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spaces_between2015-07-14 08:06 am
disassembling) wrote in spaces_between2015-07-14 08:06 am
For worldwar
Who: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
When: Ant-Man Teaser Ending (1.5 years post TWS?)
What: Steve and Sam find the Winter Soldier practising bondage poorly. No, I mean... the Winter Soldier lets himself be found.
Warnings: Emotional Train-wreck
Tick-tock. Four-hundred and ninety-two days post assignment desertion. It was approximately oh-ten-hundred, though after being stuck as he was for the last four days, it was difficult to tell the time of day as anything passed when it was light and when it was dark. He had purposefully not brought any supplies with him save a bit of water but even then, he had nursed it only enough to not cause damage to himself internally.
His metal fingers flexed, the servos sliding perfectly despite being trapped as they were, protected by the metal plates that were not so easily damaged by old machinery. He shifted his weight on his feet, unable to sit down, unwilling to stand up, which left him in a permanent crouch to sitting quietly on a metal box that had no doubt at one time housed tools. Now it allowed him momentary rest, but the discomfort of his position made it difficult to actually sleep longer than a few minutes.
That was the way he had planned the entire mission. After four-hundred and ninety-two days, he only had a plea for help available. The pressure was too much, building more and more in his head, crowding out the need to survive with the need to take orders, to return to what he knew, to let the programming slowly click into place. He was tired of fighting it; there was less fight in him now, more readiness to just sag in the restraint and let his body fade down to something reasonable, manageable, less a threat. He intended it this way, starving, dehydrated, a lack of sleep, his confused assortment of emotions brimming near the surface.
They had come just as intended. He shifted, peering through his bangs at the pair who he knew had been haunting after him for the entire time he had been avoiding it. He hadn't been ready. Now he was perhaps more ready but still very much a danger to them both, something that he now could consciously avoid by restraining himself. He had purposefully damaged the machine after all, forced its weight on his arm with no easy hand-holds to remove it. He was stuck so there was no going back.
His lips parted, breathing in air that way and then he settled as still as his cramped body would allow him. They would get help, he knew. It was that or remove the arm. He doubted the latter option was one that either of them intended to use. He waited, watching silently, drinking in the sight of them both but particularly Steve. The man looked shut down, like the weight of the world had finally bent those shoulders.
Finally. They were both ready. Both contained and shut down for their own protection. It was time.
When: Ant-Man Teaser Ending (1.5 years post TWS?)
What: Steve and Sam find the Winter Soldier practising bondage poorly. No, I mean... the Winter Soldier lets himself be found.
Warnings: Emotional Train-wreck
Tick-tock. Four-hundred and ninety-two days post assignment desertion. It was approximately oh-ten-hundred, though after being stuck as he was for the last four days, it was difficult to tell the time of day as anything passed when it was light and when it was dark. He had purposefully not brought any supplies with him save a bit of water but even then, he had nursed it only enough to not cause damage to himself internally.
His metal fingers flexed, the servos sliding perfectly despite being trapped as they were, protected by the metal plates that were not so easily damaged by old machinery. He shifted his weight on his feet, unable to sit down, unwilling to stand up, which left him in a permanent crouch to sitting quietly on a metal box that had no doubt at one time housed tools. Now it allowed him momentary rest, but the discomfort of his position made it difficult to actually sleep longer than a few minutes.
That was the way he had planned the entire mission. After four-hundred and ninety-two days, he only had a plea for help available. The pressure was too much, building more and more in his head, crowding out the need to survive with the need to take orders, to return to what he knew, to let the programming slowly click into place. He was tired of fighting it; there was less fight in him now, more readiness to just sag in the restraint and let his body fade down to something reasonable, manageable, less a threat. He intended it this way, starving, dehydrated, a lack of sleep, his confused assortment of emotions brimming near the surface.
They had come just as intended. He shifted, peering through his bangs at the pair who he knew had been haunting after him for the entire time he had been avoiding it. He hadn't been ready. Now he was perhaps more ready but still very much a danger to them both, something that he now could consciously avoid by restraining himself. He had purposefully damaged the machine after all, forced its weight on his arm with no easy hand-holds to remove it. He was stuck so there was no going back.
His lips parted, breathing in air that way and then he settled as still as his cramped body would allow him. They would get help, he knew. It was that or remove the arm. He doubted the latter option was one that either of them intended to use. He waited, watching silently, drinking in the sight of them both but particularly Steve. The man looked shut down, like the weight of the world had finally bent those shoulders.
Finally. They were both ready. Both contained and shut down for their own protection. It was time.
no subject
He kissed him, so soft and deep it made him ache all over, and pushed his erection against Bucky's hip, fingers sliding up over his ribs and curving over his pec, stroking it, while the other hand cupped the side of his face and cradled him in the kiss as it deepened and lingered. The way Steve touched him bordered on reverence. He moved over him until he could reach between them and get at the front of Bucky's fatigues, unbutton them and unzip the fly and tug the waistband down, impatient, greedy, wanting.
no subject
Somehow their kiss had some level of civilness, slower but just as heated at the rest of them. When Steve's hands when for his fatigues, it was an invitation for him to reply in kind, though he had to work at not just tearing them. He did get them open and shoved them down off of Steve's hips and wriggled to get out of his own trousers as his hands slipped around to grab Steve's asscheeks and press their groins together desperately.