Captain America Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Steve Rogers Fan Fic - The Constant

Chapter Forty-Six: The Winter Soldier and His Constant - The Dance

The Winter Soldier and His Constant - The Dance

The Winter Soldier has been out of cryo for as long as they are comfortable with. He has already been on mission and it was successful. Now he is back with you, and tomorrow you will both be returned to cryo.

Which means he is yours for the next sixteen hours.

One of the things you have to do before he can be put back to sleep is routine maintenance on his arm. It's nothing alarming; you just need to clean the metal and ensure everything is working. Any mechanical problems are sorted out by the experts.

It is still daylight and you are both sat outside in the small open area leading off from your rooms. It is enclosed by an eight foot wall topped with barbed wire. No-one can get into this area – and you cannot get out.

He is sitting with his head leaning slightly back, feeling the sun on his face, when you sit down next to him. He comes forward and looks at you. He knows you now, and the look in his eyes is so different to when he first returns from programming. The smile he gives you makes your stomach knot and makes your knees weak. Even after all this time, even after all the pain, this man still has such a hold over you.

You place the cloths and oil on the table whilst he sits at the end and stretches his left arm out for you. He has already taken off his tee-shirt and is bare chested, a light sheen of sweat showing from the warm sun. You sit next to him, facing him. In order to begin at the shoulder, you need to lean in close, really close, and you can smell him, feel the heat from his skin, see the soft hair of his body.

You blush and duck your head. He moves closer and you look up straight into those eyes.

"You can get closer if you want," he says and grins at you. He now remembers the effect he has on you. He leans in and softly kisses your lips. You can feel the stubble on his face. How you want to close your eyes and kiss him back.

"Stop it!" you say, putting your hand on his chest to gently push him away. He gives a rare laugh. It is such an odd occurrence to hear him laugh, to have him flirt with you. It seems an age since he last remembered you this well.

You grab one of the cloths and then touch his arm, turning it so that the inside is resting on the table and you can reach just where the metal attaches to the shoulder. You need to check all the plates and rub them clean using the special oil they provide.

He watches the way her cheeks flush, the way her lips part. The way she gently moves his arm and pretends she doesn't know he is watching her. He loves this shyness of hers because it is so innocent. She leans forward and begins wiping the cloth on the individual plates at the top of the arm, her other hand holding his wrist to keep his arm steady. He wants to reach out and take the cloth away, to stand her up and hold her close, to kiss her and then lay her down and gently make love to her in the sun.

"Hey, wake up," she says, tapping him. He missed what she has said.

"I wasn't asleep," he says, and smiles because she can see what is in his mind.

You blow air through your bangs. This is going to take forever if he isn't going to be serious. You try to be stern.

"You need to flex at the top," you repeat, and he lifts his eyebrows and you can't help but laugh.

"Be serious, will you? I meant your arm!"

"So did I," he says.

He flexes so that the rings at the very top of the arm move and you can clean the metal underneath. The gently whirring mechanism inside ticks over, and slowly you begin to move down, cleaning and getting him to move as and when you need him to, keeping the cloth oiled.