Some thoughts on Bucky and Nat having a quiet night in their apartment, and on ways to relax.
Saturday nights are quiet, Bucky and Natasha usually stay in and catch up on their favourite shows.
Civilian life takes a while to get used to, but their restless bodies slowly learned to relax and keep it low. A bit more naturally for Natasha than Bucky, who seems to always be preoccupied with another thought while his eyes are directed somewhere else.
Right now, they sat on the couch together - well, Natasha sat, and James Buchanan Barnes laid his head on her shoulder, one arm of hers draped around him, his hands playing with her fingers, dangling near his face.
The relative normality of it is a bit peculiar. Here was the guy she spent the first half of her life fighting with, training with, being friends - sometimes lovers with. Then he became the guy she spent the other half of her life chasing after on rogue missions, looking for in clandestine affairs, and following on the rare exceptions SHIELD lets her roam free.
And now he is here, his eyes fixated on a cooking show documentary, seemingly enthralled by the techniques and stories the chef has to offer. Her hand that was previously resting on the armrest travelled to his hair - now, shorter, less greasy, and softer. She buried her nose in it and placed a kiss.
Natasha doesn't know, but each time she places her lips anywhere on his body shivers run down his spine and his cheeks go up in flames. His memories of her in their youth did not go quietly, when her thighs wrap themselves on his body with other purpose than to strangle him. He reached one hand onto her thigh now, tracing the firm muscles under the soft skin, her shorts baring Bucky's favourite area to sleep on. He sighed, and absent-mindedly grabbed her dangling hand, nibbling his lips on her fine fingers.
Bucky doesn't know, but when he kisses the scars and lines that crisscross her hand, Natasha fights the tears that threaten to fall and holds him tighter to her chest.
With these hands she has hurt, and killed, and done things that should never face on the history of humanity. But with him, she is awash with guilt - how can she touch him with these hands, bred for danger, destruction, and chaos itself? Yet here he is, cleansing away her sin with love, choosing to see beauty where she only sees hate.
Natasha changed position, lying down on the couch with Bucky on top of her, his face still on her chest, this time his lips preoccupied with her other hand, and the one dosed with love brushing his hair as his eyes drift slowly to close. He tucks her hand into his and she tucks his head onto hers.
Neither of them knew, but each dead of night, each early morning either of them awoke in the lifetime they spent apart, it was precisely this warmth that they have longed for and always thought would never be in reach. But both of them knew, that now they have it, they would fight heaven and hell to never lose it again.
