AN I don't own Marvel or any of its characters. WinterWidow fluff!

It wasn't unusual for the team, or any part of the team, to turn up in the tower with no explanation and demand medical help. It was given, usually, but not without question. There were a select few, however, who always refused to even accept the offering of help let alone ask for it and preferred to rely on themselves or on one another. Clint and Natasha patched each other up, provided it wasn't life threatening. But Bucky…

When Bucky returned from a mission with Steve, broken and beat up, he just disappeared like always to his room. And locked the door. He sighed as he dropped the disassembled sniper rifle on the bed and stored the leftover ammo in the lockbox under his dresser. He hated Germany. Part of him hated it because of his history there, because of the war and the Nazis and the death he remembered, but a much darker part of him hated Germany because it was the only place he ever returned from with leftover ammo. It was the only place he could never bring himself to open fire or randomly shoot, even into a crowd of bad guys. Because, even if Steve was there shooting beside him, his gut wouldn't give up on the idea that one of those soldiers might be his best friend from Brooklyn.

With a hiss, he pulled the skin tight material off his body and assessed the damage. Only one cut, fixable with a butterfly closure or two, and some road rash on his left elbow. Bruises, though… Livid splotches of blue and purple covered his body relentlessly until he looked like he was drowning in them. He moved up to the mirror and twisted to examine his back. More bruises, but not as bad. He hesitated, though, and before he'd even thought it through enough to realize it was a bad idea he was reaching out and running his finger along one the scars. It was white, only slightly paler than his skin, but it was angry. All of the jagged lines of scar tissue that criss-crossed his back seemed to scream at him in the mirror, full of threats and memories and a reminder.

Machine.

That's what he was-was, he thought, emphasizing that in his mind. As much as the deep, raging red scar tissue hurt to remember, the pale pink and the white scars hurt more. Because the red ones he remembered. He remembered lying on the cement, screaming until his voice was raw, thrashing around and trying anything he could to escape the pain. But the lighter ones, he didn't remember. Which, somehow, was even worse because it meant that he'd been so far gone-so mechanical and inhuman-at that point that the pain hadn't even registered.

He forced his hand back to his side with a deep breath and moved into the shower. It was cold, at first, but he welcomed the shock to his system even if his body protested because it distracted him from his previous train of thought. Dangerous to question his humanity so late at night, he thought. That was when bad things tended to happen.

The water warmed, though, and then began to spread the heat around his skin until it sank deeper into his muscles. He looked down, just to check. It was stupid, but he could never manage to stop himself even when he knew what he would see. The water wasn't clear anymore. Instead, it was tinted a sickly shade of orange that reminded him of rust. From the blood on his skin.

How much of that blood was even his? He'd been on lookout and he'd taken down at least seven guards for Steve before they'd sighted him. Once they reached him, though, the anonymity and the distance of sniping disappeared. He fought. For his life, for Steve, for the mission, it didn't really even matter why he did it. The second he threw a punch he was back in that mindset and all he saw were obstacles that were still breathing, still standing. Everything narrowed to that thought, that impulse. He'd killed them all.

The slight click of the bathroom door's handle ripped him from his thoughts. His hand was on a blade before he could even think to react and he was ready, crouched to attack, but he stopped. A familiar flash of red hair moved on the other side of the glass. Natasha. She flashed him a small smile over her shoulder, as if she knew he was there watching, and slowly let her clothes fall to the floor around her. He'd barely set the knife back down before she was joining him in the shower and smoothing cool soap over his skin. He lifted her chin, locking their eyes, but she didn't falter. She slid her hands lower. Down, over his ribs, over the bruises on his stomach, over each curve of his hips

"James, you're tense." There was a little purr to her voice, though, that said her intentions were not entirely pure. He stopped her, one hand on her wrist, but she just smiled.

"Relax, my little wolf," she soothed, thumbing at the V line in his hips. "No sex." That was their rule. He shuddered under her hands because she knew every sensitive spot on his body but that was the rule. No sex. She didn't seem to understand it completely but he was not willing to budge on it. He'd watched her shift too many times. Watched her confidence drop, her posture stiffen, her entire body turn submissive and meek-eager to please. She used sex as a tool or even a form of payment and he was not having it, no matter how badly he wanted to sometimes. They could kiss, they could touch, they could do everything short of sex. But never sex.

She didn't know it, yet, but he'd been sent after her more than once. The first two had just been for observation to report back to their superiors in the Red Room but he'd seen more than an agent at work. He'd seen a widow. And even as he'd watched her seduce these powerful men, nothing but confidence in her every movement, he knew what was coming. The second the door closed behind them, she shifted. What killed him inside, though, was watching these men-some with such political or social power that they could have even been his targets one day-see her submission and still feel the need to take. Four separate times, he'd watched them rape her. Even if she was good, even if she did everything they said, even if she screamed and struggled. He'd asked her about it later, not giving specifics, and she'd just shrugged. What can I say? Some men like a show. Even now, that churned in his stomach and made him want to throw up.

"James… you're distracted." She'd eased him back onto the bench of the shower that was supposed to hold soaps and bottles, pushing him to sit on the cool tile. He did, but he was a little more than distracted. Her hands skimmed up his thighs and over his hips, drawing him closer, but his eyelids were already heavy. She had a way of relaxing him, without even touching him, that made it hard to focus. But she was far from stopping.

"James, James, James," she tsked, pressing kisses up his inner thigh. "What's a girl gotta do to get your attention these days?"

"Red hair, for one." She smiled up at him and trailed lower with her thumbs, running along the seams of his thighs. "That smile, for two." He earned another flash of her teeth but then his eyes were closed and she switched to pressing each expression into his inner thigh so he could still feel it. Her smile was infectious and addictive and he loved it. She nuzzled closer, inching her mouth towards the base of his now clearly hard cock, and he tangled a hand in her hair to pull her closer but she swatted it away.

"Now James," She grabbed his wrists and held them to the tile on either side of his hips. "You're the tired, injured one and I'm the one taking care of you. You get to sit there…. Lie back… Relax… And just take it." Before his mind even registered the deviousness in her tone her mouth had engulfed him entirely. While her skills were sometimes depressing or morally grey, he was definitely not complaining because goddamn she was amazing with her mouth and she knew it. She pulled away with a chuckle.

"Something you want to say?" He pouted but shook his head. "Mmm good. Then I expect you to be quiet. You can be quiet, can't you? After all, I'm just a small, weak little woman… You're so strong and tough, you would never let me force a sound out of you, would you? Not even if I said I'd make you scream?" He groaned into the side of his cheek but stayed quiet enough that she eased back in between his legs and returned her mouth.

Experimentally, she licked the slit and then swirled around the head. But there was nothing experimental about the way she suddenly wet her lips and hollowed her cheeks and bobbed on his cock like it was all she'd ever wanted to do. Fuck even just imagining what she looked like sent a jolt down his spine. Naked, dripping with warm water, on her knees between his legs with those full, red lips locked around his cock. If he opened his eyes… No, he had to stay strong and there was no way he would hold it together if he looked down at her now. He was determined not to make a sound. But, by the time she slowed, his breath was coming in short little pants.

"Aw, my little wolf. You're doing so good." The praise hit him harder than any of the obscene thoughts or images and he shivered, feeling her smile immediately against his stomach. "But you wouldn't cheat at our little game, would you? You have to look, James." Dammit. He was screwed. He was so screwed and they both knew it because as much as touch was powerful, seeing was what completely shattered him. It was easy to feel phantom sensations or even dream or hear things that weren't there. But watching… Watching made it so unbelievably real.

"Look at me." He did, immediately noting the swell of her lips and the flush in her cheeks. "Watch." Her pupils flared and darkened with lust as she turned her attention back to his cock. He locked eyes with her, afraid to disobey, but fucking Christ. Watching those beautiful, intelligent green eyes stare back at him from beneath those babydoll lashes was almost too much because he could see she knew exactly what she was doing to him. She knew how on edge he was, how hard he was struggling to keep quiet. And she loved it.

She nipped playfully at the sensitive skin around the base and moved her hand around his erection as she shifted her mouth lower. Her hand pumped, occasionally palming the head until his hips spasmed. But her mouth-Jesus. Her lips touched his balls and sent a shiver down his spine again but she sucked one gentle into her mouth and rolled it with her tongue and he almost lost it right then and there. She released it with a wet pop and moved to the other.

"Jesus Talya…" She hummed in appreciation and began to stroke him faster, keeping in time with each suck she gave his balls. His chest started to tighten and he clenched his hands into fists but she just chuckled. Her mouth closed around his tip, swirling her tongue around the sensitive pink flesh as she continued to stroke, and he was sure he had control until she began to hum. It was deliberate and intentional and the vibrations of her mouth made his eyes roll back in his head.

"Fuck please… faster." She smirked, pleased he'd began to moan softly, and complied. Immediately he regretted saying a word because rather than pick up the pace she slowed, teasing and taunting him with little laughs in between. He tried to grab for her, to get any kind of contact, but she stopped him.

"Please…" She just laughed and began to tease his balls, giving him a moment to get the white hot heat in his gut under control before moving back to her original position. He let out a moan-a real moan-when she resumed her sucking and stroking and she laughed. Jesus it wasn't fair!

She loved edging him and he knew that, knew that testing his control was half the fun and watching him struggle was the other half. And he had to admit that he never liked the edging while it was happening, only after. During, it was pure hell and it was torture and it felt like it would never end until she was suddenly merciful and an even stronger orgasm shook him to his core. He had quite a bit of stamina, all things considered, and she loved drawing it out for hours on end sometimes just to see how far she could push him before he broke. But not today. Not when every muscle in his body was already aching and his mind was racing and he felt like he couldn't breathe if he focused too much on any one thing. He made it through three more times before something inside him just snapped.

"Please Tal.. Please either let me cum or ruin it but for the love of god please don't keep me on edge. I can't… Not right now." His voice broke over the last few words and she stilled. She was waiting, he realized, for him to look at her but even then he took a second to recompose himself before he did. There was concern in her face. But she must have seen whatever she was looking for in his eyes because she nodded once and returned to her original stroking and sucking one last time. This time, though, she was anything but slow and teasing.

She sucked hard and soft and unpredictably the way she knew drove him wild, always anticipating the next pulse or sensation. She stroked harder, rougher, the way she knew he liked. She was the only one he trusted enough to let be rough with him because he knew he wouldn't snap or panic and accidentally hurt her. Beneath her, though, his eyes rolled back.

His head began to fog with desire as she worked, sloppy and fast but oh so willing. Heat coiled in his gut until he felt like he might burst, but she kept going. And when he panted out a warning, she didn't stop or even hesitate. If anything, it encouraged her faster. He came with a string of expletives that he couldn't tell if they were English or Russian and she swallowed his entire length, cum and all, as he began to soften. Only when she was satisfied did she release.

Every muscle and bone in his entire body was liquid, every ounce of apprehension just melted away. She smiled at his dazed expression and straddled him. But it wasn't sexual. Instead, she leaned into his chest and hugged him, running her hands through his hair until his legs stopped trembling. She kissed his temple, gentle as always.

"Feeling any better?" He nodded but it was slow and disconnected. She just laughed. One hand smoothed his hair while the other quickly turned off the water and before he could protest that he wanted to stay in the warmth she'd wrapped them both in a large towel and was drying. He leaned on her for support, only half because of the injuries, and she let him without a word. Once dry, they moved wordlessly to the bed and curled together the way their bodies just always seemed to fit, like a cat and a wolf in front of a fire.

"I'm always here for you, James, no questions." He nodded in what he hoped looked like a thank you but she just smiled against his chest. "And maybe you'll forgive me if I pick the lock on your door every now and then if I get lonely?" She'd picked the goddamn lock. He shouldn't have been surprised, he knew, but he'd honestly forgotten to question how she'd gotten into the room in the first place and he swore at himself mentally for being so distracted. Distracted meant death. But she was still curled into him, waiting for an answer, and he realized the question wasn't as confident as it sounded. Surely he wasn't the only one who had bad nights?

"Of course, always Talya. Or, you know, I could just give you a key." God that smile. He felt like he didn't deserve it, especially when he was the one who made it appear, but he would have gladly died just to see it once more.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" She laughed and the sound alone made him laugh too, which was still a weird feeling to him in general. He was learning to like it though, thanks to her. Her, and that damn smile. She was positively radiant and genuinely happy and he loved it.

Maybe, just maybe, he even loved her.

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