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kenzieam · 5 years

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Druid - Chapter Six

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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“Levi.” He stumbles over my name, sounding blown away, almost like he’d just been kicked in the guts.

“Hi, James.” I reply and he winces; from hearing my voice or my use of his given name?

Steve clears his throat and steps to the side, pulling Nat against him. He eyes his best friend carefully before turning his gaze back to me; something flashes in his eyes, something knowing and he smiles ever so slightly.

“Why don’t you two catch up?” He asks, glancing down at Nat, brow raised. “We’ll take you out another night as thanks, right, babe?” At her nod he resumes his piercing stare, directed partially at me, partially at the leather and denim-clad man shifting uneasily beside his monster bike.

Neither James nor I seem to possess the ability to answer, so Steve continues; I both curse and love his gentle insistence, giving us the push we seem to need.

“Yeah, go have dinner.” He turns to James. “Nat and I are buying Lev’s house, we were just taking her out to celebrate.”

James shifts his weight, leather boots squeaking quietly, a massive hand rasps against the stubble on his jaw. “Brother, I can’t intrude-”

Now Nat’s in on it too. “No, it’s fine.” She looks my way. “Tomorrow night, okay, Levi?” There’s a quiet plea in her eyes. She’s worried about James and I too, and in the same gentle-hearted way as her husband, she’s trying to help us.

I’d be a major fucking bitch if I said no to this, it’s just eating and talking, can I not get through that?

Well, my original plan was to see if the fates pushed James and I together, and the fates have definitely done that.

“Okay.” I murmur, forcing a smile, even though inside I’m shaking with nerves. What if I’ve come to this realization, that I love James and want to start a family with him, and he uses this dinner as his opportunity to tell me to fuck off? I ran away like a brat a year ago and refused to even speak to him, I’d definitely deserve it.

Relief and something else far more vulnerable flash across his handsome face and, for the briefest second, I see the depths of the despair and anguish he’s been carrying and my heart clenches in a mix of shame and tenderness. I never want to see that again in his hypnotic eyes, never want to feel the abject misery he wears like a coat ever again.

Only good times, only happiness.

“Great!” Steve chirps. In a few short strides he’s at James’ side, slapping him hard on the back then turning back to me.

I take a hesitant step forward, swallow past my dry throat. “Any place in particular?” I ask James.

Steve, his hand clasping James’ shoulder, glances at his friend, waiting for his answer.

“How about the Station?”

I nod, unable to stop a smile. “Yeah, that would be nice. Can I meet you there? I drove down.” I point vaguely towards my Subaru. We might be meeting for dinner and to talk, but I know I won’t be able to survive straddling this man’s bike and clinging to his wide, hot body.

He nods, and if he’s disappointed I’m not going to spider-monkey him, it doesn’t show. He jolts again as Steve slaps his shoulder a second time.

“Have a good time. Levi, we’ll call you tomorrow. Trent said the papers should be ready by noon.”

“Yeah.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Thank you, you guys.” I embrace Nat and get a bone-crushing bear hug from Steve, not missing his breath of a whisper in my ear.

‘Just talk to him Levi, please don’t break his heart.’

Shit, if the Captain only knew my thoughts.

They leave, pulling away in Steve’s massive jacked-up pickup; it’s similar to Thor’s monster truck, but is painted a deep maroon red, almost black cherry.

James clears his throat, reminding me why I’m still standing here. “You don’t have to-” he begins, sounding like a defeated little boy.

Hot shame rises in my throat. Christ, I did a number on him, I need to make this right, I need to let James know how I really feel about him.

“No, I want to.” I turn back to him, reach over tentatively to take his hand. He tenses, eyes darting to me and back down to our hands, before relaxing minutely. His fingers jolt in mine, as if hit by a current.

I felt it too.

“I’ll meet you there?” I glance down. “I’m not really dressed to ride.” It’s true, I’m wearing a boho printed maxi skirt and knotted black tank, a few inches of midriff showing, no matter how much I pull and tug at the shirt.

James swallows visibly. “Sure.” His voice has a noticeably rasp to it.

“Let’s go...?” I half ask, half declare. He’s standing here like installation art and I’d rather be sitting somewhere a bit more private than at public sidewalk when I tell him what is half-bursting from my chest.

He shakes himself loose visibly, and a nervous, embarrassed grin pulls at his adorable lips. “Sure.” He repeats.

He waits at the curb, sitting on his idling bike until I pull out, then falls in place behind me. He’s wearing a full-face black helmet, and it’s slightly disconcerting not being able to see his eyes, so I clear my throat and focus on the road ahead.

The Station is just that. Functioning as a railway station until the mid-fifties, it was converted into a restaurant/lounge not too long after. It’s the most popular restaurant in town, managing to project a friendly, hip vibe even though it hasn’t been renovated in my lifetime. It’s a safe option; not too formal, not too relaxed, especially if we sit on the lounge side.

I park at that end of the building and James pulls his bike beside me. I step out then turn and reach back inside to grab the light cardigan on the passenger seat. Too late, I realize this probably put my ass on display for James to look at and jerk back upright, whirling to catch James quickly looking away. I fumble nervously with it, cursing myself for the slip-up. He’s suddenly beside me, breath warm on my bare shoulder and I fight a shudder of rising desire. I glance silently towards him, see his cheeks are pink, eyes studiously lowered to where his hands help my arms through the sweater.

His touch is scorching and his hands rest for the briefest moment on top of my shoulders after he pulls the cardigan completely up. I’m just about to lean back against him when he lets go and steps past. Stepping up onto the sidewalk, he pauses then turns back to me, holding out his hand with a hopeful look.

His smile when I reach out and accept his proffered hand is dazzling and it makes my heart skip a few beats. He pulls me closer than he probably would have if we were just friends, or if I hadn’t accepted his hand so easily just now. He holds the door open and waits until I walk through.

Although still tentative, he seems to be gaining confidence at my receptivity, leading me to a booth in the corner.

A waitress appears out of nowhere. “Drinks?”

James glances at me. I quickly debate then go for it. “Dirty Corona, please.”

He grins. “Two please.” After she leaves, he turns back to me. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Well, it is the Station’s specialty.” I tease. If it is, it’s only because our senior class first decided to drain the neck of a fresh Corona and refill it with spiced rum before adding the lime and then beat that horse to death, ordering it practically non-stop until the restaurant gave in and made it a regular menu item.

She’s back, dropping two sweating bottles and the shots of rum if front of us then pulling out her notepad. “Have you decided what to eat?”

I glance at James. “Do they still have fish tacos?”

He nods.

“I’ll have those and a side of calamari, please.”

James settles on a bacon cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and I lean forward covertly, motioning him closer. As he leans forward, I grin, feeling a little flirty.

“Are you sharing those fries?” I tease.

His brows lift, obviously not expecting me to be playful. He recovers quickly. “Only if you share the calamari.”

“Deal.” I reply, reaching for my beer. I drain the neck, then pour in the rum. James watches me intently as I squeeze some lime juice into the beer before stuffing the wedge down into the neck. His eyes flick to my throat as I swallow and I feel a bolt of heat.

“So... what have you been up to?” James asks quietly, doing the same to his own drink. There’s a hesitancy in his voice that I ache to relieve. The ease in which we’ve been interacting for the last few minutes has only emboldened me, confirmed my burgeoning hope that we can work, that there was something between us, and still is.

“Honestly? A lot of thinking, a shit-load of tattooing, trying to distract myself.”

Surprised longing darkens James’ gaze and he blinks a few times, concentrating hard on his thumbnail worrying at his beer’s label. He swallows hard but doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, James. I was wrong to run away like I did.” It’s easier to say the words than I thought it would be.

He physically jolts, obviously not daring to hope for such a confession. His eyes dart back up to mine before dropping back to the bottle. His exhale is unsteady. “I wish you’d stayed. We should have talked.”

“I know. I was scared.”

“Of me?” There’s a quiet despair in his voice.

“No.” I chew my bottom lip until it stings sharply. “Of what I felt, being with you.”

His eyes lock with mine and he blinks rapidly; burgeoning hope warring with painful wariness.

I let out a long breath, run my hands through my hair as I fight for the right words. “I had a crush on you in high school, maybe even more than a crush, but I told myself these last ten years it was nothing, that you never had the same feelings. And then, when I came back, and you started glaring at me like I stomped on your puppy, I figured it was because you hated me, or thought I was distracting Thor or something. I never thought it could be because you wanted me.” I pause, swallowing hard before I continue. “When you kissed me in the clubhouse kitchen, it woke something up in me; something I had no idea even existed. After that, Thor’s attention wasn’t what I wanted anymore, but it all happened so fast... I panicked.”

James swallows hard, bottom lip trembling slightly before he replies. “Loved you.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t just because I ‘wanted’ you, I loved you.”

Jesus. But he said ‘loved’, past tense. “Not anymore, though?”

He seems surprised, glancing back up at me with a frown of confusion.

“You said ‘loved me’, not anymore?”

A hint of his old cocky grin, a flash of relief in his eyes. “No.” He takes a deep breath and continues, his voice warm and rough. “Not loved. I love you. I always have.”

Sudden, hot tears spring to my eyes and I can’t stop a shuddering gasp. He can’t, after all the shit I’ve put him through, still feel that way.

He leans forward to speak, only to sit back sharply in surprise when the waitress appears, all but throwing our plates on the table with her near-demented efficiency.

“Enjoy!” She chirps and I wonder if she’s so focused on her job she honestly didn’t realize the emotional miasma she just walked into. She is genuinely oblivious, already turning on her heel to hit another table.

I sniff, managing to rein in my tears and reach for my fork, hesitantly spearing a piece of calamari. I need some time to process James’ words and he seems to realize this. He’s quiet as he assembles his burger, flicking careful glances at me. He looks relieved I haven’t just leapt to my feet and ran out.

“I-” I bite my bottom lip again. “I didn’t know, I didn’t-” I look up, trying to convey through my eyes what I’m having such a shit time forming into words. “You always looked so pissed off.”

“I know.” He replies quietly, food forgotten as he watches me. “I wasn’t exactly obvious. And I was mad, but because you were with Thor and not me, that I’d blown my chance again.”

I think back to his flirty, friendly demeanor as I teased him about piercings, before Thor appeared and wrapped me up in his whirlwind; he had been trying, had been interested; I just hadn’t recognized it. Shit.

He reads my thoughts. “It’s not your fault. I could have said something instead of just sulking, but Thor’s... Thor; he’s like a god or something, women just fall all over him.”

He honestly thinks he doesn’t compare to Thor? That he too isn’t some earthbound god?

“I did,” I admit. “He is charming, but there was always you in the background. I didn’t understand why you were always staring at me, but I never stopped to ask myself how I knew that, if I wasn’t watching for you too?”

A flicker of surprise in his blue eyes, and he’s silent for a heartbeat, contemplating my words. I myself hadn’t even wondered this until recently, how I always seemed to know where James was, what he was doing, even though I was usually firmly planted in Thor’s lap.

We’re quiet for a while, but it’s comfortable; I pretend to be sneaky, snatching a few of James’ fries, and he grins widely, reaching a massive paw over to grasp a goodly portion of my calamari, laughing out loud when I squeak and try to wrestle them back. He relents, but his hand stays in mine and, for a beat, that low-level static charge between us seems to quiet, fall into a contented hum. He’s the first to pull his hand free and return to his food, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

One beer turns into two and, before I know it, the thought that’s been running rampant through my head dodges my filters and tumbles out of my mouth. “I don’t want this to end.” I say as we share the Station’s famous dessert, ice cream and a sinful brownie so decadent and soft, it’s still half batter.

His eyebrows quirk. “What to end?” His voice is low but wary.

Oh well, I’m committed now. “Tonight, we’re done eating, but I don’t want it to end.” Too late, I realize I’ve been holding my spoon too long in my mouth, my tongue curling in the bowl, trying to lick the last of the brownie, giving James’ an unintentional show.

A warm grin lights up his face. “It doesn’t have to; did you want to come over? We could watch a movie.”

I mask my abject delight with a teasing lilt. “Big scary bikers have movie nights? They aren’t out rabble-rousing and partying all night?”

“Not this one; some of my younger brothers, yes; but not me, not anymore.” He grins again. “And what the hell is rabble-rousing? Some Texas thing?” He distracts me for a moment, licking his own spoon with swoon-worthy attention; damn, these brownies are epic.

I snort a giggle, rolling my eyes. “That would be great, James. I just need to book a hotel room and drop off my stuff-”

“You can stay with me.” At my surprised look, he continues. “Not like that, not if you don’t want to. I have a guest room, save you some cash.”

I ponder the wisdom of that. The cash part doesn’t bother me, but are we ready? Not if you don’t want to, echoes in my head. James isn’t pushing me, he isn’t expecting me to share his bed; he’s willing to go slow. I have to admit the thought of cuddling with him on the couch is definitely enticing.

“Okay, but-”

He holds up his hand, correctly interpreting my next words. “No pressure, just friends.”

“Friends.” I agree.

His house is surprisingly homey and comfortable. I expected a full-on bachelor pad, but he’s taken pains to surpass that. Sure, his bookcase is still 2 x 6’s and cinder blocks, and one corner of the living room seems dedicated to an indoor workshop, but if you didn’t know it was an MC President living here, you wouldn’t know by looking around.

A cat twines sinuously around my legs, purring like a chainsaw. I say cat in the loosest terms, it’s roughly the size of a pitbull, it’s tail crooked and one ear chewed. James leans down to stroke it’s head and the chainsaw roar increases.

“Is that a cat or a cougar?” I tease.

James glances back up at me, his grin lighting up the room. “Lilly found him as a kitten but their other cat kept beating him up, so she begged me to take him.”

Lilly? Oh yeah, Steve and Nat’s oldest. “Aww, Uncle Bucky.”

He smirks but I think he’s secretly pleased.

“What’s his name?” I’m expecting something like Harley, or Killer or something else appropriately biker for a cat that reminds me of a short-haired Crookshanks, so I only stare dumbly for a second when James responds.

“Pickles.”

“Pickles?”

He rolls his eyes. “She was four, you’re lucky it’s an actual word; her favorite doll was named Shnork for years.”

I find it incredibly heart-warming, not to mention ovary-exploding that he’s so attentive to his nieces, so willing to do anything for them, even take in their cat and keep its ridiculous name to keep them happy.

Apparently satisfied, Pickles sashays back out, taking his roaring purr with him.

Remembering why I’m here, James snatches the remote off his coffee table and holds it out to me, the TV chiming musically behind us as it turns on.

“I’ve got Netflix, you want to find a movie? I’ll be right back.” He disappears and I busy myself scrolling the menus. I have one queued up by the time he gets back. He’s lost his cut and boots and has pulled on a fresh shirt.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just had to make sure Pickles hasn’t torn apart your bed, little shit’s got some sort of sixth sense for making trouble.”

I snort, amused. “Can I use your bathroom?”

A few minutes later, we’re finally sitting on the couch. My bags are safely deposited in the guest room, Pickles has been pushed outside and James has brought out snacks. We’re sitting close, but not touching.

And, it turns out, not watching the movie.

“Tell me about yourself, Levi.” James asks suddenly, and I realize that, although the movie is barely past the opening credits, he’s been watching me instead of it the entire time.

“Not much to tell,” I evade.

“I doubt that, you ended up in the polar opposite career from your chosen field, you must at least have some interesting tattooing stories to tell.”

I do, it turns out; and James is a rapt audience. His throaty chuckles and outright laughing sends shivers up and down my spine. The movie is forgotten, we’re facing each other on the couch, me cross-legged; James facing forwards, his ankle resting on his knee, upper body turned to face me because honestly, he’s too big and muscular to fit sideways on his own couch.

The stories flow easily, and I’m surprised how comfortable I am talking with James, he’s a good listener and I sense this is more than just him on good behavior, he’s one of those genuine people who actually cares to listen to others, it’s a rare trait nowadays.

Before I know it, the movie is over. “Okay, your turn.”

His chuckles fade and he wipes his mouth. “Mine?”

“Yeah. You must have some interesting stories.”

His gaze becomes guarded. “There’s things I can’t tell you. About the club, and what we do.”

This thought has already occurred to me, many times over the past year. Even when I was with Thor I understood this; it’s called ‘club business’ and it functions on a strict need-to-know basis, and the women around the club never, never, need to know. It used to bother me but, along with my newfound feelings for James is a grudging acceptance of this. I’ve gotten to know the people in this club and have chosen to look past it.

“No, I know. I mean stuff you can. Funny stories; you and Steve growing up.”

He relaxes slightly at not having to explain ‘club business’ further and tips his head back, thinking.

I sit back and listen, letting his words and deep voice flow over me. I’m hard-pressed to think of any other time in my life when I’ve felt this relaxed and content. There’s a strong feeling of safety and security surrounding James and my body seems to instinctively seek this from him, subconsciously yearn for it. I scoot towards him, my heart melting at the wide, surprised smile that greets me in return. James tentatively lifts his arm from the back of the couch, an invitation to move even closer and I don’t stop to think, I just move.

His chest is wide and warm and I can’t help but snuggle closer. He shudders against me, his heavy arm carefully settling on my shoulders. His scent is intoxicating; musk and motor oil and leather, a hint of whiskey and danger and something inside me, something that’s been restless and edgy my whole life, slows and takes a deep breath, settles and curls up to sleep. I feel him drop his head, press his nose into my hair and inhale deep and long, exhale with a barely audible groan.

We’re getting awfully serious awfully fast and, while my body is clamoring for more, I force myself to speak, to redirect and slow us down. I tense when the first thing out of my mouth reaches my ears.

“What happened to your arm?”

Open mouth, insert foot.

If he’s offended, he’s good at hiding it. Instead, he takes a deep, reflective breath, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “An accident, five years ago.”

I wait for him to elaborate and his hand starts to trace gentle random patterns on my shoulder. It’s all I can do to not start purring like a cat.

“Her name was Daria. The only other girl I’ve ever wanted to put my patch on, besides you.” He continues. “I was trying to get past my feelings for you, start fresh. I, uh... the bike hit a patch of gravel and laid out. It all seemed to happen in slow motion... I tried to control it, keep us, or at least Daria away from this steel post we were flying towards.” He pauses for so long I wonder if he’s going to continue, then starts again, his voice no longer completely steady. “I missed. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and two weeks had passed. I’d hit the post hard enough to literally rip my arm off. Daria was killed instantly. I missed her funeral, closed casket.”

“Oh my god,” I murmur, tears trickling down my cheeks. I never would have asked if I’d had any idea-

“I would have given up, laid down and died if not for the club. They kept me going, kicked my ass when I whined too much. Steve got me into a therapist when shit got bad. I was lucky, and my shrink knew a guy who knew a guy working in experimental prosthetics. In exchange for letting them publish in some medical journal I received their most advanced prototype.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It aches sometimes,” he replies. “The scars itch.” There’s a hesitation in his voice, like others in the past have been repulsed by this. I appreciate his willingness to bare his soul like this.

“I think it’s beautiful.” I murmur, and mean it. I reach across his lap to pull his metal hand closer. He removed his glove earlier and, while he tenses when I first touch him, he lets me study it, trail my fingertips along the plates and up to his wrist. I play with his fingers, measure the span of his palm, marvel at the full inch his fingers reach past mine, at the latent strength in his grip.

I feel his lips press to my hair, then his cheek rest on the top of my head. He doesn’t speak again, and neither do I.

The most unbelievable serenity is flooding my body, spreading through my limbs.

This is what it feels like to finally come home.

I let the steady beat of James’ heart lull me to sleep.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky and lev #bucky barnes angst

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