infinity

crawling back to you

i. In which Bucky and Yelena reunite, twelve years after their time together in the Red Room, and Bucky makes amends the best way he knows how.

trigger warning: Unapologetic smut. Non-con/coercive elements.

x

"Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?
'Cause I always do
Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new
Now I've thought it through..."

x

"Yelena, allow me to introduce you to James Barnes—but you might know him better as the Winter Soldier."

My stomach dropped as his steely blue eyes met mine.

In that moment, it was as if I'd stepped back in time, and the rest of the world melted away. I was back in the Red Room, in the Dark Place where they sent misbehaving Widows, to be "corrected." I was bare naked, flat on my back, strapped to a table with a gag in my mouth, as the Winter Soldier had both of his hands around my waist.

A flash of recognition crossed his face. And almost as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.

"Please." He stuck out his hand, a little too quickly. "Call me Bucky."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. As my fingers grazed his, it took me a moment to realize my hand had gone numb. "Pleasure," I managed.

We shook hands for a moment too long. Valentina finally cleared her throat, and snapped me out of my reverie. "James, you already know John Walker..."

I walked across the room in a daze.

The Winter Soldier.

That was a name I hadn't heard in eight years. I'd seen stories about him in the news, of course, and heard tidbits about him from Natasha—but he looked different, in the media, with the shortened hair and the civilian clothing.

No. It wasn't until I was up close and personal that I realized who James Buchanan Barnes really was.

x

Red Room

Twelve Years Earlier...

x

The first time it happened was after I failed a mission.

Back then, compliance and human error were two issues Dreykov had yet to correct with chemical subjugation. His formula wasn't perfected just yet, and he was reliant on much more rudimentary methods to ensure our we carried out our orders.

I'd been sent to Moscow, to extract information from the Kremlin. This was the kind of mission reserved for Widows post-graduation ceremony, the kind of mission that was more psychological than tactical or physical—at least in the traditional sense.

Natasha, from what I'd heard, had been Dreykov's top girl, for these sorts of missions. But he'd just lost her to SHIELD—and it seemed only fitting that he sent me in her place.

Dreykov received intel regarding a "weak link" in Putin's national security team, a cabinet member who would spill state secrets at the slightest provocation to all of his mistresses. My objective was relatively simple: seduce the cabinet member, carry on however long-term of a relationship with him that I needed to, to acquire as much information as possible—until, eventually, I had an opening with Putin himself.

I couldn't even make it through my first gala as his arm candy, before I was made.

My execution, technique, my whole demeanor—it was beyond obvious, what I was trying to do, in hindsight. But the cabinet member was a virile man who hadn't been fucked in a minute, and in spite of his reservations, he made sure to book a hotel room before the night was over—and it was by the grace of God that I was pulled out of there, just before his security team descended on me.