#lnib

Bucky Barnes

Last Night in Bucharest Explicit 18+

Bucky’s last night before the events of Civil War.

Bucky/Unnamed OFC

When in Romania Explicit 18+

The same event as LNiB, but from the OFC’s POV.

Chris (Destroyer)

Bucky/unnamed OFC

It was all I knew until I woke, drenched in sweat, blood pulsing, heart pounding, and for a moment I didn't know again. I didn't know if I was still flying even if I clearly was grounded. I didn't know. I gasped for air, but the pressure was too much, the pressure on my chest was too much. Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe. I grabbed my knees and pressed my head between them. Safe. Safe.

"Obține bucata ta de rahat din calea mea!" The voices were muffled and mingled with a low howling sound. I flinched, but looking up I saw the glimmer of daylight through the makeshift blinds. Safe. I was in the room. My room. The door is there, the bolt is secure. They can't reach me. Safe.

"Du-te dracu!" The faint howl wasn't a siren, but a car honking. Safe.

I relinquished the grip on my calves, knowing the left one had angry red welts, four at the front, one at the back, and sank down, closing my eyes. I inhaled slowly, keeping my hands flat against the mattress, ignoring the uncomfortable chill of the soaked sheets. Safe.

I felt good, the dream being the wind one. The wind one was the best.

I exhaled and focused on the three stains on the ceiling, the three stains that looked like a dog. There was the bicycle too, but that was in the other direction, and I had just moved the mattress two days ago. I inhaled again, breathe in, exhaled, breathe out, inhaled, breathe in, exhaled, breathe out. I rolled off the mattress and stood up, ignoring the flashes of pain. I always ignore the pain.

Removing the cardboard from the window, I opened it to let in some fresh air before I walked into the bathroom and ran the shower. I stroked my chin to check if I needed to trim, appearance is important, they had taught me that. They taught me a lot of things.

I had to shop today, I remembered because I had made a list. The steam spread through the room, heating it. I wrenched out of the tee and sweats, and stepped in, feeling the hot torrent, thinking about the wind. Steve was in that one. He was in the other one too, but there he always turned into the other one. The one in white. Zola. No! Safe. Safe. Safe. I held my head and closed my eyes, concentrated on the list. I was going out today, and I had to shop. Safe. Safe. Safe.

I wriggled the handle, checking that the door was locked before descending the staircase. I scanned the floors carefully, no reason not to, everybody does that. The old lady on 3 approached carrying a big bag when I came down, and I held the door for her.

"Bună ziua, doamnă. Ar trebui sa te ajut?" I smiled, I have to smile, if I smile they smile back.

"Bună ziua, dragă. Nu, mulțumesc, mă descurc." She went inside, smiling appreciatively.

"Multumesc draga. Să aveţi o zi bună." I nodded, still smiling, and let the door slide shut before I stepped out of the shade of the entrance and into the faint afternoon sun.

It was pleasant, and there was a light breeze. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, shaking off the dream. Safe. I took my list out and set off to the library, I could shop at the little red store around the corner from it. After that I had to go out, but I didn't know where to yet. I had to walk until I found somewhere, maybe tonight I could find somewhere nice. Last week hadn't been that good, the music was too loud, and the patrons too drunk. I remember drinking, but I can't remember being drunk. I can't get drunk. I've tried, but all I get is lightheaded. I've tried because I know drinking is supposed to make you forget, but I remember all of them.

I reached Biblioteca Metropolitană and dipped my head in greeting to the girl at the front desk. Today she was wearing a low cut cotton tee in a soft blue colour, with some sort of animal printed on the front, her hair a brown mass of loose curls tumbling down her shoulders. She nodded back coolly, and I could feel her eyes on me, warily following me as I made my way to the elevator. I resisted the urge to look back as I pressed the button and waited for the doors to slide open, and when I turned in the lift she was staring at the screen in front of her. She was scared of me, she hadn't always been, but after the incident she'd kept her distance. She seemed a smart girl.

The doors closed, and the lift shook slightly, creaking as it ascended before coming to a halt on the third floor. Scanning the hall, I made for a desk in the back, pulling out a chair. I removed my cap, shrugged off my jacket, and sat down. The computer whirred to life, I opened the browser and got to work.

I remember all of them, but there are others I have to search for. The fallout, the collateral damage. All the wives and children and grandchildren, all the lives lost by corrupt regimes. All the damage done, the blood shed, and history changed. My imprint on the world; courtesy of Hydra.

Dallas, November 1963, Memphis, April 1968, Chernobyl, April 1986, Long Island, December 1991, Rawalpindi, December 2007. It's dreary work, but I have to do it, I need to know.

Today I went through Stockholm, February 1986, and when I flicked the computer off I felt I'd made some progress, adding two more names to the list. Two more to the endless list of lives destroyed. I stuffed my notebook into my pocket and put my jacket and cap back on before backtracking through to the lobby and out the door, relieved the girl was away from the desk. I walked down the huge marble steps in front of the library, turned and headed for the store.

The store was empty, the after-work crowd being done for the day and settled into their homes, their safe havens. Checking the list, I walked around slowly, trying to avoid having to double back for anything, shopping is hard enough, no reason to add chaos to it. I treated myself to a ready-made cheese and pickle sandwich, I was gonna have to talk to Andrei about more work anyway, and it didn't cost much.

"Tony Stark şi Natalia Romanova, mai bine cunoscut ca Iron Man si The Black Widow, sosit la Viena în această seară, împreună cu restul de Avengers pentru un summit să semneze acordurile de la Skovian. Acordurile sunt concepute pentru a exercita un control şi să limiteze strict Avengers implicarea în conflicte din întreaga lume. Acordurile sunt scrise în colaborare cu 117 naţiuni suverane, şi a fost initiativa lui T'Chaka, regele Wakanda, după 11 Wakandian vieţi au fost pierdute în timpul unui atac terorist în Lagos, Nigeria. Ca moartea lor au fost un rezultat direct al Avengers implicarea, regele numit pentru un control mai puternic de ceea ce el considera ‘vigilantes violenţei cu niciun motiv de îngrijorare pentru siguranţa civililor au jurat pentru a proteja.’ Lipseşte din grupul care a sosit a fost Captain America, el însuşi, Steve Rogers, şi zvonurile sunt acum răspândire despre discords în Avengers ei înşişi. În altă ordine de idei, un al doilea val de căldură loveşte coasta Mării Negre şi de afluxul de turisti... “

The radio was drowned out by the roaring in my ears, and I stood frozen for a minute before I became aware of the thin handles of the shopping basket bending in my grip. I relaxed my arm, consciously loosening each of the fingers on my left hand, rolled my neck, and shot a quick glance in the mirror above me. The clerk seemed oblivious, which was as expected, but caution never hurt, everyone is cautious.

So Captain America wasn't signing. Steve. His name is Steve. His name is Steve Rogers, and I knew him. His name is Steve Rogers, and he was my friend. I was a little surprised, but at the same time it made sense; mine wasn't the only life changed two years ago on the bank of the Potomac.

I slowly made my way around to the checkout, set the basket on the counter, and reached for my wallet. I try to avoid thinking too much about Steve, thinking of him pulls too many other things into focus, but I need to keep up with the news. All of it, even the uncomfortable news. Especially the uncomfortable news.

It pays off occasionally; last year I'd spent two weeks in Sokovia, helping to clear debris. It had been rewarding, even if I'd stayed away from the rescue, not wanting to bring attention to myself, attention isn't good. Safe.

The cashier rounded up my things and I paid, counting my money as I handed him the correct sum. I really needed to see Andrei about more work. Construction work is easy, and he pays well, always in cash. He likes me, or my ability to work, is always friendly, and he never asks questions. Questions are bad, questions bring attention.

"Vă mulțumesc, și au o noapte bună, domnule." The cashier held out the bag with my groceries. I took it, remembered to smile and nod, and exited the store.

It was getting full dark outside, but the air was still pleasant, and I decided on the long route back. I started down the street and stepped aside to let two young women pass. They were dressed for a night out, heavy makeup and short dresses, a lot of bare skin. I hoped they would be okay. They were laughing, and one of them looked at me, running her eyes over my body. She turned to whisper something in her friend's ear before she giggled and shot me a backwards glance. The other one laughed, and I smiled a little, allowing for a brief moment to imagine myself walking with them.

I remember fun. I remember dressing up, going out, the excitement, the carelessness. I remember girls, dressed more modestly perhaps, but still strikingly similar, soft and warm. I remember how they would smile and laugh. I remember dancing. But that was when I was the other one, when Steve was still little, and I had something to lose.

I stood watching until they were swallowed up by the darkness and continued down the pavement. I caught a glimpse of myself in a window and saw a brief glint of my hand. I stopped and checked it out, and found a small hole at the side of the glove where the seam was coming apart. I would have to put gloves on my list for tomorrow. The gloves are important, especially this kind, the ones I use when I go out. Leather for grip and durability, but nice enough looking that people don't notice.

I picked up my pace, if I wanted to stop by Harry I had to get a move on. I was getting hungry, and I wanted to eat my sandwich.

The alley was dark, but I knew where to go. As I closed in on the nook behind the dumpster, I could hear the rustling of movement and the tiny mewing of kittens. Harry came out and started rubbing against my feet as I fished the can out from my bag. I pulled the lid off and emptied the contents into the cracked bowl sitting there. Harry purred and went to work on the food.

One of the kittens came out from the darkness and stood on wobbly feet in front of me, barely discernible even if my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I leaned back on the wall, opened the plastic wrapper on my meal, and watched as the two others came out. They were only 4 weeks old, but they were growing fast, and it was nice to see them getting more coordinated and developed. I'd thought she was a tomcat until they suddenly appeared one day, and I tried to make a point to stop by every other day to check on them.

I munched my sandwich, trying to savour it, but as usual it didn't taste much, food rarely does. Except fresh food, like fruit. Fruit is nice, it's sweet and it tastes like life. Otherwise eating is a chore, something I have to do. I had tried to refuse to eat, but they had taught me not to. They taught me a lot of things.

I finished my food at the same time Harry did, and she came over, begging for more. I bent down and scratched her behind the ears, scooped up the empty can and stuffed the plastic wrapper inside, tossing it into the dumpster. I smiled at the kittens, but walked away, knowing I would stall if I let myself. I had to go out, it was on the list, and I needed to get my shopping home before it got too late.

I stepped into the pitch black room, the weak stairwell light letting me see as I made my way over to the window, satisfying myself it was clear before I hit the switch and the fluorescent buzzed to life. I crossed the floor in three steps and knelt, prying open the floorboard carefully and extracted the backpack, depositing the notebook into the small inside pouch. I always keep track of the current one. I shook the contents to flatten the pack, tucked it into the hole, and slid the board back, making sure it aligned.

I made a quick detour to the bathroom, turning the shower on to let it heat before putting my groceries away. I put my toothpaste and shaving cream on the small shelf over the cistern and undressed, checking the temperature before stepping in. I let the water soak my hair and just stood there a while, trying to think about where I should go.

Maybe I could do something different tonight, maybe a place outside the city centre, some small neighbourhood hangout. I would have to drive, public transportation was far too unreliable, but I had filled up the bike just last week and had hardly driven it since.

I finished my shower and slung a towel around my waist, letting my hair and arm dry while finding fresh underwear and a clean sweater. It was too hot for long sleeves still, but since I have no choice I never bother to question it. I have several, and I chose a red one.

The drive was uneventful, but good. I like to drive, the traffic was light, and I could even speed a little on my brief run on the freeway. I like to drive but I rarely do it, I need to interact with people, and you can't do that when driving a motorcycle. My bike is a 1100cc 95' Honda Shadow, and it's my only possession of value. It's old, but in good repair, and I keep it in the shed across from my building. I bought it cheap when I was in Prague, and I generally only use it for when I move, but sometimes I have to venture out of the city, and then it's a good thing to have.

I kept my eyes open for a suitable prospect and in the end saw a promising bar around the corner of a small hotel. I circled the block three times, making sure I knew the easiest exits. No reason not to, everybody does that. Safe. I pulled up and parked the bike around the corner between a couple of cars, made sure it was locked and backtracked to the three steps leading down into the basement bar.

I scanned the location through the glass in the door before I went inside, and found it looking benign enough. Besides, the music was nice, it wasn't too loud or upbeat. I walked over to the bar, took a vacant stool on the far short end, satisfied that it was a corner seat, with a short hall leading down to the restrooms and an easy exit. Safe. I shrugged off my jacket and waited for the bartender to finish with the couple he was serving. After a few moments he turned towards me and gave me a welcoming smile.

"Bună seara. Ce pot să-ti aduc?"

"Bună seara. O sticlă de culoare închisă Stejar, te rog."

He nodded and went over to fetch my bottle while I got my money ready, adding a small tip. He took it gladly, opened the bottle with a bit of flair and left me to enjoy my drink, not striking up conversation. I liked the man.

I took a sip, and tried to relax, hoping this time it would be better. The low murmur from the other guests kept me occupied until she came in. I didn't notice right away, there was a group speaking Russian two tables down, and I was listening to their banter, trying to rid myself of the growing unease. Russian is the language I know the best but like the least, and I was thinking about draining my beer and leaving when she came into view, inching herself onto a stool at the middle of the bar.

She was around my age, my apparent age, and lightly dressed in a simple sleeveless linen dress, not tight but clingy enough to show off the soft swells and curves underneath. Her hair was sun-streaked, her bare arms smooth and she didn't wear much in the way of makeup. Her eyes shone with excitement, and the brilliant smile never left her face while she was talking to the bartender, her phrasebook in hand. She was beautiful and confident and alive, and she seemed intent to enjoy every minute of it.

I was conscious I was staring but had a hard time looking away, she was so fascinating to watch. The bartender made her drink, and I felt a small sting of jealousy, envying him the pleasure of talking to her. She turned away for a moment, leaning casually on the bar. Her hair fell back enough to allow a glimpse of bare skin on her shoulders and neck, her elbow on top of the counter revealing the black lace of her bra underneath her arm. I felt a twitch in my groin at the sight and took a long draught of my beer, staring when she swung back, stiffened for a moment, whipped her head around and caught my eyes.

I felt the rush of panic and averted my eyes, attempting to appear calm. Safe. Safe. Safe. I looked down on the shiny surface of the bar, studying the small indentations and scratches from years of wear, and lifted the bottle to my mouth, looked over the edge of it and met her gaze.

She was staring intently, not looking the least bit abashed, and then she tipped her glass in a silent toast at me and the panic was back. My chest tightened, and I tried to steady myself enough to be able to walk out unnoticed. But she will notice. And she will still remember. If anyone comes to ask. Not safe.

I sank back down and concentrated on keeping my breathing steady and my pulse in check. I turned around and found her still looking, taking in the sorry display, but I didn't see any contempt or pity in her eyes, only a piercing curiosity. I tried to smile but my mouth wouldn't cooperate fully, and it felt more like a grimace. I swallowed hard, willing some saliva back, and I watched her as she looked down the bar and saw the empty stool across the corner from me, silently asking for consent to occupy it. My pulse started to quicken again as I nodded, and she gathered her things, slid off her seat and came towards me. Not safe.

She shrugged herself onto the tallish seat, causing her dress to twist. Her neckline was pulled down slightly, drawing my eyes to the soft swell of her cleavage, and I could feel the twitch again, my jeans becoming tighter as I hardened. I averted my eyes from hers, trying to hide my embarrassment, but she seemed totally oblivious and cheerfully offered her name and extended her hand.

My name is James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. My name is James Buchanan "Buc—I'm Sgt James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Inf—My name is Bucky Barnes and he's my friend. My mind blanked, and I couldn't for the life of me remember my current alias, and I suddenly realised I was staring dumbfounded at her hand. I reached out and took it, the warmth of it burning in mine.

"Bu—Jam—Bucky. My name is Bucky."

Not safe. At least I hadn't given her everything, but I'd given her enough. She felt safe, she felt real, but I don't always trust my instincts, they had taught me not to. They taught me a lot of things.

I let go of her hand and grabbed for my beer, trying to hide the upheaval. She took her glass and looked away, giving me the moment she saw I needed.

"Bucky. That's not local. So... American?"

I cursed myself again, and my heart fell while I tried to come up with any kind of response that wouldn't press the matter further.

"Yes. American. But I live here now." It sounded hollow and pathetic, and she was clearly wishing for more, I could see she was forming the questions in her mind.

Her lower lip shone in different hues reflected from the bottles behind the bar, and a rush of blood surged, constricting my erection against the fly. I shifted in my seat, trying to shrug away my discomfort, still painfully aware of her searching gaze. Not safe.

She was too close, my head was clouded from the brightness in her eyes, the gentle puffs of her breath, the heat from her body, and her faint scent. Sweet with a hint of citrus, stirring some memories I didn't dare examine.

I remember sex. I remember it from before, but mostly I remember dreaming of it in cryo. Sometimes I miss cryo, the simpleness of it, the comfort. The cryo dreams feel real, and they aren't marred like the others, they don't blend together and become nightmares. I think they are true memories. So I remember sex, I remember lust, I remember the anticipation, the joy of it. I remember the relief and the pleasure and the release and the contentment. But most of all I remember the warmth. The warmth and comfort, the softness and the ache. I licked and bit my lip, trying to find my bearing.

"I'm just coming through. I'm trekking Europe. Sort of an adult interrail. Planes, not trains." She drew a short breath, and I realised she knew. She didn't know why, but she knew, and she offered me some peace.

"Interrail?" I gratefully latched on to the topic, trying to keep my expression calm and the words from hitching in my throat. I knew the answer, but I needed her to carry the conversation, less risk of losing control again.

"Yes. It's a European thing. Kids get train tickets and travel around, backpacking all over. Sort of a rite of passage." She looked at me and cocked her head. "You know, some architecture and culture in Prague for a couple of nights, beer in Berlin for three, then Athens and Rome for art and history, some sunbathing in southern Spain before ending in a stupor on Jim Morrison's grave at Père Lachaise."

I racked my brain, but I couldn't pin down any information, and, hating to reveal my ignorance, I had to concede. "Jim Morrison?"

A glimpse of confusion made my heart sink further, and I suddenly regretted not sightseeing at Père Lachaise when I was in Paris last.

"The front singer in The Doors?"

An internet page flashed before my eyes, the name and a picture, but I still had nothing, and not wanting to push it further I feigned.

"Ah. Yes, of course." I could see she still saw right through me, but she was obviously determined to be gracious, and let me off. "And you do this? Alone?"

"Yes. This is my last stop before Paris. And the stupor. Why not?"

I felt a pang at the thought of her leaving, it was strangely disheartening, which was a surprise. So far all I had were a few fleeting thoughts of attraction and some terribly awkward conversation, it shouldn't affect me at all. On the other hand it was still conversation, still interaction, which was rare. Not safe.

I tried to focus on the positive of it, not harbouring much hope of it getting less awkward, but I had to try; everyone does that.

"Well, you're a... well, I mean, is it safe?"

The look of offence on her face confused me until I realised she thought I was questioning her independence. I tried to mount an explanation, some sort of rationalisation, but before I managed to form the words she voiced her displeasure.

"What? You think a woman can't take care of herself?"

I felt the colour drain from my face, and for a second I thought about running again, the condemnation being too much to bear.

"No, I didn't mean to imply—I mean, I didn't..." The words came out a scramble, not the saving grace I'd hoped, but suddenly her expression shifted, and I felt a flush of embarrassment.  "You're joking. Sorry."

Her face did the thing again, her eyes were glittering with a mixture of joy and mischief. I felt the warmth spread through me, my cock becoming absolutely rigid and the blush deepened.

"Yes. Or not really. But you're not the first man, or woman for that matter, who's asked me that. And in some ways it's a fair point, shitty as it is. The world has changed little in the last century." Her tone kept light, but the sense of urgency was apparent.

"Yes. Apart from the world changing. I think it's become rather unrecognisable."

The sardonic look she gave me told me I was off, but that she still appreciated the effort.

"Sure. I guess. In some ways. But you'd think with all the technical advances these things would change too. That was my point." The point was fair, and the close echo of my own thoughts just a few minutes before had me cursing internally, I really should have been able to keep up.

"Ah. In that case, yes. One would think that'd be the case. I'm sorry."

She smiled and once again I was struck by the brilliance of it, and I wanted nothing more than to prevent it disappearing. The sudden ache caught me off guard, and I hoped the flinch wasn't visible.

"It's not your fault. I'm just glad you agree."

She chuckled, a warm calming sound, and another rush went through me. She lifted her glass thoughtfully, and I copied her movements and emptied my beer. The last dregs were rather flat, but I could have drunk gallons of it just to continue sitting with her. I waited until she'd drained hers, and I took the leap, the question out of my mouth before my brain could voice the objections I felt forming.

"Another? On me." For an agonising moment I got worried she would take it as another affront to her independence, but she looked positively radiant, and my pulse raced, almost drowning out her reply.

"Sure. Thank you."

I turned and caught the attention of the bartender, waving him over in what I hoped was a casual and collected manner.

"Scuzati-ma. O alta bere pentru mine, și la fel pentru doamna, oricare ar fi ea are." The man's smile told me he was clearly a team player, and for an instant I was back in New York, surrounded by friends and the elated hopes of a bright future. The feelings lingered as I tucked the dangerous memories away. "Vă mulțumesc, păstrați schimbarea."

He set the drinks down in front of us, took the tip, and turned without trying to hide the knowing smirk on his face. When I met her eyes she smiled shyly and looked a little winded, making me suspect my mind wasn't the only one that had wandered. She lifted her glass in mock gusto, and I readied mine with a smile.

"To Romanian, and the foreigners who really make an effort to learn it."

I grinned to hide the pang of chagrin that hit me, it was no achievement of mine after all. She kept her steady gaze on me, a completely guileless expression in her eyes, and I suddenly felt another flush and some genuine pride.

"I've been here for some time. It's not that hard to learn. Besides, I've got a fair knowledge of Slavic languages." It was a half-lie, they could be extremely hard to learn, but they had taught me. They taught me a lot of things.

"Really? How about Ukrainian?"

I laughed and offered some sentences, all more benign than my usual repertoire.

"Labvakar, skaista dāma. Paldies par rotā manu dzīvi ar savu precence. Hop uz karuseļa un izbaudīt braucienu.”

She stared and kept her eyes fixed on my mouth, seemingly enthralled, making it hard to concentrate.

"Russian? Hungarian? Latvian?"

I wanted to skip the Russian, nothing sounds benign in Russian, but I couldn't bear any disappointment on her part.

"Ty krasivaya zhenshchina. Annyira örülök hogy találkoztunk. Šī ir mana laimīgā diena."

She either didn't care or was too embarrassed to ask for the translation, clearly finding the game too much fun to risk. She continued her prompts beyond Eastern Europe, and I was happy with the move but didn't dare to continue my shameless declarations in languages she would be more inclined to understand.

"Je suis heureux d'obliger, bien que ce n'est pas ma première langue. Das Wetter ist schön an diesem Abend, zu verpassen. Möchten Sie für einen Mondlicht spazieren zu gehen?" I shot her what I hoped was a teasing look, and she laughed, racking her brain for new challenges.

I remember fun, but I couldn't remember it feeling like this. It was exhilarating and joyous, sure, but most of all it was terrifying. I could feel my defences slip, and for the first time since I stepped out of the Potomac I wanted to allow myself the opportunity to make a real connection. Not safe.

But I couldn't stop, I was already too far in. She was easy to talk to when I let her lead, all I had to do was not dwell too much, or ask too much or hesitate too much. I finally found use for all the hours spent in the library and bookstores, trying to garner some sort of impression of what had happened in the last seven decades. I'm a good student, I'd tried not to be, but they’d taught me anyway. They taught me a lot of things.

She was an animated person, and she kept squirming and moving around, constantly showing off new parts of bared skin. I tried not to dwell on it, but it was a losing battle.

She had a light drizzle of freckles on her nose and cheeks, furthering the image I had of her being out in the sun. She smelled like she was out a lot, fresh and clean.

I like the sun, but I prefer the overcast, when it's hot I have to stay inside. I sometimes venture out to ride my bike because then I have a reason to cover up, but it's still hard. Her dress was almost see-through, and I could discern a faint outline of dark panties, probably a matching set with her bra. I ignored the tightness between my legs, I didn't even want to entertain the thought, and I hoped she wouldn't notice.

She brought up Sokovia, which was expected because of all the focus on the Accords, but I couldn't tell her about being there. I didn't want her to ask. She did ask something in the end, but that I didn't mind too much. I have been all over, but some of that was before. So I even managed to make light of it, finding the discomfort of reaching back in my mind lessening. I topped off our drinks as needed, heartened by the fact she didn't seem to mind. I could afford it, I had to talk to Andrei regardless, I could just as well do it sooner than later. So I managed. I even thought I managed well. Until she fell.

She announced she had to go to the bathroom, and she wobbled a little when she jumped off her seat, causing her sandal to catch in the footwell, and suddenly she was there. Her breath hit my face in waves, I would have been able to taste her had I been able to inhale. The weight of her hand burned on my thigh, and I could feel the trembling resonate up the sensors where my hand was gripping her upper arm. Her lips were pink and soft and shiny and just inches from mine, but I could hardly see them, mostly all I could see was her eyes. They were widened and only a thin slice of her irises circled the dilated pupils. I wondered fleetingly what was scaring her until I remembered another reason for pupils to dilate like that.

"Want to get out of here?" Her voice was barely audible, but she could have been shouting.

I finally drew breath, her scent engulfed me, and I couldn't think. "Yeah."

I can't get drunk, but I think this was close to how it feels. My head was buzzing, my body felt like falling, and it was strangely pleasant. I couldn't tell if it was her or the toxins of the alcohol finally getting to me, but at that point I was beyond caring.

"Yeah. I do."

She pushed herself off me, hand on my chest, the pressure of her hand causing my heartbeat to echo back into my chest. "Okay. Gimme a minute."

She smiled shyly and started towards the ladies room, my eyes glued to her every step of the way. Not safe.

As soon as she disappeared the spell was broken. Without thinking I slid down off the stool, grabbed my jacket and was around the corner of the bar when I saw the bartender staring at me. I stopped. Not safe. Not safe. He caught my eye and looked at me, some mixture of pity and judgement in his expression. I felt shaken and panicked and cowardly. Not safe.

I have been hiding from the world for two years, two years of unveiling the actions of seven decades. Two years of trying to find some footing, trying to learn to walk, talk, see, sense, touch and breathe on my own, but all I've really learnt is to run. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.

I hesitated for a few more seconds before I shakily retreated back onto my seat. The man gave me a short nod of appreciation, I smiled weakly and tried to relax. I was half hoping and half fearing she'd run off, made her escape through the back window, but I couldn't tear my eyes off the door to the ladies room.

She appeared smiling, her eyes sparkling, and I willed my voice to carry. "Hi."

She walked over and took my hand, hers still damp from washing. The simplicity of the gesture was unnerving, but I closed my fingers around hers, letting them entwine lightly.

"Hi. Shall we?"

I didn't dare answer, but stood up, glad my weak knees carried, and followed her outside, jacket in hand. When we got out I was lost, having no idea how to proceed. I was sure what she had meant when she'd suggested the move, but I still couldn't wrap my head around it. I stammered out a question, but she just turned around and tugged me along.

She lead me around the corner, and up the steps of a small nondescript hotel and once again I had to stagger the panic that surged through me. I managed to let her tow me inside and over to the lift at the far side of the lobby. The wait for it was excruciating. I kept my gaze fixed at the lights indicating the descent, fighting to keep my breathing even, concentrating on the warmth of her hand, and emptying my mind. When the elevator finally arrived I walked in a trance beside her, voluntarily putting my safety in the hands of another for the first time since I woke up. We stepped in, the doors slid shut, and everything changed.

She brushed against me when she turned and the last of my defences broke. I grabbed her, and I lost sense of everything else. All I could feel and touch was her. All I could smell, all I could see. The sweet citrus of her perfume drowned me, the softness of her breasts against my chest, her waist and hips supple under my hands. I could almost feel her heat burning against my left, cold dead limb. Her stomach soft to my erection, her eyes impossibly close, impossibly bright and alive before they slid shut and she sank down as I pressed my lips against hers.

She tasted of mint and gin and summer, and she was warm and wet and soft. Lost memories got dragged up to the surface as I realised she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. Lust and happiness raged in me like I hadn't felt for so many decades, and I felt human again. Like the man I had been before they started teaching me. They taught me a lot of things, but they didn't teach me this.

I was only half aware the lift had stopped until I had her against a hallway wall. I didn't want to move, but a small voice told me staying there was a bad idea. I tore free of her mouth and tried to steady myself long enough to communicate my intentions.

"Where?"

Her breath hit me in furious bursts and she let go of me while she fished out a key from her bag and waved it in the right direction. "Number 14."

I took it, and without hesitation led her down, agonising over the fact I had to let her go even for this. I found the door, pushed the key in, and wrenched it open, tugging her inside.

My jacket fell from my grip as I pushed her around, feeling the door slam shut behind her, and I was on her again. Her exquisite and welcoming mouth left me lightheaded, much more so than mere alcohol could ever do. It felt like every ounce of blood in my body churned into my groin and my cock, and I revelled in the emptiness it left behind. She explored my mouth hungrily, and her hands were in my hair, pulling at it, the small sharp stings in my scalp egging me on, keeping me oblivious to anything but the heat, the throbbing, the lust. I wanted to consume her, I wanted to lose myself in her, I wanted to fuck her, and for a moment I forgot.

I forgot all I've felt, all I've known, all I've seen. I forgot I wasn't human, that no matter how hard I try I can never escape the monster they made, I'm no longer made for this. My body reacted to her, and I forgot to be gentle. A small intake of air and an involuntary jerk away from the source of the pain, and it came rushing back. Not safe. Not safe. NOT SAFE! I jumped back, releasing her, my head roaring and my heart pounding, air caught in my throat.

"Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I saw she was confused, that she didn't yet understand, and I was grateful. "I'm so sorry. I should never have... I'm sorry."

She moved towards me, questions flickering in her eyes, and I backed away, not trusting myself near her.

"Bucky. What's wrong?”

The softness in her voice sounded like someone trying to calm a scared animal, and I almost laughed. I wanted to be through the door, needing to get away, to get away from her questions and the temptation.

"I'm sorry. I have to go. This was a bad idea." I started towards her, expecting her to step aside, but she just stood there, blocking the exit. For a second I thought about forcibly pushing her aside, but eventually the unlikely realisation hit me. She didn't want me to leave, she wasn't scared, she trusted me. She felt safe.

"Bucky. Please. I'm fine. I don't want you to leave."

I wanted to scream at her, to make her understand, but I couldn't. I wanted to stay, I was desperate to. I didn't want to give her up—give it up so soon after having discovered it. I looked at her, tried to form the words, to ask the questions I needed to have answered.

"You're not scared? Or hurt?"

She shook her head and took a tentative step towards me, while I fought the urge to flinch back.

"No. Not at all. I'm fine."

I tried to wrap my head around it, to understand the full meaning behind her words, not daring to believe the truth behind them. "You're really fine? You want to... continue?" I knew what she would say, but I still needed her to say it.

"Yes. I'm fine, I'm not scared, and I'd very much like to continue."

I watched her carefully, trying to gauge the amount of risk involved while ignoring my own selfishness. I wasn't sure if I could, but every fibre of me told me I should, I couldn't remember the last time I'd wanted something this bad. I closed my eyes and drew a long breath, trying to empty my head of the qualms.

"Okay. But we're taking it slow." I could hear the doubt in my voice, and so could she, she laughed huskily and stepped closer.

"Slow it is." She reached up, breathed the words into my mouth, and I could feel her tongue on my lower lip before I had mine in her mouth. I lay my hand on her, leaving the other hanging motionless, and held her lightly, not daring to give into it again.

She pressed closer, ran her hands up both my arms and, after the initial resistance, I followed her cue. If I was doing it, I had to do it right. I willed myself to relax and soon I was getting lost again, she made it so easy, her whole body attuned to mine. I let out a sigh as I embraced her more forcefully, getting harder, again feeling her stomach and hips as I ground against her, her back arching, her dress riding up.

"God. You're so warm and soft."

She started tugging at my sweater and, having come this far, I just let it happen. I moved back half a pace and pulled it over my head, but took care to leave my tee on, she didn't need to be exposed to the most visceral of my physical scars. I dropped my sweater to the floor and took a breath, bracing myself for her reaction. After a fleeting flash of shock her expression was a mixture of disbelief and wonder. She let out a small gasp, and I almost felt the need to apologise.

"Bucky. What is that? Is it a prosthetic? It's beautiful."

It's a fully functional, nearly indestructible cybernetic prosthetic limb made of a vibranium infused steel alloy, made to mimic the motions and reactions of a human arm to near perfection. Ensuring the asset can perform its tasks unhindered in the field. A demonstration, please.

I shoved the unwelcome imagery as far back in my mind as I could, and stretched the arm, letting the panels ripple and whirl. She stared, hypnotised, and extended her hand, gingerly asking for permission before she touched it. She took her time, and I let her, finding a strange sense of pride, amazed that something so destructive and horrifying could actually be conceived as beautiful. When she spoke she seemed slightly out of breath.

"Sorry. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. How does it work?"

It's drilled directly into its humerus and scapula, the deltoid being the primary muscle connection, but we also used parts of the biceps, triceps and teres major where possible to ensure as much natural movement as possible. It's further attached to the central nervous system by direct fusion to the radial and median nerves in addition to an artificial synaptic lead through the brachial plexus and the cerebellum while the subject was awake to ensure the easiest and most accurate registration of nervous reactions, such as pain and stress. The asset shows extraordinary aptitude in its performance and has conformed to the limb without much resistance.

Despite my efforts, the memory forced its way back into my brain. I fought the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, to close off the voice in my head, to heave on the floor, and I managed a small smile, moving away from the panic and onto safer ground.

"Like an arm, I guess. I don't know the mechanics of it, other than it's fused to my shoulder, connected to the central nervous system." Shying away from the hollowness in my voice I removed my glove, and looking at the silver extension I became consciously aware of the only real deficiency of it. I found it strange that it had never occurred to me before, but then I hadn't really wanted to touch anything like I wanted to touch her.

"I obviously can't feel anything." I reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, trying to will something more than the register of resistance from it. She leaned into it, held it at her cheek and sighed.

"No, but it feels good."

I refrained from telling her what it could feel like, using all my will to concentrate on the obvious positive reaction she gave me, letting it permeate the thing itself, and letting it permeate me.

"Really?"

She smiled again, and it was the most beautiful smile I've ever seen.

"Yes, really."

I let myself believe her, and took her face in both hands, gently teasing her mouth with mine, and eliciting a small moan from her. Her hands were on my hips, stroking my sides and stomach, searing my skin as they went, grabbing my jeans, pulling me closer.

My breath hitched, and I responded eagerly, finding her thighs, stroking up her dress as I went, kneading lightly and left my hand on her back, rubbing against her, feeling her grinding back, searching for closer contact. The movement had my cock throbbing even more, every nerve exposed, and it threatened to overwhelm me as I found her knee and hitched it to my hip, opening her up to me.

She slung her arms around my neck, allowing me to get a hold of her ass. As soon she was in my arms, her ankles crossed behind me, pressing firmly, narrowing the gap, her weight grinding in jagged motions on top of my strained jeans. I heard her sandals drop down, and I was desperately trying to contain some control when I suddenly felt her wetness smearing my stomach where my shirt had ridden up, and I lost it.

"Oh god." It was visceral, and I couldn't think about anything but how it would feel to be in her, to penetrate her. To feel the slick, silky warmth of her yield and conform and wrap around me. My breathing became ragged, and I found her neck as she arched back and moaned into it, my tongue and teeth tasting her. She started yanking furiously at my tee, and for a moment I stopped, and just held her, making sure to commit the feeling to memory in case this would be the thing that ended it. Not safe.

"What? Bucky?"

I bit my lip and inhaled the sweet scent of her, trying to shake off my fear.

"Please. Tell me what's wrong."

I could feel her twisting, wanting to get a response from me, and I tightened my embrace one last time before I slowly released her and sunk her to the floor. She backed away, for the first time showing a reflection of my fear and doubt. With a conviction I didn't feel, I ripped the shirt over my head, letting her see me. Her eyes widened, and she stood completely still for a second, and I wanted to cover up again.

"Yeah. It's not pretty."

She shot me a look, and my mind raced. I'd been prepared for disgust and horror and pity, but what I wasn't prepared for was the look of admiration and marvel she met me with. Her eyes were wandering all over my torso, but her focus wasn't where I had expected it to be, she hardly seemed to notice the ragged ruins of my shoulder at all.

"No. You're right. Pretty doesn't even come close." Somehow that made me even more self-conscious and, strangely, more aroused. The way her gaze lingered on my chest and moved slowly down my abdomen had me twitching, and her unabashed look reminded me of a predator closing in on its prey. "Don't you even own a mirror?"

I snorted, for a brief second imagining telling her the truth, that I’d not seen myself reflected in anything but vague random surfaces since the 40s; but she continued her shameless ogling, not caring one jot.

"No, of course you don't. How would you get anything done?"

I couldn't stifle a laugh, and not even her finger slowly rising to gently trace the ragged edge of the mutilation could stop the smile forming on my lips.

"You're beautiful." The honesty in her voice moved me thoroughly, and I felt the rush of blood reddening my cheeks. I wanted to respond, but I was struck dumb by her twisting her dress over her head and dropping it on the floor. "There. So you don't have to feel uncomfortable."

I could barely hear the quip comment over the roar of blood churning in my head and left me unable to form any coherent thought as I just stared at her, taking in every stunning inch of bare skin she offered. Her chest was moving rapidly, causing her breasts to quiver slightly in the cups of her lace bra, the hint of tan lines along the rim, the faint shadows of her hardened nipples rippling down her slim but soft stomach. Her waist was accentuated by the roundness of her hips, ending at the black triangle of her panties pointing down between her legs, having me dwelling on the heat and moisture and tightness I knew it covered.

It wasn't a matching set. The randomness of the stray thought amused me, I'd been so sure it had been. The irony wasn't lost on me even thinking about it when my only concern was getting it off her. She had a small scar on her thigh, and I felt a bit better, seeing that the flaw only enhanced the perfection that was the rest of her. She watched me with glittering eyes, a smile playing on her lips. I swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to just fling her on the bed and fuck her senseless, though something in her eyes told me she wouldn't have minded that one bit.

"Uncomfortable isn't the word I would use, no.” I traced her bra with a finger, not quite hiding the tremble in it, and let my palm brush against the peak of her nipple through the lacy fabric.

A shiver ran through her, and, encouraged by the response, I moved slowly to the side, sliding the strap off her shoulder. Her tongue darted out, flicking over her lips, and she stared at me a moment before quickly reaching back, unhooking it and shaking it down her arms. My hips jerked and I could feel myself leaking at the sight of her. I tried to keep my hand still and carefully cupped the breast, feeling it yielding and forming to my palm, and I brushed my thumb over the hardened peak, feeling it stiffening further. Air hitched in my throat as my breathing became shallow, and she moaned silently before laying her hands flat on my chest, burning against my skin.

She ran them lightly down my stomach and rested them on my hips. My brain was in a haze as I bent down and closed my lips around a nipple, my tongue tasting and circling it, sucking gently. She pulled me closer, grinding as I moved to the other one, not wanting to let any part of her go unexplored. She pressed into me and started tugging at my belt, her fingers grazing my lower torso, drumming above the fly of my jeans. Small jolts thudded through the swollen head of my cock, and my hips shot back an inch, allowing her space to work.

Without conscious thought my hand reached down and found the soft tender skin inside of her thighs, stroking up between them and feeling the wetness overflowing her panties. I couldn't hold back. I slid my fingers underneath the edge and slipped them into her. The feeling was unbelievable, the slickness, the heat and the pulsating resistance. I stopped, wanting to revel in it, to make it last.

"Jesus." I moaned loudly and found her chest, neck and shoulders, inhaled and tasted her, there was no part of her I wasn't aching for.

She started grinding harder, hands yanking at my jeans again, the fly flew open. Her hand was on me, closing around me through the damp front of my underwear, jutting her hips up with a gasp, and I was pushed further inside. My head fell forward, and I didn't even connect the long drawn groan with myself.

Base instinct took over, a remnant of a time long past, and I felt my fingers twitching and turning slowly, exploring the entrance and inching further inside while my thumb connected with the soaking wet lace covering her clit. Her nails dug into my neck and shoulders as she fell back, her full weight on my hand as I slid it down behind her and pulled her knee up, pinning it to my waist with my elbow, stroking down again and finding her panties, hooking a finger under the skimpy fabric. I was vaguely conscious of her laugh as it snapped in my hurry to pull it down, but it was exchanged for a deep groan as my bare skin connected with her, sliding between her folds and finding the throbbing centre buried in them.

"Oh fuck yes." Her hands reached up around my neck, groping and clawing for anchoring as she fell back further, her lungs working overtime expelling air in shallow bursts while I massaged her, falling into a steady rhythm, hitting deeper inside her, revelling in the hot softness. My breathing was just as ragged as hers, my whole midriff and groin seemed on fire, her reaction being so feral, so real, so joyous. She whimpered into my mouth, and I felt my mouth turn up in a wondrous grin, and she came.

"Fuuuuck." She whimpered and moaned into my smile, and pushed herself even closer, her walls clenching furiously, her heart vibrating in my chest, her pelvis pinning my arm between her and my dick, almost causing me to come with her. I kept the pressure on, rubbing carefully as she rode it out, and I chuckled as she struggled for air. "Damn."

It was hardly a whisper and so feeble it had me shaking with a low laugh, making her thrust against me, register my rigid erection and stop. She leaned back, locking her eyes into mine, a calculating smile forming while freeing a hand and sliding her fingertips into the elastic of my boxers. The grin froze on my lips along with the rest of my body as she slid her finger around to my stomach, and with a gentle yank pulled them down.

I stopped with a gasp stuck in my throat, and I couldn't look away when I felt her warm hand close around my balls, kneading gently while she was biting her lip. The pressure and tightness were amped up to an unbearable level, my crotch was on fire. I arched back, and my hand slid out from between her legs to grab her shoulders for support until she let her leg down and started falling to her knees, not once breaking eye contact, anchoring her descent firmly around my base.

Trying to remember all the reasons it might be a bad idea, my eyes widened and I bit my lip to conceal a primal growl building in my throat. I watched her tongue extend and lap up the leaking precum before closing her soft lips around me, sinking down while moaning silently.

It was indescribable, for a moment all my other senses were shut off completely, I couldn't breathe, and I didn't want to. Every nerve in my body seemed to register the soft resistance of her throat, her tongue poking and stroking every indentation and ridge underneath, her hand tightening and relinquishing in slow motion as she pumped in perfect rhythm. I held her gaze, her eyes half closing, small wet sounds in unison with the languid pace, her hair flowing down her shoulders, and I fought with every fibre for some restraint. The sight of her was enough to drive me over the edge, the feel of her was almost too much to handle. I was scared to touch her, I was scared that if I did I wouldn't be able to let go of her, and I was half wishing she would stop, but I couldn't act on it. I could feel myself swelling and aching impossibly inside her, and she was the most beautiful and the most lecherous being I'd ever seen.

I remember sex, I remember all of it, but I didn't remember this. The pureness of it, the division. I wanted to retain my dignity, to be in control, but I also just wanted to give in. I felt like I would burst every time her tongue pressed and stroked, every time the overload of nerves that was my cock hit her palate, every time her teeth grazed lightly, every time her hand jerked. But I kept my hands off her, I managed, until she slid her other hand inside my pants and took hold on top of my ass.

I couldn't have stopped her if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. She had control, and I was completely helpless. She pushed and released, pushed and released, and I let her. Every small jut of my hip imitating the initial penetration, her mouth tightening and expanding around the head in a steady pace, the sight of my cock entering her beautiful mouth, and I had to hold on to something. So I grabbed her head, held on to her hair, afraid to hurt her, scared of the part of me that didn't care if I did. I wanted to go deeper, I wanted to pull out, I wanted to come, I wanted it never to end. Safe. Not safe. Safe. Not safe.

In the end it was not up to me, she was in control, complete control, until I tensed up, and I held her, and I thrust. I exploded in a blinding euphoria, the best 3 seconds of my far too long life.

I'd thought I remembered sex. The way I remember it from before and dreaming of it in cryo. Cryo, with the simpleness of it, the comfort. The cryo dreams feel real, and they aren't marred like the others, they don't blend together and become nightmares. I've thought they are true memories. I remember sex, I remember lust, I remember the anticipation, the joy of it. I remember the relief and the pleasure and the release and the contentment. And I've orgasmed since I returned, it took a long time, true, but I've jerked off, several times a day sometimes, it's a semi-effective way to get more relaxed. Besides, I'm 99; not dead.

I've tried to recreate it, but my memories are wrong. No matter the dreams, no matter how unmarred I think they are, I didn't remember this. It didn't compare. Maybe it was the rarity of it, the amount of time that had passed, maybe I'd simply never been this attracted to them. The beautiful and warm and fantastic girls I had known when I was the other one and the future was bright and Steve was little. Maybe it was because she was so free, uninhibited and daring. It could be any or all or none of them, but this by far surpassed any memory I ever had had.

I was shaking, I was panting, and I could feel myself unloading into her mouth, again and again and again, for a long moment I felt it would never stop, that I would never land. I felt free and relaxed and warm and safe. It was brief, and it was fleeting, but it was there. Like in a haze I became aware of the way my hands were entwined in her hair, the steel grip I had on her head, and I opened my eyes, trying to make my fingers relax and free her. She was smiling, clearly enjoying herself, and she was stunning. I tried to calm my breathing enough to speak, but it took a few seconds until I was able to form any coherent thought.

"Jesus." The inadequacy of the statement wasn't lost on me, but she seemed to take the full meaning. She pushed back, and, with a last lick, she released me. I pulled her up, her shoulder grazing the belt buckle, my softening cock sliding between her breasts, and grazing her naked stomach. I cupped her face and took in her brilliant smile and sparkling eyes before kissing her. Lightly at first, then deep and demanding, tasting myself on her lips and her tongue, and I held her, never wanting to let her go. "God, you're amazing."

Her cheeks touched my chin as she broke out in a grin, and a soft chuckle escaped her. "Really? I never would have thought you thought that." Her teasing tone and her husky voice sent a wave of pure joy through me, and I laughed as I embraced her and just stood there, content, breathing her name. Safe.

"No, I really kept my cool, didn't I?" She chuckled again, and I closed my eyes, savouring it fully.

"Yes. Impossible to read. To be honest I'm still in the dark as to whether you even liked that." She reached up and stroked my hair away from my face, and her grin widened even more, she was clearly enjoying the tease, and it was contagious.

I flexed my fingers, gently dug them into her sides, and in a fit of laughter we tumbled back onto the bed behind me. She fell on top of me, and I just held her, enjoying the pureness and spontaneity. I may have remembered it wrong, but the joyous emotion was still familiar, and for once I didn't try to suppress the rush from the past. I lay back, closed my eyes, and just felt her weight, her skin, her curves under my hands, the reality of her. I couldn't keep track of time, it felt endless, but a pang still hit me when she moved, it was far too soon.

"But it's too bad really."

I opened my eyes, watching her.

"What?"

She was sunk down beside me, a leg draped over mine, chin in her hand, resting on an elbow. A lazy smile playing on her lips.

"Well, maybe I should have saved that for something else." Her fingers were tracing my torso, her gaze glittering and seductive, her hair slightly messed, and I suddenly wasn't as spent as I thought I was. She walked her hand towards my pelvis and gently brushed her fingers in the hair just above my already hardening dick. I met her eyes, wondering if she could recognise the awe in mine, and grinned, taking her cue.

"Yeah. That's too bad." My voice was hardly carrying, the influx of lust overwhelming me for a second. I felt my pulse increase, envisioning the continuing possibilities, and I reached up, brushing a nipple, feeling it stiffen under my thumb. Her midriff jerked closer, spreading her legs, her pussy soaking my thigh. My cock twinged visibly, and I struggled to keep my tone light and teasing, the surge of blood making my sentiments entirely clear. "Really too bad. But I can't do anything about that now."

She ground harder, trying for some traction, and I flexed my thigh obligingly before sliding my hand down and felt my way through the impossible wetness and heat.

"Really, really too bad."

She hid her face in my chest, moaning, and suddenly I had her pinned underneath me, wanting to feel her again, needing to feel her. I inserted my fingers, twisting up as I penetrated her mouth with my tongue, my already rock hard length rubbing against her as I settled between her legs.

I became aware of my feet still tangled in my pants and hurriedly shrugged out of them. Without losing momentum, I kissed her breasts, her neck, grazing my teeth over her nipples, touching all the bare skin I could reach. She let out a gasp when I pushed deeper inside her, teasing her apart, stretching her. Keeping up the pressure as I wriggled down, I used her hip as leverage, tracing her stomach and mound with my mouth as I went. I had planned to keep her suspended, but when I got down I couldn't. The heat and scent blocked all my other senses, and I pushed her knee out, exposing her and finally sunk my tongue in her entrance, tasting her, savouring her again and fighting the urge to lose myself. She tasted of salt and sex, of trust and joy and warmth, of sweetness and of life.

"You taste like heaven." It was an involuntary moan, but her response was loud and clear.

She was writhing under my touch, arching her back and kicking off to get friction, and I wondered fleetingly if this was what happiness felt like. I wanted to drown in her, take her, have her, keep her, but most of all I wanted to please her. I'd given up on being gentle and caring and selfless a long time ago, they had taught me not to be. They'd taught me a lot of things, but for the first time in a long time I finally believed some things can be unlearned.

I sighed contentedly and licked my way up and found her clit while she pulled me in by my hair. With only minor doubt I released her knee and brushed my metal fingers along her inner thigh, opening her up with my other hand, gauged her reaction, and slowly slid two cold, smooth hard fingers inside her.

"Fuck." Breath caught in her throat, she moaned my name, and it made my heart race even faster. "Bucky."

I kept my tongue on her, circling and stroking, recalling vaguely what to do without needing to, she made it so easy. Her every movement and reaction a confirmation, and my laugh resonated, the effortlessness a welcoming surprise. She squirmed violently, and I rotated my fingers, watching her closely, making sure the lifeless limbs adjusted to the delicate softness surrounding them. I could feel her swelling in my mouth and willed the sensors to register her tightening and pulsating around the unyielding surface and with a strange sense of pride and accomplishment I knew she was close. I was torn between letting her come and the urge to keep her there, tethering on the brink, but the rapid whimpers and curses chose for me, there was nothing she could ask that I would deny her.

"You wanna come, doll?" The writhing and low groans left me in no doubt, but I wanted to hear her say it, wanted to deliver it to her.

"Yes. Please. God yes!"

I drove my fingers upwards one last time and sucked harder, pressing my tongue full into her, and she came, a violent shiver running through her frame. She bucked in ecstasy, and I could feel her orgasm pulsating against my tongue and my lips and even in my hand. The spasms gradually and carefully expelling me while she sank back, panting and heaving for breath. I lifted my head a couple of inches, looking up at her, and kissed her lightly, a grin on my face, my lips and chin wet and slick from her.

"Damn. I had almost forgotten how good that felt. You taste fucking fantastic." I ignored my lie and kept my eyes on hers as I worked my way upward, small currents emerging where her skin touched mine. My cock was rigid and leaking, brushing her thigh, as I lowered myself onto her. "Thank you." I cupped her face, resting on my elbows, and smiled as I kissed her, wanting to convey the truth without revealing too much, and she was gracious.

"You're welcome. It was a genuine pleasure." She twisted under me, scooting downward, stopping just as she barely touched me, letting me feel how she was throbbing and dripping still. The reminder was maddening, and I had to use all my restraint, reliving how she felt in my mouth and around my fingers, and my breath hitched a little imagining her wrapped around my cock. I was on fire again, equally if not more eager that I had been initially, the intense orgasm making me hungry for more. I crashed my lips onto hers and her mouth opened, our tongues meeting forcibly. I savoured the combined flavour of her mouth mingled with her pussy, my chin and cheeks still covered with the proof of it.

She moaned weakly and started to grab at my hips and waist, landing on the small of my back, and steered me into her. I rotated slightly, angling myself and she spread out, allowing me access, and I dipped into her, my cock almost bursting against the heat. I drew a shaky breath, one hand braced by her head, kissed her again, and pushed against her, feeling the tight wetness of her entrance, my head dizzy with anticipation... and stopped. The thought was unwelcome, and every fibre in me wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't. I let out a snort, half in desperation, half in exasperation, it was just too idiotic. I fell down and buried my face in her shoulder, laughing silently.

"Fuck." I wanted to shout, I wanted to cry, I wanted not to give a damn, but I couldn't. She pushed me up and looked at me, and I felt equal parts embarrassed and tragic; it was too stupid. I wondered briefly if there were any options open, but in the same thought I realised that the only thing I wanted was to be inside her. Which I couldn't be. My cock twitched at the thought, and I fell down and buried my face again. "I don't... We can't do this. I don't have anything." I felt pathetic, and annoyed, and mortified, but what struck me most was that I also felt comfortable and relaxed. Apart from the incessant thrumming and burning in my groin I felt more relaxed than I could remember ever feeling. I smiled despite myself, clinging on to the thought that I'd still have this.

“Anything what?" It took her two seconds, she'd been fairly gone in the moment too, something I felt another twinge of pleasure at. "Oh. Right. That." I nodded into her hair, a groan escaping me, my head shaking.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think, I never expected... I haven't done this in a really long time." I hoped she would let that comment slide too, and she did, only not in the way I expected. She started laughing, and I felt her wriggling down and applying pressure on my back again, stopping only just when I was dipping into her folds, wet, yielding and welcoming. I stared at her, unbelieving. "That's not helping, you know." She wriggled infinitesimally closer and grinned, her eyes sparkling.

"Get my bag." I stared at her for a long moment, my mind boggled by the implication, and then I was off her, searching frantically for her bag. I found it hidden under my jacket, her having dropped it there when we entered the room. I threw it in front of her, and she rooted through it, fishing out a small box and handed it to me. I stared at her, my eyes asking the question without meaning to. "What? Alone in the big world, remember. Besides, I used to be a girl scout." I chuckled and opened the box, tipping some of the content out in my hand, keeping one, and returning the rest. I looked at her before turning my attention to the object in question, weighing it in my hand, turning it around, reading the description, trying to ignore the throbbing ache as I became aware of yet another complication.

"Yes. I remember. Always prepared, huh. Wise words to live by." I bit my lip thoughtfully, shooting her another look, and was struck by the chagrin in hers.

"What? You think I'm a slut?" I was stunned for a second before I realised what she was saying, and I was kicking myself for allowing the faintest trace of the thought to enter her mind.

"What? No! I think you're fucking amazing." I stumbled over them in my hurry to get the words out, and I inhaled before trying again. "I think you're the most amazing woman I've ever met." I hoped action could convey my sentiments more clearly and bent down and kissed her, first her lips and then her nose. Relief rushed through me when her face brightened, flushed and relaxed, before the inevitable question formed, and she shot me a sardonic glance.

"But what then? You don't think it'll fit?" Her eyes darted between my erection and my face, a strange gleam of sarcasm and lust playing, and I snorted and shook my head, not quite knowing how to explain.

"Yes. That's exactly it." I smiled, but then stopped, sighed, struggling to find the words while she looked at me attentively. "No. I just... I don't know if I can... I haven't... It was different, they were different..." The words were a scramble, and for a moment I wished I could take them back, a pang of annoyance hitting me that I would cause more problems. I've worked to avoid conflict for two years, spending every day meticulously planning to ensure I don't have them, and I wasn't prepared to deal with them. I looked at her, grinning, trying to hide the agony, trying to think, trying to ignore the well of opposites working in me, I just wanted it to be easy. Like it used to be, like this should be, like it had been, and like it would have been throughout had I not been taught different. Had I not been different, had I been just a man.

She looked at me another moment, returned the smile and rose, keeping my eyes locked as she stepped over and saved me. I opened my mouth to speak, but she leaned in, kissed my chest and ripped the foil off in one smooth motion before gripping my cock at the base and wiping the moisture off the head. The touch of her made me flinch, suddenly all my inner turmoil was washed away, and I summoned all my energy to keep myself in check. I stood there gaping, not daring to breathe, until she placed the condom on top and dragged her hand down, securing it in one tight motion, and I lost it.

Before I knew what was happening she was hoisted up and pinned against the far wall, her legs firmly pressed on the swell of my ass. Her hands clawed at my neck, threading into my hair, my hands clamped around her shoulders, her ribs pinned by my elbows and her pussy; wet and soft and sweet and warm, crowning the tip of my cock. It took all the self-control I could muster to stop, trying to manage enough clarity to make it last, to be considerate and gentle. I wanted to be considerate, I wanted to be gentle, I wanted to be everything they taught me not to be. I wanted to be me, or at least the version that was left to me. I tried to steady my breathing, feeling hers wash over me, her taste and scent, and my head was swimming.

"Are you sure?" It was a ragged moan more than a sentence, but she seemed to understand me well enough, small affirmative whimpers and nods mingling with puffs of air in my mouth and I finally let go. I dug my fingers into her shoulders, pulling her down as I thrust into her, slowly, endlessly, trying to make sense of every moment as the taut swollen head of me pushed into her, feeling her stretch and conform, tighten and constrict, closing around and squeezing every inch of me, until I finally was inside her, swallowed and helpless. I blanked out, I just stood there, having no emotion or sense that wasn't directed into her. I could feel every twitch and clench, every squirm and wriggle, every breath and every heartbeat. I was fleetingly grateful for both the orgasm and the condom, without either I would have come in an instant. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." I fell against her, gasping for air, clamouring to string a coherent thought together, not quite succeeding. "Is this okay?" She just spread out further, her heels digging into my buttocks, grinding frantically for traction, and my focus was fast dissolving. I was vaguely aware that I should loosen my grip on her, but I was afraid to move, I couldn't see myself being able to stop if I did.

“Oh, god yes. Please." She twitched and buckled a little, making her pussy twinge, sending a small electric current through my whole frame. I shifted, clamping her firmer against me, wanting to go deeper but making a last effort of control. "Please, Bucky. Just fuck me." If it was the pleading tone, the command or simply the use of my name I didn't know, but the words had me simultaneously wanting to explode in her and make it last as long as possible. Keeping all my focus on the latter, I finally pulled out.

The cool air in the room made the difference even more noticeable when I sunk back in, the heat and tightness almost scorching. I groaned helplessly into her neck and shoulder, trying desperately to direct my attention elsewhere as I felt her rubbing against me, her clit finding friction on my pelvis. Her fingers tugged frantically at my hair, her breathing small, ragged moans.

“Jesus fuck.” I secured my embrace and began thrusting, slowly and steadily, gradually building the rhythm. Blood roaring for every stroke, her walls were squeezing around me, slick and soft, impossibly wet and warm. Every fibre and nerve of my cock exposed to the pressure, forcing its way in, feeling her close on the way out, repeating the process over and over, every intrusion threatening to push me over the edge. She found my mouth and latched on, lips moulding to mine, letting my tongue penetrate her as I fucked her, air catching in her throat, and I could feel she was close.

My arms flexed, wanting to clamp her tighter, to go deeper, and somewhere buried in my brain a warning light flashed. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. For her. Not safe for her. With agonising effort I found the last ounce of reason left in me, and firmly inside her I stopped, panting and sweating, hunched and pulled my head back, looking at her, marvelling at the sight. Her eyes were shining, her face and chest flushed and her hair was darkened by moisture, small droplets of sweat running down her temples and on the bridge of her nose. She looked glorious, and I was filled with equal measure of joy and renewed surges of lust as she scrunched her eyes in exasperation, moaned, gasping for air, sending me a pleading look.

"Don't stop." I could understand the dissatisfaction, I wasn't hurting her half as much as myself, but the gratification I got from her frustration made a huge grin break out on my face. She stared at me in mock annoyance, losing her composure as I shifted my grip, slid my hand under her ass, spreading my fingers for support, and shot my hip up. I penetrated her deeper, effectively landing her full weight on my cock. The increased pressure and depth threatened to overwhelm me, but I managed to retain composure long enough to brace myself on the wall beside her head as I leaned in for a kiss, her lips trembling against mine.

"No, I don't ever want to stop." I laughed shakily, feeling her sink even further down, and I abandoned the last attempt of control. I used my arm for leverage, hoisted her up and pushed her against the wall, allowing myself space to move and sank into her as far as I could. My breath hitched, my tongue plunged into her mouth, and my mind went blank. I was engulfed by her, drowning in her, the feeling of her skin, the intensity of her heat, the soaked, clenching tightness that squeezed and contracted around me. It made every nerve burn and ache. The taste of her mouth, the firm demands of her tongue, the scent of her skin, the sound of her breathing, the moans she elicited into my mouth, and I forgot. I completely forgot as I stroked harder and faster, pounding relentlessly, feeling every connection, every fibre, every drop of moisture. I forgot to breathe, I forgot to think, I forgot who and what I was, all that mattered was her, feeling her, sensing her, fucking her, loving her.

"Oh god, I'm co-co—" Her whole frame buckled, and she arched back, impaling herself on me as she orgasmed, her nails digging into my neck and shoulders, forcing my mouth onto hers. I chuckled, my head swimming before I thrust into her with all the force I could muster, and I came violently, cursing her name. Everything stopped for what felt like a flash of eternity, my head was completely empty, a brilliant moment of clarity. Then the pleasure and euphoria hit as I landed, and I regained all my sensory system, all of it focused at that one point where I throbbed and ejaculated, a feeling of complete relief washing over me. I felt completely spent, I felt relaxed, I felt whole, I felt alive, I felt human. I felt warm. I felt safe.  

"Fuck." The small sound was barely audible through the incessant creaking of the wall under my hand. The blood roaring in my ears and our combined panting, and I let out another small laugh as I became aware of her slumping down on my shoulder, her legs shaking and struggling to keep their hold around my waist. "Jesus, Bucky. I'm falling apart at the seams here." I laughed again and tried to keep my own legs steady as I gathered her up in a firmer embrace, tugging my fingers out of the dents they'd made, hoping she wouldn't notice. My face hiding in her neck, I carried her over to the bed, resting on my knees as I laid her down, still inside her, reluctant to pull out. Not wanting to let her go. I never wanted to let her go. She slumped back, ankles still crossed behind my back, and I kissed her, her contractions expelling me, having her squirm against me one last time. I got a hold on the condom, slid it off and dropped it on the floor before rolling down beside her. I settled her onto my arm, and she slung along my side, her knee on my thigh, her head resting on my shoulder. I had no words, there was nothing I could say that could even begin to express what I felt, so I kept silent, listening to the receding pulse in my ears, the rapid thrumming in her chest. I took her soft, small fragile hand in mine, struck again by the contrast, but for the first time trying to recognise the potential similarities. Safe. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Thank you." I barely got the words out, they seemed so insufficient, so hopelessly inadequate, but I needed to say them. I could feel her twisting her head, rubbing her face in my chest, not knowing how to respond.

"For what?" My lips twitched, I knew she understood, but at last I didn't want to shy away from an answer.

"For the best night in..." I stopped, not finding the right wording, how to say enough without saying too much. "In a long time." It was too little, but it was all I had to offer, no matter how desperately I wanted to give her more. She twisted her head up, cupped my cheek and kissed me, telling me she understood, and a well of gratitude rose in my chest.

"You're welcome. And likewise." I looked at her, struck again by awe and wonder, her eyes glittering, her lips swollen and shiny, a small smile playing on them, her hair mussed and tangled and a faint flush spreading up her neck and face, making her hide her face again. I inhaled deeply and she snuggled closer, wincing slightly, and relaxed, moulding her body to mine. "Are you staying?" The words were light and casual, but I could feel the small hitch as she held her breath for a second, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Yes." I exhaled slowly. "If you want me to." She let out a tiny sigh, probably revealing more than she had intended, and I stayed gracious in return.

"I do. I have an early flight though, so you have to get up early." I smiled at the neutral tone, and tugged at the blanket, draping it over us, cradled her closer and kissed her hair, taking in her scent and the texture, forcing the thought of her leaving out of my mind.

"I always get up early. Just sleep. I'll be here.”

The roar of the bike was unnaturally loud in the quiet morning air as I kicked it to life, and I twisted the handle twice more before kicking into drive and speeding out of the alley, not caring about oncoming traffic. I sped through the sleeping streets, accelerated up the onramp, and flew down the empty freeway, clearing my head and chasing away the remnants of melancholy and sadness.

It had been a long night, but nowhere near long enough. She had fallen asleep within minutes, her heart slowing and her breath steady, her chest rising and falling softly, her eyes relaxed, her lashes resting on her cheeks. I'd lain there just watching her. Fascinated by the trust and peace she displayed, the trust she had in me. I'd traced her arms and cheek, her waist and thigh, following the contours of her, the outline, trying to make her tangible, to keep her. I'd been revelling in the warmth and comfort, both things I've given up a long time ago, and I had allowed my mind to wander, to imagine, to dream. What it would be like to ask her to stay, to go with her, to get to know her, to see her again, to see her always. I knew it would never happen, I never imagine, they had taught me not to, they'd taught me a lot of things, but lying there with her I still did it. I saw her trust in me, and I wanted to believe I could be worth it. That I could be more. That life could be more. More than routine and struggle and lists and fear, more than a fight.

Even as I'd lain there, I could feel the memories of the night fading. They were like dreams, my mind a sieve trying to catch them. It wasn’t a dream, and I knew that. I had to remember, to commit the feel of her, the weight of her, the warmth of her to memory. I had to remember. I continued to count her heartbeats until the first ray of the sun gleamed through the slip in the curtains, and I knew it was over. She was still sleeping as I carefully withdrew my arm, and lifted her leg to inch out from under it, sliding out of the bed, careful not to jostle it too much, not looking back at her, not wanting to lose my nerve. I'd found my clothes spread out across the floor, and I relived every moment of how each item got there as I collected them and got dressed. I'd tidied up what I could, I didn't dare make too much noise, I'd been determined to slip out unnoticed.

Until I'd stood by the door, my hand hovering over the handle and the ache became too much. I'd walked back to the bed and stood a long while just watching her, and when I bent down to kiss her I'd known she was awake. I knew she'd been awake, and I knew she'd let me go. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew she had to. I pressed my real hand to her hair, brushed my lips against her cheek and hurried quietly through the door before I changed my mind. I hadn't stopped until I was in the alley, sitting across my bike, fighting the urge to throw it through the nearest window.

I was halfway to Constanța when I noticed the traffic getting heavier, and the sun getting higher. I checked my watch and confirmed my thought that it was too late, and that she would be gone. I slowed down and idled in at the next rest stop, made a u-turn and fell into the increasingly steady stream of cars heading back to the city. I passed the tired commuters and truck drivers, the families with kids, and couples bickering and I felt more connected to them than I ever had. I had imagined myself to be one of them for a fleeting moment and that had been enough.

When I entered the city limit, I thought about stopping to get some coffee or something to eat, but my head was already buzzing and my appetite was for something completely different, so in the end I just stopped by Harry and checked on the kittens. She was visibly annoyed that I hadn't brought her something but placated enough when I sat there for a few minutes, scratching her and letting the kittens climb my arm. I left with promises to return later in the day with more food and drove slowly back to the room. My room. Maybe if I talked to Andrei I could get more work. And afford a better room. I parked the bike in the shed, locked it, and went in, half running up the stairs.

I was out of breath when I wrenched the door open and stepped in, doing a cursory sweep through the window before shrugging off my jacket and shoes. I latched the door and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. I brought it to the bathroom and turned the shower on, draining the water bottle as I waited for hot water. I stepped into the shower, and as the stream hit my hair, her scent washed over me, and for a fleeting second I was back there, with her. With her and with the knowledge that I'm not only a monster, that killing isn't all I can do. That no matter what they've taught me, there are other things to learn, other things I know. That even if the monster is still in me, so is the man. I recalled the memory of her, slipping as it might be, and fought with every fibre to keep it; if I can remember all of them, I must be able to remember her.

After I'd dried off I went over to the window and put the cardboard in place, shutting out the sun, I had to sleep no matter how much I was dreading it. I sat down and shook out the sheets before I stopped, scanning the room. I saw the clothes I'd left on the floor and went over, bringing back my sweater and shirt, draping them over the flat pillow before laying down on it, inhaling deeply. I am tired of fighting, and I want to stop, to rewind, to be different, to change. It always ends in a fight but maybe it doesn't have to. Safe.