BREAKING NEWS
— This just in, a string of poisonings in Manhattan have been officially categorized as murders by the FBI, Darcy?
— That’s right, Jimmy. According to the Special Agent in Charge, Isobel Castille, these murders originated in Brooklyn before crossing over into Manhattan and even the Bronx. Now that these egregious acts against U.S. citizens has breached state lines, the FBI have officially taken the case.
— These are poisonings, Darcy. Care to tell us a little more?
— This poison is dangerous. This news broadcast will serve as an official announcement, with permission from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, that any contact with this substance is fatal at its most potent. Experts say that there are traces of hyoscyamine, which is in the same family as nightshade, in this toxin. Even supervised use of this drug can lead to addiction. Continued exposure or a lethal amount of this poison as a whole, is deadly.
— The FBI have also made it a point not to share the identities of the victims to the public.
— That’s correct, Jimmy. Which means we all must be vigilant. If you have careers in chemical plants, medical centers or any other facility that knowledge of the proper protocol to handling hazardous substances is necessary, share what you know with your families and friends until the CDC puts out their own Public Safety Announcement. The health officers will have everything explicitly explained for our knowledge and safety moving forward.
— I believe that’s all we have for breaking news today, Darcy. Let’s turn it over to Dr. Jane Foster and guest astrophysicist, Erik Selvig, for the Weather Report. There’s been some interesting reports of sink holes appearing in New Jersey that they have to share with us that could effect the rest of the Eastern Seaboard. Especially with figures like Captain Rogers, the Hulk, and Thor coming out of the woodwork ten years ago. Jane?
Bucky blinks blearily at the television. He left it on accidentally when he drifted off the sleep a few hours ago. The mention of the CDC, murder, and poison go in one ear and out the other, he’s so tired. He had a hard day with his therapist earlier and he’s still reeling from some revelations that came up in discussion with Dr. Raynor. He fumbles around in the sheets for the remote, letting a triumphant grin momentarily sneak its way across his features. With a click off the button on the top right corner of the remote, he shuts the television completely off and turns over in the bed. Usually he can’t stand sleeping in silence, hence why he always leaves some type of appliance on. This time, though, he’s positively wiped out. He’ll deal with the news and the rest of the world when he’s ready to be part of it.
The odor of sweat and too many warring perfumes compels Bucky to open one of the windows in the dance studio. It’s an odd place for a small dojo, but he makes it work. The girls always come ready to learn and with a willingness to hone in their skills. He delights in being an instructor. Getting to train the widows before they go out in the wild world gave him a sense of peace, that maybe he was making up for not being able to go out there himself. His last mission as a member of an elite task force left him with more than just the scars on his left arm. There were too many surgeries on his rotator cuff than he cares to think about, he ended up having the scarring covered with tattoos. Black and red roses adorn his shoulder and sprawl across the left side of his chest. It was too bad that he couldn’t get the same treatment for his arm. Ink doesn’t penetrate titanium like it does flesh. He’s no artist himself but maybe he could get it painted one day. Just as he finally gets the window open, footsteps on the linoleum catch his attention.
“You know, some girls get their right split first.” Bucky turns at the sound of the head widow’s voice. “Others get their left first.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, watching as the widow lets herself drop into a Chinese split.
“Then there are the superior girls who get their middle first,” she challenges Bucky with a mischievous glint in her green eyes. “Which one are you?”
He waits a beat before rolling his eyes and sweeping his left leg out, gracefully descending until he hits the floor. He sits comfortably, his legs forming a perfect 180 degree angle. The widow smirks at him and he smirks right back as they both lean over to rest on their elbows.
“I guess we can both be superior,” she sighs before perking up. “Wow, we haven’t talked like this in years.”
“High school cheer was a very long time ago, Nat.” He chuckles, while settling in, it feels good to stretch like this. “So, what do you want?”
“I can’t visit one of my oldest friends?” She asks, fluttering her lashes.
“Oh now I know you want something.”
“Alright, alright, you got me.” She blows air between them, making her lips flap comically. “The industry is being threatened, the top executives want to see the party responsible ruined.”
“Okay… I’ll bite. What do you want?” He queries.
“How would you feel about being one of my girls for the night?”
Bucky barks out a startled laugh. “Is this because I’m—
“No,” she cuts him off. “But that will only help you if you choose to accept.”
“Be a black widow for a night, huh.” Bucky narrows his eyes and wiggles his metal fingers at her. “What about the arm? Pretty sure it would be off putting for the client.”
“I wouldn’t worry too hard about that.”
That gets his attention, his curiosity piques.“Who’s the target?”
“The CFO of Stark Industries.”
“Steve Rogers?!” His eyes grow big, his voices rises in pitch and incredulity. “You mean the same Steve Rogers that fought in World War Two, crashed a plane into the Atlantic, got defrosted ten years ago, helped defeat the aliens right outside when they came pouring outta that asshole in the sky, and then decided to set the shield aside and break into tech with Tony Stark of all fuckin’ people??”
“Mhmm,” she hums in agreement. “Rumor has it he’s the Black Widow Killer, which is bad for business. You know how we operate, Bucky, the industry doesn’t play when it comes to its escort agencies.”
“I know, I know, but the jokes just write themselves these days. Black Widow Killer? Seriously?” Bucky lets out another laugh then, louder this time. “You really think a national icon is a serial killer?”
“Stranger things have happened as you just mentioned. I didn’t believe it either until I sent one of mine to service him,” she deadpans. “Weeks later, she was dead, poisoned. Just like all the other escorts from competing agencies that service Stark Industries.”
He takes a deep breath. “What makes you think it’s Rogers?”
“Call it female intuition.”
He rolls his eyes again at her antics.
“My contact at the FBI told me they found carpet fibers on all the bodies that NYPD couldn’t trace.”
“The FBI?” He questions. “Well, now I’m really intrigued. Who’s your source?”
“Bucky, you know secrets are expensive. You don’t have the capital to buy them off me.”
He rolls his eyes, a rueful chuckle slipping from his lips. “Whatever, back to the case then. Now that the FBI is involved, what can you tell me?”
“The case went to them after Valentina, since she doesn’t live here in New York. She was one of my Jersey girls, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Bucky rubs his hand over his chin in contemplation. “She was the best in Atlantic City let Yelena tell it. Was Rogers even in Jersey for the timeline to make some semblance of sense?”
“Well, the FBI were able to connect the carpet fibers to SI and Stark Tower is the only place to source very specific rugs and other upholstery,” she says. “However, it’s the poison that connects Valentina to the other girls in this case.”
“But was Rogers in Jersey at point of contact?”
“Well, no, but—
“Then how do you know it’s him?” He asks.
“Look, each escort that serviced him specifically are the ones that died. My contact confirmed it.”
“Okay okay, so not just female intuition,” Bucky chuckles drily, the joke falling flat between them with the subject matter hitting them both. “You know, I think I might remember something about this on the news, but they didn’t mention the Black Widow Killer as a name.”
“This is why I need you to go instead of the other girls,” she poses, not really paying attention to what he just said. “You’ll catch him off guard enough to maybe shake some things loose.”
“Alright, alright, fine, I’ll do it.” He pushes back to sit up right in his Chinese split. “But I deserve a raise after this.”
“You come back in 100% health, you absolutely will.”
“And if it’s not Rogers?” Bucky asks.
“Then you get your first client.” Her grin turns downright lecherous then. “And laid very well might I add. The stories Valentina told me about him before she passed… if they’re true, you’ll have an amazing time.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Nat?” He asks, suddenly worried. “I mean, when I got captured… what if… never mind.”
“No, what is it?”
What begins to feel like the sensation of small pebbles filling his stomach, gives him pause, makes him hesitate for a moment. “Nothing really, just— just a weird feeling. Haven’t been on a mission since— since the accident.” He rubs his neck, a self-deprecating chuckle slipping from this lips.
“If you really aren’t feeling up to it—
“No, I can do it.” He says, cutting Natasha off. “I won’t let Val’s death, or the others, be in vain.”
Bucky bounces his legs before drawing them in front of him to shake out the split. All the while, he still can’t help but wonder if he’s making the right choice. That mission going wrong changed quite a bit about him. He went in as the Winter Soldier, a feared assassin, with the Black Widow, Falcon, and Hawkeye at his six. They were more of a family than a team, really. Still, he came out of that incident with more than he bargained for. What’s more, he knows exactly what this new mission will entail. He’ll have to entertain the whims of a man who he had been crushing on ever since his first U.S. History class in high school. He’ll have to spread his legs. Before the accident, he would have been excited, he knew his way around the block. He would have no problem rocking the good captain’s world, he would have turned that man every which way but loose. The captain would have been eating out the palm of his hand with just the use of his talented mouth. Now though, his confidence is somewhat shaken. How is he supposed to manage this when the impossible had been made possible with illegal experimentation and all manner of body altering substances. How is he supposed to seduce a man in order to persuade him into spilling his deepest secrets when he’s been practically made virginal again. Perhaps his faux innocence will be a turn on, working to his advantage. He’s the goddamn Winter Soldier, he can handle this.
“Hey, why don’t we go get some lunch. We can try that shawarma spot Clint won't shut up about.” Natasha suggests, causing him to look her way. She’s graceful in the way she rises from the linoleum. “You’re lookin’ a little worse for wear. Did you even eat breakfast before coming in today, Yasha?”
At the mention of a meal, Bucky’s stomach makes its own desires known grumbling like it had never seen food before.
“Yeah, that sounds great actually.” He grabs his water bottle and his bag. “I did eat before I left but lately, I’ve been having to add snacks in between lunch and dinner. Keeping up with therapy stresses me out though, so food is my go to.”
He’s busy closing up the studio room where his little dojo is located while Nat waits for him, he misses the pensive glaze that mars her features for but a moment.
Bucky fidgets in the sleek, black, town car as he rides in the backseat. He can see wisps of blond, spiked ends peaking out from under the driver’s hat through the half risen partition. The evening sun highlights the driver’s hair through the tinted window he has cracked to allow the fresh air to cool his heated skin. By all accounts, he should be cold with the outfit Nat through at him after their lunch date. Under a black trench coat, he’s wearing a tight, white, blouse with a red necktie. The short, navy skirt that barely covers his ass, only just hides the lacy panties that are doing their level best to ride up into some uncomfortable areas. He has zero clue how women do this. Maybe he just isn’t wearing a pair that would work for his figure. The thought makes his cheeks heat up even more. Desperate for anything else to think about, he watches the scenery that passes him by.
The lights on Park Avenue illuminate the block, almost as if it’s somehow in tune with Bucky’s own body. It’s like he’s been set to vibrate with a remote he has no control of. The anticipation is making his blood bubble just beneath the surface of his flesh. Unconsciously, he’s excited to meet Steve Rogers. Who wouldn’t be? In any other situation, he would be pulling out all the stops… but he has a job to do, so the pressure is on. He’s doing his best to let that faux innocence sink in, to settle in his bones. He’s got to ramp it up, let that persona become a significant part of himself as smooth jazz plays lowly in the town car.
The vehicle descends into an underground parking structure. Bucky takes a deep breath to settle himself. When the car comes to a full stop, the driver comes around to open his door.
“Here, take this.”
“A lollipop,” Bucky scoffs, taking the sucker and reading the label. Black Cherry Lemonade. “Really, Clint?”
“I heard he likes the flavor,” Clint says with a shrug. “Good luck, man.”
Shaking his head, Bucky takes the candy and tears the wrapper. He sticks it in his mouth and strides toward the door where a no-nonsense woman with a high, strawberry blonde, ponytail is waiting for him. His white thigh high socks gleam in the fluorescent lights at the door, popping against his ruby red keds. He looks like a naughty little school girl with his own brunet tresses twisted into a fishtail and he knows it, the sucker is the literal cherry on top. It tastes good too. Swirling it around with his tongue, he savors the flavor.
“Welcome Winter, right this way,” the woman says. Her smile is warm if a little exasperated, as if she’s more than used to the antics of the executives working in the tower. She walks with him as they travel down a long, dimly lit hallway. The solid gold panelling on the elevator reeks of luxury. “Would you like me to take your coat?”
He pauses for a beat but ultimately decides the charade should begin as soon as possible. “Yes, thank you…”
“You can call me Pepper.” She smiles while accepting his coat. “You’ll take this elevator down to sub level three and use the door at the end of the hall, office ten.”
With a graceful flourish, she tosses the trench coat over her shoulder before taking out a black card with an interesting symbol emblazoned on it from her pant suit pocket. It appears to be two, gold-tinted, snakes chasing each other into a never ending infinity sign, while devouring each other’s tails. An intriguing portrayal of ouroboros. A chill washes over his skin then, he’s almost positive that he has seen that symbol before. He can’t place where though, so he shakes the notion off and the warmth returns to his flesh. He watches as Pepper uses the card to call the elevator and hears the air releasing as the doors slide open.
“Mr. Rogers will see you now.”
Bucky tries not to let the shiver show but it is difficult. Anticipation and dread war for control in his belly, his skin doesn’t know whether it wants to be hot or cold. He steps in to the elevator and folds his hands in front of him. He lifts a hand to wave to Pepper as the doors close, but a hint of orange in her eyes catches him off guard. Her irises seem to glow. He looks up to see the lights inside the elevator are a muted orange. He shakes his head with a rueful chuckle and presses the button labeled S3.
As the elevator makes its descent, he can’t help but feel slightly unsettled. He’s not cold per se, but his blood isn’t exactly brimming with anticipation anymore, making his skin feel somewhat clammy. He studies his reflection in the almost transparent gold of the metal transporting him down and into the sub levels of Stark Tower. His figure is shapely, his curves enhanced by the feminine way in which he’s dressed. The white blouse hugging his broad chest is a long sleeve, it hides his metal arm to an extent. His prosthetic hand gleams in the dim, orangey, light. He fiddles with the ruby, red, tie before smoothing the white shirt into his navy blue skirt. The whole get up isn’t lost on him. Red, white, and blue? He just about rolls his eyes, sending a mental bitch slap to Natasha. What is she playing at anyway? And the sucker? He sighs, taking it out of his mouth. A little bit of saliva coats his lips. He watches himself lick them. Alright maybe he can see why Natasha asked him to do this mission. The whole aesthetic is working for him. Maybe he really can have a bit of fun with this. A low ding rings out in the space before the elevator comes to a smooth halt. He pops the lollipop back between his lips and steps out into the hallway.
The corridor isn’t very long, Bucky takes about ten steps and he’s standing right in front of the office’s onyx door with the number 10 staining it in muted gold. He knocks once, twice, three times, before he hears a deep voice, raspy from disuse speak.
“Enter.”
Enter? Who the hell does this man think he is? Bucky opens the door and crosses the threshold into the office. The inside of the room is bathed in shades of red with silver and black accents, the linoleum shines in the artificial lights. There are floor to ceiling glass windows that display the horizon as it bleeds the colors of the heavens with the setting sun across the large window panes. It must be something Stark invented, it’s a nice touch.
“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” Bucky’s head snaps up at the sound of that voice.
Steve Rogers, former Captain America, and current CFO of Stark Industries cuts an intimidating figure from behind his large, Oakwood, desk. The top three buttons on the starched, white, shirt he wears are open, exposing a hairy chest. Bucky’s mouth is suddenly dry regardless of the sucker dangling between his lips. He finds himself licking them, he’s parched, like he hasn’t experienced the sensation of cool water sliding down his throat before. A wetness begins to pool between his thighs, a blush tints his cheeks cherry red. He can see the smirk pulling at Rogers’ full, pink, lips. He curses under his breath at his own reaction, as if he’s succumbing to some love at first sight spell, more like lust at first sight. Bucky scoffs at his own thoughts but he still feels his skin heat at the piercing blue gaze that studies him where he stands. The dark brown beard that covers the bottom half of the captain’s face is peppered with the lightest of blond streaks, it makes him look experienced beyond his physical years. In truth, the man still looks pretty much like he did in the pictures from Bucky’s history books. If not for the very slight appearance of crow’s feet around the eyes, he would have mistaken Steve Rogers for a thirty-year-old man.
“Come here, sweetheart.” He hears it more than sees it when Rogers pushes away from his desk, the sound of wheels rolling across the floor sneak their way into his ears. The man’s tone is light, it rises above those wheels, but there’s something in the pitch of it that makes strings in the back of Bucky’s mind try but fail to connect. He strides over until he’s standing in between Rogers’ open legs. A single pat to those massive thighs by Rogers’ own meat paw of a right hand is all the permission he needs to plant himself onto that sturdy lap.
“You listen well, you’re gonna be so good for me. I can tell,” Rogers whispers in his ears as if he’s telling Bucky a secret. He feels it when those hands rub up and down his sides. The heat of his blush intensifies when the former captain kisses his cheek. His thoughts whirl within him, crowing in delight, when he doesn’t immediately turn into a puddle at the man’s feet. Rogers’ voice is of the stuff that turns his dreams into wet ones. If he’s not careful, he will get off right in this man’s lap. But something tells him that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. “You’re a pretty one, wanna tell me your name?”
“Winter.”
