Revenge Turned Sweet

Chapter 30: They'll Go Away

•Chapter warnings: SMUT! with one line of plot•

Cold fingers trail down my neck, slowly. Agonizingly slow. They trace the dog tags that sit in the middle of my chest and his eyes darken at the sight. The goosebumps erupting after the touch of his fingers ease the rising temperature of my body steadily climbing. My fingers tug on his hair, longing for him to kiss me but he stays locked in place, seemingly in a trance. "Bucky," my voice comes out in a whine that would otherwise embarrass me if I were not in this situation, here. With James Barnes, again.

"Patience," he mumbles, eyes not straying from his name wrapped around my neck.

I huff out a breath, irritated at his sudden need to drive me insane. As if he can read my mind, his fingers trail over to my shoulder, slowly pulling the strap of my tank-top down. His eyes follow his metal fingers as they graze over to my other shoulder, doing the same thing at the same pace.

I watch him with full concentration, admiring how the blue in his eyes are so encapsulated by his pupils that the color is barely visible as he looks at me. Feeling grateful that he's the only person who has ever been truly gentle and generous with me. My train of thought comes to an abrupt stop when his hands grip my waist, sliding my shirt over my body and over my head.

A mischievous smirk grows on his face as he tosses my shirt to the ground, his hands going back to my stomach. "You're driving me crazy," I whisper, feeling like electricity is flowing through my body forcing me to do everything to restrain myself from convulsing.

"Now, you know how I feel," he responds as his hands snake down to my legs, pulling me down closer to him. The stark difference in temperature of his two hands shocks me every time he touches me. One side giving me goosebumps and the other trailing fire down my thigh. "Every time I see my name on your neck, I'm reminded that you're mine." His words pool fire into my stomach, anticipation, need. 

I bring my hands up to his shoulders, gliding them down until I reach the hem of his t-shirt. A blush heats up my cheeks when I see him grin and I pull the shirt off of him, leaving him in his dark wash jeans. I trace my finger over the subtle line where metal meets flesh, almost feeling the psychological pain he went through when he was given it.

My hand continues to trace the outlines of silver and gold in his arm, almost too busy to notice that he's sliding my shorts off. "Can you feel this?" I ask shyly, not knowing if he particularly likes to talk about this.

"Yes," his low voice reverberates through me, making me look back up to him.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" I ask gently.

"It used to," he whispers and I glance up at him. "But it doesn't when you do it." His eyes find mine, no longer filled with the smug, snarky attitude. But with longing, embarrassment even.

My hand leaves his arm to run through his hair before pulling him down to me. As if coming up for air, he presses his lips harshly against mine while his hands grip my hips, bringing me closer to him. I sigh in content at the feeling of him without the anxiety I may trip and fall into a homicidal craze.

He pulls away from me, to my dismay, but surprises me when he lifts me up and slides me up the bed. My head hits the pillows softly and he kneels in front of me. Eyes dark and concentrated on every inch of me. He hooks his fingers in the sides of my underwear and pulls them down my legs, discarding them on the floor.

"I've missed you," he says roughly as he kisses me again, the kiss matching his tone of voice. He pulls away far too soon and smirks at the glare I give him. He snakes his way down my body, his cold metal hand tracing every inch of my torso. "You're mine," he murmurs as he presses his lips to the side of my ribcage.