We'll Always Have This

Chapter 5

Dim light emanated from a battered lamp in the apartment. The quality of light for most was too dark to read by, but not for Bucky Barnes. One of the many positive side effects of the super-soldier serum that flowed through his veins was enhanced senses, which included superb hearing and vision. He was nearly one hundred years old, and his eyesight was better than when he'd joined the army. The gentle tones of blues music quietly filled the room, and with his particularly acute hearing, he could distinguish from the familiar music the whine as the record slowly spun around on the player.

An unfamiliar noise - light footsteps followed by a wrap at his door made him freeze. Natasha had stayed that one night and left the next day, and that was three days ago. Bucky had heard nothing from her since and hadn't expected to, but she was the only one he could think of who knew where he was and who might knock at his door. If he were being hunted, he'd have heard something else, and they wouldn't have announced their presence by knocking. A sudden fear gripped him. Did she tell Steve where he was? Was Captain America, Steve Rogers, his best friend behind his door? Natasha had said Steve was looking for him. He'd saved Steve from the water, not understanding why, but he knew now. His memories had all returned slowly, painfully.

No more shocks, no more cryo. The past had come in waves; his memories of Steve were the only memories he didn't mind. The rest were horrors he wished he could forget that haunted his dreams and that the vodka couldn't truly keep at bay. He stood and considered his gun in the cupboard; he wouldn't need it if it were someone unfriendly. Weapons were helpful, but for him, unnecessary, and where possible, he now avoided firearms. He silently went to the door and peered through the spy hole. He could see wisps of red hair and alert green eyes beneath the hoodie. Not Steve and not a foe, Natalia. He relaxed a little and watched her turn and peer down the corridor, checking she'd not been seen or followed. She turned back to the door, staring at the peephole. A smile touched the corner of her mouth; she knew he was there, "I can hear you in there."

He smiled, undoing the chain and releasing the latch. "Natalia."

"What took you so long?" she asked as she strolled past him into the room, removing her backpack and hoodie as though they'd arranged this meeting. He checked the corridor and re-secured the door. The ten seconds in which he'd turned his back to latch and lock his apartment was enough for Natasha to be beside him suddenly, and he turned, surprised to find her centimetres from him; she'd been as silent as the assassin she was.

"Hi!" she smiled at him alluringly, and he felt his skin prickle nervously.

"Hi," his response resonated with a dubious undertone.

The words had barely escaped his lips before her hands were on him, her lips on his as she shoved him against the door. He grunted, not in pain; it hadn't hurt, but in surprise at her ambush as he braced himself against the door. Her mouth was insistent, her tongue hot and urgent as she forced herself between his lips to engage his. The hands he'd braced on the door instinctively went for her hips, which were pressed hard against his, moving seductively. His fingers glanced at the smooth skin above her belt, and what self-control he was fighting to keep leapt to his throat.

"Natasha, slow down," he murmured against her feverish lips, "Natalia."

She pulled away, looking a little flustered.

"James?" it wasn't a question, more a statement, and he froze, looking at her guiltily. "Stop talking!"

He swallowed and nodded obediently, pressing his lips together to pledge his silence as she stepped back. She stood and stripped, kicking off her boots, removing her top and then her trousers. Undressed before him, she beckoned him to follow her towards his sofa with her hand. He took a breath and stepped toward her. She removed his shirt and stood momentarily, looking him up and down appraisingly before undoing his trousers, letting them fall to his knees before pushing him back onto the couch. He could've stopped himself from falling; she'd barely shoved him, but he was her willing pawn. He watched her remove her bra before she stepped forward and straddled his lap. Her hands in his hair pulled his head back. Neither said a word; the only sound was their breath, the music's quiet tune and the record player's whine that still spun in the background.