Chapter Text
She was slender and pale and, best of all, a redhead. She parked herself on the center stool at the bar, ordered his best top-shelf vodka straight, and spent the rest of the night watching him.
Bucky was in love, not dead, and she was exceptional. At least he could hide the evidence of what she did to him under the tails of his shirt. Black on black was good for hiding more than splashed liquor. A couple of hours before closing, when he looked over to find a candied cherry between her lips, he ducked into the stockroom to call Steve.
"I may not be home tonight."
"Oh. All right."
Steve sounded disappointed, but Steve also blew at least three different guys at the gym that week, and Bucky was just tired of it. He felt old. He felt tired in a way that couldn't be fixed with twelve solid hours of sleep. Steve made him feel used.
Being used wasn't what he minded. What he minded was the broken heart.
He carried a fresh case of beer into the bar and as he did, he felt her eyes on him. Unwavering. She scared him a little.
Bucky liked it.
But as the night wore on, it occurred to him that he didn't have the first clue about how to talk to a woman like that.
It turned out he didn't have to.
She tipped her empty glass at him and ordered a bottle of water. He brought it to her and when he set it on the bar in front of her, she reached out. She wrapped her slim fingers around his left wrist. Bucky froze. She had a shooter's callouses.
She leaned in, smile in her eyes and on her lips. "When do you get off?"
Bucky laughed. "I can wait for the lady," he said.
She smiled at him, serene and beguiling, and released his wrist to reach for her little purse. She withdrew a business card and handed it over, scissored between two fingers.
Bucky took it, read her name--Natasha Romanoff--and her title--executive search recruiter. Headhunter. The blood drained from his face and he reevaluated the situation.
"You know why I'm here, Sergeant." Next, across the top of the bar, came a slip of paper with handwritten information: a hotel name and a room number. "Come find me after work. Let's talk." She gathered her purse, her water, and slid off of her chair with the grace of a cat. She didn't look back.
Bucky thought about it. He shouldn't have, he knew. He liked his job, he liked his free time, and most of all, he liked Steve. He didn't miss the Army, the work he did in the shadows, in the sand. What he missed was being needed; sure, he'd climbed to manager pretty fast here, but it wasn't the same. They didn't need him. He could have lived with that, but it wasn't just work. Steve wouldn't commit and Bucky didn't understand why; he just knew that Steve didn't need him. It would be a lie to say he'd never thought of leaving. He spent a lot of time wondering if he should even stick around. So a chance like this...
He was pretty sure he was going to turn Natasha down, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to spend some time with a beautiful woman who wanted him for his skills, even if it was strictly business.
As usual, Bucky was the last one to leave. He double-checked the closing shift's work, then let himself out and locked up.
Outside, it was cool enough to make him button his coat. Head down, shoulders hunched, he started walking.
It was a long walk. His shoulder started to ache, as much from the chill as from work, and his feet started to drag a little, but he walked, and he thought. It had been a few years since he and Steve had left the Army--the med board for him, and he'd fought tooth and nail to stay in, but there just wasn't a place in the new Army for an injured sniper. He thought, when they'd gotten out, when they'd moved in together, that he and Steve would stop being... what they were only when they could be. The stolen moments when Steve had come home on leave, the stolen moments when they were both in, had been fine when it was all Bucky knew he could have. But he wanted more. He'd thought, when they'd gotten the place in Williamsburg, that he'd finally get it. But Steve had taken a separate room. He went to the gym every day. Some days he came back with red lips and shame in his eyes and Bucky didn't judge, he couldn't, because Steve had been so tight-laced for so long, he'd had to be, and if Steve was having a good time then Bucky wanted to be happy for him--but that didn't change the hurt. He wanted Steve. He really wanted Steve, and he wanted him all to himself. He wanted a yellow ring on his finger and their names on everything together, he wanted to share a room and a bed, he wanted kids like they'd been, kids no one else wanted. He wanted what the Colonel and Mrs. Phillips had made. He wanted that for himself and he wanted it with Steve.
Instead, he was walking to a boutique hotel in Brooklyn to meet with a Russian headhunter, half-hoping the way she'd looked at him wasn't all about getting him to work for her.
He gave his name to the girl at reception, and while she called up to Natasha's room--Bucky might not have been much of a gentleman, but he knew better than to show up unannounced to a woman's hotel room--he looked around the lobby. It was... loud. Trendy. A little overstimulating, but Bucky knew that was a matter of personal taste.
"You can go on up, Mr. Barnes," the girl said.
Bucky couldn't help the smile or the wink. "Thanks."
She was cute when she blushed.
He rode the elevator up to her floor, running his fingers through his hair, unbuttoning his coat, and trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt. He caught a whiff of himself, liquor and smoke, and winced. Well, maybe he was worried for nothing. He fidgeted and tried not to. He could admit to himself when he was nervous.
And when he was half-ready to be swayed. Maybe some distance would help him figure out what to do about Steve.
Natasha opened the door wearing nothing but a blue silk dressing gown. The dark of the silk made her skin glow and he could see her nipples poked against the fabric. He tried not to stare.
She looked him over. "You came." There was the barest note of surprise in her voice.
"It can't hurt to hear what you have to say." He smiled at her, feeling a lot less sure of himself than he had even before she opened the door.
But she smiled back. It was that small, mysterious smile that told him nothing, but it was a smile; he'd take it. She waved him in.
In the small sitting room that clearly doubled as an office, she offered him vodka--"Brought from home," she said, "real vodka." It burned going down and settled hot inside him. Bucky relaxed in his chair, stretched his legs, and gave her a half-smile.
Natasha smiled back, sharp and feral. With her red hair curling around her face, she made him think of a fox.
"My client has several operations along the southern border," she began. And she went on, describing mine-clearing missions and security details without revealing too much. They wanted former special forces operatives to train and lead the teams.
It seemed shady as hell to Bucky. But it also seemed exciting, and as he sipped his vodka and listened to her outline the compensation package and confidentiality requirements, he seriously considered accepting the employment contract. It would get him out of Brooklyn. Get him away from Steve. Give him time and distance and maybe, just maybe, he'd get the clear mind he needed to make decisions.
But...
Natasha watched him carefully. "You're not going to agree," she said.
Bucky snorted. "I'm impressed."
She shrugged. "I'm not here to impress you." She set her empty glass on the table between their chairs and stretched. "It's all right. I told them you wouldn't agree, but they sent me, anyway."
"How'd you know?" Bucky finished his vodka. It looked like he would be dismissed soon. He drew his knees up and started buttoning up his jacket.
She gave him a cool look. "I was very thorough in my research. I know about Captain Rogers."
Bucky's heart seized. What kind of research had she done that she could find out about Steve? What did she know? Steve was always so careful about not revealing too much about them, about maintaining their cover of just friends.
Natasha got up then. She asked, "How serious are things with Captain Rogers?"
Resisting the urge to scoff, Bucky only shrugged. How serious could they be when Steve kept hooking up with guys at the gym?
Natasha smiled again. This time, it didn't make him feel like prey; it sent an entirely different thrill down his spine. "I had ulterior motives for inviting you here," she said. Her eyes sparkled. Maybe it was just a trick of the light... She went on, "Normally, I'd have taken you to brunch. How do you feel about high heels and short skirts, Sergeant Barnes?"
"Call me James," Bucky said. He let his eyes roam her, from the pale V of skin showing between the lapels of her robe to her ankle beneath the hem. He met her eyes again. "Heels and skirts are nice, Ms. Romanoff, but I like the blue robe."
"Natasha, please." She pushed open the door that led to the bedroom. "Would you like to stay the night, James?"
Yes. But I shouldn't. Bucky looked at her. As he did, Natasha loosened the sash of her robe and let it fall open. She was naked beneath; Bucky saw creamy skin, pink nipples, flame-red curls. His eyes swept up to her face.
She started backing into her bedroom.
Excusing himself would have been rude. Bucky was a lot of things--rude to a lady wasn't one of them. He got up and followed her. He spared a thought for Steve, but where he thought he should feel guilt, he didn't. He didn't feel anything.
Just inside the bedroom, Natasha curled her hands in the front of Bucky's coat and pulled him into a kiss. She surprised him; the kiss wasn't rough, it wasn't full of teeth and the iron taste of blood. It was warm, it was slow, it was sweet. A greeting. A test. For all that she made him think of a hungry predator, for all that she was terrifying, Bucky realized that she was just a girl.
Just a girl.
Not Steve. And she didn't have to be. She tasted lonely and sharp when he dipped his tongue into her mouth. She felt vulnerable when he slid his arms into the robe to wrap around her back and gathered her to his chest. He knew those feelings.
Surprise made an O of her mouth when she pulled away. She searched his face and Bucky let her, hoping she'd find what she was looking for. Her eyes were bright and glassy. She was flushed and her lips were red, wet. She blinked at him.
Something in her face softened. "I misjudged you, James."
Bucky smiled a little and couldn't hold back the bitter sadness. "I think you judged me just right, Natasha."
Her eyes roved his face again and Bucky didn't bother even trying to fake an expression. It wouldn't do any good--she knew too much already. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her, because her fingers started working to open the buttons of his coat, and then she was pushing it off his shoulders.
She took her time undressing him. Bucky was allowed to toe off his boots, but any other help he tried to offer was met with her kisses on his hands, or her taking his hands to put them in her hair, on her shoulders, on her waist. It was... nice. It was nice to be someone's focus for once, to be the one touched and undressed instead of doing the touching and undressing. He was hard by the time she finished. He kind of liked standing in front of someone who didn't know him like Steve did, someone he thought he maybe still had the chance of impressing. The scars on his shoulder had mostly faded, and he'd kept up some of the physical therapy and training, so he wasn't as soft in the middle as he'd been right after...
He shoved the thought away.
Natasha looked up at him. Bucky raked his fingers through her hair and tried to smile; in response, she wrapped one of her small calloused hands around his cock and squeezed gently. Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't intend to be selfish, but he let her stroke him. He touched her hair, her neck, her shoulders, her back while she mouthed at his collarbones and his chest, while she nuzzled the hair over his breastbone. Her palm was rough, her fingers tight, and it felt so good.
He stopped her short of sinking to her knees. He opened his eyes and rubbed his fingers through her hair.
"What do you want?"
That's how the ended up on the bed, with him mapping the topography of her with his hands and his mouth. He lingered wherever got the best sounds out of her. She was so responsive and when he finally, finally sank between her legs, she was hot and wet and let him take as long as he wanted. He didn't put his fingers inside her at all for the first one or for the second; he didn't put them inside her until she was molten liquid, and when he did, it seemed to go on forever, her fingers in his hair and her thighs clamped around his head and her body shaking.
For all that he loved Steve, he enjoyed this. If Steve could have those guys at the gym, well, Bucky felt he could have this.
He was so hard it hurt, but he knew he wouldn't mind this, lying between her thighs, kissing her skin and stroking her leg, watching up the length of her body as her breathing slowed. She was flushed, a little bit sweaty, and absolutely beautiful.
She looked down at him, her eyes dark and calculating. "That wasn't what I expected."
"Maybe you shouldn't have expected."
She ran her fingers through his hair. "Is this how you treat all of your one-night-stands, James?"
Bucky shrugged. "I guess. I don't have a lot of them." Truth was, he'd never gone to bed so fast with anyone. He grinned to hide how sad that really sounded. "I'm kind of picky about who gets to see me naked."
"Hmm," was all she said.
Natasha tugged at his hair. Bucky slid up her body and she pushed him over, tossed a leg over him and settled on his thighs. He ran his hands up and down her sides, back up to play with her breasts. She leaned over him and retrieved a condom from the unopened box on the nightstand. Bucky cupped her breasts and lifted his head to suck at the tips, to taste the flavor of her skin and feel her nipples pebble and harden against his tongue.
She sighed, then pulled away from him. Bucky's hands fell to her hips as she rolled the condom down on his cock. She grasped the root of him and slid over him, slid down.
Bucky sighed and closed his eyes, his fingers tightening at her hips. She felt good. Better than good. Tight, hot, and wet--so wet. He could still taste her on his tongue, smell her. He ran his hands up from her hips, around to her back, and when she leaned forward, when she braced one hand on his chest and pushed the other fingers through his hair, he held on.
She moved slowly at first, just the slow slide of him into and out of her body. Then her hips shifted, and she tightened, and when she lowered herself, she ground against him, taking him deep and holding him there, greedy.
"Who are you thinking about?" she whispered, breath tickling his ear, lips on his earlobe.
He turned into her touch, kissed open mouth. "You," he murmured.
She came one more time before she bit his ear, before she whispered for him to come, before she pressed her hips tight to his and just rocked.
Afterward, they stretched out side by side, only their fingers touching. Bucky stared through cigarette smoke at the ceiling, and he listened to her beside him. She was on his left, and it didn't bother him.
He didn't feel like hiding.
"You're more of a gentleman than I expected," she said.
Bucky wasn't sure how to take that, so he didn't say anything.
"What do you like?"
Steve. He liked Steve. He didn't say that. He shrugged, and rolled his head so he could quirk a smile at her. "I'll try anything you want to try." He winked. "As long as you're having a good time, so am I." His grin turned wicked. "What do you like?"
Unflinching and deadpan, she said, "Things that have scared lesser men."
Bucky sobered a little. He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a lesser man." He took another drag off his own cigarette, the smoke scraping down his throat and the heat filling his lungs. He exhaled. "How often do you come to New York?"
Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not looking for a boyfriend."
Bucky looked back at the ceiling. Who was? And if they were, they sure as hell didn't want him. He was good enough to fuck, at least. "I didn't think you were. I just thought New York is pretty convenient for international flights, and if you've got itches to scratch..." He shrugged. It was a stupid idea, anyway.
Bucky started wondering where he'd left his clothes.
Natasha put out her cigarette and took his to finish it. She blew out the last breath of smoke and flicked it to the crystal ashtray on the nightstand, then straddled his shoulders.
She smelled rich and hot and dark. Bucky looked up at her as she threaded her fingers into his hair.
"How much pain do you like, James?"
Bucky pressed his face between her thighs and let her hurt him until she came in a flood over his mouth and down his chin.
*
Several meetings later, in the remains of the destroyed hotel room, Bucky lay draped across the foot of the big bed, eyes closed and chest heaving. Fireworks were still going off on the insides of his eyelids.
She really knew how to wreck him.
Natasha sat with her back against the headboard. Dimly, over the rush of blood in his ears, he heard the flick of her lighter and the intake of breath. His nose twitched when he smelled the fresh-lit cigarette.
"Do you think we're exclusive?"
He hoped not. He thought of the night before, when he'd fucked Steve into the mattress, bit his shoulder and left bruises on his hips.
See if his gym hookups noticed those.
"Nope."
Natasha laughed. "I have a friendly rival," she said. "An English woman in the same line of work." She paused, and Bucky could imagine her pursed red lips. "Would you be deeply offended, James, if I pointed her in your direction?"
She wanted to pimp him out. Bucky laughed breathlessly and rolled up on his side. He propped his head on his hand and asked, "You wanna write my number on the bathroom wall? 'For a good time, call James Barnes.'"
She smiled at him, sharp and amused. "You're very discreet."
Bucky laughed again. "Tell me about her."
Natasha took a long draw on her cigarette and held her breath, gathering her thoughts. Bucky couldn't help staring at her mouth.
"She's pretty," she started, and gave him an amused look. "But that doesn't matter to you nearly as much as you like to pretend it does."
Bucky couldn't even argue with her.
Natasha went on, "We get along. No." She frowned. "I like her." She met Bucky's eyes.
Oh. Oh. He understood. His lips twitched. Somehow, he wasn't at all surprised. "British, huh?"
"English," Natasha said, like there was a difference.
Bucky supposed there was, but he shrugged, anyway. "Well, it's all the same. I do love a woman with an accent."
Natasha gave him a private smile. She put out her cigarette and reached for another condom. "I know."