kingsman_thesecretservice | NSFW Open Post;

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[There were certain qualities in a woman that Bucky enjoyed most. Confidence, which could come in many forms, and sometimes was subtle depending on the dame. Intelligence. Which could show itself in much the same way as confidence, hints here and there or the kind you noticed immediately. Bucky appreciated that women were unique, thought they deserved to be respected, and he was smart enough to know to never treat any two the same.

He hadn't made that mistake with her, with Evelyn. Bucky had listened when she spoke, answered when he was supposed to, and over time, the relaxed way she made him feel became more noticeable. The connection between them had faded from friendship to something more gently, not suddenly, but slowly, naturally. The only way it could have ever really worked for Bucky, after everything.

Then he didn't want her to think they had to rush. It was her choice if something was going to happen between them, and he'd told her as much that night, standing close in the middle of the library, all that tension built up under his skin. He drags his thumb across her jaw, brushes her hair back from her shoulder.]

You're beautiful.

[And he means it, too. Inside and out, all her quirks and the way she complimented his.]

[Evelyn has a long and storied history of exploits in this particular place, most of which aren't suitable for polite conversation and only a handful of which she can say aren't suitable as anything but being boxed away, set into a corner and neglected. Fewer still are moments alight with the kind of unadulterated pleasure indicative of good company, gems to be hoarded.

The spoke often and in hushed tones, alone; Evelyn thought he indulged her desire to talk on more occasions than he should but he never dissuaded her, answering to both Bucky and James - the latter of which she reserved as an endearment in privacy. She wants to use it now, so close she can hardly breathe and attraction is never intentional, particularly not here: not when he has seen as much as he has, when she has been handled too indelicately and taken advantage of in the past.]

That's a very generous thing to say when I've been outside for most of the day,

[she teases, but the sentiment is gentled by his thumb cutting a streak of fire over her skin, burning through her lungs and into the shelves behind her. It is quiet here, surrounded by the whispers of fiction and the hem of her skirts brushing his knee, Evelyn's deflection hiding nothing but amusement and anticipation. Her choice, he suggested without saying anything at all and, well, it isn't a choice anymore, is it?

For that reason her intentions are evident, fingers curled in his shirt and tugging insistently for contact, tipping her chin up to beg with the dignity of royality.]

Kiss me.

[Sun kissed and hair curling up from the heat and wind? Definitely still beautiful, if not more than he'd normally find her to be simply because she's relaxed and at ease.]

Wouldn't have known if you hadn't told me.

[Compliments aside, she's moving, touching him and pulling him close, telling him to kiss her, and whether it's a request or demand, it doesn't matter.

Bucky tips in, all slow and sure movements, no surprises, just direct intent. His lips slant against hers, hands running down her arms to rest at her hips, and then he's taking small steps forward until the dry scent of paper hits his nose, book shelf at her back.

The fabric of her skirts swirl, the material rustling, and he can hear every breath that slips out when he draws back slightly, the groan of his metal arm adjusting to the change in position. Bucky presses his thumb to her chin, gently urging down, a silent plea for her to open her mouth.]

[In execution he is deliberate, straightforward, and the honesty is charming in that she knows what to expect. What is unexpected is how desirous of his touch she really is, gone quietly ignored until warm hands and room-temperature metal pushes down her bare arms, cupping her hips and backing her into a section of crime novels and pulp yellow-paper books with garish illustrations. Evelyn almost regrets how much she feels their inspiration now, sharing air as he presses firmly, but not ungently.

At the barest prompting Evelyn wholeheartedly parts her lips, hands grasping at Bucky's button-down while she sinks into him like a sigh. Between them it has been building steadily, not violently, but in spite of her meticulous and detail-oriented nature Evelyn can see a distinct merit in indulging her impatience.

Pressed against the bookshelves it is all she can do not to pry at the buttons of his shirt, instead curling her fingers around the back of his neck and stretching up on tip-toe to better taste him.]

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