Disclaimer: As always all these characters belong to Marvel and their delightful Disney overlords

Nat draws to an abrupt halt at the end of the corridor that leads from the sleeping quarters to the communal kitchen area of the base. And her eyes instantly harden as they focus in on the well-muscled back and shoulders - one flesh, one metal - and the dark head of hair that are being softly illuminated by the light currently spilling out from the open fridge door.

It's gone 2.30am, she's just returned from a mission and she's starving. She's starving and exhausted and totally sick of feeling like this. The Avengers base is supposed to be her home, her way to balancing her ledger, and now she was more of an unwanted guest. Well, it wasn't that she was actually unwanted, more that she simply felt that way, and on edge, all of the time.

And it's all his fault.

Things were still admittedly a little strained with 'her boys' due to her role in the Civil War - as it was now being branded by the media - but they'd understood both her reasons and her actions, and everything would have settled back down to what passed as normal for them in due time, if it wasn't for him. She'd been taking every mission Fury could send her way in the six weeks since he'd been resident and that wasn't helping her mend any fences. Clint was sending her hurt looks, that was never good. It felt worse to her than getting shot, which - thanks to the man now standing between her and a decent sandwich - was something she had recent and repeated experience of.

His very existence was upending hers. Everyone was distracted and she can't relax. Only the fact that Steve seemed so blissfully happy to have his friend back had stopped her from doing something drastic.

It wasn't even as though she didn't have grounds to feel this way, just that she didn't have a reason that stood up to much scrutiny and she knew it. This isn't like her, any iteration of her. She can't even pin down her response to one particular emotion. She's a mess of fear, concern, hate, anger, jealousy, admiration, pity, envy and disdain. And not all of those were targeted at the recovering amnesiac she's silently watching.

He's also so fucking polite it drives her up the wall.

On Steve it's appropriate, on him she finds it infuriating.

She's barely spoken five words in his direction and yet he's always made an effort to greet her warmly when they've crossed paths. Even now she knows he knows that she's there watching him - how could he not, being who he is - and yet he's waiting on her to reveal her presence. She has to have been rooted to the spot for a good three minutes now and he's not moved a muscle.

For two world-class assassins this is bordering on the ridiculous.

She doesn't know who he is, she can't read him. And it makes her more than a little nervous. The Winter Soldier was a figure of legend to her, one he's more than lived up to on the two occasions they'd crossed paths. He wasn't supposed to be here stealing the last of her raisin bread and making her best friend laugh uncontrollably like she'd seen him do two days ago. She'd not caught the comment he'd made but it had both Clint and Sam in stitches. He's also moved-on from the homeless hobo look and the end result has been more than a little distracting.

This wasn't the ghost-like killer she'd hunted and respected. But it wasn't the charming and charismatic Sergeant that Steve had finally started opening up about at long last either. He spoke quietly, walked silently and his smile was a quick, barely noticeable quirk of the lips. She's seen the joy in Steve's eyes mingle with sadness every time that broad, confident, and captivating grin she's viewed in the museum footage fails to make it onto Barnes' face. She'd like to see it herself. Maybe then she'd feel like she'd met Bucky, not an imposter occupying his shadow.

Okay maybe she's a little bitter. She'd had to prove herself every step of the way year after year, all because no-one knew who she was. She's not sure if having people wait for you to become someone else is a better or worse situation. She thinks, that with a legacy of the likes of Bucky Barnes, she might actually have the better end of that deal, in spite of him having the benefit of the doubt never truly afforded to her.

"I guess if I can't make up my mind I should probably close this before an ice-cap melts or something."

It's spoken in a hushed tone - whether to respect the time of night or to avoid startling her she can't tell - and injected with an edge of wry humour.

"You wouldn't think picking between water and juice would be a stumper would you?"

That dark head bows forward slightly and a softly-glinting metal hand grasps the back of his neck in a gesture she knows is usually self-comforting, but can't help but wonder if it still is when it's cold metal in the place of warm flesh. She assumes it's cold anyway. She's not had the chance to discover otherwise. In their previous encounters her attention has been unsurprisingly focused on survival rather than temperature differentials.

A small self-deprecating laugh follows his words.

So that's what that sounds like.

She doesn't say anything. How he can be recovered enough after two years to even be this close to human is astonishing to her. At the same point she was still locked down tight.

He pauses for a beat, clearly waiting for her reaction to his breaking the illusion by speaking to her.

Natasha does nothing.

He releases an almost silent sigh and she watches those defined shoulders drop. Then he starts to turn, clearly telegraphing his movements, careful not to surprise her. He's always so careful around everyone, determined not to be threatening in any way, to make sure he doesn't scare them. He does scare her, but that's her problem, not his.

"Look, Natasha..." he's now facing towards her. Can he see her in the dark?

She can guess what's coming next, so she takes a step forward into the edge of the weak florescence provided by the still-open refrigerator and utters one word: "Stop."

He looks confused and it's borderline adorable. God she hates him right now.

His brow furrows and those ridiculous Cupid's bow lips of his fall into a slight pout, but in spite of his tentativeness around her it looks as if on this occasion he won't be put-off. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for..."

"No." She cuts him off again. "Don't apologise."

That confusion is now mixed with mild irritation. She can see it flashing in his blue eyes. Good.

Oh.

She has a moment of clarity. She suddenly understands why she's harbouring all this anger towards this man who's suffered worse violations than Clint, probably feels more lost than his 'man out of time' best friend and has possibly been used and manipulated even more than she was by the Red Room. It was unexpected, but she deals with the revelation, accepts it and continues on without a flicker of it appearing on her face.

"Words are meaningless I don't want them. They aren't going to make me any less shot or scarred."

She sees a flash of hurt cross his expressive features, quickly followed by intense guilt. She's in mission-mode now however, and she isn't about to let that stop her from achieving her aim.

His hand comes up to his neck again. The flesh one this time, and his eyes leave hers and drop to the floor. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'll stay out of your way."

He turns to close the fridge and leave. Natasha takes that as her cue, and in a fluid motion launches herself over the kitchen island that has been standing as a barrier between the two of them during all this. She lands gracefully in front of him. He doesn't quite flinch, but she can tell he's preparing himself to take whatever punishment she wants to throw his way.

As much as it's not what she intended to do, when she sees this acceptance in his eyes she can't fight the urge to shove him. So she doesn't. Both hands strike firmly but not violently into his upper chest forcing him back against the kitchen cabinets.

"I already told you not to do that."

She sees it then. The struggle he still has against his conditioning. He clearly wants to ask why, and yet he's still fighting to get the words out. She feels a flash of admiration which quickly morphs back into anger when he stops battling the Hydra-implanted controls, simply shakes his head, and looks to move away again.

"Look it's late, maybe we can try and hash this out in the morning." He looks at the clock, "Later in the morning."

He meets her gaze but she refuses to respond, she's sure she doesn't even blink. He waits a moment to see if she'll reply, but then turns to head back to the room where he still spends most of his time. She lets him take just one step before she drops into a sweep that takes out both his legs. He is who he is, so he's already rolling when most people would have simply dropped.

And because she is who she is - and also apparently the only one of the two of them who knows what's happening here - she's already leapt and landed on the other side of him, a booted heel stopping his forward momentum and putting him flat on his back with a pained exhalation. Natasha has a rush of guilt for that, it was hard enough to have probably left a serious bruise on someone else.

He looks up at her with slight panic on his face. Is it caused by her actions or his fear of his own reaction she wonders.

"What do you want?" There, so he can ask questions.

"I want you to fight."

"I'm not going to fight you Natasha." He says it with so much pain in his usually smooth voice she can feel her own chest tightening in sympathy.

"Of course not. How could you when you're too busy fighting yourself. It's pathetic."

She means it to a certain degree, but she says it in a way void of any emotion - as though simply stating a fact.

He has an injured expression on his face. It doesn't suit him.

He thinks she hates him she can tell. She can't blame him, she kinda thought she did herself until about four minutes ago. Even someone as insightful as she is occasionally needs some time to catch up. He needs to know that that's not where this is coming from.

"You're so busy beating yourself up you couldn't focus long enough to fight off Wanda without her powers, never mind me."

Maybe that was a little harsh - Wanda has improved a lot in hand-to-hand since she started proper training.

But this is what Natasha does, she uncovers truths. She's discovered one of her own tonight and she's now determined to make him face his.

He tries to sit up once again but she's not going to let him. Her foot goes up, and the bottom of her boot plants firmly on his sternum applying enough pressure to push him back down. But only because he lets her. She knows he could throw her across the room with only a little effort if he wanted. She knows he won't and she's surprised at how quickly she's come to trust him.

Now if only he'd trust himself.

"You're The Winter Soldier, and more than that you're Bucky Barnes."

Some strands of his chin-length hair are on his face and she resists the urge to reach down and push them back behind his ear.

He shakes his head with a bitter laugh, displacing the stray locks and removing the temptation. "You don't even know who that is."

She raises an eyebrow at this "Really? I know that he's the man Steve Rogers looks up to. He's a hero to possibly the only man I look up to, the man America looks up to. And I think both he and the Winter Soldier would be fucking embarrassed by the state you've got yourself into. You're letting 'them' win, letting Hydra win."

He looks away, swallowing heavily, his jaw tensing and his face going blank. He's shutting down his reactions - he was trained well after all - and she's determined not to let him. Unless he deals with whatever is making him afraid of his own shadow he's going to be a liability, both to himself and the team.

He takes a firm but gentle hold of her ankle, pushing her leg back until she has to shift her balance and place her foot back on the ground in order to stay upright. In the weak light she can just see that's she's left a dirty mark on the once pristine expanse of his white t-shirt.

"You don't understand." His voice is almost as blank as his face. He makes another move to get up, so Natasha does the only logical thing. She quickly lowers herself down, straddling his waist with her legs whilst knocking out the supports of his two arms, landing him flat on his back once again.

With a nonchalance that she knows borders on the absurd considering their current position she simply says, "Explain it to me then."

He glares up at her. "Get off me."

She smirks at him glad to see some emotion return. "Not unless you make me James."

Suddenly he looks slightly amused. "Seriously, James? The first time you call me by name and that's what you go for?"

She smiles properly then. "Well I thought given our current situation, Barnes would have been a little overly formal."

His lips actually quirk upwards a fraction at that. "Not even my mother called me James."

"How would you know?" Despite her best efforts Natasha's voice has taken on a teasing tone. Needless to say her air of un-approachability is officially blown after tonight. Not that she minds too much now.

He looks wistful all of a sudden. "I remember."

She feels her smile soften. "I'm glad."

The moment of bonding lasts just that - a moment - before a look of annoyance is back on his face.

"Look I'm serious, get off me, I'm not safe to be around."

Natasha experiences another hot surge of anger at his words. "Well my team-mates, my friends, have put themselves on the line by saying that's not true. Are you planning on making liars out of them?"

Her words possibly had a little more bite than she intended. This was ridiculous, she was losing her equilibrium, she clearly couldn't have this discussion like this. Not with him. She needs to regain some distance, refocus and take a different tack.

"...I'm not doing this." He'd just said something and she's completely missed it in her preoccupation. She shifts to stand back up, just as he also moves to displace her, and they both go down in an embarrassing jumble of arms and legs.

The air is forced out of Natasha's lungs as she lands heavily on top of him. And that's precisely where she is, on top of him.

Opening her eyes she finds herself looking directly into the pale blue of his, watching as the bands of colour, already narrow around large dilated pupils due to the low light, become even less visible, and she feels his heart beat - thrumming strong and fast - through the contact where her breasts press firmly up against the hard muscle of his chest.

He's frozen, holding himself completely stationary, and she suddenly realises she's yet to replace the breath she'd lost. Her moment of revelation from earlier passes through her mind. Oh fuck it. She no longer cares if it's a bad idea. She leans down, closing the small distance remaining between the two of them and kisses those aggravating lips.

She wanted him, wants him. She's able to admit that to herself now. She hadn't planned on letting him know that however, but the best plans are those that allow for change.

But seconds pass and he still doesn't respond.

She draws back from the kiss, suddenly recalling with painful clarity exactly how hollow she'd felt when Banner left. Steeling herself, she looks down at his face and finds intense confusion painted there. She can't do this, she should have realised it by now. This wasn't something she got to have.

She leans away. Getting a hand on his chest she commences pushing herself back upright. "Sorry."

"Wait." He'd started sitting up and his rapid movement surprises her once again. She slips, loosing her purchase and sliding down his body until she comes to a stop with a gasp, straddling his lap. It's crystal clear now that he's been as affected by their collision as she has. She locks eyes with him again. His lips are slightly parted and he's breathing hard, refusing to move.

Natasha on the other hand can't help it. She angles her hips forward, shifting even closer towards him and increasing the contact. He closes his eyes and bites down on that enticing lower lip of his in response.

He's beautiful.

She's finally able to acknowledge that fact to herself. And that she's also now determinedly pushing him whilst he's trying to keep himself in check.

Someone is going to lose here and, despite her instance of insecurity just now, she's resolute that it's not going to be her. She rolls her hips and smiles at the moan this elicits from him, before giving voice to her own, as the friction and building heat between the two of them work their magic on her hyper-aware body.

"James." She utters his name like the question they both know it is, before rocking her hips against him again.

"It's Bucky," he says, eyes opening to lock onto hers with a gaze so intense it sends another shiver of pleasure running up and down her spine.

She smiles and brings her lips to his ear. "There's no way I'm calling you Bucky" she says to him in the quiet, husky tone of voice she knows from experience men love. He's about to reply again, but whatever he was about to say is cut off as she stops her teasing, grinding down on his now straining erection and biting gently on his earlobe. He groans against her neck making her shiver in response.

She's now certain he wants her as much as she wants him - and god she does, with an intensity that's almost frightening - but knowing how much autonomy he's had taken away from him for so long in his artificially-extended life, she wants to hear him say the words.

"James, tell me you want this." If he corrects her about the name again at this point though, she swears she'll make him pay.

His self-preservation instincts seem to have kicked in as his response is simply "Natasha, I want you."

"Well that's fortunate isn't it." She smiles into his warm skin as she places gentle kisses down his neck, her hips taking up a slow, unhurried rhythm that sends surges of building sensation straight to her core.

His hands are suddenly on her waist, which she's all for until she feels him restraining her movements and bringing their delicious dance to a standstill. She finds herself uttering an involuntary sound of protest so needy that she ends up rolling her own eyes in disgust, and she shakes off the haze of lust long enough to focus on making conversation. What can she say, it's been a while.

"What's wrong? I thought things were progressing nicely," she says with a half-smile. Although considering she was maybe minutes away from having sex with The Winter Soldier on the kitchen floor of Avengers HQ, when everyone was in residence and liable to walk in at any time for a glass of water or some such, maybe it had been going a little too nicely...

And he'd stopped them despite saying yes, so what's she missed? He had said yes hadn't he? The more-than-pleasant pressure she's all too aware of at the point their bodies touched was a big indication that he was both willing and able, so what had made him call a halt to proceedings?

He doesn't reply, so she thinks maybe he just needed a moment, and a second later she's started moving her hips again, chasing that sweetly-mounting rush of sensation that had just been cruelly snatched away from her. But again those hands are back, arresting her movement and now making her feel decidedly uneasy. He wasn't even looking at her. She raises her own hands to frame his face and gently turn it towards her.

"Hey are you with me?"

He met her eyes uncertainly, "I don't get it."

She frowns "Don't get what?" She can see that his breathing and heart rate are both elevated, and she would admire his control if it weren't so frustrating right now.

"Why you'd want this. You said..."

Oh yes she'd been in the middle of something before she'd become distracted by his, well, everything.

"That you were a hot mess who was likely to get the people he wants to protect killed if he continues like this? That?"

He shoots her an offended look "Yeah that." It comes out so Brooklyn she can't help the smile that breaks out on her face. She loves his voice she decides right then and there. The offended look intensifies. At least until she reaches down and gently squeezes him through the loose training pants he was clearly wearing for bed. He lets out a strangled groan and she decides she might love that sound even more. She's playing dirty she knows, but she's playing to win.

When his eyes open again she looks deeply into them. "And I stand by what I said. I didn't say you wouldn't have help to pick up the pieces and arrange them into a more stable new whole."

He doesn't react in any visible way for a moment. "Is that what this is? You helping?" She could take offence at that, but she knows the question has nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. She takes hold of his jaw with her right hand to keep him looking at her.

"No. This is me taking what I want" she replies with a wicked grin that even seems to break through the cloud that had descended on him. "But you need to try and forgive yourself first before anyone can help you. It will never matter how many people say they forgive you, or that it wasn't your fault -" she swallowed heavily "-believe me on this, unless you find a way to accept what you did, and what was done to you, it'll always just be meaningless words. You need to find that balance between Steve's Sergeant and Hydra's Soldier. You'll probably be neither one ever again," she saw him flinch as she said this, and reached up to run her other hand through his deep-brown hair "but I can't wait to meet the man who'll come out on the other side, because whilst the one in front of me right now is remarkable, that guy, he'll be unbeatable."

He looks stunned by her words. She could do speeches too it would appear, who knew?

She really wants to kiss him right now - they still haven't got around to that part of proceedings yet - but she can tell he still hadn't finished working through whatever was turning around in his mind. She clearly hasn't managed to short-circuit his brain with lust. Maybe she should just try a little harder? But no. She bites back a sigh. He needs to deal with whatever this was first.

It takes him a moment or two to gather his thoughts. "In the two and a bit years I remember most clearly I've almost killed Steve twice, I've hurt Stark, a man who's parents I've reportedly murdered, and I came a hair's-breadth away from killing Fury, someone I know you care about." He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I've shot you - twice - Natasha, why would you want me anywhere near you?" He seems almost incredulous.

As delightful as she finds their current position, Natasha decides that at this point a little more space would benefit this conversation, and grudgingly moves away to perch further back on his strong thighs. At least she has the satisfaction of hearing him react to the loss of contact with a pained intensity equal to her own. Stamping down on her libido she attempts to concentrate on talking again.

"Firstly," she holds up a finger "Fury doesn't hold a grudge. In fact I think he's mostly impressed that you got to him and at the shots you made." He looks at her sceptically. She just shrugs "Yes, Nick's a little weird. Secondly, Stark was really asking for it. And I say that despite the fact I was nominally on his side at that point. He'll get over it." If he doesn't she might have to find some more Stark weapons tech orphans to 'bring to his attention'. "And thirdly Steve's fine and he still loves you. You seemingly have some endearing quality to which I'm clearly immune." She smiles cheekily at him, she's pretty sure she's been through her entire repertoire of them in the past 20 minutes (the clock isn't even showing 3 yet), but he doesn't seem anywhere near convinced. So she grabs the zip of her tactical suit and pulls - two birds one stone.

She slowly unfastens the uniform, and his eyes track the decent of her hand and the zipper as they make their journey from neck to navel.

She's only wearing underwear beneath, but the second he spots the bullet scars she feels him freeze and she's not going to let him do that again, not now.

She grabs his right hand and presses it against the marked flesh just above her hip. "Do you know what I feel when I think about this?" she asks him. "It's not bye-bye bikinis despite what I told Steve."

He quirks an eyebrow "Yeah, I'm sure you look awful in them now." Her mouth opens and shuts. "What?" he asks giving her a puzzled look.

"You and Steve really did grow up together didn't you?"

He looks even more confused. "Yeah for around 20 years give or take, but you knew that."

"Well there's knowing and then there's 'knowing' you know?" Clearly from his expression he doesn't, but it doesn't matter. She's not about to stop this conversation to tell him he and Steve had almost identical reactions to her remark.

"When I see this" she moves his hand to the much fainter but newer mark on her shoulder "or this, I think about how lucky I am to be here. Because I went against someone as good as, if not a little better, than me, my match, and I got to walk away. And I like to think that you saw the same thing in me and decided to just disable me rather than taking me out." She paused for effect. "Either that or you just botched the shot - twice." He snorted at that. She really shouldn't find that hot but she did.

"I'd never heard of The Winter Soldier leaving someone alive. No-one had. That's why no-one other than Clint really believed me when I returned from Odessa and told them what had happened."

"No, I don't think..." he trails off, seemingly becoming lost in a memory.

"Hey, It's okay." He appears to come back to the present at the sound of her voice. "I'm guessing leaving a live witness, and a SHIELD agent at that, was a big no-no as far as Pierce was concerned. I can't imagine him being very happy about it."

He's noticeably paled even in the half-light of the pre-dawn kitchen. "No I don't think he was happy with me on either occasion. I can't remember anything between Odessa and DC so I think it got me sent to cold storage." All this is said in a level monotone that strikes straight at her heart.

"So you see, that's why I don't want an apology from you, why I don't need one. Because twice Hydra tried to kill me and both times you chose to save my life."

He still looks unconvinced. Screw it she tried. She's always been more about actions than words anyway.

In a few graceful moves she shrugs out of the arms of her suit allowing it to fall down around her waist, slides back to resume her previous position in his lap, and grabs handfuls of his surprisingly silky hair before capturing his mouth securely with her own. After a fraction-of-a-second's hesitation he's finally kissing her back, thank god. She rocks forward again, and as hoped, his lips part in response granting her better access.

Unlike with Steve there will be no teasing about 'first kisses since the 1940s' on this occasion. In fact, if she has her way, there won't be much in the way of talking for a good long while. Tongues dual, lips battle, clash and caress - slow and sensual exploration with a delightful counterpoint of fierce and playful - and she can't seem to keep her teeth away from that captivating bottom lip of his. She brakes off for just a moment to catch her breath and he lowers his head, taking the opportunity to explore the pale expanse of her neck and chest with his attentive mouth.

The kitchen, the floor, none of it matter now, all that concerns her is the fact that there are definitely far too many clothes still in the equation. She pushes her hands up under the cotton of his shirt, feeling her way over the sculpted muscles of his abdomen which are so cruelly hidden from her sight by the offending garment. She runs her finger nails and finger tips lightly over them and feels him shiver at her touches.

She starts to push the soft fabric up revealing his frankly lickable stomach to her appreciative view, when suddenly his head is raised to hers, capturing her lips with his own once again, and both of his hands take hold of hers, causing the top to fall back into an approximation of its original position. Not that she's complaining about the kiss - he's a pretty spectacular kisser she's thrilled to discover - but that block wasn't even subtle. It could be 1940s hang-ups, things might be moving too fast, or it might simply be that the 'kitchen' part is more of a problem for him than it is for her. But she doesn't think James Barnes was ever the type to be bothered by those sorts of things. Her instincts tell her the arm is the issue, and her instincts are rarely, if ever, wrong.

No wonder they'd screamed at her to stay away from this beautiful disaster of a man. She's apparently going to have her work cut out for her.

She rises up onto her knees and guides his hands to where her uniform still clings to her around her hips, and urges him to start pushing it off and down her legs. The instant he's managed to navigate the skin-tight material down her thighs, she's reaching over and pulling his shirt up and over his head by the back, leaving him with no choice other than to allow her to finish taking it off him or otherwise remain trapped in the tangled fabric.

When he's free, his hair is in disarray, and he looks so disgruntled that in any other circumstance Natasha is sure she'd be laughing. But instead she dives back in, messing him up even further with eager fingers, and with her skilful lips sets about refocusing his attention on her body rather than his own. There's time enough for that later.

She's had more than enough build-up now, but she can't help but enjoy the view. His build is more warrior than athlete, wide at the shoulder and narrow at the waist, built for strength and endurance. But it's the scars around where his metal limb has been fused with his flesh that show what a fighter he really is. His survival is nothing short of miraculous.

They really do match.

In a flash of self-awareness she thinks this has been almost inevitable since the moment she caught that faint glint of sunlight on metal on a cliff-top along a coastal road in the Ukraine.

She leans forwards resting her weight on his chest while she fumbles - one leg at a time - to finally get free of her combat gear, his strong, slightly rough (in different ways) hands hold her up, stabilising her while she performs this last necessary manoeuvre on her part to allow skin to touch skin. They somehow manage to keep hungry, questing mouths in contact the entire time - now that's teamwork.

She's seated back snugly and securely in his lap only a few heartbeats later. This is now officially her new favourite spot. But practicalities. She uses her decades of combat experience to roll them over, reversing their positions. It's a sacrifice she's willing to make temporarily for the greater good. She breaks away from another searing kiss to snatch a much-needed breath, panting hot and heavy against his slightly-stubbled cheek while he seizes the initiative to drive her even crazier with gentle closed-mouthed caresses down the line of her throat, before seizing possession of her all to eager lips once again.

This, this could become habit-forming. She's never been the type to indulge in vices, but now that she's submitted to this one she knows that she could all too easily develop a dangerous dependency.

Right, time to focus.

Knees rise up to firmly grip his hips, and agile toes with perfectly painted nails (thank you Pepper), nimbly slip in to hook onto his waist band and start easing down the thick soft fabric separating them.

If there was ever a chance of stopping this fire that's ignited between them this was the point it needed to happen. There would be no going back.

Her toes encounter the top edge of his boxers and quickly tuck under, bringing them into her control and, a little too slowly for her liking, drawing them down. Hands would undeniably help move matters along at a faster pace, but hers are fully occupied running through his hair, and sending delightful shivers through his powerful form when she scratches lightly down the back of his neck. His are also unavailable for the job, currently holding him braced above her although she wouldn't object to feeling his body pressing fully against her own again even with his greater weight. She's making admirable progress though, and once she's manipulated them past his slightly-too-prominent hip bones things become far easier.

He breaks the kiss and blinks down at her for a moment before pale eyes flash up to view their surroundings then dip to meet hers in a focused stare.

"Natasha someone might-"

"I don't care."

"I don't have-"

"Don't need them."

A pause.

"Okay" and the interrupted kiss resumes with even more intensity if that was at all possible.

She finally achieves her aim and frees his now rock-hard erection to her appreciative gaze. It's as pleasingly proportioned as the rest of him she's glad to see. Although she'd already gathered as much from her earlier contact. His pants and underwear are still gathered around mid thigh, but it's good enough for now and Natasha simply refuses to wait any longer.

Unhooking her legs from around his torso and grudgingly releasing her death grip on his hair, she performs a move to remove her utilitarian cotton briefs that even she's not entirely sure how she achieves. James clearly wants to remove what's left of the set - he's already managed to work her bra straps down her arms - but in their current position that would mean a pause in proceedings, and surging need combined with impatience mean that's not something she's willing to entertain.

He manages to get clear of the last of his own clothing just as she reaches down between them and takes hold of his shaft with a firm but gentle grip, familiarising herself with the shape and feel of him and receiving a startled gasp and stunned blue eyes as a reward. From the strength of his reaction it's almost as if he's forgotten what this is like, and the fact that this could in fact be the gods honest truth breaks her heart and makes her hand linger longer than she had intended, offering up a few more skilled strokes with just the right amount of pressure to make his breathing accelerate and his eyes drift closed.

Next time round she'll do this properly for him. Focus with lips and tongue and teeth, and help him relearn what it means to simply feel. But right now her need for him is too much to deny, even for something as gratifying as she's sure that will be for both parties involved.

Again her legs move up and she uses her almost instinctual knowledge of centres of mass and momentum to reverse them back into their original configuration, and the second she's back on top she's enticing him to sit-upright with needy kisses and a gentle insistent pull on the back of his neck. The moment they're in position she joins her lips to his in a soft almost chaste caress and lowers herself onto him fast enough to make them both gasp.

Her body was more than ready for him, but she grips his shoulders - both the warm flesh one and the not unpleasantly cool metal one - tight for a moment as she adjusts to the sensations that being so intimately joined with him are provoking within her. Her eyelids flutter closed as she looses herself in the oddly familiar feeling of completeness, that she's also positive she's never experienced before. It's...confusing.

She quickly shakes it off to find his expressive eyes asking questions that she's sure will soon form on those sinfully-distracting lips - her potential new obsession - if she doesn't distract him in turn. So, maintaining eye-contact she begins to move, rising and falling back down so slowly that she's sure he'll protest. That is until she contracts her pelvic muscles just so, and suddenly hands that have been gently skating up and down her sides, almost afraid to touch, fiercely grasp her waist as his eyes snap shut and his head falls forward to rest gently on her collar bone.

As pleasing as that reaction was, their new position is in no way conducive to her continuing what she'd just so eagerly started, so she rotates her hips, clenching her walls around him again as she does, and his head comes up stealing her breath in another kiss before she resumes her irresistible rhythm of up and down once more.

She tries to keep her pace slow and steady, but as the friction builds into pleasure it becomes harder to restrain herself. Yet it's still not enough.

James seems dazed by it all, and she wonders if she's pushed him too far too fast, but it doesn't stop her from prying his hands from where they grip tightly at her waist - she can manipulate the metal hand just as easily as his real one she's surprised to find - and unabashedly moving them to her breasts.

Luckily her uncharacteristic bout of un-coordination from earlier seems to have passed, and she manages to split her focus beautifully, unfastening and removing her practical black bra, and urging his greater participation with well-timed motions, using lips and hands to seize his own and show him how and where she wants to be touched.

Then it's like a switch flips and he's suddenly totally present. The thumb of his right hand drags over her left nipple while his mouth latches onto the other and his mechanical arm wraps around her back supporting her as she rides him harder and faster. Dormant skills come into play, and she throws back her head and arches her back to seek more contact, as the combination of feather-light touches on the side of her breast and a gentle bite of his teeth on over-sensitive flesh make her cry out in delight.

His hips have started a sympathetic rotation to her own movements, producing yet another surge of sensation as their bodies come together at a new point. And as he focuses on making her see stars by systematically attacking every one of her body's most sensitive spots, she can feel herself getting closer and closer and she wonders how he can play her so expertly. She's had talented lovers before, but it was never like this the first time. Never.

His hand moves to where they're linked together, fingers quickly locating her now throbbing clit, sight unseen, and urging her on towards climax. It all feels so good, it's almost too much to handle and her breath is coming in short sharp gasps, but she's determined not to hit her peak without bringing him to his first. Natasha clenches her internal muscles around him and leans forward for a searing kiss before repeating the action as hard as she dares. She swears his eyes actually roll back in his head, and then the next moment he's biting down on her shoulder, stifling his yell as he comes inside her.

She feels herself about to follow him over the brink but she wants one last thing. She grabs his left hand and presses his cool, hard digits against the aching bundle of nerves at her centre before she comes with a scream she muffles against her own forearm.

Panting heavily she comes back to herself to find his beautiful blues gazing at her with surprise clear within them and she realises she still has a vise-like grip on his unyielding metal wrist. He tries to withdraw it but she holds his hand in place against her overheated flesh and looks into his eyes "Please James". He's still for a moment, clearly debating with himself, but then those unexpectedly dexterous artificial fingers begin to move ever so slowly and tentatively along her folds, circling the spot she wants him to touch the most.

She dives in plundering his mouth with hers, tongue slipping past his kiss-swollen lips to playfully tease his own until he finally relents and shifts his hand, giving her what she wants. She inhales sharply at the sensation of the smooth metal applying just the right amount of pressure, and within the span of a few heartbeats he's building her up to yet another climax. This time she can't stop the sounds of her release from escaping, but can't find it in herself to care.

She can feel him inside her still, half-hard again in reaction to her body's second orgasm, but as their foreheads come to rest against each other it becomes clear that neither of them are up to taking things any further right now, too physically and emotionally drained from the intensity of the experience.

Natasha grudgingly moves off of him, grabbing a nearby hand-towel from a railing to clean-herself up a bit before curling up on top of him where he's collapsed on his back on the floor. With his supersoldier constitution he'll be recovered in next to no time, and she looks forward to making the most of that fact on the next occasion she can arrange some down time and has the energy to test those limits to the full.

The cool air of the room makes her skin start to pebble but the warm solidity of her lover beneath her means that Natasha has no intention of moving. She tilts her head so that she can gaze up at his face from her position reclining on his chest. She raises an eyebrow "So same time tomorrow?"

His lips quirk up and despite the somewhat shell-shocked expression on his face he manages to inject his voice with an impressive amount of sass as he responds with "As long as we can skip the pep-talk next time. It's not really your forte".

Her exaggeratedly offended look does it's job, and the shock on his face is replaced by actual amusement that quickly builds into the first genuine laugh she's heard from him, and then, like the sun breaking out from behind clouds, his face is transformed by the flash of a blinding smile that makes her breath catch in her throat.

Suddenly she hears a different throat being cleared and the unmistakable voice of Sam Wilson breaks through their private bubble, "Umm guys, is everything all right in here? We heard a scream and Wanda said she felt someone in emotional distress?"

Luckily they're still concealed from prying Falcon eyes by the kitchen island.

Natasha examines her reflection in the dark glass of the oven, she looks totally wrecked, her red hair wild, there's no way she can let Sam or any of the others see her like this.

"It's all fine, thanks Sam, I was just demonstrating something that happened on the mission to Bucky-" ("Oh, now you call me Bucky" muttered quietly, a "Shut-up" hissed almost silently in reply) "- and I misjudged my landing. He's keeping me company down here until my pride recovers from my fall."

Embarrassing, but not too much to recover from as long as it gets Sam to leave so they can find clothing and steal back to the privacy of their quarters. Well one of their quarters anyway, she's not quite ready to let him go just yet, though she almost reconsiders as she looks down and finds him racked with silent laughter, but instead she settles for sticking her hand over his mouth and elbowing him in the ribs purely on principal. It doesn't matter how adorable he looks and how she'd jump him all over again if the aches and pains from her mission hadn't started to make themselves known - he wasn't being at all helpful.

"Right..." Sam sounds a little sceptical, she can't blame him. She's a fabulous liar but even she has trouble selling this weak of a premise,"as long as you're sure you're both okay. I need to go tell Steve to stand down, he's half convinced Hydra are going to storm the place at any given moment."

A look of guilt crosses James' face and she feels a twinge of her own. She knows how on edge Steve is about more Hydra factions coming after his friend. The presence of some of the Avengers hadn't been enough to put them off their pursuit last time so it wasn't an unfounded fear, just something unlikely to happen again in Natasha's opinion.

Lifting her hand away from his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on her palm, James finally speaks up "Tell him everything is fine Sam. I'll see him at breakfast."

"Can do." Sam sounds tired, hopefully his half-asleep state and the early hour have blunted his impressive powers of situational awareness, but somehow Natasha thinks he knows exactly what he just walked in on and it's just his genuine decency as a human being that's preventing him from calling them on their bullshit.

"All right then, goodnight." Natasha raises herself up just enough above the counter top to catch Sam walking out of the room, hand raised in a wave of farewell over his head as he shuffles back down the corridor.

Natasha settles back down on top of Bucky - he's more comfortable than the floor is the excuse she's going with - and breathes out a deep sigh. She looks over at Bucky, no James (she's sticking to her guns on this one), and sees him frowning again. She reaches up to smooth out the crease that's formed between his eyes, but her hand freezes mid-way when she hears voices from down the corridor. Apparently they weren't the only ones to forget the extent to which sound travels in this part of the converted warehouse.

It's Sam and he's talking to Steve "There's no problem, it's just Bucky and Nat in the kitchen." "She's back already? Is she hurt, I heard a yell?"

Her fingers land delicately on his brow and she gently runs the tips of them up and down his forehead until she sees him marginally relax.

"...Nah, nothing for us to worry about." Thanks Sam. She smiles into James' chest and places butterfly kisses along his ribs.

She hears an all too familiar chuckle and her head snaps up.

"Yeah I know Nat's yells and that wasn't her 'I'm in distress' one. I was right wasn't I? Come on, I was so right."

Oh no. Clint was here. What was Clint doing here?

"What's he talking about?" Steve again.

"Come-on man, it's almost 4am, we can play 20 Questions after a few more hours' sleep." Sam was doing his best, but Nat recognised that obstinate tone in her best friend's voice. Whatever this was about he wasn't going to let it drop.

"No rules are rules. I'm right, so pay up Bird-Boy. I win."

No, no, no. Natasha lifts herself up and begins locating their discarded clothing in the half-light. She has to get them out of there before Clint says what she thinks he's about to say. And after that she'll start planning on how to apologise to Laura for making her a widow and on how to explain 'justifiable homicide' to the kids.

"Bird-Boy? You know your codename's Hawkeye right?" "HawkEYE. Totally different vibe."

"Guys?"

"Look it's way too early for this. We can talk about it in the morning." "No way, you're not getting out of it. Tell me or I'm going in there to see myself."

Sam snorts "Your funeral."

So much for the benefit of the doubt on Sam knowing or not.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Steve's starting to sound a little irritated. Clint can have that effect.

She passes James - who's now sat upright - his clothing and finally locates her underwear. Her bra is hanging off the counter-top lamp, it was probably too big of a give-away for even a half-asleep Sam to miss. Drat.

"My victory you mean. Just admit it man. I mean I even got the time-frame right!"

There's a muttered "I coulda sworn I used to be in charge around here..." from Steve.

She's replaced her undergarments now and starts to slip back into her catsuit. She looks over at James and he's already fully-dressed. She loves how silently and efficiently he moves, she's never met anyone quite like him. She catches his eye, he looks curious about what's going on but returns the soft smile she sends his way. She points at the kitchen window and he nods in amused acknowledgement.

"Yes, OK, you were right, happy now? Great." Sam is clearly trying to put both the matter and the team to bed. But Clint just won't let it go. Of all the many things Tasha loved about the guy his frequent need to run off at the mouth wasn't one of them.

"You all said I was crazy but do I know our girl, or do I know our girl. I can't wait to see Rhodes' and Stark's faces."

James had risen to his feet and already started towards the window, but at this he stops and focuses again on the discussion down the hall.

Clint Barton is a dead man.

"No-one is going anywhere until someone explains all this" Steve says in his best Captain America tone.

She finishes zipping up and moves towards James, grabbing his hand and urging him to start moving again, but even as she does it she knows it's already too late...

Clint's practically crowing. "What's happening is that I'm now two grand richer because these bozos didn't believe me when I said Tasha would be jumping Barnes' bones before the month was through."

Natasha groans silently. Barnes stops moving and refuses to let go of her hand, stopping her from making her escape through the now-open window. She contemplates making him but it would definitely ruin the mood.

"That's not..." clearly something happens that stops Steve from completing that sentence. "Really?" Steve sounds stunned. "But I haven't even been able to get them to be in a room together for a team briefing."

"And no-one thought that was the least, little bit odd? Tash being all avoidy?"

"I just figured she was still a little off-balance with the team after everything that's happened." Steve still sounded perplexed "I mean Bucky's always been good with girls, but he's shot her - twice."

She glances at James who mouths at her "That's what I said." She simply rolls her eyes and tugs his hand trying to get him moving but he's clearly determined to hear the whole conversation. She resigns herself to what's to come.

"Plus it's Natasha, and with what happened with Bruce last year..." Steve trails off, clearly uncomfortable discussing his team-mates' romantic lives.

James shoots her an inquiring look, she silently replies "Later".

"Sam you took this bet?" there's a tiny hint of disappointment in Steve's voice as he asks this.

"Hell no, I'm just the judge, too rich for my blood." There must have been a look from Rogers "And making bets about your friends' love lives is all kinds of wrong obviously..."

Clearly Steve wasn't buying it. "Fine, so I would of if it wouldn't have made me feel guilty from taking money away from his kids. Not like I thought it was likely with what you told me about her and Banner, and the fact that Barnes is still severely traumatised and barely holding it together on a good day."

She shoots James a searching look but he just shrugs at her in a 'What? It's true' gesture that makes her feel as though she's been stabbed through the gut. The effect this man is having on her didn't just scare her any more, she's now honestly terrified. She barely knows him and yet she feels closer to him than she ever has to anyone. She needs to get away, but he was still holding her hand tightly in his own.

"You've both obviously never heard her talk about The Winter Soldier." Clint's words break through her mounting panic.

Oh crap.

"He's like her assassin-idol or something. She used to get so much stick from the other agents when she'd go haring off at the slightest rumour of him after Odessa. Of course none of us thought he actually existed so more fool us. But the second she met Barnes, found out he was non-evil, had been through similar shit to her, speaks fluent Russian and is hot and funny besides, she was doomed, it just took her a few weeks to realise it."

Natasha feels her cheeks grow warm as the embarrassment properly kicks in. That's what she gets for letting Clint behind her walls.

"Are you sure you don't have a thing for Barnes?" Sam sounds highly amused.

"I'm a happily married man as you well know," Clint replies "but yeah maybe a little. I mean you've seen him shoot right?"

She feels James shaking and turns to see him almost doubled over, trying to prevent a bout of laughter from breaking free, the haunted look from before giving way to mirth. His eyesight is apparently enhanced enough to spot her blush even in the gloom and he releases her hand to tenderly stroke her far too rosy cheek.

Clint is right she's doomed. But suddenly she doesn't care. She pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard. OK. Maybe just give her an hour to sleep and she'll be good to go again. She takes his hand, his left one this time, and he finally allows her to guide him out through the window.

They overhear one last exchange between their bickering friends "It's like they're Soviet soulmates." "Bucky's American Clint." "Where's your poet's soul Cap?" "I do art not poetry..." before they both escape outside and finally let loose the laughter they're both fighting back.

She breaks into her own quarters and guides him into her bedroom, and - after a few slow and heady kisses - she succeeds in getting them both stripped-down to their underwear again, pulling him down onto the bed and into her arms. They both seem content to simply hold each other until sleep claims them.

Her eyes are drifting shut when she feels him plant a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you."

She forces them open again. "What for?"

"For making me feel like a person again."

If she hadn't already dedicated herself to that cause, those words alone would have been enough to make her vow the total annihilation of Hydra. She pushes down the anger, it's not what he needs to see. Instead she mutters a blasé "I'm here all week" and gets a huff of soft laughter as her reward. More than his voice, more than his moans of pleasure, that, she decides at last, might just be her favourite sound of all.

As she drifts off wrapped in his arms, one warm and strong, the other cool and hard but holding her gently, she realises that she feels as though she's finally found another missing piece of herself. Too tired to question it, she simply embraces the sense of contentment it brings and files her curiosity away for another day. 'So this is what it feels like to be home'.

I've kinda just implied Natasha's emotional journey here, but I'd love to hear people's interpretation of it. This is now an AU in light of Civil War.