Nat drives them back into Tokyo, worried as Steve seems lost in his thoughts. She drives carefully, looping on and off main roads, careful of the number plate recognition systems. The car has colour shifting paint and programmable plates so she cycles through several perfectly legal identities before she's sure they're not being tracked.
In all this Steve has hardly said a word. She tries to break the silence "I've called ahead. Booked a room for me under a new alias. I'll sort the alarms and you can come in via the fire stairs, safer so we're not recognised. I've also reached out to some friends, to see what the local night life is up to these days"
Steve has been staring out of the windows, watching mile after mile of city roll by
"Sounds like a good plan. I'll see you there" He adjusts a control on his left wrist bracer, dialling his uniform to a dark blue with jagged patches of dark grey and brown. His shield is on his back in a matching backpack, so as he steps out of the car into the shadows of a side street he almost instantly vanishes into the shadows. She watches as he looks up, judging the distances and leaps, catching the edge of the roof five floors up with one hand and vaulting onto it.
She realises she'd been holding her breath. What is wrong with him? He seems so distracted, not himself. Something has reminded him of someone he lost, she's sure of it. She feels a ache in her chest, an uncommon pain she can't place at first. Sympathy. Her Master is hurting, she needs to help him somehow.
She guns the engine, heading to the hotel.
On the rooftop Steve takes a deep breath. It's just starting to rain, a fine drizzle that seems to catch all the lights of the city and make them sparkle. He climbs higher so he can see further, the main roads like rivers of light with layer upon layer of moving adverts on giant screens. The night sounds echo up to him, all the cars and people, the music and bustle
The whole place is choking him, like a hand crushing his chest. The doctors had talked to him about social mutability and how he needed to find stability. They'd warned him of Future Shock and Information Overload, how too much change too fast could cause stress and disorientation, leading to withdrawal and disconnection as your mind tries to hide from the changes.
Looking out over the city he lets himself feel it, how strange and new it all is. The Psychologists had argued over how best to cope, no one had ever had a case like his before. But he knew that if he tries to hold on and fight it all it'll crush him but if he lets go totally it'll swamp him and he'll be lost. The best he can do is acclimatise, take small steps into the new then take comfort in the familiar, find new things he liked to enjoy.
He glances toward the hotel, gauging how far Natalia will have got. She was a new thing that he'd come to enjoy a lot, new experiences that already feel strangely familiar.
He starts to walk, then picks it up into a run, gathering speed. He feels the momentum build, feeling like some sort of giant rampaging Kaiju monster as he leaps over the roof tops, the satellite dishes and air con fans all working away industriously. He clears the last roof and launches himself across the street, angled up so that gravity can slow his flight, so instead of smashing into the wall of the hotel he simply hits hard, absorbing the impact with his legs and arms as he grabs onto a lip in the concrete wall. Swinging his whole body on one hand he wedges into a vertical groove in the wall and easily chimneys up the few floors to the rooftop.
There are alarms and cameras and sensors, of course, the rooftop helipad is for prestigious clients only, but he avoids them with ease, watching the lights blink on and off, unlocking the door with an automatic key and vaulting the rail to drop into the fire stairs. Someone has expertly crafted a Steve Rogers shaped hole in the hotel security and he simply strolls through as locks and cameras click on and off as he needs.
Unseen, he opens the fire door and slips into the hotel corridor, closing the door behind him. The doors is convinced it has always been closed and alarmed.
He swipes his mobile over the door lock; she'd sent him a clone of the key cards codes when she got in.
The door clicks open.
Inside the room is dimly lit and soft music is playing, something classical and orchestral. She usually wires the music to the power and security systems, any interruption or attempt to interfere will make the music jump or stop, a valuable few seconds warning.
There's a scent in the air, deep woody tones of sandalwood to mask the plastic artificiality of the hotel room. It's the little touches sometimes that mean a lot, it shows how much thought she puts into things.
She's waiting for him, kneeling naked at the end of the bed. Her hands are resting palm up on her spread thighs, her back straight and her shoulders back, her ample breasts proudly thrust forward. Her eyes are lowered, looking only at his boots. He can tell she's deliberately keeping her breathing slow and regular but her heart is racing. He lets her stay still as he takes his time to shrug off his shield case backpack harness and set it aside. His eyes can't leave her, there's something captivating about the tension in her as she fights to keep still.
He unbuckles the chinstrap of his helmet and sets it on the side table, ruffling his hair back, and drawing out the moment before he commands her.
Natasha had booked in as a 56 year old German art gallery owner who regularly visited Tokyo, mumbling her thanks to the desk clerk in passable Japanese with a broad Swabian Stuttgart accent. Passably good looking with clothes that showed she had money and taste, she blended perfectly with the hotel clientele.
Rolling her luggage behind her she'd taken the elevator up to her room, scanner picking up the hotels security cameras as she went. Some were hardwired together; others were wireless ones that the staff moved round when there were functions or parties. Luckily they'd never changed the default passwords, so by the time she got to her room she'd got access to the hotel security network. Once the door locked behind her she had chance to relax, but she gave the room a quick sweep for bugs and other devices. Once it was clear she could take a breath and kick off her heels, take off her holographic facemask and wig. She slipped out of her Jacket, skirt and blouse in quick succession, deactivating the padded inserts that had plumped her waistline up. In just her bra and thong she sat cross legged on the bed, with her tablet, mobile and the packet sniffer hardware that was linked into the hotel network. State of the art intrusion programs wormed their way into the security system, creating blind spots and looped signals in camera feeds, tricking door alarms and motion sensors that all was good.
Once it was all in place she carefully put her hacking gear away and looked round the room. There's still stuff to do, she wants it to be perfect, she needs her Master to be pleased with her. Needs to let go of all the worries and just be his.
She dims the lights and part draws the shades as she unhooks her bra, setting it carefully to one side. Her breasts are full and swing as she wiggles her thong down and steps free of it. Naked, she takes a rolled towel from her bag and sets it on the end of the bed. Slowly she kneels on the floor and looks at it, taking her time and savouring the feelings running through her.
She unrolls the towel to reveal a short leather strap with a buckle. Taking it in both hands she picks it up and holds it to her lips, kissing it softly. Bowing her head she buckles it around her neck, tugging it to be sure its on tight. Closing her eyes she runs her hands from the leather collar down her body, squeezing her breasts, tugging her hardening nipples until they ache, stroking her abs and down, fingernails trailing down the insides of her spread thighs, spreading wider as she strokes up again, fingers probing between her legs where the heat in her leaves her wet with need. Stripped, collared, turned on and ready to be fucked, as a good slave should be.
She stands and does a quick check of the room, the light is low, the bed made, towels to the side, bottles of water and juice in the cooler. She sets the security program playing music – she picks Ravel's Bolero and sets it low and on loop. The system pings that the roof door has been opened and closed, making her heart skip a beat and the knot of desire in her twist in indecent lust – it's been days since they've had time alone.
She does a last check of the room, making sure the light is right. She sprays a little perfume on the pillows, to mask the hotel laundered plastic smell then sinks to her knees at the end of the bed to patiently wait.
With her weight back in her heels she keeps her back straight, head up and chest out, breasts proudly on display. She keeps her legs spread, hands palm up on her thighs. It's terrifying for her to be like this, no weapons, no secrets, everything on display. Training in the Red Room sometimes made her feel this helpless, she can feel the well-worn patterns of submission and control it carved into her brain like water channels carved in stone but this is new, cutting new patterns of her own choosing for once.
The Door clicks.
Reflex makes her think of the five easiest weapons to grab in the room.
Then he walks into the room and all thought leaves her. No worries or plans. Just feelings and sensations, a slave naked at the feet of her Master.
She watches as he unstraps his shield, pack and helm with a delicious deliberate slowness.
Then he beckons and she leaps to obey, running to him and pressing her naked body against his as he takes her in his arms, lifts her up and hugs her to him.
Strong arms full of warm and eager nakedness, her soft breasts crushed to his chest.
"Undress me" he orders and she answers "Yes, Master!" happily as she starts unfastening his armour
Undressing is an important part of the ritual; the setting aside of roles and symbols. Putting aside weapons and armour is a real sign of trust, to be only yourself with someone is a terrible intimate honesty.
She helps him out of his armoured jacket, the belt and weapons harness. As he uncovered his skin she can't resist touching him, light touches with her fingertips, her hair, brushing her lips on him in lightest of kisses.
Finally he's naked, standing over her. Reverently she kisses his cock, stroking it between her hand and face but while he's thick and semi engorged she can't get a rise from him even as she worships every inch.
He rests his hand on her head, she looks up to see a troubled look on his face. With a heavy sigh he looks down at her and then looks away, at the neon glow of the city night
"What's wrong Master?"
"Sorry My girl. Its this City. This Country. It's so alive, vibrant, so many people, so many neon lights, I was just thinking of all the things that happened after I hit the ice."
He picks her up easily, carries her over to the bed.
"One of my unit was a Japanese American, guy called Jim Morita. He was born in California, a place called Fresno. While we were fighting in Europe his whole family was rounded up and put in a camp at Manzanar. He used to write to them after every mission. We both used to write to the Internment committee, the army, even the President to try and get them released but they were all so mistrusted that anyone who looked slightly Japanese was locked away in case they were a spy or saboteur.
She nods "They said "Shikata ga nai". "It cannot be helped". Pearl Harbour was a shock to America, so it lashed out. There was some mercy at least; Russia would have executed them all, like it did the Cossacks."
"I thought that when I stopped the Red Skull that would be the end of it, stop their last ditch super weapon and break the Axis. I wanted to save everyone, to stop the war."
"You did. With the hope of HYDRA gone, the Germany forces collapsed. They surrendered in May 1945."
"But Japan didn't, did they? "
She understands his feeling now, pride in being American is to feel responsible for all its acts, good and ill. And He's feeling personally responsible for everything he wasn't there to stop…
"Oh Steve. No, they didn't. But they were given the chance to surrender. "
"In August the president had nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It's monstrous. Against soldiers who fight i can understand, but that many civilians?"
"It was a necessary evil, Steve. Did they tell you about the Japanese Operation Midnight Cherry Blossom?
He shakes his head.
"The Japanese scientists were only a few weeks away from being able to launch submarine strikes on California, using plague bombs loaded with fleas carrying the Black Death. The army had stockpiled DDT to fumigate the city but it would still have killed thousands of people all along the West coast."
She rests her head on his chest, feeling his sorrow.
"There was a plan to invade but the Japanese generals were militaristic nationalists; the whole population was potentially hostile and anyone could be a kamikaze armed with a secret suicide weapon. Fighting a land war to take the whole country would have been hell and killed millions of troops on both sides. They'd have had to turn the whole country into a prison camp to keep control. It would have been a horror. Truman decided to sacrifice Japanese lives to save countless American ones."
He strokes her hair.
"What did you say on Sarkovia? Sacrifice thousands to save millions? There's No math in that?"
"It's grim, but it is the way of things. The way I look at it, We fight now to make a world where no one has to make that sort of decision again"
"That's the world I'm going to fight for".
"But by then they were not really fighting the Second World War, they were getting ready to fight the next one, the Third. All the countries were grabbing resources, carving up territories. Making allies and undermining enemies."
Steve sighs, shadowed face heavy "I know, I fought alongside Russians against the Nazis, but woke up and they were Enemies and there had been decades of nuclear arms race. I just swapped the Red Skull for Nuclear War"
She pushes herself up onto her elbows, looking at his face in astonishment and horror.
"BOZHEMOI. They never told you?"
"Told me what?"
"What you did!"
"I know what I did. What do you mean?"
"Master. Your actions, your sacrifice, shook the world powers to their foundations. You changed the worlds view on using so called Ultimate weapons. Before you everyone was racing to make the next super soldier, super vehicle, super bomb that would win the war in one fell swoop. Flying wings, Earthquake rays, Giant tanks, Death ray projectors on the moon, giant robots - but you proved the military doctrine of the decisive decapitating strike was fatally flawed. When any one man can fight like an army you can't defeat your enemy with one blow. That it would just escalate a conflict until there was nothing left of the world. "
"That's just crazy!"
"Master, by the end of the war Hitler had over ten thousand tons of Nerve gas ready to use and the Vengeance rockets that could be used to saturate Europe as far as London. But he never used them. Because of you."
"But…"
"Winston Churchill made sure Hitler knew the British biological weapons labs had a working Anthrax bomb. They tested it on a Scottish island in 1942 but never used it in war. Churchill made sure Hitler knew they had enough bombs to decimate Germany. But he never used them. Because of you"
"Even during the height of the war both sides sent diplomats to a meeting on neutral ground. The secret treaty they signed banned whole classes of 'Super Weapon', except in retaliation. Nowadays they call them weapons of mass destruction. That's why they never made armies of Super soldiers like you or the Red Skull to Dr Erskines formula. Why the anthrax bombs and nerve gas rockets were never used. When America used the Nuclear bomb they were rapidly included in the Treaty.
Your actions made detente, cold war and mutually assured destruction a possibility. You ushered in this age of spies and Intelligence services, a golden age of technology and innovation. It kick started the Space Race, created genetic engineering. It's thanks to you that i exist, that the Red Room made the Widow program.
Your sacrifice changed the face of war. They put a man on the moon because of you."
He lies back, stunned.
She presses her face into his groin, grasping his tumescent member. She palms a Short Length of black para cord into her hand, looping it Behind his balls and crossing it over at the top at base of his cock. She wraps it back around just the root of his cock, a knot to keep it snug but not too tight. Her kisses on the head give him a rising erection, the costs slight restriction keeps it hard. She loops the cord round and up, five knotted loops until he's fully erect and straining the cord.
She kicks her leg over and sits astride him
"Master, let me tell you all the cities you saved" She rubs herself forward, her slick slit sliding up the foot long length of him, each knot and cord a sensation that makes her quiver.
"New York,"
She works her hips, moaning softly
"Chicago,"
"Boston,"
"Washington DC,"
"Philadelphia,"
"Detroit,"
"Cleveland"
Picking up speed she gasps as he takes her hips, holding her as she slides, riding along him, teasing him harder.
"Montreal."
"New York again"
"Washington DC again"
His cock is swollen until the pulsing veins stand out. Holding her tight he lifts her enough that the head of his cock can slip inside her. Her fingers grasp at his chest as she feels him pull her down as he thrusts up, burying himself deep into her. She cries out in wordless pleasure as she pushes down then fights back up, moving with his thrusts as he drives into her.
He pulls her over, flat on her back and rolls on top, thrusting so hard she's pinned to the bed by his weight and his cock, overwhelmed by him physically and by the feeling she's served him well, lifted his spirits from the dark places they fall to.
"Master!" is the only word on her lips, gasped with each thrust as she loses herself in a first climactic orgasm, feeling him spasm in her, as he comes so hard he snaps the cord.
Afterwards, Steve lies back and holds her curled onto his chest, listening as her ragged sobs settle into the soft rhythm of sleep. He'll let her doze awhile then wake her for another few rounds, there's so much he doesn't know about the time he missed out on and it feels good to know he was part of something great. The world as he knows it is just the surface, there seems to be so much going on it secret, they're always on the brink of some disaster. He strokes her hair, swearing to himself that he'll find it out and keep the world safe, He'll help make the world a better place. They'll make the world a better place
as always, feedback is always welcome. This is a contentious subject that the MCU never really touched on (except in "The Wolverine" which drew a lot on Frank Millers love of ninjas) so I thought long and hard how to combine Superheroes with Nuclear war / Mutually assured destruction.
My writing discord for chat and ideas is /4u3JKbVg9r