That simple touch wasn't terrible, like he'd secretly feared it might be; instead, it lit up something inside him, made his shoulders relax even as it made him want to be closer. He unconsciously slid half a step closer, watching her drink the water. Like the touch, knowing he'd provided for her did something to his gut, sending satisfaction thrumming through his veins.

He knew it was the alpha coming out, his hormones guiding him through this as best they could after seventy years of suppressants and drugs, and it was a good sign; Bucky just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to face having less control over his body. Still, as he'd talked to the doctors, it was better to deal with it now, in a careful, controlled environment with someone he respected and trusted — and he respected and trust Natasha — and he did trust her, and not just because Steve trusted her.

He watched quietly as she pulled off her jacket, her scent even more pronounced now that she had it off. His nostrils flared, lust banking in his blue eyes, and when she asked him to touch her, he was ready. More than.

When he reached out, his hand was steady despite the urge to just reach out and pull her close, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, barely touching her. His hand was a whisper against her shoulder, and he trailed his fingers down her bicep, still light, almost as if he were afraid to put more force behind his touch.