The next day, I awoke to find him asleep.
Not going to sleep, my ass, I thought, a grin curling on my lips as I remained nestled against his chest. We must've slept like the dead—neither of us had moved from where we'd last been. His arm still chained above his head to the pipe. For a moment, I thought, his arm must be numb by now—then I remembered. It's metal.
I wondered what that must be like. A part of me imagined how incredible it'd feel to bend and break metal with no effort—but then I thought about what he endured to get that arm. What had to be torn from him first. What pain forged that strength. I bet he'd give it up in a heartbeat if it meant being whole again—human in the way he used to be.
My gaze shifted to the door—the plastic chair still wedged under the knob, a makeshift lock.
Outside, birds chirped through the window, the muffled hum of the city reminding me that life continued just beyond these walls. I lifted my head from his chest, slowly, careful not to disturb the peace. His face was serene in sleep. That gentle scruff barely concealing the strong cut of his jaw. Strands of his long brown hair lay scattered over his face, fluttering softly with each breath.
The morning light filtered through the blinds in slanted stripes, highlighting the sharp slope of his cheekbones and the faint scar beneath his eye—a ghost of battles past. His lips, usually firm, were relaxed now. He looked younger like this. Vulnerable in a way I doubt he'd ever allow while awake. There was something hauntingly beautiful about him—like a statue carved by someone who understood both war and tenderness.
His chest rose and fell beneath me, steady and slow. That same heartbeat, soft against my cheek, a quiet lullaby. I lingered there, holding onto the moment—this version of him. Not the weapon, not the soldier—just Bucky. The man I was beginning to know.
Then his breath changed—an inhale deeper than the rest. I saw those ocean eyes blink open and turn toward me.
"Good morning," I whispered, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Morning," he murmured, his gaze drifting around the room, searching for something invisible.
"You slept?"
"Yeah," he said, surprised—like rest was unfamiliar to him.
"I thought someone was following me…" I murmured, settling back into the warmth of him. "I heard footsteps behind me, but I couldn't see them. I thought I was going to die."
He didn't interrupt. He just listened. Quiet, steady, there.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, voice low, heavy.
"For what? I should be thanking you," I whispered, leaning up to meet his gaze. "You saved me. In a way."
I looked down at him, this terrifying man tied to a pipe, his hair a mess, shirt wrinkled where I clung to him all night. It felt strange being above him.
"Bucky?" I said softly. I felt his fingers flex gently on my lower back, his touch like an answer.
My mouth dry, my hand moved across his chest, up to his neck, and then his cheek. I heard the soft shifting of his metal arm—his hand clenched not to strike but almost to restrain itself. Like it needed permission.
Unknotting my legs, I shifted them to straddle his waist, positioning myself atop him.
"Bucky," I repeated.
Still silent, his hand slipped from my back to my thigh, fingers warm and firm, massaging gently. Our eyes never left each other. I could feel the tension build like static between us.
My hands settled over his chest, feeling his heartbeat pound beneath my palm. My fingers trembled. I was nervous. I could feel him—hard against me. That was definitely not his gun.
My face flushed. My breath caught. There was a heat rising from deep inside me, a mix of desire and panic. I've never done this…
What am I doing?
Am I really doing this?
He wasn't stopping me… but he hadn't said anything either.
"I don't want to hurt you," Bucky said, his voice a low quiver. His eyes weren't lustful—they were afraid.
"I trust you," I replied.
Our heartbeats blurred into one. The sound of metal shifting reached my ears, but I didn't look. I didn't need to. He was all I saw.
A cold kiss of steel brushed my thigh. He had freed his metal arm.
"You didn't break the pi—"
Before I could finish, Bucky surged up and kissed me—fast and rough. Like he'd waited years. His tongue danced with mine, frantic and hungry, like two desperate souls trying to speak without words. His hands slipped under my sweatshirt, trailing fire up my back.
I moaned into him. One hand was warm flesh, the other cold steel—and yet both were him. The contrast sent sparks along my skin. When our lips finally parted, I gasped for air, hair falling around his face as I hovered over him.
"Liz," he whispered.
I could feel him—hot and throbbing—pressing against me through my shorts. His pulse, his tension. I swallowed hard.
"Hold me, James," I breathed.
It was all he needed. A green light. Something flared behind his eyes. In one motion, he flipped us, gently laying me back where he once lay. His human hand cradled my head, soft and careful.
His lips met mine again, and I felt the full weight of him above me. My bra was undone—I hadn't even noticed.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him close, feeling the heat of him through my clothes. We were burning.
His lips broke away from mine, and he pulled back, brushing his fingers through his hair to clear it from his face.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice ragged—eyes locked on mine, searching for any hesitation. There was a heaviness behind them, like he needed to hear it again. Needed to know this was real.
"I'm sure," I said, my hands cupping his face, my thumbs brushing gently across the scruff at his jaw.
His right hand slipped beneath my shirt again, gliding up from my bellybutton, tracing the center of my sternum. He hooked his fingers around my bra, tugging it up—my breasts falling free, the air sharp against flushed skin. I felt heat bloom across my chest, a blush spreading down my body. I've never done this, the thought came again, almost distant now.
I reached up to help, letting him peel my layers off. The shirt and bra disappeared somewhere to the side.
He lowered his mouth to my neck, soft kisses trailing downward. Occasionally, I felt the edge of his teeth, a teasing scrape that made my breath catch. He worked his way lower, over my collarbone, down to my breast. His tongue circled my nipple in slow, deliberate motions before a sharp tug of his teeth drew a moan from deep in my throat.
His right hand cupped the other breast, thumb grazing the sensitive peak, rolling it gently. My skin was burning. My thighs pressed together on instinct, the ache between them growing.
His hand slipped lower, fingers toying at the waistband of my shorts. I arched slightly, breath shallow. He looked up, his face framed by hair and heat, watching me. Holding eye contact, he slid his hand down, fingers slipping beneath the fabric.
His touch found my clit—gentle, precise. A soft, deliberate circle of his finger made my hips twitch. I reached to cover my mouth, but he leaned closer, lips brushing my ear.
"Let them out," he growled, voice rough and low. "I want to hear you."
Without warning, two fingers pushed inside me.
"Aaahh—" My moan spilled out, unfiltered and raw.
He moved with intention, curling his fingers inside me, dragging against my walls with maddening control. He stretched them wide, not painfully—but enough to make my body shudder in response. Before I could adjust, a flutter built in my stomach. My toes curled into the sheets. Arms wrapped around his neck, I clung to him like a lifeline.
And then—release.
I cried out as the wave crashed over me, full and consuming. My back arched. I was shaking.
"There it is," he whispered like a secret.
I blinked, dazed. Had he—found my spot?
His fingers thrust harder, faster—slamming into that same place with every stroke. His thumb rubbed my clit in rhythmic, circling motions. It was overwhelming.
"Ahh—ah—ah—Bucky—ahhh—" I screamed his name again and again. My body convulsed as I came—once, twice—each time harder, sharper than the last.
Something different stirred deep inside. Pressure. Heat. Too much.
"Bucky—ah—wait—I think—I'm gonna—ahh!"
My whole body clenched. I gasped—and then everything poured out of me. Liquid, sudden, unstoppable. I squirted. I'd never done that. Not even close.
I lay breathless, the world around me spinning. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I didn't realize I was trembling until he spoke.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft, full of concern.
I nodded, blinking up at him, barely able to form words.
His hand rose—slick and dripping. Sticky. He spread his fingers slightly, the wet glistening like webbing between them.
"Yeah," I breathed, still reeling.
My eyes drifted down—and saw the bulge in his jeans. The zipper looked like it was holding back a storm.
"Keep going," I whispered, searching his face for permission.
"Not today," he said in a rough breath, brushing a kiss against my forehead.
"Why not?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I had the strength to continue.
"Just… not yet."
"Then what are you going to do about that?" I teased, wrapping my legs around him tighter to press against the hardness between us.
"This."
He unzipped his jeans. His cock sprang free—and I knew it was big, but still, the sight of it made my breath catch. Not absurdly long—but thick. Veined. Heavy with need. He looked like he could split me in two.
"Roll over for me," he said.
I obeyed, turning onto my stomach. He pulled down my shorts and underwear in one motion. I felt the wetness between my thighs—my wetness—trailing down my skin.
He slid his hand between my legs, rubbing the slickness around, spreading it along my inner thighs.
Then he wrapped one strong arm around my legs, pulling them tightly together. I felt his cock press between my thighs, sliding along my folds—teasing, thick and hot, not inside but so close.
"Keep them closed, okay?" he whispered in my ear, his voice rough and low.
He began to thrust—slow at first, the head of his cock gliding between my lips, dragging across my clit with every pass. His hand returned down to teasing my clit again, pinching softly, rubbing in circles.
My moans rose again, louder this time. I didn't care. Let the whole building hear us.
His groans echoed against my neck, hot and desperate.
"Liz—ugh—ah—ah—" he growled behind me. "I'm about to—ah—"
"Me too—ah—fuck—ahhh!"
We came together—his heat spilling out between my thighs as I convulsed again, muscles tightening around nothing and everything all at once.
He collapsed beside me, pulling me with him, his arms wrapping tight around my waist. He buried his face into my neck, holding me close. We lay there in the silence, catching our breath like we'd surfaced from deep water.