[oom] I'm right here beside you

[from_the_outside]

 Sleep is a joke.

It's not just the intel that she stays up sifting through, blue light straining her eyes; it's not just the coffee she drinks, trying to keep her brain sharp and her thoughts on track. 

It's time.

Minutes that slip away, that she can't get back. Hours that tick ponderously past. She lies alone in her bed and can't close her eyes because if she does, if she sleeps, it's another night gone, another night closer to the day Bucky goes back under and –

So she stays up and works. 

It means that when she waits for him in the morning to come find her before they meet with T'Challa and the others, her skin is pale and translucent and she has that sick feeling of an all-nighter, fatigue poisons running rampant through her bloodstream – but she has a list of observations from her analysis, and two mugs of coffee kept warm on the credenza: one pale with milk and sugar, the other black and as strong as her little coffee maker could handle.

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles and touches his cup to the one she's holding as he leans his shoulder against hers. "I'm glad."

[from_the_outside]

"I did bring a couple of games," she says, after a long period of comfortable silence, where she braces her free hand behind his back and shifts to sit on her hip so she can set her head on his shoulder.

"But they'd be better on the table."

And this, with the starlight and the candles and him steady and warm beside her, already feels just about perfect.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Eventually," he replies. Bucky turns his head to touch his lips to her hair. "There's no rush."

[from_the_outside]

"Okay," she says, peaceably.

There isn't a rush, because he's not going to send her back to the Citadel tonight. He's not going to make excuses and push her away. "You can have a little more time before I destroy you in Jenga."

[nerves_of_ice]

He slants a suspicious look at her.

"In what now?"

[from_the_outside]

She just laughs and sets her head back against his shoulder.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Okay, be that way," he says, amused. "I'll find out eventually."

[from_the_outside]

"Yes, you will," she says, still grinning to herself as she takes a sip of the wine.

Board games and picnics; they seem like such childish things but right now she's sure she wouldn't trade them – or sitting here with him – for the best restaurant or the greatest party in the world.

[nerves_of_ice]

The moon rises above the trees and starts on its arc across the sky while they sit there, lazily finishing the wine and entertaining themselves with wandering conversation. Eventually, Bucky sets his empty cup aside and makes sure the throw is tucked neatly around Sharon as protection from the passing cool breezes over the lake.

[from_the_outside]

She smiles at him, and smiles at him, and smiles at him until she's nearly forgotten her worries over Fury, over the procedure, over the op, and as he tucks the blanket around her, she scans the night sky, making up increasingly ridiculous constellations until he laughs.

It's not like any date she's ever been on, but maybe that's what makes it so perfect.

[nerves_of_ice]

He tugs a lock of her hair as she teases him, then leans in to kiss her. "Creative," he tells her, when the kiss breaks. "Very funny."

[from_the_outside]

"What?" she grins, and kisses him again. "You've never heard of the 'Southern Salamander'? I thought you were supposed to be worldly."

But he's right there to kiss, so she leans in and does it again, tugging the blanket around both their shoulders as she wraps her arms around his neck.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Worldly's one thing. Gullible's another."

He slips his arm around her waist as she holds on to him there under the stars, and kisses her back.

[from_the_outside]

She can't even blame it on the wine when she winds up in his lap, pressing herself as close as possible, her hands in his hair and his smile against her mouth.

Not that she won't try, if he points it out.

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't seem inclined to point out anything of the kind, as he lets out a low groan and draws her closer when she settles against him. He draws a quick, deep breath, then kisses her again, otherwise letting her set the pace.

[from_the_outside]

The pace she picks is slow and deliberate: deep, sweet kisses that linger on his mouth and against his cheek and along the line of his throat, stubble biting at her lips.

There's nobody around them for miles and the night is dark and quiet, the only sounds those of small nighttime insects and the gentle lap of lake water against the shore and the little noises she makes when his arm tightens around her.

[nerves_of_ice]

She's more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever be.

He tips his head back as she kisses along his neck, giving her easier access. He'd give her anything she wants, he thinks, as his arm settles around her waist, his hand curving over her hip.

[from_the_outside]

It's not quite a redo of Leipzig. Then, she'd only entertained a few idle fantasies and possibilities, certain there was a spark and unsure what to do about it until he told her to think of Steve instead.

It had all slipped through her fingers then. She'll be damned if she lets it happen again.

So she sets her mouth over the pulse flickering in his throat and pulls lightly at the skin there; slides one hand down to his chest and lets the other stay where it is, fingers sinking into his hair. Nobody, nobody is taking this from her. Not Fury. Not anyone.

[nerves_of_ice]

His breath catches in a sharp gasp as sensation sizzles and sparks along his nerves, a wildfire set by the way her lips move against his throat. His back arches without his conscious direction, pressing his chest into the touch of her hand.

[from_the_outside]

That gasp makes her grin, and she slides her hand further down, slips it up under his shirt to press her palm to his warm skin.

The throw's sliding off their shoulders now, but she's not feeling the chill at all anymore.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sharon," he breathes, barely audible, as her fingers move over his body. "Baby."

[from_the_outside]

She hums against his throat and paints kisses up the line of his neck to his ear, smiling against it.

"Bucky," she whispers, feeling like there's a torrent of words she can't quite find that crystallize into this one name.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Yes."

It's all he says, all he can say, confirmation and affirmation and permission for anything she wants, all in one.

[from_the_outside]

It's enough, and more than, for her; she shifts and meets his mouth with her own, kisses him long and deep as her fingers track over his ribs.

"God," she says, finally, when she can, pressing her forehead against his and breathing hard, "you absolutely wreck me, you know that?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Look who's talking," he murmurs, holding himself still under her touch.