find me

35. what if I want more

He wanted more.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, a glass of water in hand, and pondered over the past few days he'd spent in this empty house; it was the happiest he had been in a long time.

The thrill and the warmth that it brought him to be able to touch Natalie, to kiss her, to speak to her without feeling ashamed or guilty; it was beyond anything he had ever dared to wish for.

For so long he had wanted her, dreamed about her. He recounted in his head the many times their desires had collided, bringing them together for fleeting, stolen moments. That night on the rooftop at Mar's party, all those nights in the softness of her bed, embraced in the warmth of her body, their first kiss in the Stark tower, in Spain after his drunk mess, on the cruise to Italy and then here. All these moments when despite everything that was wrong and painful and dangerous, they couldn't keep away from each other. They hadn't talked about what this was yet. They had always talked about it as something that existed between them, never put a name to it, never dared to. Lust, hate, fear, love, destiny. Whatever it was, it had been there since the beginning for him. Sure, the feelings got stronger and deeper as he got to know her, but those seeds that were now growing into being had been planted the moment her eyes met his.

Everything in him wanted her. His desire felt like a never ending well.

She had given herself to him. For the first time ever between them, this didn't feel like a stolen moment, or a forbidden impulse, it felt like they had finally given up and surrendered to each other. He had seen in her eyes and felt through her touch, that she truly wanted him.

There were no more secrets between them. No more excuses to keep them apart. He was risking his life for her, and she knew the risks of being with him. Their dangerous lives were not a reason not to be together anymore. All the fears of what could happen if they had gotten closer than friends, all of the worries that had kept them apart in New York were now irrelevant, because everyone who wanted to hurt them had every reason to believe they were together regardless of wether they actually were.

They had no reason to fight this anymore. And it scared the shit out of him.

Because somewhere in his brain, there was still a kernel of doubt that told him this couldn't work out. He knew what she thought of him, her fears, what he had done and how hard it must be for her to reconcile all of that with her attraction to him. Despite all the care, and thoughtfulness, and sweetness she had showed him, he couldn't erase her words and the time she had spent hating him.

Maybe part of her still did, maybe a part of her always would.

This craving for each other had pushed them together again, and again, maybe for her this was all there was to it, a craving to be satisfied.

His wound didn't hurt anymore, not really at least; if she wanted to, she could have him that very night, but what if that's all she wanted after all? What if then she realised that attraction didn't actually change the way she had felt about him these past few months? What if he was then left with nothing but this physical need to be with each other... would that be enough for him?

Part of him told him the loss of their potential hurt less than the loss of knowing what it felt to be with her.

He couldn't know if that was real, or just a way of shielding himself from what could be, and with that everything that could go wrong. The loss of the idea of them was easier to picture than the loss of something they might had already built. One was a dream, an ethereal and untouched version of who they could be. The other a true real relationship, full of feelings, memories, shared moments, physical proof of what they were together.