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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters. They are solely owned by Marvel and MCU. No money is made from this story.

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Chapter Forty-Six
The Winter Soldier and His Constant - The Dance

The Winter Soldier has been out of cryo for as long as they are comfortable with. He has already been on mission and it was successful. Now he is back with you, and tomorrow you will both be returned to cryo.
Which means he is yours for the next sixteen hours.
One of the things you have to do before he can be put back to sleep is routine maintenance on his arm. It's nothing alarming; you just need to clean the metal and ensure everything is working. Any mechanical problems are sorted out by the experts.
It is still daylight and you are both sat outside in the small open area leading off from your rooms. It is enclosed by an eight foot wall topped with barbed wire. No-one can get into this area – and you cannot get out.
He is sitting with his head leaning slightly back, feeling the sun on his face, when you sit down next to him. He comes forward and looks at you. He knows you now, and the look in his eyes is so different to when he first returns from programming. The smile he gives you makes your stomach knot and makes your knees weak. Even after all this time, even after all the pain, this man still has such a hold over you.
You place the cloths and oil on the table whilst he sits at the end and stretches his left arm out for you. He has already taken off his tee-shirt and is bare chested, a light sheen of sweat showing from the warm sun. You sit next to him, facing him. In order to begin at the shoulder, you need to lean in close, really close, and you can smell him, feel the heat from his skin, see the soft hair of his body.
You blush and duck your head. He moves closer and you look up straight into those eyes.
“You can get closer if you want,” he says and grins at you. He now remembers the effect he has on you. He leans in and softly kisses your lips. You can feel the stubble on his face. How you want to close your eyes and kiss him back.
“Stop it!” you say, putting your hand on his chest to gently push him away. He gives a rare laugh. It is such an odd occurrence to hear him laugh, to have him flirt with you. It seems an age since he last remembered you this well.
You grab one of the cloths and then touch his arm, turning it so that the inside is resting on the table and you can reach just where the metal attaches to the shoulder. You need to check all the plates and rub them clean using the special oil they provide.
He watches the way her cheeks flush, the way her lips part. The way she gently moves his arm and pretends she doesn't know he is watching her. He loves this shyness of hers because it is so innocent. She leans forward and begins wiping the cloth on the individual plates at the top of the arm, her other hand holding his wrist to keep his arm steady. He wants to reach out and take the cloth away, to stand her up and hold her close, to kiss her and then lay her down and gently make love to her in the sun.
“Hey, wake up,” she says, tapping him. He missed what she has said.
“I wasn't asleep,” he says, and smiles because she can see what is in his mind.
You blow air through your bangs. This is going to take forever if he isn't going to be serious. You try to be stern.
“You need to flex at the top,” you repeat, and he lifts his eyebrows and you can't help but laugh.
“Be serious, will you? I meant your arm!”
“So did I,” he says.
He flexes so that the rings at the very top of the arm move and you can clean the metal underneath. The gently whirring mechanism inside ticks over, and slowly you begin to move down, cleaning and getting him to move as and when you need him to, keeping the cloth oiled.
You don't realise when he starts to become serious. Perhaps a memory has unsettled him?
“Why don't I remember you laughing?” he asks quietly.
You try to think of an answer and he sees your hesitation. Things become so serious so quickly it feels as though the sun has gone in.
“Why do you stay?” There it is, the question you were praying he wasn't going to ask.
And so the dance begins. How many times have you danced this dance with him? How many more times will you have it in the future?
You reach for his hand and turn it over, but before you can begin cleaning he catches your hand in his and makes you look at him.
Those serious blue eyes. He is not going to leave this subject alone.
“Why?”
The Dance. It's always the same.
First the hate, then the bewilderment, and then remembrance. Finally, the questions.
You clear your throat and he gently rubs the palm of your hand with his thumb.
“Because I want to,” you say, and try to take your hand away. His grip becomes slightly tighter. He will not hurt you, not this one. This is your Winter Soldier.
“I know I hurt you. I always hurt you.” His voice shows his puzzlement, his regret. “Why do I do that?”
“I don't know. Look, we really need to finish cleaning...” but before you can go any further he raises your hand up to his lips and kisses it. Then he turns it palm up and kisses your palm.
You swallow. “Don't,” you say quietly.
“Why do you stay?”
“Because I love you.”
How many times have you told him you love him over the years? Too many to remember.
His eyes widen slightly and he leans in closer. His hair falls forward. It is still shorter from a previous mission but you still want to reach up and brush the fringe back so you can see his face clearly.
And how many times has he told you he loves you?
Never.
“But why?”
He watches as her jaw tightens. Something has spooked her, something has taken the moment they had away and she frees her hand from his and stands up. She gathers the cloths and oil. She will not look at him. He has upset her and he doesn't know how. He watches as she turns and walks back into the rooms.
He watches her move around the kitchen. She puts the things away and then he can see she doesn't know what to do with herself. He stands up and walks in to join her.
“What upset you? What did I say?” he asks.
She turns to look at him, and there is such a sadness in her eyes.
“It's what you didn't say,” she says, and he doesn't understand.
“What?” he asks, holding both hands out in gentle exasperation.
You look at him. How can you explain? How can you tell him? You can't. You will never ask him if he loves you. That is something he has to tell you himself, without any prompting from you. And until you hear those three words you will always believe he doesn't.
It is no good getting angry. This is your last night together for who knows how long and you don't want to fight. You don't want him to leave.
“You're not going to tell me, are you?” he says. It's a rare insight for him and you shake your head.
Memories of her run through his mind. Such sadness, such pain. Has he ever made her happy? He loves her so much and yet all he can see is himself striking out at her, hurting her, and without thinking any more he comes forward and wraps his arms around her.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. She holds him tightly.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” And he pulls back to look at her, his hands come up to cup her head, and then slowly once again he kisses her lips. This time she steps forward and kisses him back.
“Tell me how much you love me,” he murmurs. He needs to hear the words, needs to know she won't ever leave him.
“I love you,” her voice is full of the emotion. He searches her eyes: so large, so sincere.
And then they hear it. From somewhere on the camp, a very rare occurrence. Music. It is coming from outside, drifting on the breeze: very soft, very far away.
He gently pulls her back outside and then without knowing how he knows to, he places his arm around her waist and holds her left hand. The music is beautiful, gentle, slow, and he begins to move with her, feeling her press against him. She lays her head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and they both close their eyes to move to the soft sounds.
“Tell me again,” his voice so quiet.
“I love you,” she says.
“You won't leave me?”
“No.”
“Ever?” And with that she stops and looks up at him. The music dies away. The evening is turning chilly.
“I will never leave you unless you want me to,” she says and reaches up to kiss him.
“And I will never want you to,” is his reply.
You know if he ever finally remembers who he is then he will never be yours. The ghost of Steve Rogers will always stand between you.
You pull away from him but keep hold of his hand and pull him back inside. You are walking backwards, pulling him over to his bed. You climb on top of it. He stands, watching you. You reach forward and undo the button of his jeans then you get up on your knees so you can kiss him again. Whilst you do your hand moves down inside his trousers to the outline of his erection and you run your hand down the length of it.
He catches his breath but you don't stop kissing him and he moans into your mouth. His hands reach up and start to unbutton your blouse; still kissing you, he pushes the material back. He then breaks the kiss so he can kiss your neck and down your throat.
His lips are warm, dry, but as he moves he licks them and then moves the strap of your bra down to kiss your nipple. You close your eyes and think only of what you can feel. Your hands thread themselves into his hair and you press your body into him so he can reach you and then his hands move downwards and behind so he can unzip the skirt you are wearing.
You both have to pull away to strip completely. This is always the awkward part but the minute you are both free you come together and he moves up on to the bed. He pulls your plait forward to release your hair and then buries his hand in it, pulling you forward to kiss you again and you respond. You go to touch him again but he stops you. He pulls away and, watching you, pushes you down onto the bed.
“I want to make you smile,” he says, his voice is husky, and without waiting for a reply he comes closer. He bends and kisses your lips, your eyes, your forehead.
“Keep your eyes closed.” And you do.
You hear the bed creak as he moves and then you feel the warmth of his body so close; all your senses are heightened and when he touches you, you almost jump. His hands are touching you, running over your body, and he follows with his lips and his tongue. First your throat, then down to your breasts where he sucks and nibbles. At one point he uses your hair to sweep over your belly until he hears you moan. He kisses where he has swept and then his tongue swirls around your navel whilst his hand gently, very gently, brushes over your labia and then away. The touch so gentle you gasp.
He can feel her awareness of him touching her, knows that each touch is so sensitive on her skin. He now knows every line of her body, every scar he has put on her, and he kisses them. He can see how his touch transforms her: her skin seems to glow, the small hairs on her arms stand up and she shivers but not because she is cold. He can see her hands are clenched tight to stop herself from reaching out, from pulling him to her and letting him slide deep in between her legs.
He looks at her and her eyes are still closed as he instructed, her lips parted, and she bites her lower lip as he lets his hand touch between her legs, briefly, just a promise.
He lowers his head, kisses down to the small thatch of hair and then his tongue follows where his hand just touched but again, lightly. It doesn't stay there. He hears her moan again and her legs open wider. He thinks he hears her utter the word please. He runs his tongue over her thigh where the second star is, nibbles the soft raised skin, and his hands run down her legs stroking. Then he swaps to the other thigh and he sees her hand move. It clenches the bed clothes and this time he does hear the word please. Her body is begging him to use his tongue and he moves to put her out of her misery.
As he touches you between your legs, you open your eyes and look at the ceiling but you are not really seeing anything, just feeling. You close them again. You desperately want him to fuck you, but first you want to feel his mouth on you and it is as if he hears your prayer and you feel his tongue sweep over you. He nibbles at your labia and you think you are going to die. You are so close, you need to feel him inside you and you try to get his attention, but when he looks at you the look in his eyes is pure wickedness and he just keeps at you with his tongue and mouth.
He feels her let go, feels her give in to herself, and can feel the heat radiating from her body. She is saying something under her breath, begging him not to stop, and then he feels her whole body tense and lift and he knows he has her. She is never loud, never shouts but he hears her gasp as he makes her come.
He moves slowly back up her body. She is breathing hard trying to catch her breath and he holds himself over her, his own need showing in the tightness of his erection, but he will wait. She opens her eyes and looks into his and she smiles and blushes all at once. He strokes her hair, runs his fingers down her cheek and she turns her head to kiss them.
You want to tell him how amazing that was, how he reached every part of you, how you felt his tongue take you, but you don't know what words to use. Your whole body tingles, you feel the warmth between the both of you.
And you smile.
“Tired?” he asks, and you shake your head. He is not expecting you to place your hands on his arms to tip him off balance so he falls to the side and you come up and over him.
You feel abandoned. His body belongs to you now and it is your turn to make him smile. He lies back as you straddle him, and you let your hair fall over your shoulders so it sweeps his body and you feel him shudder as if a cold draught has touched him. Then he watches as you kiss down his chest; you kiss his nipples, gently tease them with your teeth. You reach behind you at his erection which is standing proud and you run your hand down it. He groans and closes his eyes. You move so you are now next to him and you bend your head to gently run your tongue over the tip and then down the side of it. Your hand is at the base and when your head comes forward once again your hair sweeps over his body and he reaches forward and takes a handful of it rubbing it between his fingers.
His favourite is feeling her mouth on him, feeling himself come in there, but tonight he doesn't want that.
“Freya,” his voice is desperate and she looks up, those eyes of hers dragging him in. She licks her lips and he gulps. “I want to be inside you,” he says and she smiles again. He watches as she bends to lick him once more and then moves to straddle him, holding herself over his cock. He tries to remember to breathe as she holds herself open and slowly takes him inside her and he feels her muscles clench around him, holding him firmly. She looks at him and sweeps her hair back over her shoulders so he can see all of her and his eyes roam her body. She starts to move and he moans and closes his eyes, the feel of her around him, moving him, making him desperate. He opens his eyes again and he is so close she can see and she increases the pace until he arches under her, his eyes closed, he moans and his hands clasp her hips driving her right down onto him and burying himself in her as much as he can. And then he explodes, his head tipping back, his mouth groaning as if in pain. He swallows, his body jerks several more times and then he is finished; he comes back down to earth.
She moves off him, lying down beside him. She is breathing as heavily as he is. He puts his arm around her and draws her close.
“Are you all right?” he asks, once he has his breath back.
“I'm smiling,” she says looking at him, and he can't help but laugh.
You want the world to stop turning, for this point in time to last forever. But a knock at the door interrupts and you glance at the clock.
“Damn it!” You jump up, looking around for something you can put on. There is another knock. “I won't be a minute!” you call out, hopping to put on slippers and grabbing your dressing gown.
The Winter Soldier smiles to himself at the dishevelled way she is looking as she goes to answer the door, trying to smooth down her hair and tie the belt of her dressing gown at the same time.
It is their supper. They have brought it on a trolley, and she wheels it in whilst he listens to her talking to the woman who delivered it. And then they are by themselves again.
Because tomorrow they are back in cryo the meal is small: soup and bread. They sit at the table and eat. He sits there in just his underwear and there is a pleasant silence between them both. Then, whilst she goes to tidy up, he goes to shower but at the last moment he turns and heads back to her.
“Leave that,” he says taking her hand and instead pulls her through to the bathroom and they shower together. They are in there so long that the water has turned cold but even so they are both flushed when they emerge to collapse and sleep in the tousled bed.
*
The next morning they are both quiet as they walk down to the main room. Before they go inside he stops her. They are by themselves just for a few moments more.
“Do they wipe you after they have wiped me?” It is a question he has never asked before and you are surprised.
“No,” you shake your head whilst he studies you.
“They leave you with your memories?” he asks.
You wonder where this is going. What is he thinking?
“Yes. Yes they do, why?”
He tries to smile. It is sad. “Good,” then quieter: “That's good.”
You look enquiringly at him and you take his hand and kiss it. ”Why do you ask?”
“When we meet next time...” his voice is so quiet you lean closer; he doesn't want anyone to hear the two of you talking. “Remind me of our dance.” And then he leans forward and kisses your lips.
You nod because you cannot speak, and you swallow. He nods back and then turns and goes through the doors with you following. You will have to watch them tear him to shreds, watch them take away the memories from last night...but you will not forget.
You will never forget.
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant