WinterWidow =⊙= One Shots

His Kisses Burn Like Winter

She kisses him with lips he split, she kisses him like temptation. She kisses him, with just a whisper of warm mouths and hot breath until his teeth catch her bottom lip like a reprimand for her audacity.
The moment stills, and she rewards him with an elbow to the jaw, and it's the beginning of the end, even as they step back, pull away. Teacher and student, but Natalia was never content with such simple labels, always pushing to be more than what anyone told her she was. She's a death sentence for everyone who looks down on her. If you were to ask her then, she'd have told you that James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, is no different from anyone else. Except that he is. Slowly something changed in the way she looks at him across tense-drawn breaths, the way he looks at her looking at him – they're both staring at the other's kiss-flushed lips. The moment shatters from too much tension pulled too tight. He's grinning and she almost laughs, and when she goes to punch him it feels like a secret they can never share.
From that moment on, it's like a countdown they pretend to ignore. Every look, every sharp word, every bruise shouts – remember. Remember how his lips felt, remember the catch of his breath and the answering heat it sparked in her veins, remember the warmth of his body and the chill of metal. For Natalia, sexuality is a weapon, and her kisses are knives, but he seems not to notice. She doesn't know if that makes him fearless or stupid, and there's a sense of irritation that crawls under her skin with the thought. The more she thinks about it, the more it makes her realize she likes the way he kissed her. Like her body was something more than a minefield.
When they kiss, it's with lips that aren't apologies. He leaves bruises on her skin like lessons, neither taking pleasure in her pain, nor treating her like she's too soft to bear the weight. She'd have left him for dead if he did. Instead, she gives almost as good as she gets; dangerous and lovely and she smiles at him like a threat that's half invitation. He knows that she's a weapon. He's the whetstone sharpening her edges. Yet when they kiss it's like they're both given permission to forget.
He leaves teasing kisses against the hollow of her throat, behind her ear, and against her temples. She leaves bitemarks like promises on the thin skin of his collarbone, presses her teeth in hard enough to make his breath hiss. They're both smoldering, and when they reach for each other it's with the arrogance of youth – forgetting that flames like theirs always end in ashes.
They devour each other, touches like sparks that ignite, believing they can't be smothered out. She know that they can't have this, but she holds onto it anyway, clutches it tight to her breast like an old secret, as they kiss in the dark. Theirs is not a chaste life, and she is not a chaste woman, and kisses are a tease that become a thrumming need for more, racing in time with her heartbeat. She can't get his clothes off fast enough, fingers almost violent as they work open buttons and zippers, and she can see his idiot grin in the dark. She kisses him to quiet that look on his face, and when the last of the weapons they can give away falls, there's no space for anything except each other.
Clutching tight together like they might come apart without something to hold onto. Tight bursts of pleasure that silence everything- even the fear of getting caught- as they move, cold air punctuated with gasps and moans and the way skin moves again skin. Friction. The rhythmic roll of her hips, setting a fever pace, and his hard muscled body arches beneath her. Cool metal fingers trace up her abdomen, all power and strength, and yet in this moment his hands feel more gentle than her own. Kisses silence screams, fluttered touches of lips on lips, teeth biting and tongues tasting as pleasure makes them something other than killers. She knows that caring is weakness but she still can't resist. Because oh, how they burned.
They were candles in the dark, until other hands extinguished the flame. Her autumn becomes his winter. She keeps her hair as red as dying leaves as she walks through the years, but her heart never forgets the chill.