It's Natasha that finds him first, his muscles burning as he pushes the weights above his chest, having lost count how many repetitions he's finished. His mind was reeling enough as it was, and his thoughts only seemed to calm down when he isolated himself and allowed the burn, the push, and the pull of his muscles to take over. Yes, he's still angry that Natasha managed to point out his weaknesses to the General. Yes, he's still angry that his deployment got pushed back a week. And yes, he's even angrier that he's still forced to deal with the woman. But he's a good soldier and simply lets it drive him harder than he's gone in months, so hard he's even beginning to question his sanity.

Natasha doesn't interrupt his work, only takes a seat a few feet away from the bench he's working on and watches his muscles flex as he pushes the barbells up, and then lets them sink lower down. The pair of them coexist in near silence; the only noise being Winter's ragged breathing. Only when he's sure that he cannot lift the weights one last time does he balances the metal bar on the rack above him and sit up. His right arm throbs at his side, but he ignores the ache as he looks over at the seated red head.

"Can I help you?"

"You're angry with me." Her head is tilted to the side as she watches him, blue eyes sizing up every twitch of his face.

He doesn't have an answer for that, and simply turns away to wipe down the equipment with the rag just beside the bench. Natasha doesn't say another word, letting him work in peace, then follows him to the far left side of the workout room where he begins to do crunches, letting the burning in his abdomen fill his mind as the ache in his arms had previously. He likes the peace, but even with her silence something about Natasha's presence puts him on edge for the entire rest of his routine. By the time he's finishing up she still has yet to move, more statue that woman, and he rounds on her with narrowed blue eyes.

"What do you want from me, Natasha?"

"We're supposed to have sex."

The response makes him laugh, his head tilting back with the sound and his abs burning even more than before. She would just say it like that, so candid, as if it were just another part of training. It is just another part of training, he reminds himself, and from what he's heard about her it's a damn big part of her training. Apparently it went hand in hand with killing people; when he looks back at what he saw earlier that day he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. She's comfortable with her body, knowledgeable in the way it makes men react. Other men, not Winter. His mind is on his mission; sex takes up too much time.

"Yes, I heard something about that." He says, though he doesn't give away much more than that. She doesn't do anything either, still waiting for him to act on it, her eyes surveying his every move. She's never been one to initiate, Winter realizes as he reflects on their training, their fights. She waits for the opponent to attack her, for her partner or whomever else to make a move first so she can analyze their movement, their attacks, pick apart their stratagem before they can get too far. It gives her an edge, and he envies her patience.

He does not have the same virtue. "What do you want to do about it?" He asks.

"Well you aren't one to pass up an order." She leans back so she doesn't have to crane her neck to look up at him from her seat on the floor, legs slowly spreading, her own not-so subtle way of trying to attract his attention. It works, and he nearly curses as he finds his eyes focusing on the way her pants ride up far enough to give him a glimpse of pale skin, a hint of what she's hiding. "In fact you're the first man to not make a pass at me since I got here. Am I not your type?"

"Does that bother you?"

She doesn't respond, and he doesn't expect her to. She stands with all the grace of a jungle cat and stalks towards him with just as dangerous a prowl, her feet soft on the hardwood flooring. She leans forward to press a hand to his cheek, and after wrapping her hand in his hair she pulls him down for a kiss. He lets her press her lips to his. They're smooth, and warm, and she tastes of vodka and something else sweet. He doesn't pull away for some time, drawing breath only when she releases him. When she opens her eyes again it's as though the kiss hasn't affected her at all, her gaze as clear and level as before. Winter wonders if anything gets through to her, really gets through.

"Thanks." He says, not sure what else there is to be said about it. The corners of her lips twitch upwards for a moment.

"Did you want to do this here or in your room?"

"Oh, you want to do this today? Now?"

"Unless you have better plans, and I checked your itinerary so I know you don't. Might as well get it out of the way."

Winter is sure this is the longest conversation he's had with her, and the most she's ever said to him. He pushes past her on his way to the door, needing a shower before he makes it to bed for the evening. He doesn't want to think about all this madness, not when his head was still spinning.

"You know you won't be able to go into the field until I'm ready to be your partner. I won't be able to be your partner until we get used to how we move, and we won't be able to move in tandem or harmony or whatever you want to call it until we get it over with and fuck." She side steps in front of him, but still never moves to strike him or physically tries to hold him back.

But she was definitely turning into an expert at becoming more of an annoyance than a help.

"Look, I understand your logic but I'm not-."

"What, not in the mood?" She smirks, eyes turning playful as she folded her arms over her chest, knowingly pushing them up. Winter can't help his eyes from moving to her cleavage. "And don't tell me you're not into women because that's a lie." Winter brings his eyes up to hers, hating that she believes she's won, and he just doesn't know it yet. He tries to side step her. He's exhausted, his legs feeling as though they may give out if she doesn't just let him go to bed. He's about to tell her that he's not in any mood to play games when she manages to knock his legs out from under her. His back hits the floor and Natasha crawls atop him, her hips grinding down on his. He bites his tongue to stop a groan and flips the pair of them over. Natasha's smirk grows.

"Oh, you like it this way?" She asks, finding his hands and raising them above their heads so that his are pinning hers down. "We can do it any way you want to, sir." Her voice lowers down to a purr that boils his blood with anger and lust. He scowls and pulls up and off of her.

"No. Stop it Natasha." He turns to walk off, doing his best to ignore just how tight his pants were becoming. Damn it all to hell.

"Winter, we're going to have to do it sometime!" She calls to his back. He grits his teeth but keeps going, ignoring her. He's not about to give her the satisfaction of winning. If they were going to do it, they were going to do it on his terms. He would not be another damn conquest of hers. There were others that would think he would be lucky to have an evening with her but something about it, but doing it on orders, especially hers, feels cheap and Winter isn't about to do that to himself. He has some semblance of pride, after all, no matter what his orders dictate.

He tries not to think about her while he's in the shower, the cold water bouncing off of his chest and making him shiver, but not even the temperature change can tear his mind away from the heat he swears he can still feel from where she'd found her hips into his. His fist connects with the wall in his frustration, effectively putting a hole in it and he bites down on his tongue to stop himself from yelling in anger. He used to be so level headed, he thinks, before she came around. Mission partner or not, he wishes she'd just leave again so they could have given the damn serum to someone else. Someone male so Winter wouldn't have to notice the way the tank top fluttered around the edges of Natasha's wide hips, or how her breasts looked as she ran, or how damn good she felt on top of him.

Damn her.

Footsteps pad down the tile flooring of the bathroom, and with his head so clouded with thoughts of Natasha that Winter doesn't notice the shower curtain being pulled back. He wouldn't have even noticed her if she didn't press her naked, warm front to his back, making him jump in surprise.

"You know, I can be a whole lot nicer than a cold shower," she purrs against his skin, arms wrapped around his torso to hold him fast to her. One hand expertly turns the knobs of the shower to get the heat going again, and she gives a hum of contentment. "Much better. You're not much use to me if you're too cold."

He has to give it to her: when she wants something she definitely goes to get it. Winter doesn't turn to face her, keeping his head directly underneath the spray of hot water. She's looking for a reaction, and he's not going to give her the satisfaction of one. Except for the moan that manages to escape his mouth when her hands travel further south to take his cock in them, stroking him gently until his stomach feels warm and his knees give out, strength sapped from them in the way that had nothing to do with his aching muscles. Natasha's breath is warm against his skin as she chuckles and rubs her thumb over his head, resulting in a jolt from Winter.

"Stop." He growls as he shoves her away after a moment, looking back at her. "And leave me alone."

She turns him around entirely, forcing his back to the wall and pushing her lips onto his; it's the first move she's ever made without being prompted. Winter shoves her away, and she nearly falls over on the wet flooring. He can't help but grab her hand to hold her steady. Inwardly he curses.

"Oh God. You've never done this before." Natasha's eyes widen with the realization as she stands, staring at him.

Winter doesn't give her a response, turning away instead. Truth be told he can't remember whether he had sex or not; he figures it's probably the latter. It might have felt familiar if he had done it in the past. He steps out from under the water and wraps his towel around his waist.

"Wait. Winter." Natasha moves after him, and for once her voice is soft, almost apologetic. It takes him off guard, and he finds it's not a place he wants to be with her. "I didn't mean to offend you, but we have to do this. First time or not." She stops only when she's in front of him. Her fingers move up his wrist, stroke his biceps while she searches his eyes. "And you don't have to like it but it has to happen. Orders are orders." She stands on her tip toes and presses her lips to his once more. This time it's slow, and she takes her time. Again he's taken by how her lips are soft against his, and she's burying her hand in his wet blonde hair and he's leaning down to give her better access as her tongue presses past his lips. Her groan is soft, sweet, and goes right to his groin, keeping him preoccupied as her hands move to remove his towel from around his waist. It drops onto the floor and she pushes her body flush against his. She's colder than he is, and he wraps his arms around her waist to try and warm her up.

He pulls away to breathe a few minutes later. "I can't. Not tonight." He swallows hard as he looks down at her. He closes his eyes and pulls away. He'd made a promise to himself that it was going to happen on his terms, not hers. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of a victory over him. Even as her eyes follow him and call him moron when he falters and turns back to look at her. It'll all be worth it in the end he tells himself.

A/N: I don't own any of the characters, Marvel does