Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is handsome. Much more handsome than any of the photographs she'd seen of him. Much more handsome than Natasha had let on, though honestly, Natasha hadn't said much about it. Her friend was merely there to provide the necessary information.

His needs, his desires, were very particular, and if anyone understood the needs of the broken, the haunted, she most certainly did. Nat wouldn't have trusted her otherwise.

"You know who I am?" Sergeant Barnes asks now, skepticism and uncertainty plain on his handsome face, though his expression remains carefully neutral. His face is youthful, but his eyes speak volumes.

It's always in the eyes. She'd be very bad at her job if she were incapable of reading people. Even people like Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the Super Soldier/Ex-Assassin.

"I do," she replies.

"And you're fine with this? With me? With what I… want?"

She shrugs a thin shoulder. Folds her hands in her lap. Continues to watch him very carefully.

"I wouldn't be here if I felt otherwise, Sergeant. Wouldn't have even considered Nat's request. But, if you require reassurances…" She tilts her head forward a bit, offers a soft smile. "Then I assure you, I'm quite finewith this."

He is silent a long, long time, and the pair merely watch each other - she, waiting; and him, thinking. Not completely understanding.

He licks his lips. She takes notice of his hands - the bare flesh and blood one, and the other, the metal one he's hidden beneath a thin leather glove - flexing minutely against the armrests of his chair.

"Are you a hooker?"

She shakes her head. Isn't offended in the least. She's been asked this question before. And much, much worse.

"No. Not in the way you mean." She continues when he only blinks at her. "I provide a service. I am paid well for such a service. However, this service is not primarily centered around sex. Sometimes, the sex is secondary. Men and women who've come to me in the past have wanted other things, as well."

As she speaks she rises slowly from behind the desk. She cuts around it to the front and settles herself on the corner edge. Close enough to Sergeant Barnes to offer an air of intimacy, though far enough away that he won't feel threatened and can remain in control.

"Other things?" he queries, not completely believing her.

"Mmhmm. Some just want the company. Someone with whom to share time and space. Others want intimacy. Cuddling. Closeness. Someone to scratch their scalps and run their fingers through their hair."

She folds her hands in her lap, her voice lowering ever so slightly. "For many, there has been sex. They want control, or to becontrolled. But, the one thing they've all had in common is the need for a safe place. I provide that. And I can provide that for you, Sergeant Barnes, if you so desire."

Again she is met with silence. Then, he begins to laugh. It's low at first, just a rough rumble of sound emanating from his chest. But, soon, he's laughing full out. She doesn't move. She simply waits.

" You'dprovide a safe place for me?" he says, the words underscored by his laughter. "You really don't know who I am, do you? What I've done?"

Slowly, she reaches up and, with both hands, pulls down the collar of the thin T-shirt she's wearing. His eyes follow and the laughter dies on his lips when he sees the scar running in a jagged, diagonal line two inches below the delicate wings of her collarbones. A harsh and violent imperfection marring her otherwise smooth, nut brown skin.

"I assure you, Sergeant Barnes, I've known men like you. And far worse."

She let's the T-shirt slide back into place. Offers him another soft smile.

"The choice is, and will always remain, entirely yours." She cocks her head to the side. Eyes him patiently.

"So, what'll it be?"

It takes him a full week to contact her. She was certain it would be longer, if he contacted her at all. The need is present in him. Glaringly obvious to someone like her. And so is his denial of that need. She doesn't begrudge him this. She, of all people, understands.

Truthfully, she's very glad when he contacts her. He hasn't been too far from her mind since their meeting. There's something about him that calls to her. She sees the shadows floating behind his eyes. The caregiver in her wants very badly to take them away, even if only for a few hours. She understands the desire for peace.

"Is this your place," he asks when he arrives, looking around the wide, open space of the loft.

She shrugs noncommittally. "It's just a place, Sergeant."

She can tell he doesn't like that answer, but he doesn't question it further. Doesn't really say much more after that.

He's silent when she tells him she's already aware of what he requires, and what she will provide for him. Their safeword will be 'Tuesday', should the time ever arise when either of them feels unsafe. She understands his triggers; she will never be over or above him unless otherwise directed. She is his to control. To move. To bend. Although he must also respect her boundaries.

"Have I covered everything, Sergeant Barnes? Do you have any questions?"

The entire conversation is held in the center of what passes as a bedroom, several feet away from a simple queen-sized bed.

He stares down at her almost incredulously, dusky brow furrowed over sparking ice-blue eyes. Then, "Are you insane?"

For the first time since they met, a flash of something arcs through her stomach. Not irritation. Not impatience. Not anger. But, it's something that pokes at her. Makes her stop to think what her next move will be. Anyone else and she would have ended this right then and there. Cut her losses. For some reason, she is loathe to let this one go.

He speaks again before she's finished considering her words.

"If you know who I am, why would you even consider being alone with me?"

Another long pause to reconsider. Her gaze drifts down to his gloved hand.

"Will you take that off, please?"

Her request throws him off. He doesn't move. His eyes search her face for some clue as to what she's thinking. Finally, he does as asked, though he looks none too pleased about it, dropping the glove on the floor at her feet.

She looks at the hand, eyes ghosting over the fine detail and definition of the digits. Shiny. Well-made. Lethal.

"I've already told you that I understand your needs. Your desires."

She reaches out slowly, clasps her own fingers loosely around his wrist, noting the coolness, the smoothness, of the metal appendage.

He jerks slightly at the contact, but doesn't pull away. Though his body had grown taut as a piano string when she brings the hand up to settle over the base of her throat.

When she sees the way his pupils dilate, the way his breath hitches at the sight of his metal fingers resting against her delicate skin, the knowledge of what that hand can do if he so chose, and her willingness to open herself up to it, she knows she's got him.

She meets his eyes, calm and unblinking, having to crane her neck a bit to be able to do so. "There are many things this hand can make me do. Make me feel. But fear, Sergeant Barnes, will never be one of those things. Not even if you ask nicely."

His body is still tense. He stares at the hand still circling the fragile column of her throat, breath coming slow and slightly ragged, pupils blown so wide there's almost no blue left.

Silence stretches.

Settles...

Grows…

Lengthens...

Then, "Take off your clothes. All of them."

He doesn't let her go. His metal fingers flex rhythmically against her flesh. She would be lying if she said she isn't turned on by this, by the predatory gleam in his eyes. Or the way he holds her, moves with her as she slowly does as he commands and rids herself of her clothing.

It's only when she's standing before him completely nude does he tear his gaze away from hers. His eyes move over her, taking in the sloping lines of her frame. She is not entirely small nor particulary delicate, but she's aware of how she pales in comparison to his size and stature. His strength.

"What would you ask of me now, Sergeant Barnes?"

His eyes flash up to hers. "Bucky. Call me 'Bucky'."

She nods. As much as she can with his hand around her neck.

"Bucky." She gives him a small smile. "What would you ask of me, Bucky?"

Something flickers in the depths of his gaze, something soft and dim. Somewhat familiar. But it's gone as quickly as it came.

He uses the hand at her throat to pull her in close. She moves willingly, her breasts pushing into his chest, her wide hips aligning with his. He lowers his head, brings his lips close to hers and she allows her mouth to open in invitation, her eyes starting to drift shut.

"I like your mouth," he whispers. His breath is hot, sweet, as it wafts across her skin. "I'd like to feel it on me. On your knees, sweetheart."

He releases her. Watches her lower herself to the carpeted floor. She sits up high on her knees. Waits patiently as he unclasps his belt buckle.

His longish dark hair has fallen forward. It casts his face in pale shadow. He looks intimidating. Foreboding. Dangerous. A rush of desire trickles down her spine.

The rasp of his zipper in the surrounding silence brings her attention back to what waits directly in front of her. She watches his hands. Licks her lips in anticipation.

His chuckle is low and knowing, drifting around her like warm silk.

"You want it, huh?"

He works his pants and boxers mid way down his thighs. Takes his cock in his flesh and blood hand and gives it a few solid strokes.

He's big. Long and slightly curved. Skin ruddy where it stretches back from the engorged head and disappears into a thatch of dark hair.

She makes a soft sound, a low whine in the back of her throat, her tongue pressing into her top teeth.

"You really do want it." He sounds amazed, as if he hadn't believed it until just then.

"Yes" she manages.

Her own desire is something she has never focused on outside of what was necessary. Yet, here and now, with this beautiful, broken man standing above her, his need drifting off of him in waves, she feels it coursing through her veins. Pulsing steadily in her core. Dripping down her thighs.

His hand is suddenly in her hair. Tugging it. Forcing her eyes up to his.

"Say that again," he demands.

She blinks. Swallows. Lifts her hands to curl over the sharp cuts of his hips.

"Yes, I do. I want it," she rasps.

He stares down at her a long moment. She can't see him well beyond the curtain his hair has created around his face. She can, however, feel the hunger vibrating through him.

And, then, with a hand in her hair, the other grasping himself at the root, he brings her toward him.

She opens immediately, takes him in as deep as she possibly can. They moan in tandem - she at the warm, silken feel of him slipping across her tongue, and he at the hot, wet heat of her mouth enveloping him.

He pulls back slowly, and she glides her tongue along the underside of his thick cock, reveling in the guttural groan she elicits from him. His hand tightens in her hair, a delicious prick of pain that causes her to shiver with longing.

"Look at me," he murmurs as he glides back in.

She does, bringing wide, dark eyes up to his face. His jaw is clenched tight. His muscles are twitching. He's holding himself, his true self, at bay. But she knows exactly what he wants. Control is what he desires. He wants someone who will take what he gives without fear or hesitation. Someone who won't shy away from the shadows within him.

She sets her knees farther apart. Settles her weight on them and, still gazing up at him, reaches back and crosses her arms at the wrists behind her.

As she expected, as she hoped, his closely held control starts to melt away. He begins to fuck her mouth in long, deliberate strokes. Huffs out harsh breaths when the head of his cock bumps the back of her throat, going a bit further with every stroke.

She keeps her eyes trained on him. His own gaze is fixed on the steady advance and retreat of his cock between her plump, flushed lips. She allows him to control the pace, the rhythm. Doesn't care that she can hardly breathe with the way he fills her over and over.

"So beautiful," she hears him say. "So fucking beautiful."

His metal hand cups her chin. Holds her steady for him.

She mewls helplessly, pitifully, at his praise. At the pleasure he's taking from her.

"Ah, fuck," he grits out, releasing her from his grasp and stumbling back a few steps. He rakes his hands through his hair and, for a moment, she thinks she's done something wrong.

She gasps, sucking in a long rattling breath.

"Bucky?"

"Up!" he barks. "Get up!"

She's still trying to catch her breath and, for the first time in a long time, is uncertain. She doesn't move fast enough, so he helps her, grasping at her shoulders and pulling her swiftly to her feet. His eyes are shining, bright and full of fierce, hungry light.

No, she's done nothing wrong. She's done it exactly right.

She doesn't protest. Allows him to push her toward the bed. He shoves her down on her side.

He begins to rip off his clothes. She watches as each inch of beautiful skin is revealed. Because he is beautiful. Strong. Powerful. All lean, corded muscle. The metal extends all the way to his shoulder. She doesn't let her gaze linger too long on the rough patch of scar tissue there. Nor the network of pale scars scattered over his entire body. Not out of fear but, rather, consideration. And, besides, he's advancing on her now. Lowering himself on hands and knees, forming a living, breathing cage around her slightly curved body.

"You like this?" he rasps, his mouth so close to hers, though he makes no move to kiss her. And she wants him to kiss her. Wants to know what those full lips feel like against her own. Wants very badly to know what his kiss tastes like. "You really want me?"

His body is even more tightly coiled. Like some large jungle cat ready to strike.

"Yes," she says, following his lips when he dips in close and then quickly pulls back.

"I don't believe you," he hisses at her.

She groans. He's driving her crazy. She can feel the heavy length of his cock brushing against her, so close, every time he rocks over her.

"Please, Bucky."

His hand coasts over her hip, smooths over the swell of an ass cheek. And then two fingers are shoved sharply into her core. She gasps, tries not to curl away from the pleasure that shudders through her. She tries to keep her eyes focused on his face. Tries not to grind down on him.

He groans. Drops his forehead to her shoulder. His hair teases her bare skin. He slides those fingers out and then slowly back in. Feels her walls clutching at him, trying to pull him deeper.

"You're fucking dripping, sweetheart," he says in a breathless whisper. He pulls back and plunges in again. "Is that for me? Did I do that to you?"

She moans again. Bites down on the edges of her tongue. She's never been so close so fast. Never wanted something so deeply.

"Yes, Bucky. Yes. Please...mmph!"

This time he does kiss her, slicking his tongue inside her mouth, swallowing the moans she releases and giving them right back. She has no time to think on it really, to contemplate the hot, electric taste of him, because he's moving her now, pulling her entire body to the edge of the bed and then flipping her onto her stomach.

He knocks her legs open. Settles between them with his chest pressed into the slick skin of her back. Holds her effortlessly pinned beneath him.

"Fuck, I need this," he grits out. His teeth graze her shoulder and she bucks under him. "Need t' fuck you. Need t'feel you come all over me."

She can feel him positioning himself at her core. She curls her hands into the linens. Starts a low chant of 'PleasePleasePlease's' that are drowned out by his harsh, blasting breaths.

And then he's rocking into her, driving in to the hilt in one solid thrust. The air locks in her lungs, the sweet pleasure-pain of his entry scuttling like wildfire through her entire body. So deep. So full. So good.

Bucky brings up his metal arm. Works it under her. Closes metal fingers now made warm by her body heat around her throat. Squeezes, though not enough to cut off her air supply, but enough to bring the pleasure higher. Cause it to vibrate sharper. Deeper.

" Shiiit," he hisses into the skin of her shoulder, a full body shudder overtaking him. He pulls back. Thrusts back in just as rough and deep as before. Again. And again. Grunting as he finds his rhythm. He uses the weight of his big body and his powerful metal arm to hold her in place while he pounds into her.

Beneath him she can do nothing except whine and moan. And take. Take him. All of his aching fire. His bottomless longing. His searing hurt. His haunting regret. His writhing darkness. The hot, sparking power within him. She takes it willingly. Gladly. Greedily. Is on the verge of begging for more when his flesh and blood hand finds its way beneath her and begins roughly working her clit.

"Feel so good," he grunts. "You make me feel so fucking good."

These words, more than his strumming fingers, more than the punishing drive of his cock, send her barreling over the edge. Shatter her into a million shimmering little pieces.

She clamps down on him, and he continues to fuck her through it, turning her moans into high, keening wails.

"Yessss….fuuuuck, yessss…." He sounds triumphant. Joyful. Even pops out a breathless laugh as his own orgasm begins to rocket up his spine. He curls over and around her. Buries his face in the crook of her neck and, with a few more thrusts, comes hard. Ruts against her, inside her, wanting so badly to hold onto this feeling. The drumming, rippling, pounding pleasure this woman has ripped from him.

Neither are certain how long they stay this way, only aware of the warmth of each other. Of the slowly fading pleasure. She doesn't mind his weight over him. In fact, she burrows deeper under it, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of her lips as her eyes drift shut.

Bucky holds her close. Tight. Drags his lips over the curve of her shoulder. Tastes the sweat of her skin.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks quietly. The orgasm has left him warm and lazy, but she can hear the concern in his voice. Knows he will revert back to self-loathing at the slightest hint of discomfort on her part. She doesn't want him to ruin it for himself.

"Did I use the safe word?"

He hesitates. "No,but-"

"Get up."

She feels him begin to tense. She snakes a hand down her side. Pats his hip lightly.

"You did nothing wrong, Bucky, but it's hard to talk to you like this."

He chuckles lightly. Rocks his hips into her, his half hard cock still embedded in her slick sheath. "I kinda like it like this."

This is a new side of him. This playful teasing. Just another one of his defenses. a diversion. She's not having it.

She turns her face toward him. Ghosts a kiss over his scruffy cheek. "I wanna see you, Bucky."

He hesitates only briefly. Then, pulls away slowly. Flops down on his side next to her.

She feels the loss of him immediately. Tries not to dwell on it. Tries not to think about what his absence from her body makes her feel. This isn't about her.

He stays on his back. Stares up at the ceiling. His hair is wet and curling slightly at his temples. He holds his flesh and blood hand in a loose fist against his stomach. He doesn't want to look at her.

"Bucky, if you would be so kind as to look at me, please."

A beat passes, then he turns his head to look at her. Meets her gaze and she can tell he's waiting. Waiting for the rejection he's sure will come.

"In case you're wondering, this," she smiles lazily, wagging a finger in her own face, "this is what a woman who's been well and truly and wonderfullyfucked looks like." She bats her lashes playfully at him.

He stares at her in disbelief. Then laughs and shakes his head, some of the tension draining from his body.

"I don't know what to make of you." And it's the truth. Which is a first for him, she's certain.

She shifts to her side. Slips a thin arm over his chest. Snuggles in close to him.

"I promised you a safe place, Bucky, to do and be exactly what you are. I meant that. You'll find it with me for as long as you need it."

His eyes move over her face. Lower to the sweet curve of her lips. A thought drifts in his gaze. Something he wants to ask but, perhaps, can't find the proper words for.

"I don't care what you were before. What you did. It's not for me to judge. To concern myself with."

He scoffs, emotion shimmering bright and clear in his eyes. "How can you say that?"

She rolls away slightly, gives him a clear view of the scar slashing across her skin. She is open. Unashamed. Two things she's sure he thinks he can never be.

"Sometimes the world makes us monsters. Sometimes our decisions makes us so. But, in the end, it's our choice as to whether that's where we remain.

"A very long time ago, I made a choice. And I was lucky to find someone to help make that choice easier. To show me that I was more than the monster I had become. I can be that for you. For as long as you need. Without fear or reservation. The only thing I ask is that you trust me."

He doesn't respond. He sucks in a deep breath and tackles her back onto the bed. And this time when their bodies connect, it softer. Slower. Still full of shuddering desire and grasping hunger. But Bucky doesn't hold back.

And she'd be lying if she said she doesn't enjoy it, that she doesn't enjoy the rough swipe of his tongue across her scar.

That night, he sleeps. Deeply. Peacefully. Safely.