Do You Trust Me? // Bucky Barnes

22

Ava

There was an unexpected comfort in the moment that settled over her and sank into her bones. The sun was rising as she curled into herself on the couch in the living room belonging a family who had taken her in and James Buchanan Barnes walked towards her slowly, careful not to spill the steaming tea in his hands, with a nervous smile ghosting his lips. The same lips that had, just a few short hours ago, locked against hers in what was, perhaps, the dreamiest, gentlest, most intoxicating kiss she'd ever experienced.

Before Bucky Barnes, her kisses had been lacklustre and dull. She hadn't known it at the time. At the time she probably thought each kiss she'd experienced was wonderful and heated and full of passion, but she had been wrong. There was something so delicate in the way he had pressed his lips against hers - so sweet and gentle, so at odds with the anger and insane chaos of what had been bubbling between them since the day he blew up her car - there was something so tentative and shy and just... more than whatever she had ever considered a kiss before.

Bucky Barnes kissed like he was a dying man and she was his antidote.

He cocked his head to the side slightly as he looked at her and Ava pulled the sleeves of the cable knit sweater she wore over her hands. He'd grabbed it from their room as soon as they'd gotten back to the house, letting go of her hand for the first time since they started walking back through the woodlands to push her down onto the couch while he retrieved it. He'd slipped it on over her head and pulled her into his side as she let the fear and the cold and the pressure of it all shake through her. And then he'd insisted she needed to stay where she was while he looked after her. And here he was, looking at her with a smile he was trying to control. And here she was, staring back with confusion and wonder.

She placed her knuckles against her lips, breathing in the subtle scent that was purely him from the material and smiled a little.

"Drink this." He handed her the tea, the fresh aroma of peppermint drifting from the mug, before sitting on the couch beside her. Almost immediately, he placed his arm against the back of the couch and wove his fingers into her hair, brushing against the nape of her neck and soothing her.

"Thank you, James." Ava sighed with his touch and ached to be closer to him.

"You know," he mused as his eyes roamed her face, "you've never actually used my real name before."

She swallowed as his eyes fell on her lips, the steam of her tea dancing between them.

"Usually I hate it when people call me James," he continued.

The surging babble of uncertainty and inexperience deafened her as she glanced down to her hands, wrapped around navy blue, and her breath became short. Inside her mind, a small voice whispered nasty words - reminding her how she would inevitably fuck this all up - and she shook her head.

"Oh... I'm sorry. I - I don't even know why I said James. It was weird. I just -"

"Hey." He pulled the mug from her hands and placed it on the table in front of them quickly, before shifting on the couch and pulling her towards him. His lips brushed gently against her forehead and she inhaled quickly, her entire body lighting up with such a simple touch. "Stop."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes closing as he pulled away from her.

"Don't be." His voice was so sure and calm, and as he spoke she felt his hand against her cheek. She leant into his touch. "I like the way it sounds on your lips, Ava."

She felt the tension seep from her skin when he kissed her gently, just a quick and light kiss pressed against her lips, but somehow it was exactly what she wanted, and exactly what she needed.