty laugh, glittering, hooded eyes. “You do what you want, Bucky. You promised to make this the best night of my life, after all. Show me what you got.”
Tongue swirls over one, and then the other. Another new taste; a new feeling against his lips and mouth that sends shooting heat to the already-throbbing ache between his legs. Ruts against her leg, and as she keens into the night, a shiver.
His hands chase the path of her waist, her hips - bringing up goosepimples as he goes, feeling her tremor beneath him. Oh, it’s good. It’s so good - he can make his wife sigh and moan, and so she does - he tosses the flimsy silk onto the floor, eyes on the last covered part of her.
“You next,” she interrupts.
Fair. Bucky hoists himself to his knees, undoing the last buttons of his shirt and tossing it aside. Eyes on her - her gaze darkening by the second as his naked body is exposed to view. He’d be shy, in this moment of revelation, but he’d never been shy. Not when charming her at a crosswalk, not when kissing her for the first time on the Brooklyn Bridge…
Undershirt is drawn over his head, too, and he’s sure his hair is a mess. But a smile lifts those pretty lips as she nods in adoration, and as she lifts a hand, he catches it in his, and brings it to his chest. Lets her feel. Thin hair beneath fingertips, the gliding planes of muscles. Her breath is catching again.
“Pants, too,” she whispers.
“I must’ve promised to obey today, huh?” Bucky jokes - but his belt clinks as he tugs it away, and lets it clatter to the floor. Trousers, too, though that’s an awkward squirming. And then it’s just two flimsy layers between them, and her hands are tight on his arms as he falls back between her thighs to drink from her eager lips more.
The unfamiliar newness of this intimacy doesn’t feel strange. Quite the opposite, in fact; as if this is where he’s always meant to be - not at war, not pestering his Ma - but with his wife, loving her, and feeling her every curve moulding against him. Waiting to become one.
Her underwear is next to go.
“Darlin’,” he whispers into the shell of her ear, nibbling at the lobe - she moans again, fingernails digging into his bare back. “Darlin’ - let me open you up a little, yeah?”
His pop had advised this - Bucky had been beet-red the entire time, and he may be young and green about women and marriage, but he’s not so young that he can’t take advice.
She’s hot between her legs. Damp, too. He shifts to spread her thighs further, and her back arches. Ah - that’s much better. Between soft flesh, fingers meet slick, and her hoarse whimper is all the confirmation he needs. Lips to her throat, nudging against her to relieve some of the pressure in his shorts.
“Feel good yet, darlin’?” he murmurs against her jaw, and lifts his head to peer down - lips swollen from kissing, parted to draw in ragged breaths, and her eyes - oh, her eyes - she’s not fully lucid, his wife, but she smiles, and his heart skips a beat.
“Making good on your promise, so far,” she says back softly. “What else you got?”
Bucky lifts his brows, unable to stop a grin - and she smiles back, and he knows it was a challenge. Moves his finger against her, and lashes flutter shut as her bottom lip catches between teeth. Oh, she’s pretty like this - all for him. This is private. Intimate. Only for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and a sharp breath rises her chest against him. “So beautiful - my wife. Better than I ever imagined.”
“You - you imagined doing this to - ah! - me?” Broken, but still teasing, and he laughs.
“After you proposed to me, yeah. ‘Course. How could I not?” And he finds a sensitive spot behind her ear to suck on, and his fingers are getting awfully wet. Dips them inside, into the smooth, slick burn of her, as she cries aloud, fingers digging hard into his bicep. He doesn’t stop. “With you so pretty all the time, darlin’. Always wanted to make you feel good, you know. Like this. And other ways.”
“It - ” A gasp - she’s squirming now, on his fingers, and damn, she’s tight, and he wonders how this is gonna work later - but for now, he just curls slightly to catch a nipple in his mouth again. “Oh, Buck - it - it’s so - ” And she breaks off into unintelligible moans, eyes clenched shut.
His fingers are squeezed - he nearly chokes around her breast, feeling like his crotch might just burst - but it doesn’t, and she takes a shuddering breath.
A peaceful serenity takes over her face now. He chortles to himself, wiping his fingers on his shorts after a moments’ thought - those will come off anyway, and the sooner the better, he thinks. Scrambles off while his wife sighs in contentment, sprawled and spread like a half-devoured meal, and he stares as he yanks his shorts down and kicks them off.
“Let me see.” A peeped eye, and Bucky pauses at the foot of the bed. She takes her time; the tip of her tongue running over her lip as she takes in the sight of him - should he have stage fright? Because he doesn’t. Not in front of his wife.
He can see the aftermath of what his fingers had done between her legs. Flushed and shining. Wet. He stares, too, and his throat is dry.
“Well,” she says after a moment. “The night is young. And someone made me a promise.” And she moves - making his heart pound something fierce, those elegant, pretty limbs adjusting as she hoists herself to her knees in the center of the bed. Not shy. No, not his girl - all confidence in heels, though now she wears none - she smiles a beckoning smile, and Bucky fumbles back onto the strewn sheets of the bed.
He settles next to her, mimicking her stance - sitting face to face now, and he wastes no time touching her hair, brushing his thumb against her much-kissed lips as they curl further upwards -
- and then he jolts with a strangled gasp, as her soft fingers find his throbbing ache, exploring the veiny length of him as her eyes drop to his parted lips.
“You feel good,” she whispers, and there’s a hint of shyness - but it’s mostly just affection, he thinks.
“Might feel even better later,” Bucky jokes in a croak.
“Maybe.” A twist of the lips, a hint of uncertainty. “My - my sister said it won’t feel good - to me, at least, for a while. But it’ll get better.”
“Oh.” Disappointment is a surprising guest on a wedding night. So instead, he just traces the outline of his wife again, finding her breasts again. He does like those, and from the way her eyelids flutter slightly - she likes him liking them. “We don’t,” Bucky tries, and his voice breaks. Swallows. Tries again. “We don’t have to do this tonight, darlin’.”
She blinks, and her hand stops moving. “Excuse me? I’ve been waiting for this for weeks, Bucky Barnes. We will be doing this tonight or I’ll march straight down to the courthouse tomorrow and demand that annulment.”
Laughter - tense, and then shared, bubbling into light relief as he pulls her close by the waist to kiss her. That silences it - squishes things together awkwardly, but he doesn’t mind. He just likes the feel of her against him. Feels right, somehow.
“I’ll go slow,” Bucky murmurs. “I don’t wanna hurt you, darlin’. Honest.”
“I know.” Lips against his cheek, hot breath against his ear. “I know, Buck.”
He likes having her laid out for him, he decides. Open, waiting. Ready. Wanting him. He knees between her spread thighs, watching closely the expression on her face as he lowers himself. Hips on hips, bones to bones - she breathes in, shimmering anticipation, and he shifts his hand down below - to help, though he really isn’t sure how or why or what, at this point.
The stretch is almost painful - for him, at least, and he can imagine how it feels for his new wife. He peppers kisses to her neck as he takes his time pushing in, and her hips move, seemingly of their own will, to accommodate him.
“Feels good,” Bucky says hoarsely against her throat. The slick continues to draw him in, and her whimper vibrates on his lips. “So good, darlin’ - almost there - you alright?”
“I’m alright.” A breathy response. “I’m - oh, Bucky - you - you’re - ”
That’s it. All the way in - joined with his wife, and feeling slightly muddled as she seems to pulse around him so tightly, Bucky lifts his head, pushing hair from her face as her eyes open, gazing up at him with such weighted love that he thinks this might be the best part yet.
“Bucky,” she whispers, and her own fingers push damp curls from his forehead, and he smiles.
“Alright?” he asks. All he can manage, as precarious as he is, and as painful as the situation seems to be getting.
A smile. “Alright.”
He moves. Shifts out, and back in again; not as slow as the first time, but not as fast as some instinct is screamin’ for him to go - no way, no how. Not when she’s still adjusting with a wrinkle to her brow, her hips bucking slightly. But it gets easier. Wetter, looser. Not so tight, but still tight enough that soon he’s panting, release building fast at the base of his spine, and he pauses to kiss her, deep and fierce.
“Go on.” Quiet permission, a trust in him - oh, that sets him over, and finally he falls into her arms, crushing her, he’s sure - but she urges him on, with kisses to his cheek as he thrusts into her again and again; groaning aloud for the sensations driving him wild, head to foot - see, this is good, and soon she’s meeting him thrust for thrust, her hitched gasps against his lips more intoxicating than wine; she’s keening, she soft and sweet and everything to him; and the end comes in a white-hot burst, and his teeth find flesh at her neck -
“Oh, Bucky.”
Groggily, he thinks of how much he loves it when she says his name, his wife - his wife now, in all ways. Forever. And she says his name again, with a trembling voice and tender love.
He manages, somehow, to lift his head, and blink down at her smiling eyes. “Thought that was good, darlin’?” Bucky rasps out. “We got all night, remember?”
Her laugh - soaked in lust and rich with affection - is the best sound he’s ever heard.