I don't own anything from the MCU, obviously.


Note to self: Incredible, astonishing, magnificent, spectacular, phenomenal, extraordinary, awe-inspiring, marvelous sex does not excuse the fact that your lover is an assassin. Get a damn boyfriend or something.


The next time Christina sees the Winter Soldier it's only a few days after their close call in the medical bay, but it's clear her favorite assassin has recently been wiped again. She sits in the dining room of her father's home, eating a take-away meal with the Secretary to the World Security Council. The Asset saunters in through the patio door, startling the blonde as he enters silently. He looks at her with cold, dead eyes and then glances at Alexander Pierce. Christina's blood goes cold. He doesn't remember her again.

The Soldier keeps his gaze trained on her until Pierce orders him down. Civilians aren't meant to see him, not if they're intended to live, so he doesn't understand why his superior dismisses this woman's presence, but he doesn't question it. Watching the petite blonde eating her dinner, he observes the way she seems unphased under his gaze, notes how easily she continues on is if this is a common occurrence. Maybe it is. He can't remember.

Nodding to his daughter, Pierce deposits his napkin on the table beside his plate and stands from the table, "Why don't you pour yourself a glass of Brandy and wait for me to join you in the living room, dear?" Christina nods in reply, making no move to follow them as her father leads the Winter Soldier down the hall toward his study.

Their meeting is brief, long enough to discuss the details of the Asset's mission and for Pierce to call up the tac team overseeing the operation. He's needed back at HQ, the Secretary learns. Christina finishes up her dinner, rinses the dishes and packs them into the dishwasher to pass the time. She'd never admit, but she's a little disappointed. Something about that distant look in the Soldier's eye upsets her, or maybe it's the knowledge that he'd strike her down without a second thought, that has her second guessing their ridiculous, and most certainly dangerous relationship— if it could even be called that.

As per her father's suggestion she pours herself— and him— a glass of Brandy and curls up on the end of the couch. She turns on the television and pretends to watch the end of the evening news. Christina instead finds herself glancing down the hallway at the door to her father's study. She sighs, wondering what horrors beyond her knowledge could be in the makings behind the oak door firmly closed to her curious gaze.

She'd heard her father say things like keeping the world in order and shaping the future, but Christina had no idea exactly what any of it meant, but she did know that a lot of people died along the way. She's not stupid, she knows what the Winter Soldier is and what he does. She's hyper aware whenever a high profile death occurs abroad that just happens to coincide with his intercontinental escapades. A part of her is horrified by the blood on his hands— the same hands that grope, and caress, and cling to her in the throws of passion— and another part of her knows that if he doesn't do it someone else would receive his same orders.

Christina also has some kind of idea that the killing isn't his idea. She knows that he receives his orders, like he is right now. That someone else decides who dies, what time, and by what means. The Soldier simply does as he's told. She's seen the armed entourage that escorts him nearly everywhere, the Chair where they wipe his memories away, the Cradle where they keep him in cryogenic stasis. Christina knows that though years have come and gone, and he's changed hands time and time again, the Asset is just a puppet and someone else pulls the strings. That someone now, being her father. The thought of it makes her have to pour herself another drink.

As promised the meeting had brief, but Alexander Pierce has matters to attend to back at The Vault, the older man tells his daughter, downing his Brandy in a single shot. The blonde is used to being left to her own devices, she supposes that she too should be on her way. She has class in the morning and she's sure Agent Lynch is itching to move them back to her apartment perimeter— so he can park his ass at the 24 hour cafe he likes across the street and consume way too many sugary drinks. And, besides with her soldier's brain once again in the blender, she isn't likely to be getting laid tonight.

Christina sees her father off first before tiding up the kitchen, gathering her things, a turning off the various lights left on around the house. Before turning off the living room light, she casts the mini-bar a forlorn glance, opting to pour herself a final glass of her father's fine Brandy. After all, it's not her dime, and after her disappointment this evening— why does not getting her brains fucked out by a murderer disappoint her?— she deserves another drink.

It isn't until she places the bottle of distilled wine back onto the mini-bar and looks up into the window does she notice the dark shadow standing a few feet behind her reflected in the glass. Christina practically jumps out of her skin, nearly spilling her drink, as she whips around to look at the assassin standing in the dark hallway behind her.

"Holy hell, Soldier, you scared the bejeezus outta me!" She hisses, lapping at that had sloshed over the rim of the glass and onto the back of her hand. The Asset offers no reply, and the woman gives him a glare, plopping herself down on the couch with not an inkling further of fear. She's a curious girl, he decides, most people are afraid of him.

The Winter Soldier looks at her sitting on the taupe colored couch in her unbuttoned burgundy coat and her navy dress. Something about that seems familiar, like he should remember it, but he doesn't. He tries though, thinks he recalls that same voice in a more seductive tone, "I'll try everything once, including you, if you like." But, the memory disappears into boundless recesses of his scrambled mind. This time he isn't able to pull the memory of her back to the surface again, like he's been able to before.

"I've seen you sitting on that couch before." His voice comes out rough, like he hasn't used it— maybe not since their little tryst in the med bay a few days prior, she thinks. Her soldier almost sounds confused, but he's looking at her with those same wild eyes. "You've seen me do a lot more than just sitting on this couch, buddy." He can tell by her tone, the same tone he thought his mind might have recalled, that whatever it was, it was most likely not of the appropriate nature. That thrills him a little bit.

Christina takes another drink from her glass, looking almost disappointed as she speaks.

"You've forgotten me again." She says simply. The Soldier merely shrugs. He had, but there's nothing he can do or say about it now. He finds himself confused when a giggle flutters passed her lips. "I've never seen you shrug before." She feels silly saying it out loud, but in all the months she'd been letting him fuck her, she'd still yet to see him doing the most mundane of things. She feels ridiculous at the notion.

The Winter Soldier doesn't seem to mind though, in fact he doesn't notice much at all. He can't remember meeting her, what does it matter if she'd never seen him shrug before? Attributing it to the alcohol, he closes the distance between them, half hoping that he'd read the situation right enough that his action wouldn't be the wrong one. It appears to be right though, when she leans up in response and meets his lips.

The meshing and melding of their mouths feels familiar, right even, but it does nothing to stir his sleeping memories. Kissing her doesn't feel strange though, nor unwanted, infact he feels content enough to do this all night— except he has a mission to attend to. Wishful thinking, he supposes, that he'd get to spend the night doing something enjoyable. When the assassin pulls away Christina whines, hands fisting in the leather of his tac uniform. She knows he has to go, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.

The Winter Soldier has a mission, a time frame, a hostile location he has to infiltrate, an article of information he has to retrieve, a scheduled extraction, but he'd prefer to stay here with the pretty blonde that he can't remember. She looks disappointed to see him go. But, go he does. Christina wonders how much time will pass before she sees him again.

The answer is, not long, one week to be exact. But, again he doesn't seem to quite recall her. The Asset passes her and her father in the hallway of The Vault, his entourage of armed guards ever present. She listens to a doctor and a scientist summarize the Soldier's condition. He appears to be under stress, his behavior is erractic, volatile. The doctor recommends rest a brief recooperation period, the scientist suggests the Cradle.

Christina trembles, but thinking of him in cryo makes her insides cold. She hates it when they put him in there. They normally do if the time between his next mission exceeds seventy-two hours, but lately they'd been using him in rapid succession, one mission after the next. He isn't always killing people. Sometimes he gathers valueable intel or objects of importance, sometimes he's sent in as back-up for missions gone awry, sometimes he's a scare tactic to compell his superior's enemies to give up the objects or information they seek. And, after most missions he's evaluated, and either wiped and placed in the Cradle or on taken to the holding bay and placed on standby.

In the end her father follows the advice of the physician, and Christina is grateful for it. They opt to let the Asset rest, his next mission is in thirty-eight hours, and there's no sense in wiping him and creating more stress or throwing him in cryo just to have to unfreeze him in a day and a half. Her soldier is escorted off to the holding bay, a series of rooms repurposed into holding cells. The assassin is placed in one and ordered to sleep, the heavy door closing with an air of finality behind him. Christina decides tonight she'll drop in for a visit, roll in the hay or not, she's worried for The Winter Soldier.

In the many months of sneaking around she'd learned that the guards had their shift changes every four hours. She lies in wait for a few hours, makes herself scarce by dawdling in the cafeteria, hides away in her father's office until the time comes the schedule shift change and she makes her way to the holding bay. Before the next guard reaches his post she slips into the Soldier's makeshift cell.

The door opening rouses him from his light slumber, he doesn't sleep much even when he's ordered to. He dreams and when he dreams, he remembers. Or at least he thinks he does. He can never be sure if the people in his nightmares are real or people he'd imagined. The same goes for the good dreams. When it closes quietly and there is no rattle of artillery or barking of orders, he's a little perplexed to find the blonde woman from the hallway standing pressed up against the door. He stiffens, but doesn't attack. The Asset half-remembers her today, like when he looks at her he thinks he can see an outline of the numerous times she's stood before him before. The woman presses a finger to her lips, gesturing for him to be quiet. He sits up on the edge of the cot when she tip toes away from the door, the springs creaking as he shifts, his back taut and chin tilted up, rigid and at attention as she approaches with caution.

Christina's voice is quiet when she stops a foot away from him, still out of arm's reach, careful not to startle him if he's feeling particularly violent that afternoon. "Do you remember me this time?" The Winter Soldier is almost positive he's been asked that before, probably by her, so he nods even if he doesn't really. There's an awkward pause that's never occured between them before, as she steps up to him. He doesn't know what to do and Christina doesn't know what to say, but now she's standing in front of him, within arm's length and she decides to just go for it.

The assassin flinches when her hand extends, latching to her wrist with his metal hand, gripping with enough force Christina knows it will bruise. She isn't detered though, reaching out to brush her fingertips through his dark hair. The grip of his metal prothesis loosens, he's holding it with just the lightest pressure as the woman kneels before him. "You sure are tense today," whispers the blonde, her other hand coming up to join the other in brushing back his brunette locks. This the Asset remembers; her fingers in his hair, gripping tight, her broken voice crying out as she clings to him. He definetly remembers that, remembers liking it too.

The memory gives him a boost of confidence, mouth darting out to find hers. Christina doesn't seem to mind, welcomes his kiss readily. She's happy to indulge him in any way she can, regardless of the end result. Today he seems hesitant, more so before he'd kissed her, and just as stressed as the doctor had stated earlier, so she gladly lets him release his frustration on her. The Soldier's hands come up to clutch her face, tilting their heads for better access. His tongue darts in her mouth, swiping over her own, and the young woman closes her eyes, let's the assassin haul her off the floor and onto his thighs.

He's a lot more gentle than usual, trapping her in his lap and giving her numerous long, slow kisses. Skittish hands and fingers trace down her sides, over her hips. Cold metal pops open the buttons of her coat, tugs it open. His warm flesh hand creeps under her dress, gropes her rear through the black material. Christina moans into his mouth, keeps her fingers anchored in his long hair, tugging deliciously. The Asset takes his time, kisses her silly, relishes in the memories dancing behind his closed eyes as he helps her shrug her coat to the floor.

Christina's skirt bunches up between her thighs with the help of the assassin's hands. His metal fingers skim over her hips, between her parted thighs and over her bikini-cut lingerie, pushing the black lace aside. The cold metal pets her clit, makes the woman bury her face in his neck, peppering kisses above the leather collar of his tactical gear. She tugs at the snaps and straps, insists he remove the restricting material, but her needy demand goes unheeded.

His fingers disappear, earning a whine from the blonde, as he gathers her up. Christina clings to his wide shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist when he turns them over. Her back bounces against the thin, lumpy mattress of the folding cot, the springs protesting as the Winter Soldier covers her with his weight. Nails scratch across her hip, his free hand collecting her panties between flesh-and-bone fingers and pulling them down over her thighs. The woman pops the snaps, tugs at the straps with commanding fingertips, working off the constricting gear insistently as he unzips his trousers, pushes them down his thighs along with her underwear.

Free of the cumbersome leather, she heaves it onto the floor beside her jacket and pulls the soldier plush to her, covers his mouth with her own as he eases between her thighs. Choking out a moaning, Christina grips his shoulders tight, hips canting up to meet his as he fills her with his cock. The strangled sound makes him chuckle, has him pressing kisses into her covered chest. He pushes the material of her dress further up her torso, admires the flat of her stomach and the lace that covers the swell of her breasts.

Christina can feel the scarring under her fingers, the marred flesh where the metal prosthetic is grafted to his shoulder. The Asset tries to distract her, she can tell. His flesh hand holds her hip in a bruising grip, his mouth leaves little red hickies along the top of her breasts, his pelvis crashes into her own, but she doesn't redirect her attention. Pushing at the center of his chest, he crowds up over her, his metal arm keeping him hovering above her as he shoots her down an unimpressed look, slowing his pounding hips. Her fingertips outline the enflamed flesh, tracing over the scars that contour the cold silver and stretch out diagonally toward his heart.

She doesn't mind the arm— in fact it would be her favorite part of his anatomy, if not for his eyes— and she doesn't mind the scars, but she can tell he's conscious of it. The way the assassin seems to shy away, his left shoulder flinching back from her wandering hands and his eyes no longer piercing hers, his gaze trained on her collarbone. "Dont," he commands in a low tone, the canting of his hips coming to a full stop.

Christina doesn't heed him, leans up enough to mouth at the marred flesh. He hisses, not out of pain but annoyance, flesh hand shooting down to pin her back into the mattress. There's a wild look in his steel blue eyes, but that doesn't scare her, not really. "I don't mind it, you know." She whispers, eyes gliding over the scars and the grafted metal. It doesn't need to be said out loud that he does mind it though. That to him it's ugly; a tool, and a weapon. Not meant to be handled tenderly, or kissed, it's meant to instill violence and reap death.

The Winter Soldier offers her no reply, instead he tears her legs up from their position around her hips, tosses them over his shoulders and fucks his hips at a punishing pace. Christina's eyes practically roll back in her skull, the angle making her keen. "Fuck," whines the blonde, breath stuttering in her chest as the assassin pounds her cunt.

He's cursing in Russian into the crock of her neck, tongue darting out to lick at her pulse point. The Asset slams against her g-spot without mercy, keeping her folded in half, her quads twitching in the strained position of her thighs. Christina sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, knowing she has to be quiet. That by now the other has probably settled into his post outside, that being caught like this wouldn't be good for either of them.

Each thrust of his hips shake her body beneath him, the springs of the cot's mattress quietly protesting to the rocking of hips. She's so damn close, right on the edge of tumbling into obvilion, when she reaches up and guides his left hand to the pale expanse of her throat. Urges him close the metal fingers around her neck and trusts him not to crush her windpipe. The hesitance from early disappears and her clamps his hand over her airway, silencing the hushed moans, allowing for only strangled gasps that bring him right up to the edge as well.

The Soldier pushes her knees flush with her chest as he sends her straight into a vicious orgasm. Her thighs cramp, straining at the position, she chokes from the lack of oxygen, her head spins, but he fucks her straight through it all. The assassin releases her windpipe just as he finds release, relentless hips stuttering as he curses once more in Russian and then captures her mouth in a searing kiss. Christina greedily inhales through her nose, swallows his blissful moan.

Her vision is blurry on the edges, whether it's from the choking or the powerful orgasm, she isn't sure, but she knows she passes out. Her eyes fly open a while later, her mind reeling as she quickly becomes aware of her surroundings. The mattress Christina lies on is too small to properly accomidate two people. She lies flat on the cot, the Soldier lying half beside her, half on top of her. His face is pressed into the crook of her shoulder and his metal arm is thrown over her waist, her coat is thrown over them.

Blinking, the woman digs into the pockets of her coat in search of her cellphone. Thankfully the only notification she'd received was from one of her classmates. Her phone reads 6:18 PM and she breathes a sigh of relief, it's only been an hour and a half or so. In a little less than two hours it would be time for the shift change and she would be able to slip out undetected. She'd make up some story about falling asleep studying in some empty conference room and no one would be the wiser. Tucking the phone back into her pocket, she settles back against the Winter Soldier, wondering if he's asleep.

Christina's silent question is quickly answered when he suddenly sits up. The mattress is too small for the both of them like this, which appears to annoy him. At least enough to change their position. The assassin turns them over easily, the blonde finding herself nearly on top of him. He keeps her plastered to his side, tucked against his hip in a position that mirrors the one they'd just been in, but with the roles reversed.

It's definetely more comfortable that half-crushed by the massive behemoth of a man beside her. The next hour and change Christina remains curled into the Soldier, aside from the thirty minutes he spends fucking her again. Eventually they hear the guard depart and the law student tugs her dress back into place, puts own her coat like it'd never been off in the first place. A metal hand reaches out and smoothes down the same blonde curls he'd mussed just a while before. Before departing she gifts the Winter Soldier with a sweet parting kiss and then disappears as if she'd never been there at all. Sometimes he thinks he dreamed her.

Each time they meet in the weeks following their rendevous in the holding bay the Asset has forgetten who she is more often than he remembers her. She fills him in and he seems to fly with it, as if his body remebers her even if his head always doesn't. There are times when she'll touch him and like a lick of fire, unwarranted and unexpected. She'll give him his space, but he'll still burn, with the desperation for her touch back.

Sometimes blurry memories will resurface after she tells him, sometimes her touch will grip them back from the depths of the vast abyss, and sometimes he'll fuck her even if he doesn't remember her. It's touch and go in those instances, Christina never knows what to do. She feels too careful, too aware of each and every one of her actions— lest she startle him and he decide to strangle the life out of her. The Asset takes her rough in those instances, makes her submit to him and is pleased with how easily she gives in.

She burns too. With longing, and shame, and misguided desperation. They're on the hinges of getting caught, she feels. Like sometimes the S.T.R.I.K.E. team members watch her a little too closely, pay too much attention to the way the Soldier reacts to her. But, she also knows that they've been a little sloppy in their trysts. Christina knows she shouldn't want him like she does, knows he's a cold blooded killer, knows that the attention and the thorough fucking does not excuse the fact that he murders people in service to her father and his goon squad. Goddamn, she needs to get a boyfriend or something.


AN: so I've finally decided exactly where this story is headed and I'm so excited! It's gonna be part one of a two-part series which will lead into CA:TWS and then diverge from the canon plot (Civil War? What civil war?) Part one will be smutty goodness with sooooome plot (this is all going somewhere I swear) and part two will contain more plot. But, I've basically outlined the whole series and excited to see where this'll go.

Thank you kindly to those who've left feedback and thank all of you for reading. Let me know what you think so far and what think might be in store for Christina and Bucky!