from_the_outside | [oom] an indentation in the shape of you

She grins at him and puts both hands flat on his chest, then pushes gently but inexorably until he takes the last few steps to get caught up against the bed. "Take a seat," she invites, pushing a little more to coax him to do exactly that.

"If you insist," he teases, and does exactly that, looking up at her with a warm, fond glance.

It's her turn to tease him. She nudges his knees apart so she can come stand between them, then runs a hand into his hair, raking all five fingers back from forehead to the back of his skull before she grips and tugs his head gently back, then leans down to kiss him. Her free hand traces down along the curve of his neck and shoulder, and she presses another kiss to his mouth, to his cheek, his ear, and begins moving slowly down along the cord of muscle in his neck before gently pulling his head back enough for her to kiss along his throat.

"Lean back, baby," she murmurs into his skin, and slides her fingers from his hair to paint both hands down his chest and torso as she dots worshipping kisses along his collarbone, his breastbone. She tucks her fingers into the waistband of his pants and coaxes his hips up so she can slide them and his underwear down and off, then kneels to slip his feet through.

There's a brief, heated glance she shoots up at him, before pressing her mouth carefully to the inside of his knee, running her hands up the outsides of his thighs.

He hisses in a sharp breath as she pulls his head back, as desire surges. He obeys without question, drowning in her touch, under her hands, the feel of her mouth.

She kisses his knee, and a groan escapes him. "Sharon."

"Yes," she tells him, and runs her hands up closer to his hips. "Yes, baby."
She presses slow, deliberate kisses up along the inner line of his thigh, then turns her head to pay the same sweet attention to the other leg as her hands settle on his hips, her thumbs sliding into the cut of his groin.

Kiss after slow kiss, she works her way up along his leg until she's pressed herself between his thighs and she can take him, slow and warm and sweet, into her mouth.

This time his groan is louder, and it's all he can do to keep his hips from bucking. Bucky props himself up on his elbow to watch, his eyes dark with need and longing, his breathing short and rapid already.

Wildfire burns through him at the sweet pressure of her lips, the silken feel of her tongue against him, and he can't stop the way his back arches or the ragged gasp that escapes him.

That groan sears through her like hot coals dropped into her stomach, and she takes him deep and hums deliberately around him. One hand stays at his hip as the other drifts back to undo the ankle strap of her shoe, then she switches so both heels are loose and she can toe them off without breaking focus.

Because she wants to focus. She glances up along the long gorgeous line of his body to see his face, listens for his groans and concentrates on what makes him shudder. When she brings her hand back up this time, she shifts enough to slip it beneath his upper thigh, then lightly strokes the sensitive spot between his legs with her thumb.

He just got his mind back, and he's going to lose it again. Utterly. Completely. He can't stop looking at her, the golden waterfall of her hair over her shoulders and brushing his skin, the way her mouth's gone pink around him, the shine of the lingerie she's still wearing--

--and then she slides her hand up and under and he feels his vision white out entirely as he lets out a raw, rough sound and lets his head fall back.

Her laugh is just a low hum as she presses the attack, gently stroking with her thumb as she works mouth and tongue over and around him, from delicate tip to base and back again, swirling her tongue, using the lightest possible edge of her teeth right before she hollows her cheeks and takes him deep and swift.

She hadn't meant to drive him completely over the edge when she started this but now she can't stop chasing those groans, those full-body shudders.

It doesn't matter. They have more time than just tonight.

Clinging desperately to the last bits of control he's got, not ready for this to be over yet, he begs, "Sharon, baby, please--"

Bucky pushes himself onto his side so he can reach for her, threading his hand into her hair.

"Come up here, baby, come to me, I want --"

Not a damn thing could keep her from him, not when he's begging and desperate. She pulls away from him and sets a knee up onto the mattress to follow that asking hand in her hair, pushing him back as she goes.

"What do you want?" she asks, and settles herself over him, her body a long line over his. She brackets his head with her forearms and presses kiss after feverish kiss to his mouth. "Tell me."

"You."

He kisses her back, again and again, running his hand over her hip, her side, her back, up to the catch of her bra, which he works to unfasten as quickly as he can.

"You, baby. I want you."

"You have me," she promises, shifting herself up enough that he can get the clasp unfastened, so the straps fall down her shoulders and she can toss this piece of satin and lace away because in the end? It's all just trimming.

"I'm here. I'm all yours, sweetheart."

He kisses along the side of her throat as he reaches for her hip and starts to draw her underwear down, making his way to the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder and using his lips and tongue there, as he rocks his hips up and presses against her.

She shudders hard as his mouth finds that spot, lavishes attention on it like she loves so much, and she wriggles to push her underwear down and off her legs and then finally, finally, there's nothing but skin pressed to skin. Her breath is coming fast and ragged, every groan is edged with tar as she skates her left hand along his body, propping herself up on her right elbow.

He runs his hand back up along her body, curving it against her breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers as he raises his head to kiss her again, deep and seeking and passionate.

"God, baby," he murmurs against her mouth, and rolls his hips against her, coaxing her to accept him.

"Bucky," she says, and it sounds like a plea or a prayer, singed in each syllable. She slips her hand down between them, sliding her knees to either side of his hips, and sinks down onto him with a sharp gasp.

"Baby," she murmurs, almost whimpers. "God, Bucky."

His back arches as he pushes up into her, slow and deep, with a ragged groan.

"Yes," he answers, promises, pleads, all at once. "Yes, baby. Yes."

He surges upward and runs his hand up her back to brace himself as he presses a kiss over her heart, then takes her nipple into his mouth.

She rolls her hips and shifts up as he moves, wraps her arms around his neck as her back arches and she presses into his mouth. Any words she once knew have burned straight out of her mind; there's only a litany of his name and yes and please as she shudders and rocks against him.

Here. Him. In her arms. As close as two people can be. And she still wishes there were a way to get even closer.

He teases her with his tongue, with the light edge of his teeth, with the changing pressure of his mouth until her gasps and shivers grow more urgent. He makes himself pull back just so that he can kiss her again and again as he slides his hand into her hair and rolls his hips against her, finding their rhythm, slow at first, then faster.

She's the most beautiful thing in the world, he's lost in her, and he never wants to be found.

She moves with him as he starts pushing them faster, rocking her hips and pushing against him until her whole body is shivering with electricity. Leaning forward, she pushes him back against the mattress, one hand on his chest and the other at his hip as long, slow, warm waves begin washing through her body. Her kisses are turning messy and breathless; she presses her lips to the pulse point in his throat but has to come back to kiss his mouth again and again.

"Baby, baby –" she's saying, hardly realizing she's saying anything at all.

He can't stop touching her, stroking his hand restlessly over her back and her hip and her arm, pressing his palm against her abdomen and teasing her breasts with his fingers, attentive to how she responds.

Or as attentive as he can be, anyway, when she's so sweet and hot around him, as every movement of her hips drives him closer to the edge, as white-fire pleasure begins to coil at the base of his spine.

"Sharon, Sharon," he gasps, his voice wrecked and raw as he answers her cries in the only way he can, all other words lost.

He's saying her name over and over and that as much as anything, as much as his hand tracing electricity over her skin, as much as the sweet press of his hips as he pushes deep, as much as his hot mouth on hers –

All of it together ties up a stack of dynamite deep in her gut and then strikes a match. She goes up almost without warning, crying out as wave after wave shakes through through her system and her vision whites out.

He wraps his arm around her and holds on tight, pulling her to him as her ecstasy sparks his, as he drives fast and deep until his back arches and his spine locks with pleasure that rages through him like a lightning storm.

Bucky buries his face in her shoulder and breathes her in, keeping her as close as he can.

They're both breathing hard as the rush slows, coaxing each other back down and winding up sweat-slicked and clinging to one another. It's probably a good thirty seconds or longer before Sharon can do anything but shiver with aftershocks and try to breathe.

The laugh she muddles into his shoulder is absolutely airless. "God."

Moving at all feels like pushing through water; she shifts just enough to pull away and collapse again, lying half on him, half at his side. She presses a lazy kiss to his shoulder, smiling and content.

"My sweetheart."

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