Tater Tot’s Thots

moonlight stripes the room in silver and shadow, catching on the faded flower wallpaper your mama picked out when you were ten.

straightening up, he brushes dust off his jacket, and grins that crooked grin that always makes your stomach flip.

“thought your old man was gonna spot me climbin’,” he whispers, voice going low in a way it gets when he’s trying not to laugh. “nearly took a header into the rose bushes.”

you’re already tucked under the covers, heart going a mile a minute.

your parents left for bridge night an hour ago. they just said they’d be back late. and the house feels huge and quiet without them.

you pat the mattress beside you. “ma and pa left an hour ago. get in here before someone calls the cops on you.”

he shrugs out of his jacket, and slides in next to you like he’s done it a hundred times, even though this is only the third time he’s managed to sneak over.

the bed’s narrow. it's your childhood bed with the iron headboard that squeaks if you move too fast. and he has to curl around you so you both fit comfortably. well, comfort might be a bigger word.

he smells like the cold night air and the gel he uses to keep his hair slicked back, and something that’s just him.

his hair’s all messed up from the climb, cheeks pink from the cold.

“hi, doll,” he whispers, voice soft so the floorboards don’t give him away, and then he’s right there in front of you, hands finding your waist like they belong there.

you’re in your nightgown, the off-white one with the tiny roses your ma sewed on last summer, with the covers pulled up to your chin like some nervous kid. which you kind of are, tonight.

when you tip your face up, he meets you halfway.

you’ve kissed plenty. behind the bleachers after ball games, in the dark of the movie theater when the newsreels were on, pressed against the alley wall behind the diner when he walked you home from your shift the day before.

but tonight there’s no curfew ticking in the back of your head and no worry about headlights sweeping the street.

tonight the house is yours. and so is he. his mouth moves slowly, lazily almost, like he’s got all the time in the world to taste you.

you fall back onto the pillows together, the mattress springs groaning just enough to make you both freeze and listen for footsteps that definitely aren’t coming.

when it stays quiet, bucky huffs a laugh against your mouth. “think we’re safe now, sweetheart.”

“you always say that,” you whisper back, “and then mrs. gallagher’s dog starts barking.”

“mrs. gallagher’s dog can go jump in the east river.”

his mouth opens against yours again, tongue sliding in carefully like he’s asking permission even though you’ve done this countless number of times. you make that little sound you always make when he does it right, and his hands tighten on your waist.

sliding up your side, his thumb brushes the edge of your breast through the thin cotton, and you make a small surprised sound against his lips.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark in the dim light. “that okay?” his voice is hushed.

you nod. “yeah. just… tickles a little.”

he smiles. a small one, a shy one. and kisses you again, much deeper this time.

his fingers keep exploring, tracing the neckline of your gown, slipping under the fabric to find skin. your breath catches when his palm cups your breast.

you can feel that he’s trembling a little and that makes you feel less alone in how your own hands are shaking.

“you’re so soft,” he murmurs against your mouth, like he’s surprised by it every time. his thumb brushes over your nipple and it stiffens instantly, sending a spark straight down between your legs. you arch without meaning to, and press closer to him.

you’ve never let him touch you like this before. you’ve thought about it— lord, have you thought about it. lying in this same bed you've had your hand pressed between your thighs, not knowing why you like it, but wondering what his hands would feel like.

but thinking and doing are entirely two different things, and now that it’s happening you feel heat crawling up your neck.

“jamie,” you whisper, not sure if it’s fast or too slow to your liking.

searching your face, he asks,“too much?”

you shake your head quickly. “no. just… feels funny… good funny.”

his grin comes back softer. “good funny’s the best kind.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the spot under your ear that makes your toes curl.

his hand keeps moving, gentle circles that make your nipple ache in a way you’ve never felt before. you didn’t know it could feel like this. like every touch is lighting little fires under your skin.

the buttons down the front of your gown are small and fiddly, and he fumbles with them, muttering “darn things” under his breath when the third one sticks.

a giggle slips past you as you reach down to help. together you get them open, and cool air hits your chest. he pushes the fabric aside slowly, like he’s unwrapping something precious, and when he sees you bare his breath stutters.

“you’re shaking,” you tease, even though your own hands aren’t much better.

“yeah, well, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, like that explains everything. his eyes are wide like he’s trying to memorize you. “jesus, doll.”

“don’t take the lord’s name in vain in my bedroom, james buchanan barnes,” you whisper, prim as sister mary margaret, and he snorts.

“sorry, sister.” but his hands are gentle when he pushes the gown off your shoulders, down your arms, until it’s bunched at your waist. you’re bare from the waist up now, and the shyness hits you.

“jeez. you’re… you’re so pretty.”

you want to hide, instinct making you cross your arms, but he catches your wrists and presses them to the pillow beside your head. “don’t. please. lemme look.”

there's a vulnerability in his voice even though you're the one who's undressed now. so you let him.

his gaze feels like a touch all its own. he lowers his head and kisses the slope of one breast, then the other. open-mouthed and soft kisses decorate your skin.

when his lips close around your nipple you gasp loud enough you’re glad the neighbors’ houses are far apart.

a tentative lick is what he starts with, then he gets bolder when you clutch at his hair. your nipple tightens under his touch, and he pulls back just enough to look.

“they do that,” he says, wonder in his voice, like he’s discovering something brand new. “in the magazines, the girls— well, they get 'em hard like this.”

“you and your dirty magazines,” you mumble, but you’re arching into his hand without meaning to.

“they’re educational,” he grins, but the grin fades when he lowers his head again and takes your nipple into his mouth again.

wet heat, gentle suction, and you make a sound you didn’t know you could make. his tongue flicks experimentally, and you feel it everywhere. your fingers thread through his hair, holding him there because stopping feels impossible.

he switches to the other breast, hand kneading the one his mouth just left, rolling the wet nipple between his fingers carefully like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you.

it doesn’t hurt. it feels like the fourth of july in your chest, sparks running down your spine. you’re squirming under him now, thighs pressing together, trying to ease the ache that’s building.

“jamie,” you breathe, not sure what you’re asking for.

he lifts his head, and his lips are shiny. “yeah? you okay?”

you nod fast. “more than okay. just—don’t stop.”

he groans like you’ve said something filthy and kisses down your stomach, pushing the nightgown lower as he goes. you lift your hips to help, and suddenly you’re naked except for your panties. those simple white cotton one with a little lace trim your ma bought you for your eighteenth birthday.

bucky sits back on his heels, just looking, taking you all in, and you want to die of embarrassment and also never want him to stop looking.

your hips shift restlessly against the mattress. there’s a throb starting low in your belly, an emptiness you don’t have words for. you’ve felt something like it before, alone in the dark with your own fingers. but never this sharp. and never this urgent.

bucky’s breathing hard now. his forehead ispressed to your sternum, “tell me if i do somethin’ wrong,” his voice stays muffled. “i only know what i read in those magazines.”

you should tell him to stop bringing up the magazines every single sentence because you cannot fathom him looking at other girls who aren't you, even in paper. but you're way too breathless for that.

“it's mostly just ladies in their undies. but sometimes there’s… diagrams.” his ears go pink. “fellas doin’ things with their mouths.”

your eyes widen. “their mouths?”

he nods, but there's a look on his face that tells you even he's a little unsure. “yeah. down… down there.” he gestures vaguely toward your lap and then looks like he wants the bed to swallow him. “i thought maybe… if you wanted… i could try.”

you stare at him. the idea is so shocking your brain stalls out for a second. “you wanna put your mouth on my… my…”

“privates,” he supplies helpfully, then winces. “geez, that sounds awful. your pussy, i mean.” he says the word like he’s testing it, and you can clearly see his cheeks flaming.

you’ve never heard him say that before. you’ve barely heard anyone say it. heat floods your face and other places. “jamie, that’s… that’s scandalous.”

“i know,” he says quickly. “we don’t have to. i just thought— the magazines say ladies like it a whole lot. and i wanna make you feel good. more than just kissin’ and touchin’ up here.” he cups your breast again gently. “but only if you want.”

you bite your lip. part of you— the part raised on sunday school —wants to say no, that’s too much. but the bigger part, the part that loves bucky barnes so fierce it hurts, wants to know what it feels like.

because you’re scandalized and curious in equal measure and nobody has ever told you about anything like this. your ma’s big talk was “keep your knees together till your wedding night” and that was that.

but this is jamie. your jamie, who’s been walking you home since fifth grade, who punched tommy hanagan for stealing your lunch in seventh, who held your hand the night your granddad died.

you trust him with everything else. why not this?

“okay,” you whisper finally. “but i’m… i’m nervous.”

“me too,” he admits, like he's relieved you said it first. “i never done this either. we’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

when you nod, he kisses you again. this one's sweeter, like he’s thanking you.

then he’s moving down the bed, pushing the covers aside. the white cotton stares back at him, but he looks at them like they’re silk.

his fingers hook in the waistband. “can i?”

you lift your hips in answer, and he slides them down your legs carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind any second. cool air kisses the curls between your thighs and you squeeze your eyes shut, mortified at him seeing a part of you, even you haven't properly seen before.

you kick your panties off when they get tangled at your ankles, and then you’re completely bare under him.

you squeeze your thighs together on instinct.

“hey,” his hands are on your knees. “open up for me, doll? just a little?”

“jamie—” your voice comes out squeaky.

“hey,” he says softly. “look at me.”

you open your eyes. he’s settled between your legs, propped on his elbows, gazing up at you with so much tenderness it makes your chest ache.

“you’re perfect,” he says. “every inch.”

then he lowers his head and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. another higher up. your legs want to close but he nudges them apart gently.

he’s staring again, closer now, and you feel yourself getting wetter under his gaze which is again — mortifying.

“it’s—pretty,” he says, awed. “all swollen and—god, look at you.” his thumbs part you, spreading you open, and you almost hide your face in the pillow.

“jamie!”

“sorry, sorry—just never seen one up close.” he sounds like a kid who just got a new bike for christmas. “this part here—” his thumb brushes something that makes your hips jerk—“that’s the part that feels best, right?”

“i don’t know!” you squeak. “nobody tells girls anything!”

“well i’m tellin’ you now,” he says. “gonna figure it out together.”

he leans in and you feel his breath first, warm against sensitive skin. then the flat of his tongue, one long slow lick from bottom to top, and your whole body lights up.

“oh my god.”

“tastes good,” he mumbles like he's embarrassed and proud all at once. “sweet.”

you’d laugh if you had breath. instead you just clutch the sheets, hips rocking without your permission.

pleased with himself, he does it again. and again. learning by the way you twitch, the sounds you make. when he circles that little bud at the top you nearly levitate off the bed.

“there,” you gasp. “right—right there, jamie—”

he focuses there, licking soft at first then firmer, figuring out the rhythm that makes your thighs shake. his hands slide under your hips, lifting you closer to his mouth like he can’t get enough.

he’s messy about it, truly inexperienced, getting your taste all over his chin, but the enthusiasm more than makes up for technique.

it feels… indescribable. like every nerve in your body just woke up and decided to sing at once. you’re wet. you can feel it. and he must too because he groans quietly, the vibration making you twitch.

you feel the pressure building, unfamiliar and scary-good. your legs try to close around his head and he holds them open gently but also somehow firm.

“james—something’s—i think i’m gonna—”

“yeah?” he pulls off just long enough to talk, voice muffled against you. “that’s it, doll. let it happen. wanna feel you cum on my mouth.”

you have no idea what that means exactly but your body does. long nights with your hands between your thighs never felt this good, never hit this high.

the wave crests suddenly, pleasure crashing over you so hard you cry out his name into the pillow to muffle it. your hips rock against his face, riding it out while he keeps licking soft through the aftershocks until you’re boneless and whimpering from overstimulation.

he crawls back up your body slowly, kissing your hip, your belly, between your breasts, until he’s hovering over you again. his mouth is shiny with you and his eyes are wild.

“was that okay?” he asks, doubt laced questions. “did i do it right?”

you pull him down into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and wrap your arms around his neck.

“you did more than okay,” you mumble. “i didn’t know it could feel like that.”

he wraps his arms around you, pressing kisses to your hair. “me neither. magazines didn’t say anything about how pretty you sound when you cum.”

you swat his chest weakly. “jamie!” but he pulls you closer, pressing soft kisses to your temple, then your jaw.

you’re still catching your breath, chest rising and falling quick over the rumpled sheets, when the curiosity hits you like a sudden itch.

you shift a little, legs still tangled with his, and poke him in the side like you used to when you were kids fighting over the last eclairs.

“hey,” you whisper, voice scratchy from all the noises you just made. “you said you saw pictures of girls doing… that. have you seen pictures of boys too? like, all of ‘em?”

bucky lifts his head and blinks slowly as if he's processing it, and then starts laughing. it's quiet at first, then louder until he has to bury his face in the pillow so he doesn’t wake the whole block.

you feel his ribs moving against yours and you start giggling too, because it’s such a dumb question but also not. definitely not tonight.

“doll, i got the equipment,” his voice is so fond. “i see it every day when i take a shower. ain’t exactly a mystery to me.”

you swat his chest, but you’re laughing harder now, the kind of laugh that hurts your stomach in the best way. “shut up, barnes. you know what i mean. like… close up. like you just did to me.”

he turns his head on the pillow, looking at you with that half-smile that’s been getting you in trouble since sophomore year. “yeah, i seen some. not as many. the fellas pass around the ones with dames mostly. but yeah, there’s pictures.”

you bite your lip, feeling bold and shy at the same time, the way you felt when you asked him to the sophomore dance even though everybody said girls weren’t supposed to ask boys.

“well,” you tryto sound casual and fail, “i ain’t seen any. and you just got an eyeful of me, so… fair’s fair, jamie.”

his eyebrows shoot up. he wasn’t expecting that. you can tell because his mouth opens and closes once like a fish, and his ears go pink. “you wanna see me?” he asks, like it's unbelievable what just came out your mouth.

“yeah,” you nod quickly before you lose your nerve. “i mean, i’ve only ever felt you through your slacks when you got hard like some kinda pervert when i kissed you. i wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

he laughs again. “pervert, huh? that’s rich coming from the girl who just came on my tongue.”

“james buchanan!” you hiss, but you’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

he shrugs out of his shirt first, fingers fumbling the buttons because he’s watching your face instead of what he’s doing.

the shirt lands on the floor next to your nightgown, and you get your first real look at his chest without a undershirt in the way and between four walls.

there’s a faint line of hair running down the middle, and his shoulders are broader than you remember from swimming at the beach last summer.

you reach out without thinking to trace the scar on his ribs from when he fell off his bike delivering papers in eighth grade.

“still there,” you murmur, thumb brushing it gently.

“yep. you kissed it better back then, remember? told me i was gonna have a cool story.”

“you cried,” you remind him.

“i did not cry. i had something in my eye.”

“both eyes?”

he tackles you back onto the pillows, kissing you quietly, and you’re both laughing into each other’s mouths again.

when he pulls back his eyes are serious even though his mouth’s still smiling. “you sure?” he asks. “i ain’t exactly clark gable.”

“you’re better,” you say, and mean it. “you’re mine.”

you see in the way his throat moves, that it gets him.

standing up, his buckle clinks loud in the quiet room. and you sit up too, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’s already seen everything.

he shoves his slacks down, steps out of them awkwardly when one foot gets caught, and then he’s just in his boxers. it's the white cotton gone a little gray at the waistband from too many washes.

there’s a bulge there that’s been pressing against your thigh all night, and now you can see the shape of him clearly. your mouth nearly goes dry.

“go on,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “all of it.”

bucky hooks his thumbs in the waistband and hesitates. “you’re starin’ like i’m about to do a striptease at the club.”

“maybe i want a private show,” you tease, but your hands are twisting the sheets.

he pushes the boxers down slowly, and his cock springs free, curving up towards his stomach.

you’ve felt it before, grinding against you in the back of movie theaters, but seeing it is different.

it’s thicker than you pictured, flushed dark, with a bead of wet at the tip. the hair at the base is darker than on his head, and to be honest, a bit curly.

bucky kicks the boxers away and stands there, hands on his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “well?” he tries for cocky and misses by a mile. “this what you were expectin’?”

you shake your head. it's not exactly no, but not an yes either. you're just overwhelmed. “it’s… bigger than i thought.”

he groans. “jesus, doll, you tryin’ to kill me?”

“no!” you say quickly. “it’s good bigger. i think. i don’t know, i’ve never—” you gesture helplessly. “can i touch it?”

he just nods. “yeah. please. i mean—if you want.”

you scoot to the edge of the bed, sheet still clutched to your chest with one hand, and reach out with the other. your fingers brush the length of him, and he jerks like you shocked him.

the skin’s hot, softer than you expected. when you wrap your hand around him, he makes a low sound.

“like this?” you ask, stroking him the way you’ve imagined when you’re alone in this same bed thinking about him.

“yeah—god, yeah—just like that.” his hands hover at his sides, then settle on your shoulders. “little tighter if you want. or not. whatever feels—ah—feels right.”

you experiment, thumb swiping over the head to spread the wetness there. “that part’s real sensitive,” he hisses. “like your—uh—the little button i found earlier.”

you keep stroking, watching his face, the way his eyes flutter half-closed. it’s power and love all mixed up, knowing you’re doing this to him. knowing he trusts you this much.

“does it always stick up like this?” you ask.

“only when i’m thinkin’ about you,” he says, and then winces. “that sounded cheesier out loud than in my head.”

you laugh and lean in to kiss his stomach just above where your hand’s working. “i liked it.”

he threads fingers through your hair. “you can—explore all you want, doll. i ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

you trace the vein along the underside, and feel the weight of his balls when you cup them. he jolts and mutters your name.

you lean closer, nose brushing the hair there to breath him in. he smells like soap and sweat and something sharper, and you want to memorize it.

“tastes salty,” you say after one brave lick at the tip.

bucky’s knees almost buckle. “christ, give a guy some warning.”

“sorry,” you say, not sorry at all, and do it again just to hear that exact sound he makes.

he pulls you upafter a minute, hands under your arms like you weigh nothing, and kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue probably.

“your turn to lie down,” he says against your mouth. “i wanna look at you some more while you touch me. fair’s fair, remember?”

you let the sheet fall, nerves buzzing again because now you’re both completely naked in the lamplight. there's no more hiding.

pulling you close so your front’s pressed to his side, one of his legs slides between yours. his cock’s trapped between your bellies, hot and twitching every time you move.

bolder now, you reach down again, and he mirrors you, hand sliding between your thighs to pet you, still slick from earlier. you’re both shaking a little, breathing the same air.

“we’re really doin’ this,” you whisper, like saying it louder might jinx it.

“yeah,” he whispers back. “been waitin’ forever for you.”

“me too,” you kiss him while your hand keeps moving on him, learning every inch, every sound he makes when you do something he likes. his fingers circle that spot again, and you rock into his touch because it still feels like magic.

you realise he's not touching you to get you off, but just touching because he cannot seem to stop.

you shift your hips a little bit, feeling him against your thigh, and the question that’s been bouncing around your head since he climbed through the window finally tumbles out. “jamie,” your voice is small in the quiet, “is this… is this what people do on their wedding night? all the touching and the—the mouth stuff?”

hair falls in his eyes as he lifts his head, and gives you that look he’s had since you were kids. like you just asked if the sky’s really blue. “this is part of it,” his fingers still moving, touching you there. “but there’s more. the big part.”

you blink up at him, brain fuzzy from everything he’s already done. “more? like what?”

embarrassed and turned on all at once, his cheeks go red again. “you know. when the guy… puts it in.”

your eyes go wide. you knew that much. well, sort of. whispers from older girls at school, your ma’s tight-lipped warnings about “marital duties”

but nobody ever said how or what it felt like or anything useful. “oh,” you breathe. “that.”

“yeah, that.” he kisses your forehead, then your nose, like he’s trying to gentle the idea into you. “the magazines show it. and the fellas talk. but i ain’t never—obviously.”

“me neither,” you chime in quickly, like he might’ve forgotten. “so how do we even…?”

his shoulder bumps yours teasingly. “i guess we figure it out. like everything else tonight.” his hand leaves you to trail up your belly, and he rolls half on top of you again.

his cock nudges your thigh, leaving a wet streak, and you feel that ache start up again in your stomach. like your body already knows what it wants even if your head’s still catching up.

“you want to?” he is serious now. “we don’t have to. we could just keep doing what we been doin'. i liked that plenty.”

you think about it for a second because this feels big, bigger than sneaking out or stealing kisses behind the gym.

but again it's james, who told you he loved you first under the stars at coney island on the fourth of july.

“i want to,” you say, and it comes out steadier than you feel. “with you. tonight.”

his whole face softens when he kisses you, you understand it's just thank you without words. when he pulls back his eyes are shiny. “okay. but you tell me if it hurts or if you wanna stop, alright? i ain’t gonna be mad.”

“same goes for you,” you tease, poking his chest. “if i’m too much for you, james barnes, you just say the word.”

“doll, you’ve been too much for me since we were twelve. ain’t stoppin’ now.”

you both laugh and he reaches down between you, hand wrapping around himself to line up.

you feel the blunt head nudge against you, sliding through the wet heat, and you suck in a breath. it’s hotter than you expected, and bigger feeling than looking.

“little bit at a time,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

just the tip breaches you when he pushes forward slowly, and you both freeze at the stretch.

“oh,” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders.

it doesn’t hurt exactly. it just feels full.

“you okay?” his voice is tight, like he’s holding back hard.

“yeah. just… a lot.”

“tell me about it,” he mutters and his laugh is breathy. “you’re so—tight. jesus.”

when you wiggle a little to try and adjust to him, he groans out loud. “don’t do that yet, doll, or this’ll be over before it starts.”

“sorry,” you whisper, but you’re smiling because he looks wrecked already, with his eyes squeezed shut.

he rocks forward another inch and you feel yourself open around him, the burn starting now. your legs spread wider on instinct, knees hitching up to go right around around his hips.

“more?” his voice cracks.

“yeah. keep going.”

he slowly slides forward, pulling back a tiny bit each time to ease the way, until he’s halfway in and you’re both sweating. you can feel every throb of him inside you, the way he twitches when you clench without meaning to.

“god, you feel—” he starts, then stops, shaking his head like his words are failing him.

“you too,” you manage. “like—like you belong there.”

surging forward, he buries the rest of him in one smooth push, and you both moan at the same time. he’s all the way in now, hips flush to yours, and you feel so full you could cry.

he stills, while panting against your neck. “tell me when,” he whispers. “i ain’t movin’ till you say.”

you take a minute to just breath deep, letting your body get used to him. you can feel the burn fading, turning into something else. it's a sort of pressure that feels good when you shift your hips experimentally.

“okay,” you say finally. “move. please.”

he pulls out damn slowly, almost all the way, then slides back in to the hilt. the drag feels incredible in every way, making you arch up into him.

“like that?” he asks, like he's seeking reassurance.

“yeah—again.”

he finds a rhythm, shallow at first, rocking more than thrusting, watching your face like it’s the only thing in the world. your heels dig into his back, urging him deeper.

“harder?” he asks after a few minutes, when your moans get louder.

you nod fast and whisper. “yeah. i won’t break, jamie.”

kissing you deep like he never wants to leave, he snaps his hips sharper. the bed creaks under you both, headboard tapping the wall, and you hope the neighbors are heavy sleepers.

you’re climbing again, that same feeling from his mouth but deeper now, wound tight around where he’s moving inside you.

your hands roam his back, nails scratching whatever slope of muscle you can find, earning a shudder from him.

“i love you,” he mutters against your lips, over and over like he can’t stop. “love you so damn much.”

“i love you too,” you gasp into his mouth, letting him eat your words right off your tongue. “always—always have.”

shifting his angle a little, he grinds against that spot inside you that makes you see stars. your whole body tightens around him, clenching so tight you don't know where you end and he begins.

“there—right there—don’t stop—”

he hammers that spot relentlessly, one hand snaking between you to rub messy circles over your clit. the pleasure coils brutal, tighter and tighter until you’re sobbing his name into his mouth.

“bucky—i’m—”

“yeah,” he pants. “me too—god, you’re squeezin’ me—”

you come hard, clenching around him in waves, crying out into his shoulder to muffle it. he follows right after you, burying deep and spilling hot inside you with a broken groan of your name.

you think maybe this is what all the songs are about, the ones on the radio that make your ma sigh and your pa roll his eyes. this shaky, perfect thing between you and your jamie, built on years of shared candy and secrets and now this. your bodies learning each other in your childhood bedroom.

he collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush you even as he comes down from his high. both of you are breathing like you ran from brooklyn to queens.

and that's when you feel him pulse, still inside you where he belongs..

when he's finally caught his breath, he lifts his head with hair plastered to his forehead. a goofy grin greets you. “so that’s the more, huh?”

swatting his arm yet agaun, “yeah. think i like the more.”

it was nothing like the first time he kissed you, but also everything like that at the same time.

he kisses you again lazily, tasting salt and you, and stays inside, softening slow, neither of you willing to break the join just yet.

the steady thump of his heart against yours lulls you, but you fight the pull of sleep because you don’t want this night to end, not ever. and right then, with him still buried deep and your legs tangled tight, the world outside the window feels a million miles away.

“so,” you say after a bit, staring at the ceiling where the streetlight paints stripes through the blinds. “that was… the real thing. not just fooling around in steve’s car with the windows fogged up.”

“yeah,” he breathes, fingers drawing lazy circles on your hip. “the real thing.” he pauses wondering whether to say or not, then adds, “better than any magazine ever made it look.”

you feel your face heat up again, even after everything. “you’re comparing me to those girls?”

he props himself up on an elbow. his eyes are wide and serious, like he's deciding whether to defend himself or apologise. “no! god, no. those girls ain’t got nothing on you. they’re just— paper. they're posed and fake. this—” he gestures between you, hand waving vague at your naked bodies under the sheets—“this was us. it's us being messy, loud and perfect.”

you smile at that, reaching up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “you weren’t so quiet yourself, jamie. thought for sure you were gonna wake the whole neighborhood when you—”

“shut up,” he groans, flopping back down and hiding his face against your neck. but he’s laughing too, you can tell by the way his shoulders are shaking. “i couldn’ help it. you were squeezin’ me like—christ, i don’t even know.”

“like a lemon?” you tease.

"sweetheart, there's so many things you coulda said and you went with lemon?" he snorts.

heat crawls up to your neck, the way he's teasing you back, reminding you of how much you love him and want him. "oh no, jamie! now i wan' the lemonade they sell in coney island."

blue eyes stare back at you in earnest, "i'll get it first thing tomorrow morning, what do ya say?"

"yes," you let the enthusiasm get to you as you pepper kisses over his jaw.

he mimics your antics, then finds your lips like that's what he was destined for and pulls you in for a slower, hungrier, deeper kiss.

you tilt your head up, nose brushing his jaw. “now now, what's that for, barnes?”

he huffs this soft laugh that shakes his chest. “tryin’ to figure out how i got this lucky,” he says. “and also wonderin’ if i hurt you more than you’re lettin’ on.”

"you didn’t,” you quickly say, pressing your palm over his heart to feel it thump steadily under your hand. “i mean, it stung at first, yeah, but then it was… i don’t even have words, james. it was you inside me. that’s all i could think. not pain. just you.”

his eyes go soft, that blue you’ve known since you were six and he shared his popsicle with you on the stoop even though it was cherry and he loved cherry.

he leans down and kisses presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. “kept thinkin’ i was gonna wake up,” he admits quiet. “like this was one of those dreams i have where we’re older and married and i wake up reachin’ for you and you ain’t there yet.”

your throat gets tight. you hate those dreams for him. hate that he’s had them since he was sixteen and his pa started talking about the war like it was coming whether they wanted it or not.

“i’m here now,” you whisper. “not goin’ anywhere.”

he nods against your hair, but you feel the worry still clinging to him. bucky’s always carried tomorrow on his back. you figure tonight just added a few more. what if you get pregnant? what if he ships out? what if this was the only time you get?

you push the thoughts awaybecause they’re yours too and you don’t want them ruining this.

instead you think about how safe you felt even when it hurt a little, how his arms shook but he held himself so carefully over you. you think about the way he looked at you when he came inside. like you gave him something huge and sacred and he knows it.

“you’re thinkin’ loud,” he murmurs, lips against your temple.

“am not.”

“are too. i can hear the gears turnin’.” he pulls back enough to see your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “tell me.”

you hesitate, then let it out in a rush. “i keep thinkin’ about how much i love you it hurts sometimes. like right now my chest feels too small for it. and i’m scared that’s gonna make me cry and then you’ll think you did somethin’ wrong.”

his face does this thing. it goes soft and fierce at once. “cry if you want,” his voice goes rough. “i love you so much it hurts me too. been hurtin’ since we were kids and i didn’t know what to do with it except walk you home every day and carry your books.”

you feel the tears prick and blink fast to wish them away, but one slips out anyway. he catches it with his thumb, kisses the wet trail.

“happy tears?” he asks, like he's uncertain.

“the happiest,” you mean it when you say.

he settles back down, tucking you closer, and you listen to his heartbeat.

your own thoughts drift softer now. how his shoulders felt under your hands, the little sounds he made when he was close, the way he kept checking your face like your pleasure mattered more than his. you think about how clumsy you both were and how perfect it still felt.

you think maybe love isn’t just the big moments like this. maybe it’s the quiet after, when he’s tracing your spine and you’re counting his freckles and neither of you needs to say anything because you already know.

“jamie?” you whisper after a while.

“hm?”

“when we get married someday… can our bed be bigger than this one? my hip’s kinda hangin’ off the edge.”

he laughs, this big rumbling sound that shakes you both, and rolls so you’re on top of him instead. his hands settle on your back.

“deal,” he says. “biggest bed in brooklyn. and no creaky springs.”

“and no mrs. gallagher’s dog barking,” he adds.

you smile into his neck, listening to him make plans like tomorrow’s promised, and for tonight you let yourself believe it is.

after all, you will always have the perfect night with the love of your life. and nothing's more perfect than all your firsts belonging to him.

my masterlist!

extras. i just googled ‘attractive actor of the 1940s’ and got clark gable’s name, so i have no idea who he is 😭 also, in my head, the war never comes and these two babies live forever. 40s bucky is such a sweetheart, i love writing him sm 🥹

taglist. @devililithh @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker @honeysucklewatr @demiebarnes @kqtholins @amoremarveloustime @colettebarnes @barnes-babydoll @miraclediviner @of-sanguine-eyes @solivagant-reverie @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @manly-man-whore @indigo123789 @wasa-bby @biggestfangirl @ornateglass @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysbunnny @highhopes1008 @castielscaplan @grumpysunnybarnes @luvyoupxmimi @slutdier @yes-ilovetowrite @cautiouscas17 @astridphantom @delusionalwomsn @cinnamon-girl-writes @wherewinterblooms @stifflyspeedyquirk @sassandscribbles @marvelouslyme96 @stesha02 @floatingvalhallasea @goobers-mcgee @t1redphoenix @vickynguyennn @bluellamacheesecake-blog @serenityrjd @pitabread79 @galaxygoddess30 @biggestfangirl @chenoadouble-o7 @phoenix-in-writing @ceoofdisappointment @wsoldiersgf + to get added to the taglist!

But there is one problem—he had absolutely no idea how to go about learning it. He couldn’t exactly ask his parents for a demonstration, and the thought of seeking advice from anyone else in the clan made him want to crawl into a hollow log and die. That left him with only one logical option, the one person who knew his secrets better than she knew her own breathing. 

You.

You and Neteyam had been attached at the hip since you were barely tall enough to reach a direhorse’s knee, your bond so unbreakable that the clan members joked you were two halves of the same soul. It was a rare sight to see one of you without the other lingering close by. So, when his father finally released him from the endless grind of his daily duties, granting him a fleeting moment of freedom to ride the winds with you—he finally decided to ask you the question that had been bothering him.

The adrenaline was still buzzing under your skin, electric and loud, as you landed your ikran on one of the rocks of Ayram alusìng. You practically vaulted off the saddle, ripping your ionar away from your face and gasping in the cool air, breathless with exhilaration.

"Did you see that?" you crowed, bouncing on the balls of your feet as Neteyam dismounted beside you. "That spin? I swear I almost cleared the entire canopy! You have to admit, that was flawless."

Neteyam didn't immediately retort with his usual sarcastic quip about your ego. He was busy stroking the snout of his ikran, murmuring a quiet thanks to the animal, but his movements were stiff, mechanical.

You nudged him hard in the shoulder with your own. "Hey, don't feel bad just because I left you in the dust. If you practice more, maybe one day you'll be faster than me."

He laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Yeah. Maybe."

You paused, your grin faltering as you watched him. He refused to meet your eyes, his jaw set in that way it always did when he was overthinking something to death. "Okay, what's wrong? You're never this quiet after a flight. Did I actually embarrass you that badly?"

Neteyam looked at you then, his expression so serious that a startled laugh burst out of your throat. You expected him to crack a smile, to tell you to shut up, but he didn't. He just looked strained, his ears flicking back nervously.

The smile slid off your face. "Neteyam? You're scaring me. Just say whatever it is."

"Let's sit down," he murmured, jerking his chin toward a flat patch of moss near the edge of the cliff.

"Okay..." You trailed off, following him slowly. You plopped down cross-legged, grabbing a massive, broad leaf from the ground. You started ripping the edges of it idly, needing something to do with your hands as the silence stretched thick between you. You waited, watching him from your peripheral vision, expecting a lecture about safety or perhaps a confession about some mistake he'd made during training. But Neteyam just sat there, staring out at the floating mountains, his tail curling and uncurling anxiously against the rock.

"So?" you prompted, tearing a particularly satisfying strip of green from the leaf. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess? Because I'm guessing you broke one of Tuk’s toys again."

He shook his head slowly, finally turning to look at you. "No. It's not that."

"Then what?" you tossed the shredded leaf pieces aside. "Spit it out, skxawng. You know you can tell me anything."

He let out a long, shaky breath, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you want to squirm. "I need to ask you a favor. A big one."

"If this will cause me to get exiled or something…" you joked, though your voice was quieter now.

"No," he said, then paused. "I don't think so."

"Well, that's reassuring. Go on."

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck, his stripes flushing darker. "I need to… I need to learn something. And I can't ask anyone else. I trust you more than anyone."

Your heart gave a weird little flip, but you ignored it. "Obviously. I'm your best friend. What do you need to learn? A new flying technique? Because I can definitely teach you that."

"No," he said quickly, shaking his head so hard his braids whipped against his face. "Not flying. It's... look, I need to get better at... certain things. Romantically."

“Uh-huh…”

“And I was thinking maybe you could help me by telling me who I could go to. To practice with…?”

You blinked, tossing a piece of shredded leaf over the edge of the cliff. "To practice—? Neteyam, you want me to set you up?"

He huffed, looking frustrated with himself. "I just need to be prepared, okay? For the future. And I can't ask just anyone. I need someone who knows what they're doing, but who won't go blabbing to the entire clan five seconds later."

It took a second for the request to register, and when it did, you felt a strange swoop in your stomach. You and Neteyam shared every secret, and knew every embarrassing detail of each other's lives. But for some reason, this felt... different. You had always assumed that when it came to this kind of stuff—mating, courting, kissing—he would go to Lo'ak or one of his male friends. It was weird that he was asking you, a girl, for people who could teach him how to kiss.

Still, you were his best friend first and his confidant second. You pushed that weird, pinching sensation in your chest aside and decided to just be helpful.

"Okay," you said slowly, shifting your weight on the moss. "If you want someone who knows what they're doing... you probably want someone with experience."

Neteyam lifted his head immediately, eyes wide. "Exactly. Who?"

“Well,” you started, counting on your fingers. “There’s Tala. She's sweet, patient. I heard she lets her partners lead completely. If you want to feel in charge and practice your... authority... she's the one.”

He hummed, considering it. "She is nice."

"Or," you dragged out the word, grinning mischievously, "there's Naya. She doesn't hide it either. If you want to learn technique, she’s probably the best teacher. She won't let you get away with being clumsy."

Neteyam was listening intently, his brow furrowed as if he were analyzing a battle strategy, but inside, he was screaming. He had almost done it. He had almost asked you.

It would have been so easy. You were right there, tearing up that leaf, looking at him with that open, trusting expression. He knew you, trusted you, and honestly, the thought of touching anyone else made his skin feel weirdly tight. But he stopped himself. This wasn't just about him; it was about his duty. He couldn't risk complicating the most important friendship in his life just because he was nervous about his first kiss. If he messed it up, if he made things awkward between you, he would lose his anchor. And Neteyam couldn't be the Olo'eyktan without you by his side. He had to keep this line drawn

"Naya," he repeated, testing the name, trying to convince himself she was a good option. "She seems... efficient."

"Efficient?" You laughed, shaking your head at him. "It's kissing, Neteyam, not a hunt. But sure, efficient. Those are your best bets if you want to survive this 'practice' of yours without embarrassing yourself."

He didn’t go to Naya. He didn’t go to Tala, or anyone else you had listed out for him with that teasing grin of yours.

Neteyam went straight back to the pod, his jaw set tight enough to crack a tooth, and spent the evening staring at the woven ceiling of his room. He didn't breathe a word of this to you, of course. 

The next day, however, his composure was nowhere to be found.

You saw it in the training grounds. Usually, he was a picture of lethal grace, his movements fluid and calculated as he sparred with the other young warriors. But today, he was distracted. His reflexes were a hair too slow; his gaze kept drifting toward the tree line when he should have been watching his opponent's weapon. He took a hit to the ribs that he should have easily blocked, and the sight of him stumbling back, wide-eyed and breathless, was so unlike him that it actually made you stop dead in your tracks.

You didn't ask him about it immediately, though. You assumed he was just spiraling. He was Neteyam, after all—the boy who treated a minor scratch like a fatal tactical error. He was probably overthinking the kissing thing, already running five different simulations in his head about how to approach a girl without humiliating himself. You figured he was just strategizing, his "big brain" working overtime to devise the perfect kissing protocol.

It was strange to see him so shaken, especially since you knew for a fact that half the clan was desperate for his attention. Since his shoulders had broadened, he had become the object of nearly every young woman’s fantasy. You had heard the giggles behind the woven screens, the hushed prayers to Eywa asking that the Olo’eyktan’s son look their way. He didn't need to worry. If he walked up to almost anyone and asked to kiss them, they would probably faint from sheer joy.

Watching him pace restlessly near the riverbank, a small, unworthy thought wormed its way into your own mind. Should you also be worrying about this?

It was an embarrassing admission, one you barely wanted to make to yourself in the quiet of your own head. You were the same age as him, you were supposed to be looking for a mate, or at least enjoying the courting dances. But you hadn't done anything. You had never been kissed, never been courted, never felt that rush of heat everyone talked about. For the longest time, you had told yourself it didn't matter because Neteyam was in the same boat. You were two static points in a rushing river, content to just exist together while the rest of the world mated and paired off.

But now, he was trying to leave the river. He was trying to swim.

And if he succeeded, where did that leave you?

You pushed the thought away, annoyed at your own self-pity. You were happy the way things were. You liked being his shadow, his partner in crime. Or at least, you thought you were.

That evening, you met him at the spot.

It was a hidden platform nestled high in the boughs of a massive, ancient tree, a wooden nest the two of you had built from scrap wood and braided vines when you were only tall enough to reach the first branch. It was your sanctuary. The only place in the village where the eyes of the clan couldn't reach you.

Neteyam was already there, sitting on the edge with his back to you, his legs dangling over the open air. The wind whipped his braids around his shoulders, but he didn't move.

"Hey," you said softly, climbing onto the platform and taking your usual seat beside him.

He didn't startle. He just glanced at you, his expression guarded. "Hey."

You pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging them, watching the sunset burn across the horizon in shades of violent purple and orange. For a while, the silence was comfortable, but underneath it, you could feel the hum of unspoken things.

"So?" you finally asked, keeping your voice light, casual. "How did it go? Did you survive?"

Neteyam stiffened slightly. He turned his face away, looking out at the forest canopy instead of you. "It... it was fine."

"Fine?" You raised an eyebrow, nudging his shoulder with yours. "That's it? I gave you the best candidates in the clan, and all you have to say is 'fine'? Did you go to Naya? She's efficient, right? Did she teach you the secrets of the universe?"

He let out a short, tense laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that."

"Liar."

The word slipped out before you could stop it, but you covered it quickly with a teasing grin. "Come on, Neteyam. Give me details. I'm your best friend. I need to know if my advice was crystal or garbage."

He hesitated. His fingers gripped the edge of the platform so hard his knuckles turned white. When he spoke, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "It was good. She was... patient. I learned a lot. I think I have a better idea of what to do now."

You listened, nodding slowly, forcing your smile to stay in place even as a sharp, pinching sensation started to bloom in your chest. It felt weirdly like heartburn, or maybe like you had swallowed a jagged stone. You told yourself it was just annoyance at his vagueness, or perhaps the wind was a little too cold tonight.

"That's good," you said, and the words sounded hollow to your own ears. "I'm glad you got it sorted out. Now you can stop walking around like you're about to face a Thanator."

"Yeah," he whispered, still refusing to look at you. "Now I can stop."

The following days fell into a rhythm that was maddeningly normal on the surface, yet fundamentally wrong underneath. You flew the formations, you trained until your muscles burned, you ate together. But the air between you felt thicker. Neteyam was still there, still your shadow in every sense of the word, but the easy, fluid lightness that defined your friendship had evaporated.

The silence wasn't peaceful anymore; it was heavy, filled with things he wasn't saying. The teasing quips that usually flew between you like arrows had vanished. He didn't make fun of your landing form when you nearly tripped over your own tail. He didn't brag when he managed to take down a target farther than you. He was just... polite.

Polite Neteyam was infinitely worse than angry Neteyam. Angry Neteyam you could handle. You could yell back, you could poke the beast until he snapped and growled. But this quiet, distant stranger who nodded at your stories and answered your questions with single syllables was driving you insane.

At first, you tried to rationalize it. You told yourself it was just the aftershock of his confession, the lingering insecurity of a boy who had obsessed over a skill he hadn't mastered yet. You figured he was just analyzing his performance to death, turning the memory of that supposed kiss over and over in his mind until it was nothing but dust. You tried to give him space, letting your own chatter fill the silence until it felt like you were talking to a wall, your voice bouncing back at you, hollow and lonely.

But as the days dragged on, your patience frayed like an old rope. You missed him. You missed the version of him who would shove you into the dirt and laugh until his ribs hurt, the version of him who would look at you like you were the only person in the clan who mattered. This stiff, formal boy with his guarded eyes and his carefully constructed distance was starting to feel like a betrayal.

You decided to confront him during sparring. It was the perfect environment—you were already sweating, already aggressive, the physical exertion making it harder for him to hide behind his mask of composure. The end of the round always left the two of you facing each other, heaving for breath, skin flushed and slick with heat.

You came at him hard that day, your hits aiming for his ribs with a little more force than necessary. He blocked you with ease, his movements efficient and flawless, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance.

"You're fighting like an old man," you taunted, twisting your wrist to knock his blade aside, the wood clacking loudly in the clearing. "What's the matter? Did your little practice session with Naya tire you out that much?"

Neteyam’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath the blue stripe of his skin. He parried your strike, pushing you back a step, but he didn't retort. "Focus. Don't get sloppy."

"I'm not sloppy," you shot back, feinting left before lunging right, forcing him to retreat. "I'm curious. You've been moping around for days. Did the 'practice' not go as planned? Did she realize you have no game?"

"Enough," he bit out, dodging a sweep of your leg with a fluidity that was annoying. "Concentrate on the match."

"No," you huffed, circling him, watching for an opening. "I don't want to concentrate. I want to know why my best friend is acting like I kicked his direhorse."

You engaged him in a flurry of blows, the sound of wood striking wood echoing through the clearing, a rhythm that usually settled your mind but now only fueled your irritation. "Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Because you've been weird since that night on our spot."

Neteyam didn't answer. He just grunted, deflecting a heavy hit that would have bruised your shoulder if he hadn't caught it with a dull thud.

"Or what," you pressed, your voice rising with frustration as you realized he was just blocking, refusing to engage with you verbally. "Did you and Naya have a lover's quarrel? Are you courting her now? Is that why you can't tell me anything?"

The thought tasted like bile in your mouth. You didn't know why the idea of him courting someone made your stomach churn, why the image of him whispering sweet nothings to Naya made your grip on your wooden weapon tighten until your knuckles turned white.

"I swear, Neteyam," you snapped, swinging low. "If you're already hiding your child from me—"

You didn't see the opening until it was too late. You were too busy talking, too distracted by your own annoyance to notice the way his weight shifted, the way he stopped blocking and started hunting.

You lunged, expecting him to deflect. Instead, he stepped inside your guard, hooked his leg behind yours, and used your own momentum against you.

The world spun. Your back hit the hard-packed ground with a bone-rattling thud, knocking the wind out of you in a painful rush. Before you could even gasp, Neteyam was on you. He pinned your wrists to the ground above your head, his knees pressing into your thighs to keep you still.

It was a standard pin. You’d been in this position a hundred times, wrestling in the mud since you were tadpoles.

"Yield," he demanded, his face hovering inches from yours, his breath coming in sharp bursts that fanned hot against your cheek.

You stared up at him, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his golden eyes. He looked angry, his ears pinned back flat against his skull, his pupils blown wide. But there was something else there too—something wild and frantic that made your heart stutter in your chest.

But you weren't about to lose that easily. Not when he was being this insolent.

"Not a chance," you wheezed, struggling against his hold, bucking your hips wildly.

Since you couldn't break his grip on your wrists, you decided to play dirty. It was a joke, a trick you hadn't pulled since you were kids, born of pure desperation to wipe that serious look off his face. You jerked your head up, aiming to headbutt him just enough to startle him so you could buck him off.

But Neteyam anticipated it. He jerked his head back to avoid the collision, shifting his weight to keep you pinned. The change in center of gravity threw him off balance just enough.

He stumbled, his grip on your wrists slipping. You didn't shove him away. Instead, you grabbed the side of the waistband of his loincloth and yanked, hard.

He lost his footing completely and toppled sideways with a grunt, rolling onto his back in the dirt. Before he could recover, you scrambled on top of him, laughing triumphantly as you straddled his waist, pinning his shoulders to the ground.

"Ha!" you crowed, breathless and grinning down at him, your hair falling over your face like a curtain. "Who's sloppy now?"

You expected him to laugh. You expected him to buck you off or make a snide comment about how he let you win to preserve your ego. You were waiting for the familiar spark of competition in his eyes, the warmth that always settled between you after a good fight.

Instead, he froze.

The laughter died in your throat as you looked down at him. Neteyam wasn't moving. He was staring up at you with an expression you couldn't read—his eyes wide, dark, and swimming with something that looked dangerously like panic. His chest was heaving under you, his breath hitching in his throat like he was choking on air.

For a second, time seemed to stretch, thin and taut. He looked terrified. Of you? Of this? You didn't know.

"Neteyam?" you asked, your smile faltering, your voice barely a whisper. "You okay?"

For a beat, he didn't blink. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering there for a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime, before snapping back up to your eyes. The raw need you saw there was so visceral it made your breath catch, a sharp, electric shock that ran down your spine.

Then, his face crumpled. Panic seized him, raw and ugly. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching hard enough to grind his teeth.

"Get off," he ground out, his voice strangled, like he was in physical pain.

"What?"

"Get off!" He shoved you, harder than he meant to, his hands rough against your shoulders, sending you tumbling backward into the dirt.

You sat up, dazed and confused, wiping the dust from your cheek, watching as he scrambled to his feet. He didn't offer you a hand. He didn't look at you. He just turned on his heel and walked away, his strides long and jagged, his tail lashing behind him like a whip.

You stared at his retreating back, your hands still tingling from the heat of his skin, completely lost. The silence he left behind was louder than any shout.

"Fine!" you shouted at the trees, irritation rising up to mask the weird, hollow hurt blooming in your chest. "Walk away, skxawng! See if I care!"

You didn't chase after him. You sat in the dirt for a long time, staring at the trees until the cool evening air prickled your skin, and then you picked yourself up and went home. You ignored him. Fully and completely.

The next few days were an exercise in cold war. You woke up, you trained, and you found reasons to be anywhere he wasn't. If he was on the flight line, you suddenly became very interested in helping the weavers gather fibers. If he was near the river, you took your meals with the young hunters who were usually too loud for your taste. You laughed at their jokes, you joined their conversations, and you pretended not to see the way Neteyam stood on the periphery of the camp, his eyes following you like a lost hawk, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

It was petty, maybe. Immature, definitely. But you were hurt, and you didn't have the energy to dissect why his rejection had stung so sharply when you were supposed to be just his friend.

Neteyam, for his part, was spiraling. He hadn't slept in two days. He was walking around in a haze of self-loathing that was potent enough to choke on. He felt like the biggest asshole to ever walk Pandora. Being cold to you was bad enough—he knew that, he hated himself for the way he’d shut you out—but the memory of you on the ground when he pushed you made him want to let himself get devoured by a thanator.

He kept seeing your face. The shock in your eyes when he shoved you. The way your laughter had died so abruptly, replaced by a confusion that cut deeper than any knife. You didn't deserve that. You had been with him since birth, literally. You were the one who held his hair back when he was sick and the one who patched his bruises when he fell. You believed in him when he was convinced he was a failure, carrying the weight of a title he hadn't even earned yet.

And you had helped him. You had helped him with the most humiliating, desperate secret he had, trying to teach him how to kiss even though it wasn't your job. You had tried to be a good friend, and what had he given you in return? A cold shoulder and a shove to the ground.

He wanted to give you the best. He wanted to be the friend you deserved, the steady presence you relied on. He wanted to scrub his brain clean of the way he had felt when you were straddling him, the way his heart had hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He didn't know when it happened. He didn't know how it started. He had chalked it up to familiarity for years—you were just there. You were part of him, like his arm or his tail. Being around you was as natural as breathing. But deep down, in the dark, quiet part of his mind where he kept his fears, he knew the truth was far more dangerous.

Normal friends didn't think about kissing their friends.

He was in trouble. He was in so much trouble.

But he couldn't keep going on like this. He couldn't keep watching you drift away toward other groups, other people, laughing without him. He needed to fix this. He needed to act better. He needed to push the feelings down, lock them away, and just be Neteyam again. Your Neteyam.

One evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and deep reds, he found himself climbing the vine ladder to the platform. It was a risk. You might not even be there. Or worse, you might tell him to get lost.

But luck, for once, seemed to be on his side.

When he hauled himself over the edge of the wooden platform, you were there. You were sitting with your back against the trunk of the tree, your knees pulled up to your chest, staring out at the forest with a distant look. You didn't look at him immediately, but your ears flicked back, betraying that you knew he was there.

Neteyam stood there for a moment, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He felt awkward, too large for his own skin.

"Hey," he managed to say, his voice rougher than he intended.

You didn't turn. You didn't tell him to leave, but you didn't invite him to sit either. "Hey."

The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. It wasn't the comfortable silence of your childhood.

Neteyam took a tentative step forward, his hands raised slightly, palms out, like he was approaching a spooked animal. "Can I... can I sit?"

You shrugged, a minimal movement of your shoulders. "It's a free world."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and sat down. Not in his usual spot right next to you, but a respectable distance away—close enough to talk, far enough away that he wouldn't accidentally touch you. He leaned back against the wood, mimicking your posture, staring out at the view.

"I didn't kiss Naya," he said abruptly.

You blinked, turning to look at him with a frown. You scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet evening air. "What?"

Neteyam flinched at the skepticism in your voice. He turned his head, his expression earnest and almost desperate. "I didn't. I never went to her. I didn't go to any of them."

You stared at him, your mind struggling to process the non-sequitur. This was what he wanted to talk about? After days of giving you the cold shoulder, after shoving you in the dirt and walking away without a word, he was leading with a correction about his love life?

"Okay?" you said, your voice dripping with annoyance. "Why are you telling me this? You can kiss whoever you want, Neteyam. You don't need permission from me."

"I know that," he said quickly, his ears flicking back nervously. "But I wanted you to know. I lied to you the other night. When I said it was fine. It wasn't fine because it didn't happen."

You rolled your eyes, turning away to stare back at the sunset. "Great. Good for you. You wasted a week of my life being moody because you lied about a girl. Can we move on now?"

"No, listen," he insisted, his voice rising slightly with a thread of panic. "I lied because I couldn't do it. I couldn't go to them."

"Why not?" you snapped, turning back to glare at him. "Too good for them? Only the best for the future Olo’eyktan? Why did you even take my advice anyway?"

"Because it wasn't them," he blurted out, the words rushing out of him like water breaking through a dam. "It was supposed to be you."

The air left your lungs in a rush. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open, your brain screeching to a halt. "What?"

Neteyam looked like he was about to be sick. His face was flushed a deep, dark indigo, and he wouldn't look you in the eye. "That day. At Ayram alusìng. When I asked you who I could practice with... I wasn't asking you to set me up."

You felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribs, a slow, heavy thud that echoed in your ears. "I... what do you mean?"

"I meant..." He swallowed hard, his throat clicking. "I wanted it to be you. I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you to teach me. But I got scared. I thought it would mess everything up. So I lied."

You stared at him, your mind reeling. You felt shocked, confused, and strangely, terrifyingly flustered. The idea of Neteyam—your best friend—wanting to practice with you seemed absurd, impossible. And yet, the way he was sitting there, vibrating with tension, made it feel terrifyingly real.

"Say it again," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He let out a long, shaky breath, his eyes squeezing shut. "I want you to teach me. I want to practice with you. Please."

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your brain was short-circuiting. You were just sitting there, frozen, while the implications of his request washed over you in waves.

Neteyam took your silence as rejection. His shoulders slumped, defeated. "It's okay," he murmured, starting to stand up. "I shouldn't have asked. It was stupid. I'll never ask—"

"Okay."

The word escaped you before you could think better of it, a sharp, breathless sound that stopped him in his tracks. He froze, looking back at you with wide eyes.

You swallowed hard, your face burning. "Yes. Okay. I'll... I'll help you."

Neteyam sat back down, slowly, like he was afraid sudden movements might scare you off. He looked at you, really looked at you, and you saw the raw vulnerability in his gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you managed, your heart hammering so hard you felt light-headed. "But... I don't really know how either. I haven't... I mean, I haven't done this either."

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, relieved and anxious all at once. "Okay. That's... that's good. We can figure it out."

The silence that followed was different. It was heavy, but not with tension this time. It was heavy with anticipation. You could feel the heat radiating off him from where you sat. 

You moved closer, the rough wood of the platform scraping under your legs. You reached out, resting your hand tentatively on his knee. He jumped slightly at the contact, then leaned into your touch.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice despite the hammering of your own heart.

"Terrified," he admitted, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "I feel like I'm going to mess it up."

"You won't," you said. "Just... come here."

The proximity was dizzying. You could see the flecks of lighter gold in his eyes, the way his breath hitched slightly when you leaned in. He stared at your mouth, then up at your eyes, then down at your hands, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"So," he whispered, his voice cracking on the single syllable. "We just...?"

"I think so," you murmured, your heart hammering. "Just... lean in."

He leaned in, but the angle was wrong. He hesitated, his eyes wide and searching, and when he finally moved, his forehead collided with yours in a dull thud.

You both flinched, letting out startled hisses of pain.

"Ow," you laughed, rubbing your forehead. "Watch the target, Neteyam."

"Sorry," he breathed, letting out a nervous chuckle that sounded more like a wheeze. "I’m... I'm really clueless.”

"It's fine," you said, dropping your hand from your forehead to rest on his knee. "Just try again. Slower."

He took a deep breath, exhaling it shakily against your cheek. This time, when he leaned in, he didn't rush. He moved with agonizing slowness, giving you plenty of time to pull away. You didn't. You held your ground, your eyes fluttering shut as his face filled your vision.

When his lips finally touched yours, it was... underwhelming.

It was just a press of skin against skin. He didn't move, just held his mouth there, frozen, like he was waiting for something to happen. You felt the puff of his breath against your upper lip, heard the loud, rushing sound of his own breathing, but there was no spark.

He pulled back an inch, his nose brushing your cheek. "Like that?"

"Um," you opened your eyes, blinking rapidly. "I think... maybe you need to move them? A little?"

"Oh. Right. Movement."

He leaned in again. This time, his lips parted slightly, and he pressed them against yours firmly. He moved his head, a jerky, experimental tilt to the side, and the friction increased. It felt clumsy—too much teeth, too much pressure, like he was trying to eat rather than kiss.

You tried to follow his lead, but it was impossible to find a rhythm. You felt awkward, self-conscious, and strangely tall. Your nose kept bumping into his cheekbone, and your hands were hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure where to land.

Neteyam seemed to sense the discord. He let out a frustrated huff against your mouth and pulled back, his brow furrowed. "This feels wrong. I feel like I'm attacking you."

"You're not attacking me," you reassured him, though your lips felt a little raw. "We're just... figuring it out. Here, let me..."

You scooted closer, closing the gap between your legs. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands to steady him. His skin was hot, burning under your palms. "Stop thinking about technique. Just... relax."

"Okay," he whispered, his eyes on yours. "Relax. Okay."

You leaned in this time, guiding him. You slanted your lips over his, softer than before, and kissed him with intent. You felt his breath hitch, a sharp intake of air through his nose, and then, finally, he softened.

He stopped fighting the logic of it and just let it happen.

The shift was instantaneous.

Whatever awkwardness had held him back vanished the moment he committed. His lips, which had been stiff and unsure, suddenly moved with terrifying precision. He stopped the jerky, uncertain motions and instead copied the exact pressure you were using, then—maddeningly—doubled it.

He tilted his head, aligning your mouths perfectly to avoid the awkward nose-bumping, and deepened the kiss. It wasn't clumsy anymore; it was intentional. He was watching your reactions, cataloging every gasp and shiver, and using it against you.

"Oh," you breathed, barely breaking the contact, surprised by the sudden competence. "That's... that's better."

"Yeah?" he murmured against your mouth, his voice dropping an octave, sounding suddenly much more confident.

"Yeah. It’s good. Really—really good. Keep going."

He did.

His hands, which had been hovering awkwardly, suddenly found your waist with a surety that made your knees weak. He pulled you forward, eliminating the last inch of space, and kissed you like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

It became wet, fast. You didn't know who opened their mouth first, but suddenly the seal between your lips broke, and his tongue was sweeping into yours. It wasn't hesitant now. He explored your mouth with a slow, thorough intensity that made your head spin.

Neteyam groaned, a sound you felt vibrate through your chest, low and possessive. His hands abandoned your waist to slide up your back, pressing you closer until your chest was flush against his. You could feel his heartbeat, thudding rapidly against your own—or maybe that was yours.

He was a terrifyingly fast learner. Within seconds, he went from an unsure novice to the most overwhelming experience of your life. He nipped gently at your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and when you gasped, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, angling his head to change the sensation.

"Neteyam," you gasped, pulling back for a split second to breathe, your eyes fluttering open to find him already looking at you.

His eyes were dark, blown wide with arousal, but his gaze was sharp, focused. 

"Too much?" he asked, his voice rough and breathless.

"No," you whined, embarrassed by how needy you sounded. "Just... don't stop."

He smirked—a real, cocky smirk that was so purely Neteyam it made your stomach flip. "As you wish."

He leaned back in, capturing your lips again, and this time, his hands were bolder. They slid down to your hips, gripping you firmly, and before you could process the movement, he tugged you.

You gasped as you lost your balance, your legs swinging over his hips until you were straddling his lap. The new position changed everything. You settled onto him, and the friction was immediate and overwhelming.

Neteyam froze for a split second, a strangled sound catching in his throat as he realized exactly where you were sitting. But then his instincts took over. 

His hands gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him, and he rolled his hips up into yours. The movement was devastatingly controlled.

You cried out into his mouth, your head falling back as pleasure shot through you. He was hard—you could feel the distinct outline of him pressing against you through the loincloth—but he didn't grind frantically like you might have expected. He moved with a slow rhythm, dragging you against him to maximize the friction.

The kiss became sloppy, open-mouthed and breathless. You were panting into each other's mouths, saliva mixing, the wet, slick sounds of your lips echoing obscenely in the quiet night air.

"Feels good," he slurred against your jaw, his mouth trailing hot, wet kisses down the line of your throat, sucking on the sensitive skin where your pulse raced. "So good... you taste so good."

"Yeah—fuck, how are you so good?" you whined, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your hips rolling of their own accord, meeting his thrusts. "Don't stop."

You were grinding against him with abandon now, chasing a feeling you didn't quite understand but desperately needed. He was guiding your movements, his large hands spanning your waist, setting a pace that was driving you both out of your minds. You felt his tail wrap around your thigh, squeezing tight, anchoring you to him.

It was lewd. It was intense. And Neteyam, the boy who had been trembling with nerves five minutes ago, was now kissing you like he had invented the act.

You felt the tension in your belly coil tighter and tighter, a winding spring of pleasure that was becoming too much to handle. You were getting lost in it, lost in the heat of his mouth and the strength of his hands.

And then—reality crashed in.

Maybe it was the drag of his fangs against your skin a little too hard, or the realization of exactly what you were dry-humping on a platform fifty feet in the air, but suddenly the haze cleared. You felt the blatant, rock-hard outline of him beneath you, and felt your own desperate movements, lewd and unmistakable.

You froze.

Neteyam froze a second later, his breath hitching in his throat. He seemed to realize the position you were in—you on his lap, his hands gripping your ass, your bodies locked together in a rhythm that had nothing to do with kissing and everything to do with mating.

Slowly, agonizingly, you pulled back.

The air between you was frigid compared to the heat of a moment ago. Your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and you could see the dark flush of arousal staining Neteyam's neck and chest. He looked wrecked.

You scrambled off his lap, your movements clumsy and ungraceful. You practically threw yourself backward, putting as much distance between you as possible. You ended up near the edge of the platform, crossing your legs tightly, your face burning so hot you thought you might spontaneously combust.

Neteyam didn't move. He stayed where he was, his hands resting on his thighs, staring at the wood where you had just been sitting. He looked stunned.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to hide your trembling, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole. You had just dry-humped your best friend. What was wrong with you?

Finally, Neteyam let out a shaky breath. He ran a hand over his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. He didn't look at you.

"That was..." he started, his voice rough and hoarse. "That was nice."

You stared at him, your eyes wide. "Nice?"

He glanced at you then, a sheepish, crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Nice. Really... really nice."

You let out a nervous laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. "Yeah. It was... okay. I mean, for a first try."

He leaned back against the tree, looking up at the stars, though you could see his ears were still pinned back with embarrassment. "I think we're going to need a lot more practice."

"Maybe," you said, your heart still racing, your body thrumming with leftover energy. "If you can handle it."

"Oh, I can.”

you pulled away with a grin, a string of saliva connecting your lips, your boyfriend panting, his pupils nearly overtaking his beautiful, blue eyes.

"alright, head on in." you smiled. rafe cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. "i... i can't." he mumbled, "what? what do you- oh."

your sentence was interrupted when you looked down at rafe's lap, noticing the very visible bulge in his khakis. you let out a snort of a laughter, making the boy exclaim, "hey!" "i'm sorry." you chuckled again, this time in a softer tone, "that's- that's normal. i'm sure a lot of guys get hard from... their girlfriend kissing them." you snorted once again.

"that's mean!" rafe whined, but you simply shook your head, biting down on your lower lip, "then let me help you with your problem."

rafe watched as you unbuckled his belt and undid his pant buttons and zipper, his bulge visible through the blue-and-white square patterned boxer shorts he wore. you brought your hand to the outline of his cock, rafe taking in a deep breath as you stroked his length through the fabric.

"have you been good lately?" you purred, stroking his cock through his boxer shorts, "are you gonna get me everything i need? "a-always..." he breathed out, making you chuckle. you tugged down the band of his boxer shorts, his cock standing at attention. you brought your hand to your mouth and spit onto the palm of your hand, before bringing it down to the base of rafe's cock.

you stroked his cock, making rafe let out a gasp as the angry-red tip of his dick released some precum. "someone's excited..." you purred, slowly bringing your mouth closer to where he craved you.

when your lips finally met his cock, your hand was at the base of it and your lips pressed a gentle peck on the head of it, making him shiver. you then brought your mouth to the base of his cock, licking a stripe up a vein on his cock, rafe letting out a shameless moan.

your head bobbed up and down on his cock, rafe gently holding your hair back as he whispered compliments to you, all the while his cock kept hitting the back of your throat. you pulled away from his cock breathlessly, spit still connecting your mouth to the head of his cock, "tug my hair harder..." you mumbled breathlessly, bringing your mouth back onto his cock.

rafe unsurely did as you told him to, and you sunk your mouth down on him, the moan you let out muffled by his length. finally he was putting some force into it.

your head bopped up and down his cock, your panties getting wetter the harder rafe tugged your hair until he whimpered, "i'm... i'm close..."

his words made you pick up your pace, holding onto the base of his cock harder, hollowing your cheeks out more, all until rafe's hips started thrusting up harder, the man breathing roughly. "yes, yes, yeeeee-"

you felt warm spurts of cum in your mouth, taking in everything he gave you before you pulled your head away from his cock and looked at rafe, sticking your cum-coated tongue out. rafe watched in a complete daze as you closed your mouth and swallowed.

"now." you smiled, tugging the waistband of rafe's boxer shorts up to cover his softening cock, "remember. pads, chocolate-raspberry ice cream, and moisturizer by beauty of joseon." you smiled, stroking a strand of loose sandy hair behind rafe's ear, "or you're never getting this again."

and rafe made sure to remember.

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