Their Doll (1/3)

Helping hand

Training with the soldier wasn't all bad, really. I mean sure, being knocked on my ass every five minutes when we sparred was hell, but there were other aspects too. HYDRA basically made the soldier train me into being their own personal assassin.

Today, it was knife-throwing. One of the few skill I already had - after all, being left in boredom for a whole year led me to experiment and find something new. I was self taught, not very good, but I knew the basics.

I walked up to the target carefully, eyes wide at I watch the soldier throw a knife that pierced through the handle of a blade that was already embedded in the bullseye. I shook off the shock, focusing on my own target as I walked up to it. Lifting a knife out of the belt I wore, I angled it at the target - keeping my wrist slightly loose - and threw. Fuck. Landed in the third ring out from the bullseye.

Again. I threw, wrist loose, and a similar outcome. As I lined up for a third throw, I felt a hand on my right shoulder, stopping me. I looked up, eyes piercing into the soldier's as his averted from me, to the blade in my hand, to the target.

My breathing became heavy, laboured, as he made his way around me, the soldier positioning himself behind me. His hands ran down my arms, resting either side of my wait - one radiating heat, the other cold and making my flinch slightly when it came into contact with the exposed skin from where my shirt had ridden up slightly. He used this grip to correct my stance, remaining behind me and grabbing my wrists to move them into the right position. His hot breath on the back of my neck was making me unfocused, intoxicated.

"Loosen your wrist." He said lowly, "more. It's all about the flick of your wrist." He explained, waiting for me to be ready. "Good. Now, release on your exhale." He breathed.

I took a deep breath in, letting the small blade loose on my exhale, eyes trained to the flash of silver as it flew through the air. Just to the left of the bullseye.

"Good. Try again." So I  did, landing a fraction closer to the black dot in the centre of the target. "Good girl." The soldier remarked, the praise sending an odd tingle through me. I could practically hear his smile as he spoke, but before I could respond, his warmth from  my body was gone - the soldier back at his own target one again.

...
I stood in the shower room, back bare and bloody still after I had managed to stagger from the whipping room. I stood with my back to the mirror as I looked over my shoulder, wincing every time the small towel touched any of the wounds.

Today's punishment had been unusually brutal, with the whip cracking down on my back in the same two places for every lashing. As a result, two long gashes spanned widthways diagonally across my upper and lower back, oozing crimson tauntingly as tear stained my already reddened cheeks.

I huffed out a frustrated sigh, turning back around to wash the blood from my once-white towel. Steam clouded the edges of the mirror and I could hear a steady stream of water coming from behind one of the curtains, meaning the the Soldier was probably washing after our training session.

In my efforts to get my towel as close to it's original colour, I was completely oblivious when the stream of water cut out and the stained-white curtain ripped back - the rings making a horrible noise against the metal rail. My eyes slowly drifted up to my own reflection staring back at myself, a grimace forming on my face at the sight.

Harsh, purple and green bruises decorated my right jaw, a small cut split across my left cheekbone and a now-drying cluster of blood was dripping down my forehead and tangling with my sweat-crusted hair. I tentatively reached up with one hand, running my fingers so lightly over the bruise on my cheek you'd barely know I'd touched it if I hadn't been for the whimper that escaped my lips.

A movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, my eyes drifting to the side to see the soldier looking intently at my back in the mirror. I swallowed deeply, dropping the water-clad towel into the sink without looking away from the soldier. I suddenly felt hit, with his eyes burning into me, and tried to make a move to leave. But his hands on my waist stopped me, kept me in place.

"This is how they're punishing you?" The soldiers husked deeply beside my ear, and I nodded meekly. What he did next I didn't expect in a thousand lifetimes, but the soldier reached around me and pulled open the cupboard beside my head before pulling out a role of bandages.

We stood in silence as he dressed my wounds, my eyes never leaving the mirror as I gazed at his focus expression. He looked different to how he did when he fought, calmer, tranquil even. He didn't look like a killing machine, like a lackey of HYDRA, no. He looked more like a vulnerable boy who had been forced into something he didn't want, but with no choice other than to do as he'd been told. Neither of us said a word every time I flinched or let out little yelps and winces of pain, his eyes only drifted to mine in the steamed mirror and only left when I'd give him a small nod, a signal to continue.

When he'd finished he stepped away, using a soft grip on my hips to turn me around. He gave me a small smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. I returned it, but gasped sharply as he lifted my up and placed me atop the counter beside the sink. He picked up the sodden towel and run it out until it only remained damp and carefully lifted it to my forehead, cautiously and gently rubbing the wound there clean, until only a small cut on my hair line remained.

As his attention shifted to the cut on my cheekbone, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander down his toned torso, over his abs and to his v-line which disappeared beneath the towel he had wrapped  around his waist. When my eyes trailed up again, the couldn't help but observe the mess of scars at the base of his metal arm - where it was connected to his shoulder.

"I know it isn't pretty, but at least I have an arm." The soldier remarked, dropping the little towel in his hand back into the sink and looking into my eyes. I quickly averted my gaze from his body, cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of getting caught. He smirked slightly, using one of his fingers to tip my chin upwards so I had no choice but to look in his eyes.

It wasn't a rough, power-asserting position like it was intended to be when the general did it. No, it was soft, endearing and I couldn't get enough of him. The soldier used his metal hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a shiver finding my when the cold metal came into contact with my skin.

"Thank you." I murmured, eyes flirting between his own and his lips. The soldier's were seemingly doing the same. My overwhelming urge to kiss him was quelled when his lips came into contact with mine, dominating but not hard. His lips were plump, yet chapped - I mean how could you expect any less, it's not like the Winter Soldier was going to think about putting some lip balm on. I sat there, dumbfounded, unmoving. My eyes clenched shut at my hands brushed lightly up his arms before settling on his shoulders.

He pulled away all to soon. His smile seemed more genuine, touching his eyes slightly as his lips curled upwards. I was sure I was grinning like an idiot, but I couldn't find it in myself to care as my eyes because mesmerised with his own, now blown wider with lust so only a small ring of cerulean blue rimmed his pupils. That was not the only evidence of his arousal though, as I could feel the other give away poking at my thigh. The towel around his waist did nothing to hide it, and my eyes widened slightly when I registered how big it must be.

Sensing this, the soldier's smirk grew, and he leant in slowly to capture my lips in one last, gentle kiss, before he was retreating from the room. The sound of the metal door swinging shut made me snap out of my hazy daydream trance and come back to reality, the pain throbbing from my back now in full focus as I hopped down from the counter with a groan.