He moves towards the door, giving Bucky ample opportunity to get ahead of him and flee or to sit back down. Instead Bucky's slightly lopsided tread follows him out.
"I live pretty close. Do you mind walking?"
Shift of fabric as Bucky shrugs.
"Oh. Sorry. Yeah we can walk."
Matt smiles and turns homeward. The cane and the pretense of having it are hardly necessary, but it's a long-ingrained habit. The tapping fills the silence and bounces off the edifices of former warehouses. He gives it a minute or two.
"Race you to the corner," he jokes.
He can hear Bucky smile along with the huff of laughter. He takes in a breath as if to speak, but he says nothing, just keeps walking alongside Matt down streets he knows like he knows his own face. His gaze is palpable, not staring but curious. Suddenly all of Matt's carefully-practised signals feel pointless.
"Don't you ever worry, walking home by yourself at night?"
Matt smiles.
"I can handle myself."
"I bet."
That's what, twelve words he's now gotten out of Bucky's mouth? He resists the urge to turn and press his own mouth to it. Patience. He catches his lip between his teeth and measures his pace. Slow and steady, giving Bucky time to bail or to talk, whichever he wants to do.
Bucky says nothing else on the walk home. When they stop at the door to Matt's building, he takes another quick breath, but he lets it out again without speaking. Matt pauses with his keys in his hand. The street is empty, echoing with ambient noise. He turns and reaches out. Tension radiates from Bucky, but it melts away as Matt's hand rests on his shoulder. His skin warms, and his heartbeat trips a little faster and harder.
Matt runs his thumb across Bucky's cheekbone, traces his stubbled jaw and makes note of the hair brushing his fingertips. His chin is strong, lips a little rough. Bucky's breath catches, but he accepts the touch-- leans into it, even. How long has it been since someone's touched him?
Fumbling a little, Matt opens the door. He picks up his cane and folds it up as he walks down the steps into his apartment. Bucky is behind him, his steps a little slower, cautious.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water?"
Matt nods and goes about filling two glasses, Bucky watching him the whole time. He walks across the living room and hands him a glass, drinks from his own.
"Are you from around here?"
He hears Bucky swallow, the faint click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. For a second he thinks Bucky isn't going to answer.
"Brooklyn."
Matt nods.
"You?" Bucky adds, a few seconds later than most people.
He's been traumatised somehow, and Matt's heart breaks a little to realise it. He feels guilty now, trying to pick up someone who's in such a bad place. He should have realised.
"Hell's Kitchen, born and raised," he says quietly.
"What?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Your face. Did I say something wrong?"
Matt shakes his head.
"No. Just sometimes I'm not as perceptive as I like to think I am." He sets down his water glass. "I don't... we don't have to do anything you don't want to."
Just like that, Bucky is moving, clink of the glass on the table, and his scent reaches Matt a millisecond before his mouth does. He's strong, just as Matt suspected, even without the bionic arm. Solid beneath his scruffy clothes, his mouth mobile. They kiss for a moment that stretches out, time marked only by their heavy breathing and the wet slide of Bucky's tongue against his own, the rough whisper of stubble against stubble.
He lets Bucky ease his jacket off his shoulders (a twinge from a recent injury). He leans back to pull Bucky with him onto the sofa. His weight feels good, if heavier than expected. His thigh moves in between Matt's. When he rolls his hips, Matt gasps into his mouth.
Bucky's lips move to his jaw, his neck, lush and damp. Matt extends his neck, rocks underneath him, and digs his fingertips into the skin just beneath his waistband. Bucky rolls his hips again, hardening, and then lifts his head.
"I don't want to break your glasses."
Matt smiles. He reaches up to take them off and tosses them onto the table. It makes him feel naked, not just because he's so used to them, but because he can tell Bucky is looking at him. He lifts his chin, letting his lips part. His tongue flicks at them, and Bucky comes down again to capture it.
FILL - Haunted 3/?
"I live pretty close. Do you mind walking?"
Shift of fabric as Bucky shrugs.
"Oh. Sorry. Yeah we can walk."
Matt smiles and turns homeward. The cane and the pretense of having it are hardly necessary, but it's a long-ingrained habit. The tapping fills the silence and bounces off the edifices of former warehouses. He gives it a minute or two.
"Race you to the corner," he jokes.
He can hear Bucky smile along with the huff of laughter. He takes in a breath as if to speak, but he says nothing, just keeps walking alongside Matt down streets he knows like he knows his own face. His gaze is palpable, not staring but curious. Suddenly all of Matt's carefully-practised signals feel pointless.
"Don't you ever worry, walking home by yourself at night?"
Matt smiles.
"I can handle myself."
"I bet."
That's what, twelve words he's now gotten out of Bucky's mouth? He resists the urge to turn and press his own mouth to it. Patience. He catches his lip between his teeth and measures his pace. Slow and steady, giving Bucky time to bail or to talk, whichever he wants to do.
Bucky says nothing else on the walk home. When they stop at the door to Matt's building, he takes another quick breath, but he lets it out again without speaking. Matt pauses with his keys in his hand. The street is empty, echoing with ambient noise. He turns and reaches out. Tension radiates from Bucky, but it melts away as Matt's hand rests on his shoulder. His skin warms, and his heartbeat trips a little faster and harder.
Matt runs his thumb across Bucky's cheekbone, traces his stubbled jaw and makes note of the hair brushing his fingertips. His chin is strong, lips a little rough. Bucky's breath catches, but he accepts the touch-- leans into it, even. How long has it been since someone's touched him?
Fumbling a little, Matt opens the door. He picks up his cane and folds it up as he walks down the steps into his apartment. Bucky is behind him, his steps a little slower, cautious.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water?"
Matt nods and goes about filling two glasses, Bucky watching him the whole time. He walks across the living room and hands him a glass, drinks from his own.
"Are you from around here?"
He hears Bucky swallow, the faint click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. For a second he thinks Bucky isn't going to answer.
"Brooklyn."
Matt nods.
"You?" Bucky adds, a few seconds later than most people.
He's been traumatised somehow, and Matt's heart breaks a little to realise it. He feels guilty now, trying to pick up someone who's in such a bad place. He should have realised.
"Hell's Kitchen, born and raised," he says quietly.
"What?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Your face. Did I say something wrong?"
Matt shakes his head.
"No. Just sometimes I'm not as perceptive as I like to think I am." He sets down his water glass. "I don't... we don't have to do anything you don't want to."
Just like that, Bucky is moving, clink of the glass on the table, and his scent reaches Matt a millisecond before his mouth does. He's strong, just as Matt suspected, even without the bionic arm. Solid beneath his scruffy clothes, his mouth mobile. They kiss for a moment that stretches out, time marked only by their heavy breathing and the wet slide of Bucky's tongue against his own, the rough whisper of stubble against stubble.
He lets Bucky ease his jacket off his shoulders (a twinge from a recent injury). He leans back to pull Bucky with him onto the sofa. His weight feels good, if heavier than expected. His thigh moves in between Matt's. When he rolls his hips, Matt gasps into his mouth.
Bucky's lips move to his jaw, his neck, lush and damp. Matt extends his neck, rocks underneath him, and digs his fingertips into the skin just beneath his waistband. Bucky rolls his hips again, hardening, and then lifts his head.
"I don't want to break your glasses."
Matt smiles. He reaches up to take them off and tosses them onto the table. It makes him feel naked, not just because he's so used to them, but because he can tell Bucky is looking at him. He lifts his chin, letting his lips part. His tongue flicks at them, and Bucky comes down again to capture it.