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

He kisses her shoulder, then the side of her throat, as he slowly draws his hand back over her hip and up between them to the top of the zipper. He catches the tab between finger and thumb and pulls downward with deliberate slowness, letting the fabric fall open with a soft whisper.

Fabric slackens against her skin in stages, starting at her shoulders and following the track of the zipper until the once-beautifully fitted dress drapes in loose folds and she can feel his chest against her bare back.

Remembering his request, she doesn't move to slip it all the way off, just shivers under his kisses and waits for whatever it is he wants to do next.

"This dress is pretty," he murmurs, resting his hand at her shoulder. "But you're beautiful."

With that, he slips it off first one shoulder, then the other, then pulls her back against him as it falls to the floor. Bucky puts his hand under her chin and turns her face towards him so that he can kiss her again.

"I like that you think I'm beautiful," she tells him, soft as the dress falls away and she steps carefully out of it.

She leans back against him and turns her head willingly, dressed now only in bra and underwear and those strappy gold heels, and it's clear she's put more thought into what she wore tonight than just the dress itself because the lingerie, too, is something new and a little different, beautifully constructed of blush pink satin and lace. Nothing too frothy, but a marked change from her usual cotton underthings.

She's a vision standing right there in the curve of his arm, golden and bright and gorgeous, as if she were truly an angel descended to earth, and he can feel the rush of desire try to hammer him to his knees.

"God, baby," he murmurs, drawing his fingers slowly down the front of her body, worshiping her with his eyes, "you're a dream come true."

"Hey," she murmurs, smiling a little as she rolls her head back against his. "That's my line."

A literal dream come true, in some cases. She thinks about how frustrated she'd been with him after Leipzig, and then how hard he'd tried to keep her at arm's length when she first got here, and wonders how the hell she managed to convince him otherwise.

He wraps his arm around her waist and coaxes her around to face him as he kisses her again, and then again, and again.

"I'm feeling a little overdressed here," he murmurs, eventually, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Want to do something about that?"

"Someone should," she agrees, her tone serious even though her eyes and lips are smiling. "And it may as well be me. I'm right here, after all."

She runs her palms from his shoulders down over his chest and stomach and takes a long, lingering moment just slipping her hands up beneath his shirt to run them over soft, warm skin before tugging gently at the hem and pulling it up and over his head. He's all creamy tan skin and lean muscle and she absolutely stands by her previous assessment of him as the most beautiful thing in the world.

Tucking the fingers of one hand into the waistband of his pants, she runs her other palm back over his chest and leans in to kiss him again as she rubs the pad of her thumb gently over one nipple, then reaches down to undo the fastening of his pants. "Your shoes might get in the way, though."

He shivers as she touches him, at the caress of her hands and the light pressure of her fingers, and takes a long moment to kiss her back before he lifts his head enough to say,

"You're right. Let me take care of it."

Bucky goes down on one knee, then the other, pulling the laces free and kicking off his boots. Once done, he cups his hand around her calf and slowly begins to slide his fingers upward, kissing along the inside of her knee, then her thigh, as he does.

His hand leaves goosebumps in its wake and her fingers fall gently to his hair as soon as he's close enough, while she shivers and shivers under each careful kiss.

"I think you got a little lost down there," she murmurs, her eyes blown dark and heated as she watches him. She doesn't move, just makes small sounds as he caresses her leg, at the touch of his mouth to tender skin.

"No," he tells her, kissing the inside of her other thigh, running his hand up and down her leg, "I'm right where I want to be."

Bucky leans up and presses a kiss to the crease between her leg and up, then another to the warm center of her, his breath hot against satin and lace.

Her breath comes in a sharp gasp as her whole body shakes, her hand tightening in his hair. "Baby," she says, her voice gone thin and strained.

"You need to be careful doing that when I'm wearing these heels, unless you think you can catch me on the way down."

He groans as she pulls his hair, and kisses her again, then starts working his way up her body.

"I won't let you fall," he promises, sliding his arm around her waist as he reaches her belly, his lips warm against her skin.

"My hero," she teases, more than a little breathless. The muscles of her stomach contract beneath his kiss, sending shivers across her bare abdomen. She strokes her fingers through his hair, idly considering the necessity of another trim in the near future.

But she's hardly focused on it, when he's so intent on reducing her to a shivering, smoldering wreck.

He surges upward and gets to his feet with unconscious ease, and draws her against him as he kisses her mouth once more.

Coaxing her to follow him, he eases them around and starts to back across the room toward her bed, one slow step at a time.

She follows along, taking careful steps and kissing him deep and sweet, her hands in constant slow motion: in his hair, running along his neck and shoulders, down his torso. The pants are still there, so she runs her fingers along the line of his zipper and palms him before inching the fly open and tugging the fabric down around his hips.

He stops moving before his clothes can slide down his body and trip them both up, focusing on kissing her instead. When the next kiss breaks, he smiles against her lips, and waits to see what she'll do.

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.

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