Chapter 9
WASHINGTON, D.C.
September 24th, 1949
Bucky Barnes, now on the long, arduous road to recovery, asked in a low, raspy voice as he shuffled toward the door, “Stevie, where’s going or what?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” replied Steve with a determined smile. The past few months had transformed their world. Bucky, slowly but steadily, was piecing together his fragmented memories. Though remnants of the trigger words still echoed faintly in his mind, his progress was nothing short of a miracle. Meanwhile, Steve had reemerged as the renewed Captain America, continuing to support Peggy’s passionate campaign for change, while Howard, now both director and producer, and Angie, ever the effervescent actress, found themselves deep in production of the long-anticipated Kid Colt sequel. In quieter corners of life, Grant had returned to a more domestic existence, savoring the small comforts of home.
Having Steve finish, Grant called out, “You two have a good time.” Bucky managed a small, grateful smile as he responded, “Thanks, Rogers,” and together Steve and Bucky slipped out into the brisk autumn air.
Later that evening, inside a club in the city, seated at a small table near the dance floor, Steve cradled a beer in one hand, his gaze fixed on the lively scene. “No, I’m not going near ice again,” he remarked with a wry laugh—a reference to his previous state.
Bucky, sitting beside him and recovering his old sense of humor, laughed heartily. “Me too, Stevie, me too,” he agreed, his voice warm. Amid their banter, a young woman—a dancer with an infectious smile and an unmistakable confidence—approached their table. “Do any of you want a dance?” she asked playfully, her eyes sparkling with invitation.
Before Steve could protest or retreat, Bucky patted him on the back with a jovial, teasing tone. “This guy wants,” Bucky declared, nudging his friend toward the approaching dancer. In an incredulous glance exchanged between the two, Steve could only laugh as the dancer, with a playful smirk, took him by the hand and led him onto the dance floor. Their brief moment together was both comic and sensual—a fleeting escape from the gravity of their daily battles.
After a few dancing spins and laughter that echoed above the club’s thumping beat, Bucky approached the dancer with a discreet gesture. He handed her a small wad of cash before stepping out of the club into the cool night, leaving Steve to enjoy the private session.
Elsewhere that night, in the comfort of her apartment, Dottie found herself face-to-face with Bucky, surprising her. “James,” she murmured, her voice soft yet laced with emotion.
“Dottie,” he replied. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes searching his own for answers, as he made his way into the apartment. He smiled wanly. “You know why.”
A silence fell between them before Dottie pressed, “Do tell me, then.” The air between them shimmered with memories. Slowly, Bucky approached her. “When I was with HYDRA and you were in the Red Room, we worked together,” he began, his voice low and reflective. “And… all through that, we became something.” His admission was laden with vulnerability—a confession of the deep connection that the two had.
“They called us the Widow and the Soldier,” Bucky continued, the nickname a bittersweet memory. “And even though we were the bad guys, in the end, there was something good within it—because of you. You made me care about someone. You were the only thing there that made me feel human.”
Dottie’s eyes shimmered with both pain and a tentative hope as he continued, “And I know I did to you too. I want to live again… to feel like a human again.” His words trembled in the quiet space between them.
In that moment, letting herself, she reached for the other. Their lips met in a gentle, searching kiss. “I want it as well, to feel that way again,” Dottie whispered as the kiss deepened.
Later that night, the encounter took an explicit tone for the pair. Dottie and Bucky found solace in each other’s arms once more, Dottie’s voice trembling as she uttered a single name, “James…”
Bucky stepped closer. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his tone both tender and intense as their bodies moved together by their individual desire. As their intimate moment came towards its final moment, she repeated his name, moaning it as she released, himself doing the same.
Laying on her bed, the two remained embraced for a while before she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Dottie did, between soft, shared breaths, the admission heavy with remorse for past inactions. “For nor rescuing you earlier.”
“Don’t worry, doll,” Bucky replied reassuringly. “In the end, I end up where I’m supposed to be.” With those words, he kissed her deeply— the hope of a shared future pouring through it. Their bodies entwined, exhaustion and contentment drawing them into a quiet, blissful sleep.
Meanwhile, in the club Bucky left, in a private, shadowed room, Steve found himself in an unexpected predicament. Tied securely to a chair and blindfolded, he was at the mercy of what he now sees is a sultry, confident woman.
The dancer’s voice, both playful and provocative, cut through the dim silence. “Oh, so you want this?” she purred, her finger pointing suggestively at her lower parts as she spoke. Steve, his voice edged with both desire and a hint of submission, replied, “Yes.”
Her tone hardened slightly, challenging him. “Well then… beg,” she instructed, stepping closer. “Please, miss dancer, please, just let me play with it,” Steve begged, his words a plea of desperate need.
“No,” she replied sharply at first, prompting him to try again, “Say it correctly.”
“Please let me fuck you,” he repeated, the raw language hanging in the air as an admission of his desire. A slow smile spread across her face, approval in her eyes. “That’s more like it,” she said, untying him with deliberate slowness. Now free from his bonds, he felt a surge of adrenaline and lust.
She shifted her posture until she was on all fours, teasing him with a playful smirk. “What are you waiting on? You want it, don’t you?” she challenged. In response, Steve, overcome by instinct and passion, rapidly moved towards her. “The game is over. We both know you want it too,” he declared as he began to thrust into her with a fervor that spoke of long-held needs finally given voice.
Her laughter, soft and teasing, mingled with the sounds of their encounter, moving together in a primal rhythm, their moans and quiet gasps punctuating the heated space as they lost themselves in the moment.