fic: Honey and Salt (Avengers; Steve/Bucky/Natasha; pg)
Honey and Salt
Avengers (2012); Steve/Bucky/Natasha; pg; 3,380 words
Bucky's not that kind of agent.
So one day I said to
angelgazing, I said, "there should totally be a story where Bucky is the honeypot and Natasha is the muscle." Guess what her answer was? Sigh. Title and cut-text from Carl Sandburg.
~*~
Honey and Salt
As the briefing ended, Bucky was aware that Steve had come to stand in the back of the room. Since he wasn't officially a SHIELD agent, he didn't often get stuck in the endless droning meetings that Bucky, Natasha and Clint were subject to, but sometimes he showed up to commiserate afterwards. It was one of the many things Bucky appreciated about him.
The agents filed out and Coulson said, "Agent Barnes, Agent Romanoff, stay a moment, please." He looked over their heads at Steve, small smile on his face, and said, "Feel free to join us, Captain."
Bucky sat himself back down with a soft sigh as Coulson tapped the glass tabletop and a picture of man hovered over them. The guy was middle-aged, generically handsome, fine lines around his eyes and mouth and gray around his temples.
"This is Marco Devilbiss. He's a senior engineer at Roxxon." Another tap on the glass and a whole series of pictures surrounded them, of Devilbiss with various pieces of complicated machinery that had the sleek, lethal look of weapons. "He's also high up in the hierarchy at RAID, though so far, he's been careful not to implicate himself." Coulson inclined his head and smiled again, this time at Bucky and Natasha. "Due to some unexpected snags in his travel schedule, he'll be in New York tonight to accept an award from the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. You'll meet him there and convince him that providing information to SHIELD will be his best chance of survival. Since RAID scientists tend to be a little more self-interested than HYDRA agents, we believe that with the right incentive, he'll cooperate."
"A milk run, then." Coulson raised an eyebrow as Bucky exchanged a knowing look with Natasha. "With Natasha on the job, he'll be on the payroll in no time." He and Nat had been doing these kinds of missions for a long time and his mind raced ahead, planning it out. He needed to dig his tuxedo out of the closet and find a map of whatever hotel was hosting the dinner.
Natasha smiled in acknowledgement of his words, but Coulson shook his head. "While Agent Romanoff has an amazing success rate on these sorts of missions, she's not Devilbiss's type."
Bucky snorted in derision. "Natasha is everyone's type." In his peripheral vision, he could see Steve nodding in agreement.
Coulson pursed his lips and tapped the glass a third time and the pictures all changed again. They were still all of Devilbiss, but now he was with another man, or maybe a series of men. They all had the same dark hair and lean build, and none of them looked older than twenty-five. While many of the images appeared to be surveillance photos, some had the intimate feel of personal pictures. And some looked like they were straight out of a gay porno mag.
Steve let out a low whistle. Bucky shot him a quelling frown, which he ignored.
"She's missing some of the equipment he prefers," said Coulson.
"You obviously haven't seen her toy chest," Bucky answered. Steve choked on a laugh and turned it into a cough that left him a little red-faced, but Natasha just smiled, because it was true.
"Agent Barnes," Coulson said, and even though his tone was mild, somehow Bucky still felt like he'd been thoroughly scolded. Only Steve and the nuns at the orphanage had ever managed that before. "Given the mark's preferences, you're the best agent for the job on such short notice."
"He does have good taste," Steve murmured.
Bucky ignored him. "I'm not trained for that kind of work. Natasha charms, I kill. That's how it works."
"Oh, I don't know, Buck. You're pretty charming."
"Not helping, Steve."
"Dames used to flock to him, back in the day. He was always going with at least one girl," Steve continued as if Bucky hadn't spoken, "and he usually had another one on the side. Usually the one he meant for me."
Natasha's mouth curled, too small and amused to be a true smirk. "Not much has changed then, huh, James?"
"I see how it is," Bucky groused. "You're going to gang up on me."
"That does seem to be your preference," she replied, and Steve laughed. The traitor.
Coulson pointedly looked away and cleared his throat. "Agent Romanoff will prep you. The dinner begins with a cocktail reception at six, so we'll set up communications and surveillance at four."
"I'd like to be part of the team on this one," Steve said, still ignoring Bucky's scowl.
"You're too conspicuous to be on the floor, so you'll be in the van with me."
"Of course he will," Bucky muttered.
Coulson ignored his grumbling. "Agent Romanoff will be your backup, and Agents Martinez and Flynn will be circulating the room as waiters. The file on Devilbiss has been sent to your inbox, Agent Barnes. I suggest you study it closely. I'll see you at four." He waited, but when Bucky didn't get up to leave, he said, "That's all."
"Come on," Steve said, squeezing Bucky's shoulder comfortingly, "let's get you all gussied up. You've got a mark to seduce."
*
"I wasn't trained for this," he repeated later.
"These are my lucky cufflinks," Steve said, ignoring Bucky's trepidation in favor of threading one of the cufflinks through the buttonholes on Bucky's left cuff. He was always coming at things from odd angles; it was part of being an artist, Bucky thought, and it also helped him handle flinging the shield around.
"You have lucky cufflinks?" Bucky asked incredulously, distracted from the matter at hand for the moment. "You've been spending way too much time with Stark."
Steve leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to Bucky's lips. "I was wearing them the first night we kissed."
"Oh," Bucky said, because how else could he answer that? It still took him by surprise sometimes, that not only had he and Steve survived, but they'd finally found their future together in a way he'd never dared hope for before the war. "Okay." He smiled. "That was a good night."
"Yes." Steve smiled back. "I want you to wear them so you'll get lucky tonight."
Bucky couldn't help his double-take and the snort of laughter that escaped him. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
Steve kissed him again, and patted his shoulder. "That's probably for the best." He tugged at the ends of Bucky's untied bow tie. "I'm going to leave this part to the experts."
"Also for the best," Natasha said, stepping into the spot in front of Bucky that Steve had just vacated.
Bucky was amazed, sometimes, at how lucky he'd already gotten, though maybe he shouldn't have been, after all the shit luck he'd--all three of them really--had had, and how, after the first few bumps and bruises, the three of them had fit together in some weirdly perfect way. He didn't like to spend too long thinking about it; he'd never admit it, but he was too afraid it was all some kind of dream and he was still sleeping in the decaying cryostasis chamber, slowly suffocating to death. If that were true, at least the dreams were good. (He didn't remember being so fatalistic back before the war, but seventy years of Russian brainwashing had left marks; he also had an otherwise inexplicable yet lingering fondness for Stravinsky and Shostakovich, which at least broke up the monopoly of big band music in his record collection.)
"You don't have to be attracted to him," Natasha said, breaking him out of his morbid thoughts. She was good at that. She tied his tie and straightened his lapels, brisk and efficient. "The man you'll become when you walk into that ballroom--he'll be the one interested in Marco Devilbiss."
He had once been as good at compartmentalizing as Natasha, perhaps better, because of how much reprogramming he'd undergone over the years, but that was all dismantled when Steve had used the tesseract to save him, and even when he'd been the Soviets' best assassin, he'd never been used to seduce or recruit. Even on the rare occasions he'd been sent in on a mission requiring close contact with a mark, that contact was made with a deadly weapon.
The idea of becoming a different man, a new man, under his own power--by his own choice--was something he hadn't had to put into practice since those days back in Brooklyn when he'd lied, cheated, and stole to make sure Steve had food, medicine, and a roof over his head. He wasn't sure he'd still be able to do it. He certainly didn't want to.
"You can do it," Steve said. "You'll be fine."
Natasha nodded and gave him another kiss. "And I'll be there to clean up any mess you make."
"I feel so much better now." He said it wryly, but it was actually true and they all knew it. He brushed his hair off his forehead and straightened his shoulders. "All right. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
*
Bucky stood at the bar, sipping his tonic with a twist and scanning the ballroom for Devilbiss. He was well-trained enough not to squirm or tug at his tie (he could just imagine Natasha's revenge for undoing her neat work, and it wouldn't be pretty), but the whole situation made him uncomfortable, even though the tux had been tailored for him and cost more than he and Steve had made in a year back in the forties.
It wasn't that the mark was a man--Bucky'd charmed his way into more than one fella's trousers, back in the day, and he was shacked up with Captain America now--but that had always been out of genuine attraction, or at least the thrill of getting away with something. This was something else again, and he had to close his eyes and force himself to relax into the persona they'd created for him that afternoon after they'd gone over Devilbiss's file. The suit helped, and the gel in his hair, and the knowledge that Steve and Natasha had his back, but when he turned around and smiled coyly at Devilbiss as he approached, it felt as false as any mask he'd worn as the Winter Soldier. Worse, because now he knew it was false.
"It's like he has some kinda radar," Steve muttered in his ear. "He made a beeline for you as soon as he walked in."
"Well, I am the best looking guy here."
"Only because Steve is in the van." And there was Natasha, checking in.
"Oh, great. Another country heard from." He glanced around the ballroom and found her circling through the crowd, greeting people as if she knew them, but never stopping. She made eye contact and nodded once.
"Look sharp now." That was Steve again. "Time to go to work."
Devilbiss ordered a glass of red wine and nodded at Bucky. "The shrimp satay is quite good," he said, taking two skewers from Agent Flynn in her cater-waiter outfit and offering one to Bucky, who took it with a smile that he hoped looked less fake than it felt.
"Thanks."
"I'm Marco."
Bucky shook the hand Devilbiss offered and didn't yank out of his grip when he held on just a few seconds too long. "Brian. Brian Harding." Brian Harding was mid-level Stark Industries employee looking for a free meal on the company's dime; he was currently estranged from his boyfriend and hoping to hook up discreetly with someone from out of town. He flirted with Devilbiss, smiled at his jokes and leaned in closer than necessary to hear him talk about the Knicks' playoff chances.
Whenever Bucky felt like he was going to lose his handle on Brian, he'd take a sip of his drink. It was a good thing it was only tonic water; Devilbiss didn't know that and Bucky didn't want to give him the chance to find out, though he was going to need a refill if this conversation went on any longer. He was beginning to think having sex with the guy would be easier than talking to him.
After ten more minutes of excruciating small talk that apparently doubled as flirtation these days, Devilbiss said, "I'm getting an award tonight, but afterwards, do you want to meet in the bar?" He leaned in even closer and lowered his voice. "Or perhaps upstairs? I'm in room 2317."
"Yeah," Bucky said, and then he was distracted by something in his peripheral vision, a flash that shouldn't have been there. For a split-second, he thought it might be the crystals on the chandelier vibrating, since the hotel was attached to Grand Central, but in his gut he knew it wasn't. "Get down," he shouted and shoved Devilbiss underneath the bar as the room was strafed with gunfire.
Call him fucked up, but this was more like his kind of party.
Natasha had already taken down two of the gunmen and was heading up to the balcony after another.
Steve's voice was sharp in his ear. "Bucky, report."
All vestiges of Brian Harding disappeared. "Multiple gunmen, affiliation currently unknown." He planted a foot on the small of Devilbiss's back as he tried to crawl away and pulled out his own gun to take out one of the gunmen on Natasha's six. "Flynn and Hernandez are evacuating the civilians." He shot another gunman and then looked down at Devilbiss. "You're not going anywhere, Marco. Are these your RAID friends or is there another player in the game tonight?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." It was hard to pull off a snooty denial while lying face down on the ugly hotel carpet, but Devilbiss managed it. Bucky was almost impressed.
"Of course you don't." Now that the shooting was over, Bucky hauled him to his feet with an annoyed grunt. "Come on, let's go. You're in SHIELD custody now, pal." Bucky walked him out past the SWAT team and the dozens of cops who'd materialized in the hotel lobby and into the van, where Coulson stood coordinating with the lead officer from the NYPD. He kept the cops distracted as Natasha slipped into the van, and then they were on their way across town, Steve behind the wheel and Devilbiss sitting sullenly in the back.
*
After the debrief, they grabbed a cab back to the tower; as they sat in post-theater, crosstown traffic, Natasha described the various hors d'oeurves to Steve, who looked a little forlorn about having missed out on the shrimp satay and Kobe sliders.
"I had the last of today's pizza from the mess," he said mournfully. "It was terrible. And a wilted salad that didn't even have croutons." He gave Bucky a pouty face that usually made him laugh. "No croutons, Bucky. That's just wrong."
"I'm sure if he knew you wanted them, Coulson would have woken the kitchen staff," Natasha said reasonably.
"That would just make me feel guilty."
Natasha shrugged. "Guilt or croutons, Steve, those are your choices. You'll just have to live with it."
Bucky knew what they were doing, even appreciated it, as he let their ridiculous banter wash over him, but even though everything had turned out all right, he still felt off somehow.
"I just want to get of this monkey suit and into the shower," he said when they finally reached Steve's suite. Steve and Natasha exchanged glances, and he wasn't surprised a few minutes later when she pushed back the curtain and joined him under the spray.
His skin felt oddly tight, like it had shrunk a size while he wasn't paying attention, and his bones might burst through it at any moment. The hot water felt good on his shoulders, started loosening up the tense muscles of his back. Natasha's hands slipping around his waist to hold him close didn't hurt either. TThey didn't speak as he let the water wash the gel out of his hair and the night off his skin.
Steve was there with towels when they stepped out, and they huddled under the heat lamp for a few seconds while Bucky tried to get his thoughts in order.
"That was a bit of a clusterfuck," he finally said, his face pressed to the crook of Steve's neck.
Natasha shook her head, the brush of her hair against his skin tickling him. "Not really."
"The op was rushed," Steve added. "The intel was incomplete. We didn't know Devilbiss had already sold RAID out to a more radical splinter group, or that they were gunning for him because of it. Coulson said that was what was behind his change in travel plans."
"I--"
"You did fine," Natasha said, running her fingers through his hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist then and rubbed her cheek between his shoulder blades, the touch more comforting even than the words, which he still had a hard time believing.
Steve pressed a warm kiss to his temple. "There were only minor injuries, outside of those six RAID operatives, Devilbiss is in custody, and the ballroom was barely damaged."
"I didn't like it," Bucky said. "I don't want to be anybody but me."
"And that's all we ever want you to be," Steve answered, tipping Bucky's chin up so he could kiss him properly this time, his sincerity clear in every lick of his tongue.
"Let's get you to bed," Natasha said.
Bucky huffed a soft laugh, the last of the night's tension leaving his body. "I'm not that kind of agent."
Steve snorted. "That's not what I heard."
"Captain America listens to gossip?" Bucky put a hand over his heart, miming shock. "Well, I never."
"No, you totally do," said Natasha with a gentle thwap to the back of his head and then a nipping kiss to the place where his neck joined his shoulder (the metal one, which had never fazed her at all). "I have it on the very best authority that you do all sorts of things." She gave him an arch smile when he glanced back at her, and then shoved him down onto the bed. "Interesting things."
"Very interesting," Steve agreed, lying down beside them with an eager, intent look on his face.
The familiar touch of her hands on his body, of Steve's tongue in his mouth, grounded him the way nothing else could, made him feel like himself, like the Bucky who belonged between Steve and Natasha, the past with all its joys and horrors not forgotten but not dwelt on, either, not with them pushing him forward into this bright new future none of them expected to have.
Natasha's hands and Steve's mouth soon had him hard and aching, and Natasha rode him relentlessly, the way she did everything, but with her own peculiar tenderness when she ran her nails down his chest or slipped her fingers into his mouth. Her tits bounced enticingly, but Steve pressed him back against the pillows, ruthlessly peppering his face and chest with kisses while keeping him pinned in place so Natasha could have her way. Bucky could have broken free, but he didn't want to, not from them, and that was freedom, too.
When Natasha was done, Steve rolled him over and fucked him into the mattress. The familiar smell of Steve's sweat and sound of his voice, as well as the fairly new sensation of having Steve so deep inside of him, left Bucky boneless and content, all his doubts calmed and questions answered by their pitiless understanding of what he needed to remember who he was.
Natasha didn't usually spend the night--they were all restless sleepers, and having to fight through each other as well as the tangled sheets in the aftermath of a nightmare was never a pleasant way to wake up, and he knew how much she valued a quick and easy escape route at all times. But tonight, she curled up with her head tucked beneath his chin and her fingers tangled with Steve's on his hip. Steve's body was warm and solid behind him, and Natasha's was soft and deadly, and Bucky fell asleep sure of himself and his place between them.
end
~*~
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~*~
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Avengers (2012); Steve/Bucky/Natasha; pg; 3,380 words
Bucky's not that kind of agent.
So one day I said to
angelgazing, I said, "there should totally be a story where Bucky is the honeypot and Natasha is the muscle." Guess what her answer was? Sigh. Title and cut-text from Carl Sandburg.
~*~
Honey and Salt
As the briefing ended, Bucky was aware that Steve had come to stand in the back of the room. Since he wasn't officially a SHIELD agent, he didn't often get stuck in the endless droning meetings that Bucky, Natasha and Clint were subject to, but sometimes he showed up to commiserate afterwards. It was one of the many things Bucky appreciated about him.
The agents filed out and Coulson said, "Agent Barnes, Agent Romanoff, stay a moment, please." He looked over their heads at Steve, small smile on his face, and said, "Feel free to join us, Captain."
Bucky sat himself back down with a soft sigh as Coulson tapped the glass tabletop and a picture of man hovered over them. The guy was middle-aged, generically handsome, fine lines around his eyes and mouth and gray around his temples.
"This is Marco Devilbiss. He's a senior engineer at Roxxon." Another tap on the glass and a whole series of pictures surrounded them, of Devilbiss with various pieces of complicated machinery that had the sleek, lethal look of weapons. "He's also high up in the hierarchy at RAID, though so far, he's been careful not to implicate himself." Coulson inclined his head and smiled again, this time at Bucky and Natasha. "Due to some unexpected snags in his travel schedule, he'll be in New York tonight to accept an award from the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. You'll meet him there and convince him that providing information to SHIELD will be his best chance of survival. Since RAID scientists tend to be a little more self-interested than HYDRA agents, we believe that with the right incentive, he'll cooperate."
"A milk run, then." Coulson raised an eyebrow as Bucky exchanged a knowing look with Natasha. "With Natasha on the job, he'll be on the payroll in no time." He and Nat had been doing these kinds of missions for a long time and his mind raced ahead, planning it out. He needed to dig his tuxedo out of the closet and find a map of whatever hotel was hosting the dinner.
Natasha smiled in acknowledgement of his words, but Coulson shook his head. "While Agent Romanoff has an amazing success rate on these sorts of missions, she's not Devilbiss's type."
Bucky snorted in derision. "Natasha is everyone's type." In his peripheral vision, he could see Steve nodding in agreement.
Coulson pursed his lips and tapped the glass a third time and the pictures all changed again. They were still all of Devilbiss, but now he was with another man, or maybe a series of men. They all had the same dark hair and lean build, and none of them looked older than twenty-five. While many of the images appeared to be surveillance photos, some had the intimate feel of personal pictures. And some looked like they were straight out of a gay porno mag.
Steve let out a low whistle. Bucky shot him a quelling frown, which he ignored.
"She's missing some of the equipment he prefers," said Coulson.
"You obviously haven't seen her toy chest," Bucky answered. Steve choked on a laugh and turned it into a cough that left him a little red-faced, but Natasha just smiled, because it was true.
"Agent Barnes," Coulson said, and even though his tone was mild, somehow Bucky still felt like he'd been thoroughly scolded. Only Steve and the nuns at the orphanage had ever managed that before. "Given the mark's preferences, you're the best agent for the job on such short notice."
"He does have good taste," Steve murmured.
Bucky ignored him. "I'm not trained for that kind of work. Natasha charms, I kill. That's how it works."
"Oh, I don't know, Buck. You're pretty charming."
"Not helping, Steve."
"Dames used to flock to him, back in the day. He was always going with at least one girl," Steve continued as if Bucky hadn't spoken, "and he usually had another one on the side. Usually the one he meant for me."
Natasha's mouth curled, too small and amused to be a true smirk. "Not much has changed then, huh, James?"
"I see how it is," Bucky groused. "You're going to gang up on me."
"That does seem to be your preference," she replied, and Steve laughed. The traitor.
Coulson pointedly looked away and cleared his throat. "Agent Romanoff will prep you. The dinner begins with a cocktail reception at six, so we'll set up communications and surveillance at four."
"I'd like to be part of the team on this one," Steve said, still ignoring Bucky's scowl.
"You're too conspicuous to be on the floor, so you'll be in the van with me."
"Of course he will," Bucky muttered.
Coulson ignored his grumbling. "Agent Romanoff will be your backup, and Agents Martinez and Flynn will be circulating the room as waiters. The file on Devilbiss has been sent to your inbox, Agent Barnes. I suggest you study it closely. I'll see you at four." He waited, but when Bucky didn't get up to leave, he said, "That's all."
"Come on," Steve said, squeezing Bucky's shoulder comfortingly, "let's get you all gussied up. You've got a mark to seduce."
*
"I wasn't trained for this," he repeated later.
"These are my lucky cufflinks," Steve said, ignoring Bucky's trepidation in favor of threading one of the cufflinks through the buttonholes on Bucky's left cuff. He was always coming at things from odd angles; it was part of being an artist, Bucky thought, and it also helped him handle flinging the shield around.
"You have lucky cufflinks?" Bucky asked incredulously, distracted from the matter at hand for the moment. "You've been spending way too much time with Stark."
Steve leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to Bucky's lips. "I was wearing them the first night we kissed."
"Oh," Bucky said, because how else could he answer that? It still took him by surprise sometimes, that not only had he and Steve survived, but they'd finally found their future together in a way he'd never dared hope for before the war. "Okay." He smiled. "That was a good night."
"Yes." Steve smiled back. "I want you to wear them so you'll get lucky tonight."
Bucky couldn't help his double-take and the snort of laughter that escaped him. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
Steve kissed him again, and patted his shoulder. "That's probably for the best." He tugged at the ends of Bucky's untied bow tie. "I'm going to leave this part to the experts."
"Also for the best," Natasha said, stepping into the spot in front of Bucky that Steve had just vacated.
Bucky was amazed, sometimes, at how lucky he'd already gotten, though maybe he shouldn't have been, after all the shit luck he'd--all three of them really--had had, and how, after the first few bumps and bruises, the three of them had fit together in some weirdly perfect way. He didn't like to spend too long thinking about it; he'd never admit it, but he was too afraid it was all some kind of dream and he was still sleeping in the decaying cryostasis chamber, slowly suffocating to death. If that were true, at least the dreams were good. (He didn't remember being so fatalistic back before the war, but seventy years of Russian brainwashing had left marks; he also had an otherwise inexplicable yet lingering fondness for Stravinsky and Shostakovich, which at least broke up the monopoly of big band music in his record collection.)
"You don't have to be attracted to him," Natasha said, breaking him out of his morbid thoughts. She was good at that. She tied his tie and straightened his lapels, brisk and efficient. "The man you'll become when you walk into that ballroom--he'll be the one interested in Marco Devilbiss."
He had once been as good at compartmentalizing as Natasha, perhaps better, because of how much reprogramming he'd undergone over the years, but that was all dismantled when Steve had used the tesseract to save him, and even when he'd been the Soviets' best assassin, he'd never been used to seduce or recruit. Even on the rare occasions he'd been sent in on a mission requiring close contact with a mark, that contact was made with a deadly weapon.
The idea of becoming a different man, a new man, under his own power--by his own choice--was something he hadn't had to put into practice since those days back in Brooklyn when he'd lied, cheated, and stole to make sure Steve had food, medicine, and a roof over his head. He wasn't sure he'd still be able to do it. He certainly didn't want to.
"You can do it," Steve said. "You'll be fine."
Natasha nodded and gave him another kiss. "And I'll be there to clean up any mess you make."
"I feel so much better now." He said it wryly, but it was actually true and they all knew it. He brushed his hair off his forehead and straightened his shoulders. "All right. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
*
Bucky stood at the bar, sipping his tonic with a twist and scanning the ballroom for Devilbiss. He was well-trained enough not to squirm or tug at his tie (he could just imagine Natasha's revenge for undoing her neat work, and it wouldn't be pretty), but the whole situation made him uncomfortable, even though the tux had been tailored for him and cost more than he and Steve had made in a year back in the forties.
It wasn't that the mark was a man--Bucky'd charmed his way into more than one fella's trousers, back in the day, and he was shacked up with Captain America now--but that had always been out of genuine attraction, or at least the thrill of getting away with something. This was something else again, and he had to close his eyes and force himself to relax into the persona they'd created for him that afternoon after they'd gone over Devilbiss's file. The suit helped, and the gel in his hair, and the knowledge that Steve and Natasha had his back, but when he turned around and smiled coyly at Devilbiss as he approached, it felt as false as any mask he'd worn as the Winter Soldier. Worse, because now he knew it was false.
"It's like he has some kinda radar," Steve muttered in his ear. "He made a beeline for you as soon as he walked in."
"Well, I am the best looking guy here."
"Only because Steve is in the van." And there was Natasha, checking in.
"Oh, great. Another country heard from." He glanced around the ballroom and found her circling through the crowd, greeting people as if she knew them, but never stopping. She made eye contact and nodded once.
"Look sharp now." That was Steve again. "Time to go to work."
Devilbiss ordered a glass of red wine and nodded at Bucky. "The shrimp satay is quite good," he said, taking two skewers from Agent Flynn in her cater-waiter outfit and offering one to Bucky, who took it with a smile that he hoped looked less fake than it felt.
"Thanks."
"I'm Marco."
Bucky shook the hand Devilbiss offered and didn't yank out of his grip when he held on just a few seconds too long. "Brian. Brian Harding." Brian Harding was mid-level Stark Industries employee looking for a free meal on the company's dime; he was currently estranged from his boyfriend and hoping to hook up discreetly with someone from out of town. He flirted with Devilbiss, smiled at his jokes and leaned in closer than necessary to hear him talk about the Knicks' playoff chances.
Whenever Bucky felt like he was going to lose his handle on Brian, he'd take a sip of his drink. It was a good thing it was only tonic water; Devilbiss didn't know that and Bucky didn't want to give him the chance to find out, though he was going to need a refill if this conversation went on any longer. He was beginning to think having sex with the guy would be easier than talking to him.
After ten more minutes of excruciating small talk that apparently doubled as flirtation these days, Devilbiss said, "I'm getting an award tonight, but afterwards, do you want to meet in the bar?" He leaned in even closer and lowered his voice. "Or perhaps upstairs? I'm in room 2317."
"Yeah," Bucky said, and then he was distracted by something in his peripheral vision, a flash that shouldn't have been there. For a split-second, he thought it might be the crystals on the chandelier vibrating, since the hotel was attached to Grand Central, but in his gut he knew it wasn't. "Get down," he shouted and shoved Devilbiss underneath the bar as the room was strafed with gunfire.
Call him fucked up, but this was more like his kind of party.
Natasha had already taken down two of the gunmen and was heading up to the balcony after another.
Steve's voice was sharp in his ear. "Bucky, report."
All vestiges of Brian Harding disappeared. "Multiple gunmen, affiliation currently unknown." He planted a foot on the small of Devilbiss's back as he tried to crawl away and pulled out his own gun to take out one of the gunmen on Natasha's six. "Flynn and Hernandez are evacuating the civilians." He shot another gunman and then looked down at Devilbiss. "You're not going anywhere, Marco. Are these your RAID friends or is there another player in the game tonight?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." It was hard to pull off a snooty denial while lying face down on the ugly hotel carpet, but Devilbiss managed it. Bucky was almost impressed.
"Of course you don't." Now that the shooting was over, Bucky hauled him to his feet with an annoyed grunt. "Come on, let's go. You're in SHIELD custody now, pal." Bucky walked him out past the SWAT team and the dozens of cops who'd materialized in the hotel lobby and into the van, where Coulson stood coordinating with the lead officer from the NYPD. He kept the cops distracted as Natasha slipped into the van, and then they were on their way across town, Steve behind the wheel and Devilbiss sitting sullenly in the back.
*
After the debrief, they grabbed a cab back to the tower; as they sat in post-theater, crosstown traffic, Natasha described the various hors d'oeurves to Steve, who looked a little forlorn about having missed out on the shrimp satay and Kobe sliders.
"I had the last of today's pizza from the mess," he said mournfully. "It was terrible. And a wilted salad that didn't even have croutons." He gave Bucky a pouty face that usually made him laugh. "No croutons, Bucky. That's just wrong."
"I'm sure if he knew you wanted them, Coulson would have woken the kitchen staff," Natasha said reasonably.
"That would just make me feel guilty."
Natasha shrugged. "Guilt or croutons, Steve, those are your choices. You'll just have to live with it."
Bucky knew what they were doing, even appreciated it, as he let their ridiculous banter wash over him, but even though everything had turned out all right, he still felt off somehow.
"I just want to get of this monkey suit and into the shower," he said when they finally reached Steve's suite. Steve and Natasha exchanged glances, and he wasn't surprised a few minutes later when she pushed back the curtain and joined him under the spray.
His skin felt oddly tight, like it had shrunk a size while he wasn't paying attention, and his bones might burst through it at any moment. The hot water felt good on his shoulders, started loosening up the tense muscles of his back. Natasha's hands slipping around his waist to hold him close didn't hurt either. TThey didn't speak as he let the water wash the gel out of his hair and the night off his skin.
Steve was there with towels when they stepped out, and they huddled under the heat lamp for a few seconds while Bucky tried to get his thoughts in order.
"That was a bit of a clusterfuck," he finally said, his face pressed to the crook of Steve's neck.
Natasha shook her head, the brush of her hair against his skin tickling him. "Not really."
"The op was rushed," Steve added. "The intel was incomplete. We didn't know Devilbiss had already sold RAID out to a more radical splinter group, or that they were gunning for him because of it. Coulson said that was what was behind his change in travel plans."
"I--"
"You did fine," Natasha said, running her fingers through his hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist then and rubbed her cheek between his shoulder blades, the touch more comforting even than the words, which he still had a hard time believing.
Steve pressed a warm kiss to his temple. "There were only minor injuries, outside of those six RAID operatives, Devilbiss is in custody, and the ballroom was barely damaged."
"I didn't like it," Bucky said. "I don't want to be anybody but me."
"And that's all we ever want you to be," Steve answered, tipping Bucky's chin up so he could kiss him properly this time, his sincerity clear in every lick of his tongue.
"Let's get you to bed," Natasha said.
Bucky huffed a soft laugh, the last of the night's tension leaving his body. "I'm not that kind of agent."
Steve snorted. "That's not what I heard."
"Captain America listens to gossip?" Bucky put a hand over his heart, miming shock. "Well, I never."
"No, you totally do," said Natasha with a gentle thwap to the back of his head and then a nipping kiss to the place where his neck joined his shoulder (the metal one, which had never fazed her at all). "I have it on the very best authority that you do all sorts of things." She gave him an arch smile when he glanced back at her, and then shoved him down onto the bed. "Interesting things."
"Very interesting," Steve agreed, lying down beside them with an eager, intent look on his face.
The familiar touch of her hands on his body, of Steve's tongue in his mouth, grounded him the way nothing else could, made him feel like himself, like the Bucky who belonged between Steve and Natasha, the past with all its joys and horrors not forgotten but not dwelt on, either, not with them pushing him forward into this bright new future none of them expected to have.
Natasha's hands and Steve's mouth soon had him hard and aching, and Natasha rode him relentlessly, the way she did everything, but with her own peculiar tenderness when she ran her nails down his chest or slipped her fingers into his mouth. Her tits bounced enticingly, but Steve pressed him back against the pillows, ruthlessly peppering his face and chest with kisses while keeping him pinned in place so Natasha could have her way. Bucky could have broken free, but he didn't want to, not from them, and that was freedom, too.
When Natasha was done, Steve rolled him over and fucked him into the mattress. The familiar smell of Steve's sweat and sound of his voice, as well as the fairly new sensation of having Steve so deep inside of him, left Bucky boneless and content, all his doubts calmed and questions answered by their pitiless understanding of what he needed to remember who he was.
Natasha didn't usually spend the night--they were all restless sleepers, and having to fight through each other as well as the tangled sheets in the aftermath of a nightmare was never a pleasant way to wake up, and he knew how much she valued a quick and easy escape route at all times. But tonight, she curled up with her head tucked beneath his chin and her fingers tangled with Steve's on his hip. Steve's body was warm and solid behind him, and Natasha's was soft and deadly, and Bucky fell asleep sure of himself and his place between them.
end
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