The Wolves of Winter

It was three weeks before it happened again. This time it was in an abandoned Hydra facility that he was supposed to be scoping out, in case Hydra wanted to return and use it. I was there looking for any Hydra files that could be useful to A.I.M.

We met in one of the old science labs, and I barely had time to speak before I was on the floor and he was reaching for his belt. It was done and over in ten minutes, and we were both on our feet, straightening our clothes and turning our backs. He never asked what I was looking for, and I never told him, and as I watched him leave the lab, I almost wished he'd stayed a little longer.

It kept happening, over and over again across the communist countries that Hydra and A.I.M both had influence in. Romania, Bulgaria, Kazakhstan, Poland, East Germany and Russia were all places we'd managed to find each other. It was always the same - short, desperate and intense. Most times we'd remain as clothed as possible, just in case we weren't alone in any of the centres, but sometimes (especially if we found some crappy motel room to use) we'd end up as a hot, naked mess on the floor, our limbs tangled together as we tried to catch our breath.



It was one particularly stormy night in Poland after what was probably the longest time I'd spent with him. He was leaning heavily on his arms, his hot breath coming out across my neck in sporadic bursts while he panted, occasionally kissing my skin. I lay underneath him, pressing my forehead into his shoulder and tracing my fingers gently over the marks my nails had left in his back, softly scratching at them while we came down from our shared high.

Eventually, he raised his head to look me in the eye, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Это было удивительно."

I closed my eyes, unable to process the Russian and convert it to English in my head. I dropped my head back onto the worn carpet, listening to his low voice as he murmured Russian in my ear, placing harsh kisses along my collarbone.

"Ты выглядишь красивый." He mumbled between kisses, occasionally nipping at the skin. "Я хотел бы остаться здесь навсегда."

My mind was still too foggy to understand, and I asked him to translate. He ignored me, instead grinding his hips against mine with deliberate slowness before grabbing my left leg and hooking it over his waist, supporting my weight with his left arm and pulling me up so he was sitting and I was straddling him. "Очередной раунд?"

That one I understood. I nodded - of course I wanted to go another round with him. He shot me a wolfish grin, kissing me and fisting my hair in his right hand, tipping my head back and arching my neck.

He started to place sloppy kisses along my skin, his chest still heaving. I'd recently discovered that his refractory period was practically non-existent, a point which was becoming clear to me again while he dipped his head to trace his tongue against my collarbone. My hands moved from his back to rest in his hair, and I arched my neck involuntary when he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot just below my jaw.

Despite having said few words to each other over the past few months, we knew a lot about each other - or, more bluntly, we knew a lot about each other's bodies. For example, I knew that if I ran my fingernails along his abdomen, scratching gently across the peaks and dips, that his lips would quirk into the smallest of smiles - real smiles, not the smirks I'd received before. I also knew that the cleft in his chin was a particularly good spot to kiss, even if his stubble scratched my lips and face.

The second round was undeniably just as good as the first.




I woke up in the scummy motel room the next morning with more aches than normal. I rolled over to check that the space next to me was empty, and sure enough, I was alone.

I settled back against the bed, closing my eyes and thinking back over the night before. I'd spotted him in Warsaw, the capital of Poland, when I'd arrived. To any other person in the city he probably looked just like any other person, but to me it was like he was holding a jazzy disco sign saying 'will fuck A.I.M assets for fun'.

As I passed him in the street I slipped a scrap of paper with the name of my motel and my room number into his pocket. It had taken all of three hours for him to find the note and come to me. And then, like usual, we'd ended up on the floor, with me tugging off his shirt and him sliding my pants down.

I was officially in Poland to look for the collapse of KGB movement in the country - the communist rule that was spearheaded in Russia was crumbling, and many countries were starting to protest. I'd been reliably informed that the KBG would be obsolete by 1990, and then A.I.M's only two threats would be Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.

However official my reason for being in Poland was, my unofficial one was (of course) to find and subsequently fuck The Winter Soldier (a task I'd now completed at least four times over, if I remembered correctly.) Now he was gone, and I could concentrate on the mission at hand. It was good to get everything out of my system when I saw him, but that was all our meetings were. Relieving tension so we could concentrate on the task at hand.

It had gotten to the point where I'd stopped even seeing him as the enemy. He'd stopped being a Hydra asset (although every time I thought of him I decided what was more accurate was the term 'Hydra asset') and started being something completely different. I wasn't even sure what he was to me now - but I certainly didn't have the intention of killing him anymore.

After a few more blissful minutes of going over the previous night's activities in my head, I decided to get up and start my surveillance of Warsaw, the memory of the Soldier's hands on my hips still fresh in my mind.

Notes