carrytheshield | Open RP Post

[To say that this place is not exactly what Bucky had been expecting would be to put it mildly. The pitch made it hard to say no: shady corporation, promising to save the multiverse from some disaster that was sweeping through the stars. Bucky just about couldn't get suited up fast enough. He'd figured he'd get to punch things, or there would be shady people to leave him with shady spy stuff to keep himself busy.

The station is awful focused on sex and experimentation and interactions, and nefarious though they seem Bucky doesn't have any leads yet, and he's been keeping an eye on the head scientists and public figures. The best he's got is that there's something weird outside of the facility, and as far as he's been able to learn, that seems to be more about the planet than the program.

Not all of the experiments are sexual in nature, but it definitely seems to be... incentivized. He doesn't have anything against it, exactly, but it's just not his thing most of the time. Or so he tells himself half the time. The other half he takes a cold shower and wishes Natasha was here.

Going to the gym is as much a way to blow off steam as it is about keeping in shape. He prefers it either late night or early morning, when it's quieter, and he has to field less questions about the arm. Nice just to be able to move through his paces. Sometimes if he's lucky he'll find a sparring partner, or he'll go through the effort of setting up some props and toss the shield around. It's off the the side, under his duffel bag with his towel and water bottle. He's been at it for a while so he's top less, just in loose athletic pants as he goes through the motions.

He looks up sharply, his body high on adrenaline so it almost reads as aggressive at the sound of the door, but he smiles a little sheepishly after a moment. The star on his shoulder isn't red, but white in a blue circle that's ringed in red; it's clearly a play on Captain America's shield to anyone from the right sort of world.]

Hey, sorry- guess I got a bit into it.

[His voice isn't too heavily accented, but it's Midwestern roughness along the edges, not New York City by way of Brooklyn.]

❰ steve arrives at bucky's apartment half an hour after their text conversation, with charcoal pencil and sketchbook in hand. he's been half-hard ever since that conversation started, warmth simmering away in his gut, and it's only getting more intense the more he thinks about what they're about to do.

he knocks. ❱

[Eager Steve had called him, and he's not wrong. He's as patient as he knows how to be, which isn't a whole lot, really. He's half tempted to get himself off first, but somehow that feels like cheating, so instead he just waits. Half-hard in his denims, unable to really put the thought out of his mind.

It only takes a moment or two after Steve knocks before Bucky's there, letting him inside, half a smile curving his lips. He's topless, jeans on his hips like he had in the selfie he'd taken for Steve before. He drags a hand through his hair as he gestures him into his apartment.]

Hey.

[He's a little breathless, eyes bright, though he tries to play it off.]

❰ oh, he eager. steve steps into the apartment, eyes on bucky, taking in the state of him — his bright eyes, the way the muscles of his torso all seem coiled with excited tension, the nerves. he wants this bad. ❱

Hi.

❰ compared to bucky, steve sounds entirely composed. the only thing that could give away how much he wants this is the hungry way he looks bucky over. something about bucky's excitement makes him want to take control, to take what he wants from bucky without asking — something tells him bucky would like that, same as steve does sometimes. it goes against steve's general instincts when it comes to bucky — be careful, ask permission, make sure he can always say no — but jesus, he wants it.

steve compromises between his two desires, reaches up with his free hand to press against bucky's chest and back him into a wall, thumb rubbing idly over a nipple, face inches from bucky's. ❱

I want to kiss you.

❰ please let him. please please please. ❱

[Bucky has to swallow at the way that Steve looks him over- hungry, like he could devour him, and god but he wants him to. He had a crush on his Steve, back before he died, before the Winter Soldier. But it wasn't like this, the way that Steve makes his body hot, makes him ache in a way he's still working through.

He knows he wants him, that he wants this.

So when Steve's hand moves to his chest and the blonde presses him back against the wall, Bucky lets him, steps back until his heated skin is pressed to the cool surface, blue eyes looking up at him. There's a slight gasp, a shiver that runs through his shoulders as Steve's thumb drags against one of his nipples.

Those words hang between them for hardly a moment before Bucky's nodding in easy assent.]

Steve--

[Saying yes is somehow harder. Harder than the way he says his name, charged with heat and raw with desire, affection. That way that he tilts his head a little, fingers slowly reaching up to touch, to curl against his shoulders.]

❰ jesus, no wonder jack likes to treat steve like this — it's a rush, watching bucky just obey, it goes straight to steve's dick. for a moment steve just watches bucky, lets him wait there and want for long seconds before steve leans in.

and stops before thwir lips touch. ❱

Ask me for it.

❰ a nod is not enough, his name is not enough. bucky has to put words to it, or steve won't give him what he wants. ❱

[Steve lets him wait, and Bucky doesn't push, he just wants, waits. And then he's leaning in and Bucky leans in a little too. But Steve stops, and they're so close, but Bucky's willing to give Steve that control, even if he can't quite help that murmur of want.

It takes him a moment, to catch his breath, to figure out how to voice it. Difficult with Steve's hand against his skin, when it's hard to think of anything else. But he manages it, his voice heated, a little awkward as he looks into Steve's eyes.]

I want-- Please kiss me, Steve.

[He stumbles on it a little, that tilt of his head, a slow smile that curves his mouth. Fingers brush soft against his shoulder. Willing to give him this, willing to give him so much more... like he'd told him when they were texting, he trusted him.]

❰ it feels good, to watch bucky squirm uncomfortably and still give steve what he asked. steve smiles and nudges his nose against bucky's, fond and teasing. ❱

Good, ❰ he says, pleased, and he finally closes the distance and gives them both what they want. the kiss is light, at first, steve cautious and gentle in the knowledge that this is bucky's first time kissing a man — but that doesn't last long, and it turns heated after only a few moments. he wants to crawl inside bucky's skin, it feels like, but contents himself with pinning him to the wall, chests pressed together, his teeth worrying at bucky's lip before his tongue sweeps inside his mouth.

they're supposed to be doing something, but steve almost doesn't care. he drags his thumbnail over bucky's nipple, ready to swallow whatever noise he makes, the sketchbook all but forgotten in his other hand. ❱

[Good, Steve says, and the encouragement, that praises twists inside of him, heated and sensual. There's always been that part of him that wants so badly to be good, to not disappoint people, and turning all of this sexual, and getting that reward, the way that Steve's lips press against his own.. it takes his breath away for a moment.

He's never kissed another man before, but it's Steve and that somehow makes it easier. It's gentle at first, but it's not long before it turns heated, and he can feel, taste Steve's desire on his lips. The way that he presses Bucky back against the wall, his chest flush to Steve's shirt and the solid press of his body. He gasps low and needy as teeth tug against his lip and when Steve's tongue presses into his mouth, it's with easy acceptance. His own tongue sliding to press against his, inviting, eager as Bucky leans into him.

Bucky's too distracted to really be thinking about why he'd invited Steve over, to think of anything except the heat of how their mouths fit together. That way the blonde pulls a whimper from him that's anything but protest as his nail drags over his nipple. He feels like he's drowning, but he doesn't want it to stop.]

❰ steve only barely manages to pull himself away from bucky, though he leaves his hand on his chest to keep him pinned against the wall. one of them has to keep the two of them on track, and since it seems like it won't be bucky, it falls to steve. this isn't really something he has much experience with — he's much more often the one in bucky's place, if he's honest — but he knows, vaguely, what he needs to be doing. they have to talk before they go any further, have to establish some rules.

he taps his thumb against bucky's chest, a subtle demand for his attention. ❱

You've never done anything like this before, have you? What do you know about it?

❰ this being dominance and submission — bucky doesn't seem to be a total virgin, though maybe he's just not as obvious about it as steve was when he arrived in duplicity. there are things bucky needs to know before they can move forward, and things steve needs to know about him — lines he can't cross, whether bucky wants him to push limits or listen when he says no. ❱

[Bucky's a little bit breathless, a low sound of want when Steve pulls away, but he lets Steve keep him pinned against the wall, doesn't protest, doesn't try to follow. And when he tabs his thumb against his chest, he focuses, tips his head back a little to meet his eyes. At the question he shrugs a little, but it's not a brush-off, he's just not quite sure where the things he's done fit.]

A little, I guess? Me and Tasha, we used to- I mean, she liked roughing me up, and I liked it too. But we never... It wasn't like this place.

[So he doesn't really know much, if he's honest. He knows enough to know where his preferences lie, to know when Steve told him what he wanted him to do that it was something that he wanted. That he trusted him with that sort of control. His smile isn't really shy, more a little rueful.]

So I guess I really mostly know what they put in the pamphlets.

❰ well, he's better off than steve was when he'd arrived, at least. steve smiles, a bit rueful himself. ❱

You know more than I did, when I got here.

❰ which is maybe a little too revealing? he's basically just put a giant sign on his forehead that says I WAS A BIG OL' VIRGIN UNTIL FOUR MONTHS AGO in screaming red letters, but. honesty's important, right? and he wants bucky to know it's okay not to know. ❱

I usually do this from your end of things, so I don't want to do anything too intense yet. ❰ how do dom, how does this work, steve is flying by the seat of his pants. ❱ Even so, I need to know if you have any hard limits. Things you don't want me to do, ever. Doesn't matter what it is, or if you think it's insignificant, or you should be able to handle it.

❰ steve learned that one from jack, when he stuck a handful of ice cubes against steve's stomach and steve was halfway across the room before he'd even realized he was moving. nothing's insignificant when it comes to this. ❱

[It is a little bit comforting, that reassurance, that way that Steve makes it okay to not really know. Which is a good thing, because they're both going into this sort of blind. But he doesn't actually mind, really. He's okay with figuring it out with Steve, seeing what works together. It was how it had started with Natasha, really.

But he listens, focused on Steve, on what he's saying, and it's sweet, honestly. That he cares, that he wants to make sure it's okay. Bucky worries at his bottom lip at the question, and he shakes his head after a slight pause.]

Not that I can think of, anyway. But I haven't tried much, yet.

[There are limits, but by and large Bucky hasn't encountered most of them. Or they're the obvious things that are so unspoken it doesn't even occur to him to put them to words- mind control and pain that dips more into combat than playful.]

I guess-- if you want to rough me up it would be nice if I could walk in the morning. But I like this. And what you were talking about. I like that too.

[There's a touch of a curl of his lips, and yeah, that might be a not-so-sly spanking reference.]

❰ steve listens, expression serious, and nods along. bucky's been put through enough — steve doesn't have to know this bucky's specific history to know that, just has to see his metal arm to know enough — and steve never wants to be just another terrible thing he has to bear. this is supposed to be fun, to make them feel good, or else it's pointless and painful for no reason. they've had enough of that in their lives, both of them. ❱

If I stumble across a limit, I want you to tell me immediately, alright? There's a color system we can use, or we can just choose a safeword, or I'll listen when you say stop. Whatever you choose, you say the word, I stop whatever I'm doing, you tell me what I did wrong, and I'll never do it again.

❰ we'll get to the spanking later, alright, this is serious. this is bucky's sexual and emotional well-being. steve's not going to joke about this.

...yet. ❱

[Some day, maybe he'll tell him the details of what he was put through. About the fact that he's been an assassin, a killer for years before the Soviets, about all the pieces of horrors that prickled at him. Things he didn't really talk about to most people because he didn't really know how. Strangely, this was easier in some ways. He didn't like to talk about the past, especially in this place where it seemed like none of it meant anything anymore.]

Alright. ...Tell me about the color system?

[Steve made it comfortable to admit that he didn't know things, made him feel like he could just ask. He's taking it seriously though, listening and parsing through what the blonde's telling him. Maybe not like a mission or an assignment, but it meant something, it was important.

He kind of likes the idea of there being some wiggle-room to saying stop. Not that Bucky is the type to really say it lightly, but it being a line that Steve can push, if he wants to.]

And if you didn't do anything wrong, and it's just too much- I can just tell you after, and we can still do it again?

[He's pretty sure on that point, but that's important too. For Steve to know that stopping might not mean he'd messed up. But he nods slowly in agreement, understanding. He wants to kiss him again, because of this talk, which is maybe not the most erection-inducing discussion in the world, but it makes him feel... important. How much concern Steve is putting in to make sure that he'll be okay, and it makes his heart skip a little.]

❰ they can kiss once they lay all their ground work — everything steve knows about this is secondhand from his own dominants, but he knows that you shouldn't start playing until you know exactly what boundaries you're looking to push and how.

his hand hasn't moved from bucky's chest the entire time they've been talking, thumb now rubbing absently in slow, wide circles on bucky's skin. ❱

Color system's like traffic lights. Green is everything's fine, you want to keep going, yellow's slow down, you're unsure of something, red is stop, immediately.

❰ honestly, steve's kind of... proud, in a way. he's pleased that bucky's willing to ask so many questions, that he doesn't feel like he has to fake his way through understanding all of this to impress anybody. steve would have been — has been — too embarrassed, sometimes, to ask the questions he should be asking. bucky's willingness to actually take this seriously and not just dive in head first is encouraging. ❱

Yeah, if you end up overwhelmed but you want to try whatever it is again later, you can use red for that too.

[Bucky likes the way that Steve's hand stays on his chest, keeps him pressed back against the wall. It's quietly soothing, keeps him anchored and grounded as they talk. Keeps him focused on that edge, that thought of what he wants, what they're really talking about here.]

Yeah. Let's do that. Seems easy to remember.

[There's a reason he's not super into the idea of more complicated safe words, but they can talk about that some other time, he figures. The fact that he used to literally have one. A word that just made him... stop. Sputnik. The Red Skull had used it on him once. Tony had made sure there were no more remnants of that sort of programming, but still. Innocuous words like colors still somehow felt safer.]

Alright. I think I get it.

[He leans into Steve's hand just a little then, a smile on his lips, not enough to try and push himself off the wall, just leaning into the touch.]

I trust you. So if there's something you want to try...

[He just trails off there, a slight tilt of his head to the side, something to the way he looks up at Steve. He's willing to try just about anything with him, really. And part of him kind of hopes they can make a thing out of this, explore each others' desires. He wants... wants to stay here, with Steve's fingers on his skin. It feels safe in a way he doesn't want to look at too closely just yet, and instead he looks up at Steve with a smile that's easy charm.]

Anything else you want to know?

❰ when bucky leans forward, steve leans in too, adding pressure to the hand on bucky's chest. it's not to keep him in place — bucky should move if he wants to, steve would never try to keep him somewhere he didn't want to be — but more to make the moment more real, for both of them. a steady reminder of what they're doing, where they are, and why. ❱

Nothing we have to talk about now. We already know what we want to do tonight.

❰ there's a lot of things steve wants to know in general — is bucky interested in being on steve's side of things ever, is there anything he knows he wants to try, anything at all steve can do for him to make this exactly what he wants — but that all seems a bit overwhelming for their first time doing something like this. they each need time to settle into their roles and think about what they want before steve goes and makes it more complicated.

that means, though, that there's nothing else to talk about. no reason not to dive right in. steve closes the distance between himself and bucky, nudging his nose affectionately against bucky's. ❱

Unless you have anything else you want to talk about, I think we can start.

[He likes it, the way that Steve presses back when he leans forward a little. It's not restrictive, doesn't feel like trying to hold him in place, but something similar to why Bucky had leaned in a little in the first place. Feeling it, that weight, that reminder. That this was real, but so was that agreement. Streelights, if he wanted to slow down or needed to stop. It makes him feel.. something. It's good, a nice thing.

Honestly, Bucky's a little bit curious too. He wants to know what Steve likes, what he wants, what sort of things he wants to explore. He's not precisely shy about this part of himself, even if it's not something he yells from the rooftops. Natasha had always been perceptive, had noticed it, and well, he'd always known that about her. But Steve's right, and those sort of things are for later.]

We can talk later. I'll do my best.

[To answer, to be honest. Even if they haven't known each other long, there's still something that gets under his skin. Steve is still Steve, and that makes this easier. There's that sort of synergy, different from what he had with Natasha, but similar in ways. Like his ability to talk about things now and then, to be able to admit to his feelings even i he was never really the type to discuss them at length.]

So just one question... Do you want me to undress for you, or do you want to help?

[He says it with a warm edge, looking up at him with a slight lift of an eyebrow. It's an offer, and an open sort of flirtation. He just wants to see what Steve will pick, which he wants more.

He still doesn't really seem himself as into guys, exactly. But he's absolutely into Steve. Not that it was anything new, really. Not if he was honest with himself, which he's not always.]

❰ so they're really doing this.

before he can answer bucky's question, steve leans in that last little distance and kisses him. it feels like as good a way to differentiate between play and not play as any — and, if he's honest, steve just wants to do it. this discussion was necessary, sure, but that didn't mean it wasn't also torture, not being able to just kiss bucky whenever he wanted, which was all the goddamn time. it's not a particularly heated kiss, though it is intense, with all of steve's attention completely keyed in to bucky.

when he pulls away, he taps his thumb against bucky's chest one last time before stepping back completely. for a second steve feels strangely, wildly bereft, but he keeps his expression impassive now, appraising. ❱

Strip.

❰ there's a momentary pause as he considers — does he want to give bucky more direction, so he has a demand to meet? or does he want to see what bucky is naturally given to, without steve telling him what to do?

in the end, he leaves it there — let bucky choose how quickly he strips, what he does with his clothes when he loses them. maybe next time he'll have more specific instructions, but for now he's going to have as light a hand in this as he can get away with. ❱

[Steve kisses him again, and Bucky responds, not so much heated as eager, a little like he needs the contact. Something about the intensity of it, the way that Steve focuses on him makes his body heat, makes him want this all over again. His thumb taps against Bucky's chest and he shivers a little, staying still when he pulls away. He watches him with those blue eyes warm with desire, falling this all too easily for someone who doesn't really think they're interested in men.

Then there's that demand and he nods, that acceptance easy, almost breathless, hitting him in his chest with a jolt of heat. He wants this, wants him. It occurs to him, belatedly, that he didn't ask what he should call him. Of course, it didn't really occur to him until that exact moment that he'd want to have something to call him by, either. So he runs with what's most natural, and hopes that it's not the wrong thing.] Yes, sir.

[Then he's stripping for him. He doesn't have a lot of pieces of clothes on, for better or worse, so it's just a matter of undoing the buttons of his jeans and slowly arching his body against the wall so that he can drag them down his hips. He moves slowly, clearly intended to be provocative, but it's all natural. Not a performance, just Bucky stripping and trying to make Steve keep looking at him.

After that it's just his boxer briefs, and there's something to that, the way that Bucky watches him, meets his eyes, a little bit flushed as he has to tug the waistband down over his erection, even if it's not quite at full attention just yet, it's close. He leaves his clothes in as neat a pile on the floor as he can manage, more focused on Steve than the fact that he'll have to clean them up later. He lets fingers brush against his skin, lips slightly parted, almost addicted because somehow this is even more enthralling than he'd imagined.]

❰ sir has never been a thing for steve, not that he's noticed, but maybe he was just being called sir by all the wrong people — steve doesn't react outwardly, but heat curls in his gut at the word, sharp and insistent. something to talk about when they're done here.

as if bucky had to worry that steve would look anywhere else — his eyes stay fixed on bucky, watching him strip with a carefully schooled expression. he's not the one who's supposed to be all eager and desirous right now, much as he definitely is. this is about control, dominance, being a steady pillar for bucky to lean on, and steve is determined to give him all those things. ❱

I didn't say you could touch yourself, ❰ steve says, voice even, watching bucky brush his fingers over his skin. truth be told, he doesn't mind that bucky wants to touch himself, especially being as that's the entire point of why they're here right now. but bucky wants steve to be the one giving orders, and bucky is touching steve's belongings without permission. ❱

Hands at your sides. Don't touch yourself without my permission.

❰ he waits for bucky to comply, and then waits another few moments after that, staring at bucky and letting him feel the full weight of steve's attention, before he gives another order. ❱

Take me to your room.

[Really, Bucky's never wanted to call someone Sir before, not like this, where it means something. Something about trust, about giving him that authority, control and that he'll respect it.

Steve's expression stays even, and that makes him hard to read, even for someone like Bucky. Or maybe it's just that he's so wrapped up in this that it's hard to be impartial enough to manage it. To see anything except Steve, except the way his gaze is heavy on his skin as he strips down. He straightens and his fingers stop as soon as Steve voices that correction, and while he swallows, his hands obediently moving to hang at his sides, it's clear that he likes that.

Likes it more than he thought he would, the way this feels. He's messed around the edges of this with Natasha, but never with quite this much intent, although they'd joked about it, that the next time he did something stupid she'd spank him, things like that. This is real, though, and it makes his heart race. His gaze is a little bit adoring, eager and maybe even wanton, the way his cock twitches in the air, how he's hared from just standing here.]

Yes, Sir.

[His voice a little apologetic, but also accepting, and it's clear from how he reacts that this isn't too hard. It's a thrill. They stand there for a moment, Bucky with his hands at his sides, and Steve looking at him, making him feel the weight of it, and he wants something to fill the space. To be told to do something or to be allowed to touch him, but it just stretches in silence so that when that next demand falls, it's a relief, and Bucky's only too eager to breathe another needy assent, before he's turning, leading Steve into his bedroom.

His place is still pretty plain, not many personal touches, and his room is much the same. But his bedroom has a large window out in the direction of the sunset, a large bed with a black comforter. The shield is set carefully against the wall, his boots in the closet where his Captain America uniform hangs along with a belt and tie, a single pair of slacks and his one good shirt. Everything else is tucked into drawers, except the knife on the nightstand.

He almost considers kneeling while waiting to see where Steve wants him, what he wants, but instead settles for just stepping out of his way, giving him room to move and to maneuver Bucky as he wants him.]

❰ when bucky turns away from steve, steve finally lets himself be affected by all this, breathing out a muttered jesus christ and running his hand over his face before he follows bucky into his room. it's a plain space, but the window more than makes up for that. the presence of the shield is... weird, and probably will never not be weird (steve's been willing to give it up, but to bucky, not for him? weird) but otherwise there's nothing to really draw attention.

nothing for steve to sit in, either, and so that's where he'll start. ❱

Get on the bed, ❰ he says, crossing the room to leave his sketchbook and charcoal pencil on the dresser. ❱ I'm going to get a chair from the living room. While I'm gone, I want you to jerk off. If you feel like you're about to come, stop. When you've calmed down, start again.

❰ getting a chair from the living room would generally not give bucky enough time for that to be a particularly difficult instruction to follow, but steve doesn't plan on making it easy for him. he hasn't been in bucky's apartment before, and he wants to look around, get a feel for what kind of person this version of bucky is.

steve keeps his eyes on bucky only long enough to confirm that he's okay with the commands, and then he leaves the room, off to look through the apartment and find a chair. ❱

[Maybe someday he'll tell Steve about the shield. That technically, he stole it. And not technically at all, Tony had been the one that had offered him the title. It's probably a conversation they should have had by now, but it's also one Bucky doesn't really want to have, because he doesn't see a way to tell him about it without admitting to the fact that he'd been so hurt by Steve's death that he'd tried to murder Tony Stark just so he could have someone to blame for it.

He still feels like Steve would be disappointed in him.

Bucky nods in affirmation to those words, his breath catching in his chest at that command, but he obeys anyway. Moving up onto the bed, his thighs parted, one leg up and the other stretched out, leaning back with his body braced on his metal arm as flesh fingers curl around his cock.

It doesn't sound particularly difficult, but the idea of touching himself before Steve's even started to draw is torture, he's sure. Knows that it's just going to make it that much worse once they finally get started, going to have him that much more on edge.

The apartment is much like his bedroom; modern, favoring dark colors, simple, with not a lot of personal touches. It's in part because he hasn't been there too long, and in part because this place doesn't really feel like home, and maybe some things he prefers not to think about. He misses Steve's brownstone, which had been the one place that he'd felt safe, even if just about every Avenger seemed to know the door code. But there are a couple touches- pillar candles on the table in the dining room, a vase with a flower on an end table in the living room.

The kitchen is clean, and while not well-appointed he's clearly at least fairly functional. A few cans of beer in the fridge, but nothing excessive, and while he could probably stand to go grocery shopping, he has enough food on hand to last a couple days. The bathroom is similar; he isn't a peacock, but he takes care of himself. There's cologne on the counter, shampoo in the shower along with a couple types of conditioner. His razor is an old straight-blade, instead of one of the modern ones, because he had never been able to get over the sense that they felt strange in his hands. There's a broken tile in the shower from a bad night.

If anything, the oddest thing about his apartment is that trend to how few personal touches there are. There's a sense of loneliness to it, of someone struggling, but in those small, quiet ways.]

❰ it looks, steve thinks with some despair, a lot like steve's apartment in dc. the personal touches are hesitant, almost, unsure — like bucky's ready to pick up and leave at a moment's notice, and doesn't want anything that might tie him to the space. or, maybe, that he's too empty to want much of anything at all. steve was like that for a long while, kept nothing in his home that wasn't necessary. he was barely beginning to form a book collection when they got the lumerian star job and everything went to shit.

so, yes. in a word: familiar. the kitchen and bathroom give him a little more hope, the kitchen for how it's stocked with more than beer and a bottle of mustard, the bathroom for its straight razor and cologne and even, yes, the broken tile. there's personality in that, he's thinking about the future and his needs in it — so it's not as bad as it could be, so it's lonely and not inhuman. that's good; steve can work with lonely.

steve stands in the living room for a moment before he takes a deep breath and grabs a chair, lugging it one-handed into the bedroom. when he looks at bucky it's only to set the chair in the ideal position, observing him with a clinical, disinterested eye, not acknowledging him at all. once he's found the perfect spot for the chair, he sets it down with a quiet thud and goes to the dresser for his sketchbook and pencil. he sits in the chair. shifts. finds a comfortable position. ❱

Stop, ❰ he says, and finally looks up and sees bucky. ❱

[He is lonely. Not in ways that he talks about, or admits to, but he'd had people in his life back home, even if the pain of losing Steve was always there, an ache in his heart that he couldn't escape. But he's more isolated here, even if he's working on that. And Steve's here, and that's something he didn't think he'd ever get back.

It takes Steve longer than Bucky had thought it would, long enough that the realization sinks in that it's intentional. He keeps touching himself, his hand sliding over the length of his cock, slow, trying to keep from pushing himself to that edge for as long as he can, but eventually he has to stop, drawing his hand away with a whimper. Without Steve here, maybe someone else would cheat, but Bucky can't, not when it's Steve, and he's fairly sure that Steve knows that.

He gives himself time to calm down, so that he's not quite so close to that edge, and then obediently starts over again, fingers curled around his erection, slow slides of his fingers, as soft gasps and moans slip from parted lips. Then Steve is walking in, carrying a chair with him, and Bucky's face tilts up to look at him, a little bit helpless. His skin's flushed, his eyes hot with want.

He follows the way that Steve moves through the room; he always does, if he's honest. Can't help that fascination, how he feels. At that command, Bucky's fingers immediately stop, slipping away from his erection with a low whine in the back of his throat, a flutter of eyelashes over blue eyes. He's already a little shaky, breathless, but at least it gives him time to try and come down again, though there's that torture to it, pleasure, then taking it away, and the thing that makes it better is knowing that Steve wants him like this.

On edge, unraveling, wanton.] Is this okay?

[The angle, he means, the pose. He wants so much to be good, to be what Steve wants from him, a heat that curls inside his skin.]

❰ bucky whines and shakes and struggles to breathe but he listens, and steve feels a rush of — he doesn't even know, couldn't name it if he tried. power, maybe, or responsibility, or just plain arousal — something. his word is law for bucky, and if he thinks about that too hard it's sort of scary, but like this it's just what he wants. ❱

I don't think I said you could talk, ❰ he says, low, more an observation than a reprimand. he hadn't said bucky couldn't talk either, but it's something steve knows he couldn't take and keep playing the game — bucky just sounds so goddamn needy, steve wants to go over and jerk him off until he cries. that... is an idea that holds merit, definitely, he'll have to bring that up later, but for right now steve has a job he needs to be doing and if bucky talks he won't be able to follow through.

steve spends a few seconds observing bucky, taking in the way the sunset plays on his skin, the way the metal of his arm gleams in the dying light, thinking about what he wants. after a moment, he flips his sketchbook open. ❱

Right arm up, behind your head. Left hand on your cock. Legs can stay as they are.

❰ once again, steve waits for bucky to acquiesce or protest his orders before moving forward. ❱

[Bucky nods at that comment that isn't quite a reprimand. Falling silent, but still watching Steve, blue eyes fixed on him. He hadn't said that Bucky couldn't talk, but he's more than willing to let him make the rules, willing to follow them as he sets them up, as they work them out together. He doesn't quite realize how he sounds, the reason behind it, but all he needs is to know that it's what Steve wants from him and it's an easy acquiescence.

Steve watches him, looking at him, and Bucky stays still, letting the blonde appraise him, how he looks by the light that comes in through the window. Then he's opening his sketchbook, and giving his demands, and Bucky follows with a nod of acknowledgement. He doesn't speak this time, no words, just that way that he looks at Steve as he shifts, moving so that one arm moves up to pose against his head. Then his other wraps around his cock, a slight catch to his breath, eyes almost half-lidded as his chest rises and falls with his breath.

It was one thing when Steve was out of the room, but it's another here and now, having him watch him, and he can't help that soft sound on his lips. Posing for him like a pinup, and it's just for him, means something that Bucky would probably struggle to put into words. But he wants him, he wants this, likes the way that Steve makes him feel. That focus, that attention, the way that his eyes rest on Bucky's bare skin--

He doesn't start stroking his cock yet, even though that's what they'd talked about, because Steve hasn't told him to yet. He just keeps his fingers there, wrapped around the base of it. Willing to give him control, to follow his demands. He's not great at patience, but he manages to keep still, just looking up at Steve softly.]

❰ christ, bucky is so good for him it almost hurts. he quiets at even the suggestion that steve doesn't want him to talk, puts his hand on himself but doesn't stroke because steve hasn't said he could, watches through half-lidded eyes and waits for steve to tell him what to do next. this level of control is... intoxicating, it's a gift, steve is so glad bucky trusts him enough to let him do this. he takes a moment to feel all that, to fold it away behind his ribs for later, draws in a slow breath, and puts his pencil to paper, sketching out lines.

he has to work fast, with the way the light is changing so rapidly, if he wants to capture the way it colors and glints off the metal arm. so for a minute, maybe two, steve just has bucky stay like that, hand on his dick without stroking, while steve commits the tableau in front of him to the page. eventually, he deems what he has good enough to move on, and he looks up at bucky over the book. ❱

You can jerk off, now. I'll let you know when I'm done. If you get close, you can slow down, but you can't take your hand off yourself. No noise, either, I have to concentrate.

❰ one day, steve will watch bucky touch himself and let him make whatever noises he wants, he'd love that, but for now — for now. for now, bucky needs to be quiet, he needs to be in control, and he needs to let steve do what he came here to do. ❱

[It's a struggle, to stay still, to stay like this, to do nothing but let himself be the model for Steve's pencil. There's that way the muscles in his thighs tense, but he doesn't move. Staying as still as he can, watching Steve as he focuses on his drawing pad, looking up seemingly onto the check the curve of his shoulder or the way the quality of the light. Bucky wanted to touch himself, because this wade him ache, made him want in a way that was more intense than he'd expected.

There's something to it, about being on display for Steve, about doing this for him that makes him ache. He almost feels like something that deserves this sort of attention, almost wishes he could wrap his mouth about Steve's cock. That thought is one he has to banish, the way his dick twitches in his hand, and he doesn't shiver, but the next breath he takes is a little ragged.

Then their eyes meet over Steve's sketchpad, and there's those instructions, which obediently, Bucky doesn't answer with words. Doesn't ask what to do if he can't help himself, and the instruction about no noise is going to be difficult, he knows. But there's not even a passing thought of doing anything other than nodding and doing his best to obey, to follow Steve's rules.

So his hand starts to move, his pace fairly casual, fingers not too tight. So that slowing down will actually mean something, but that he's not pushing himself too hard and fast toward his orgasm. After already pushing himself there once before, he's already on edge, wound up and aching for it. But he does his best to be good, to be what Steve needs from him.

So he tries to stay still aside from the rhythmic slide of his palm against his erection, trying to keep quiet so that he doesn't distract him. There's that unspoken understanding that the more Bucky distracts him, the longer it will take Steve, to harder this is going to be to maintain, to keep himself from staving off his orgasm without stopping entirely. But for now, he just eases himself into it, tries to keep the way it quickens his breath low and quiet, all but silent on his parted lips.]

❰ steve watches bucky for a second, just a moment, before he returns to his sketchbook, pencil passing over the paper quickly, sure. ❱

Good boy, ❰ he murmurs, ears tuned in to bucky's reaction even as he focuses on getting a line exactly right. he's so fucking hard in his pants, painfully so, but he can't even think about doing anything about it. this isn't about him, it's about giving bucky something he wants, maybe even something he needs. steve's desires aren't important.

he's halfway done with the sketch, now, bucky's been doing so well. only a little left, and he'll be finished, and then bucky can too. ❱

[Those words make it hard, so very hard for Bucky to say quiet. Something about the words good boy on Steve's mouth that makes his breath catch. His hand stutters, quickens over his cock for a breath, because that's the only outlet he has. He can't move, can't make a sound, but there's that struggle there, for a moment. He wants Steve's hands on him, wants--

He'd never thought of anyone else like this, never really found men appealing, but this is... He wants to touch him, to make him feel good, make him feel like Bucky does, all heat and jolts of pleasure that run through his nerves, so that it's hard not to shake with it.

His eyes are a little glassy, blues that watch Steve helplessly, half adoration and half shameless need. He's not really in control, not of anything that Steve hasn't told him, and there's a strange sort of peace to that, to let everything else fall away and just be here.

His name is on his lips, but he doesn't say it.]

❰ yeah, steve thought he'd like that. he smiles to himself, moving on to sketch out the last of bucky's torso. the muscles are tensed, stark against his skin with the effort it takes for bucky not to move, and steve renders each one lovingly, like he can use his pencil to touch them when his hands can't. it only takes a minute to finish to steve's satisfaction, and then...

and then there's bucky's face, and that's going to be the most difficult thing, steve knows. he glances up, to see where to start, and — jesus, fuck, bucky's gone. his expression is a potent mix of desire and some vast, indescribable fondness. it looks, steve thinks, about how he feels. sure, maybe this bucky isn't his bucky, but steve's having a hard time convincing himself that matters. they fit, same as always, because steve and bucky transcend the bounds of the multiverse. they're meant to be.

or he's just getting caught up in his emotions and he needs to snap himself out of it. steve shakes his head, minutely, just enough to jog himself back to reality, and begins work on bucky's face. it takes another few minutes to get exactly right, and then there's the surrounding details, the bed and the wall, some touch-ups and corrections...

and then steve is done.

he waits another few seconds before he sets his pencil down and looks up at bucky. ❱

You can finish.

[Bucky couldn't have put into words exactly why that hit him as intensely as it did, but there something about the praise, about being good, about being good for Steve that lit Bucky up in just the right way.

He does his best to stay still, to be quiet, to let Steve draw, but it's the sweetest sort of suffering he thinks that he's ever felt. He has to slow his the pace of his hand, drawing it out into slow slides of his hand, having to bite back the whimpers, trying so very hard to keep from squirming, even as his toes curl. Steve isn't his Steve either, but it doesn't really matter to him. He's still Steve, still good in so many ways, still someone he can't help but adore.

It feels like an eternity by the time those words finally come, and he still tries to stay quiet, but there's a soft catch of his breath, almost a gasp on his lips. He looks into Steve's eyes, and all it takes is two quick strokes of his hand, that permission to stop holding back, and his orgasm hits him so hard it's like he forgets how breathing works. His whole body shakes with it, his release that splatters over his fingers and against his trembling thighs.

He doesn't look away from Steve, lets him watch, see how it ravages him, wrecks him as he comes apart.]

Steve--

[He can't help giving voice to it now, the word that comes out like a whimper, pleasure a harsh cry in his throat. He hadn't thought it would be like this, the way the edge pushes the pleasure that much higher, and he feels like he's been pulled apart at the seams.]

❰ he could probably get bucky to come on command, is the first thing steve thinks. it hardly takes a second after permission's given for bucky to fall to pieces — if they worked on it, if bucky wanted to, they could probably put all that control in steve's hands.

it's something to consider.

he watches bucky, eyes dark and ravenous and intent and then bucky says his name and steve's off the chair without even thinking about it. there's a momentary pause when he realizes what he's done, but only a moment, and then he walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge next to bucky. ❱

So good for me, ❰ he whispers, smiling. slowly, deliberately, he reaches for bucky's metal hand, lifting it to his mouth and licking bucky's come off the palm. the bitterness of semen and the metallic tang of the hand are an interesting mix — maybe they would even be gross if steve wasn't so turned on, but he is, so he just in and licks again, dragging his tongue up the center of bucky's palm and up his middle finger, closing his mouth around the digit once he gets to the end, his eyes focused on bucky's all the while. ❱

[James isn't aware of it, but it probably wouldn't be too hard, with how wound up in Steve he is, with how much he likes obeying him, how he likes being good for him and giving him that control.

God, but he loves the way that Steve looks at him. Dark and hungry and it makes him shiver, even as he still trembles, coming down off the edge of his orgasm. He almost moans at those words, when Steve calls him good like that. And then he's reaching for his hand, and Bucky lets him.

He watches him, watches the way that he licks fluid off the palm of his metal hand. His breath trembling as the other man's tongue drags against the center of his palm and then up against his finger. He can't help the way that he whimpers when Steve's mouth closes around his finger.]

I want-- Need to-- Can I touch you? Please.

[He can't entirely resist the urge, aware that Steve's still hard and he wants to touch him, wants to make him feel good, wants to just... he doesn't really have words for it, he just knows that he wants to touch. He also doesn't want Steve to stop what he's doing to his hand, either. The metal isn't quite as sensitive as flesh, but it's still-- good.

He can't quite keep his fingers still, but the touch is just the press of his fingers against Steve's chest. Almost intoxicated, and the way that Steve affects him, makes him ache is obvious and written in every tremble of his body.]

[Bucky takes the call in the graveyard, and it doesn't take long for him to talk her through how it works, find out the parameters, who it is the woman's trying to escape. He runs her name into the systems that they set up, starts the process of figuring out where to move her, lining up papers. Sharon's apparently caught up with her actual job, but she calls to check-in anyway. She suggests he call someone; he almost ignores it.

Almost. Except just before he entirely pushes it out of his mind, he thinks of a certain blonde archer and makes the call before he can second-guess himself. He doesn't tell Clint about any of the why, just about his little second chances program and that he might need someone else's eyes on this case. Just a couple days, long enough for the extract and to get her moved to her new life. He gives him the address to the house in Shelbysville, and tries to keep himself busy, resist the yawning urge to curl in on himself.

Of course, it only takes one look at Bucky once they're face-to-face to tell that he's not doing well. The splotchy purple-black bruising over his left cheekbone, the bandage over the bridge of his nose, a couple others up into his hairline and on his flesh arm. He's sporting that distinctive look of someone that hasn't slept much over the past couple days and there's just something a little flat in his eyes, lost. But he tries his best to not acknowledge it, a slight shrug of his shoulders as he invites Clint inside.]

Hey- Thanks for coming.

[He's still not sure why he called Clint. If he's honest he maybe doesn't want to think about it too hard.]

Edited 2019-08-23 09:30 (UTC)

[It's a bit like looking in a mirror, isn't it? Bruised skin, hollow eyes, bone-deep exhaustion. If anyone gets it, it's Clint, and he doesn't even blanch when he meets Bucky's gaze beyond the opened door. If anything his expression seems a little soft. Sympathetic. Because as often as they seem to rub each other the wrong way, they're both painfully alike.

'Tragic idiots' Nat calls them, even if at a glance they're like night and day. One all brooding resting murder face and the other cheerful ignorance. Everything else buried so deep that few knew them past their face value. But Clint knows. Observation is his thing, Birds of a feather. He'd been casually trying to press Barnes into a casual friendship for a while, or at least into a friendly rivalry. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn't. He's not great at making friends on purpose-- they just fall into his lap otherwise.

He inclines his head, refusing to let his smile falter even if he's itching to frown at the other man's apparent sad state.]

Anytime man, you know that. [His words are careful as he steps inside, reaching up to give Bucky's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, brief, before he steps away to get a look around, dropping his duffle by the couch.]

[Maybe it's why Clint was his phonecall; that idea that he might understand. Where he can be a little bit broken without worrying about whether he'd push too hard when Bucky's gut instinct here was to shove everyone away. There is a sort of kinship there under the pretenses they put on, even if Bucky never would have admitted to it. Not until this moment where Clint was the only one he could imagine tolerating in his space.

Clint doesn't comment on the bruises and some of the tension in Bucky's shoulders eases as he lets the archer into the house, door swinging shut behind him, that fraction of a moment where he leans into the touch against his shoulder. The house is in decent enough shape for the most part; actually kind of homey. But there's damage along the stairs- cracked plaster on the wall, one of the bars in the railing is broken, an empty hook for a broken picture frame. Bucky had cleaned up the glass and the blood, the rest stood like its own sort of bruise.

But he had clearly been trying; there's effort, an attempt at a life that was more than just the Winter Soldier. It's tenuous now, Bucky on the edge where he's tempted to just give up. Not sure he gets to have this, if he can keep doing this. So he sort of needs this one to go right.

At the sound of voices, Alpine slinks over, jumping from the shelf she'd been napping on and nosing against Clint's shin. Bucky drags a hand down his face, like he's hoping he can twist his features into something a little more put together, but it doesn't do much.]

There's coffee in the kitchen. Let me grab the papers and I can show you what we're working with.

Edited 2019-08-23 20:38 (UTC)

[Clint takes in every detail in silent evaluation, his expression keeping to a pleased neutral-- at least until the cat stalks over to greet him, which has him leaning over to stroke the animal's long back with a whispered delighted exhale of "hi kitty!" because Barton may be more of a dog person, he can't resist petting anything soft and sweet.]

Coffee [He sighs almost sinfully, straightening back up to meet Bucky's gaze with a lazy sort of smile.] There's the magic word, now I'll do anything for ya.

[He waits for Bucky to lead the way into the kitchen, following a pace behind so he can lean his hip against the counter.]

[The fact that Clint seems to like his cat puts a flicker of warmth in his eyes, it doesn't stick, but it's- something. The air seems a little bit easier to breathe when there's someone else filling the space, not just Bucky and the weight of how everything went so fucking wrong.

So he leads him into the kitchen, Alpine trailing along behind and then finding a spot on a chair to perch on as Bucky gets a mug out of the cupboard, grabbing his off the counter and then pouring them both coffee. It's a semi-fresh pot; still warm. So at least not yet to the point of so cold you oughta stick it in the microwave. He holds one out to Clint and then grabs his own with a low sigh.]

Can still manage coffee, at least.

[The file can wait a little while. Extract wont be for a couple days and while he wants to get eyes on her before they make a move, they can take their time. Take it slow, figure the details, maybe order a pizza since Bucky's fridge is a little bare. He doesn't really want to go into town-- he doesn't have the patience for that smalltown friendliness right now.]

[He'll take coffee anyway he can get it; boiling hot or days-old cold, possibly neglected to the point of sentience... which is about how he'll take his pizza too, so clearly he's in good hands here with Barnes.]

Really must have scraped the bottom of the barrel if I'm the one you called. [His voice manages to hold teasing good humor above the self-deprecation, fingers curling around the mug he's offered, bringing it to his lips for a brief sip. Watching Bucky from over the rim.

It's easier to focus on the other man now that he's finished scouting the place, and he has questions. More than a handful actually, but he plans to be tactful with them, things that can be answered over time... Something he suspects they'll have plenty of.]

I talked to Carter... [Which is his way of saying he knows. Maybe not in full detail, but it's the start of a bridge.]

[There's a soft hum of something like amusement, the way Clint's tone is more teasing than leaning too hard on that self-deprecation they tend to share makes it easier to handle.] Yeah, everyone else was busy.

[It's easier on the air than admitting that Clint was his first and only call. He sips at his coffee, letting the quiet linger for a moment, until the archer breaks it, and he sighs, teeth scraping against his bottom lip. There's guilt there, shame in his eyes as he fidgets with his hands- that side of Bucky that few people see. The version that Natasha didn't find nearly so charming; all self-loathing and bad decisions.]

'Course you did. [A soft murmur that's less aimed at Clint and more at Sharon. She was worried and he got it; it's not like he had a track record for making good decisions in states like this. But it's a sort of way in, and Clint doesn't push too hard, so he doesn't shut down, tempting as it is to push back from everything that had happened. His voice is soft when he speaks and he shakes his head.]

She tell you how badly I fucked this all up?

[He lifts a shoulder as if the situation is casual. It isn't casual, it's a big fucking deal, people died, an impressionable kid ended up in limbo after being used, and Clint had a lot of feelings about manipulation and dead beat dads and everything just going fucking wrong. The story on paper looks bad. Real bad, but Sharon had a way of throwing a soft, optimistic spin on things.

He wasn't going to form an opinion until heard the story from the source. If Bucky ever felt like spilling his guts. He wouldn't force him, he had his own skeletons. Some more painful and recent than others. Who was Barton to judge?]

Not in those words. Said you could use a little help from someone who's had some practice rebounding from... and I like your words better. 'fuck ups'. [He offers a crooked grin, lifting his coffee mug in a 'cheers' motion.]

[It's a big deal, and Bucky knows that it is. Cause however bad it looks on paper, to him it feels even worse. He almost doesn't know what to think about the fact that Clint knew and he was still here, but he's grateful for it, even if he's not about to say that. Even low as he is, words still don't come particularly easy.

There's a huff of breath, something that might be amusement if the situation wasn't so dire. But he's sure that Sharon was a bit more tactful about it. Mis-steps or something, as if that sort of sentiment could possibly cover the enormity of how wrong things had gone. But Clint's grin is warm, and Bucky lifts his coffee mug to echo the gesture. He takes a sip, staring down at his coffee as if there's something to be found there.]

Maybe she's right.

[He lets his elbows drop to the counter, coffee mug held in between his hands as his lips curl back from his teeth just a little. His voice is honest, quiet. Not quite ready to spill he guts, but it's a sliver of something. Sharon was right that no matter how he felt, there would still be people that needed help. But he had trouble thinking he should be anywhere near this sort of thing, and he wasn't sure he could stand it on his own.]

I wanted to help people, try and give 'em a way out.

Wanted to or still want to? Cause this isn't something you can just drop the ball on Bucko. Bein' the good guy is hard, there's no sort of guide book on it. You just gotta do your best and then keep doing your best because once you start, then there are people counting on you to keep bein' that good guy.

[He drains the rest of his coffee, turning his hip against the counter to set the mug in the sink before reaching over to give Bucky's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.]

I'm proud of you man, I know bumfuck Indiana's a step away from big-time Avenger shit, or even kicking boots with SHIELD, but you're still trying. Even if you kinda stuck at it. [Look Clint will pep-talk with the best of him, but he's still a brat and he's never not going to give Barnes at least a little bit of a hard time.]

[He'd sort of given up on being a real hero, all bright colors and front and center when he'd agreed to fake his death. Let the shield fall back to Steve, where it belonged, even if he knew that was a touchy subject for him right about now. Being the person that made questionable moral decisions- somehow that was easier. But it was harder, too.

And it was hard to really believe he could be good for someone when everything had gone so spectacularly bad. Not even the first or only time where everything had ended so bad. So it's hard to get his feet back under him, to believe there was a way through it.]

I'm trying.

[It's honest and there's something in his eyes, a moment of something, cause whatever their dynamic is- what it had been before, or what it was now- hearing that Clint was proud still mattered in those small quiet ways. Especially right now, when part of him wanted to finish this one thing and then accept he didn't get to have this. Throw some things in a bag and find someone that needed a sniper still aiming for morally-acceptable-murder.]

C'mon, I really suck at it.

[But Clint manages to tug the slight edge of a smile to his lips, something in the way he looks over at him, meeting his eyes. There's still that guilt and the hurt, but it was something, at least. Just not being alone with it made the self-deprecation a little more teasing, not quite so heavy.]

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