For worldwar

[disassembling]

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.

Comments

[disassembling]

He leaned into the kiss, finding the same kind of comfort in it here as he did back at the factory on the hill. It settled the urges to stalk around the small place and listen for all the sounds of an old place settling. Instead, he was watching Steve, aware that the both of them together would be able to detect any danger and certainly not find themselves snuck up on easily. "It was uncomfortable, but I wouldn't call myself pained. It was stiff from being in the same position..."

And that new kiss was entirely different from the others. For some reason, it was easy to sink into it, to reply in kind with rusty skills and slipping his mismatched hands up the length of Steve's chest until he was grabbing fistfuls of shirt. When was the last time he had felt loved and adored? He couldn't remember. "No, the urge to flee is gone with you. It's... safe. You're safe and I know between the two of us that few things stand a chance to bring us harm."

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His hands went down the length of Bucky's body and curved at his waist, tugging him closer in a way that felt both familiar and frightening, exhilarating. His friend grabbed at his shirt as though to hold him near and he made some low wordless sound, wanting to reassure him that he wasn't going anywhere and wanting never to be let go. "Good. I...you're safe with me." He said it low and earnestly, wanting so bad for Bucky to believe him. He deserved to be safe. Steve would give anything in the world to protect him: his life, his soul, anything.

He kissed him again with an undeniable urgency, raw and passionate, wanting, wanting Bucky's hands on him and this feeling of giving into him. Giving into something with a greater force than either of them possessed alone--it was gravitational, this pull, and wouldn't be refused. Steve lifted him up, heaved him into his arms almost effortlessly and carried him blindly until he could pin him back against the nearest surface, which was the couch in the living room, go down over him and shelter him like he wanted as they kissed. Bucky was his. Nothing would take him from Steve ever again; nothing would break them apart, unless it broke them both.

[disassembling]

"And you're safe with me," he replied because that too was true in his mind. Steve would not suffer injury from enemies that found them here, regardless of how unlikely it was. He would see to it that the blond was safe and that there would be time for escape if things went south, even if he knew that Steve could and would never leave him behind.

And yet, the kiss was contagious in its urgency and how raw it was. He tasted it on the blond's lips and responded in kind, his own version with a hint of desperation and loneliness as he mouthed on Steve's lips. He clutched tighter at the blond's shirt, pulling and tugging at it so that the bottom was gradually drawn up his bond's body were he could drop his flesh hand to smooth his palm and fingers along the warm smooth expanse of back. It became even more urgent as he was carried, drawing Steve's shirt up to bunch beneath his blond's arms as he curled his thickly muscled legs around Steve's. He was breathless so quickly, squirming and rolling under the grip and weight on him. "Please let me feel you..."

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"Yeah," the word came panted, breathless and a little desperately as their mouths found each other again, "yeah, please, Buck." Steve wasn't sure what he was agreeing to, to being safe with Bucky, to being touched by him, letting him feel and take everything and know himself safe in his friend's arms, all of it. He couldn't stop this now, could never stop: he wanted to feel Bucky's hands smoothing over his back, taking him in, taking his fill of him. He moved with Bucky, settling into the motions of his body so that they were rocking against one another, hips sliding together, one of his legs sliding between Bucky's knees. Kissing him blindly, kissing him breathless, and the desperation and loneliness he felt from his friend made Steve want to wrap him up and never let him go. He cradled the nape of his neck in one hand, and the other slid up under Bucky's shirt as though to mirror the way his friend touched him, exploring the contours of his abdomen, pushing his shirt up until his fingers slid over the curves of his pecs.

He made some low sound, a soft groan of wanting and surrender, brushing gently over one of Bucky's nipples; then he broke away from his mouth and dragged at his shirt until he could pull it up over Bucky's head. He quickly got rid of his own, too, settling back down against him with just bare skin and their jeans between them, touching him with reverent hands as they kissed again. "Bucky..."

[disassembling]

This sort of connection was a bit overwhelming now that they were touching and grappling each other, the kind of situation where he felt the need to immerse himself completely or risk losing the opportunity. How many of those had he missed out on because of his time under HYDRA's control? Now with his hands on Steve and the bond clawing ever deeper with their time and opportunity to explore and let loose, it seemed to overtake any other priority so easily.

He was hard in his fatigues without even realizing how desperate he was until that moment, but his hands were still clutching and pulling until he jerked Steve's shirt off, only to have his own follow suit before he was hungrily at the blond's mouth again. He made soft huffing noises at the hands on him, pressing into them and grinding harder into Steve's hips as the friction was both a blessing and torture to his nerve endings. "This is normal... yes? We can do this and we won't be assaulted?"

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There was so much of Bucky to touch and want, almost more than Steve could take; he hardly knew how to handle this intimacy without losing himself. There was a part of him that felt a need to always be alert to his surroundings, to be aware that their time here was limited before they would have to leave in search of better shelter, but Steve felt as though he could lose hours with Bucky now, just touching and exploring and taking in one another, and not care. "We're safe," he murmured, even though he didn't know that as fact; it was just something he felt bone-deep, that he'd never been safer in his life than he was now with Bucky, his bonded. "We're safe with each other."

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.

[disassembling]

He drew confidence from Steve's assurances that there was safety where they were but more importantly that no one would attack them if caught. They were free to be as they were, and his hands smoothed up Steve's broad back, tracing muscles and warm skin with the tips and grinding more insistently as his ardour rose so quickly. This had to be the best malfunction that he had ever had in his life. He specifically pressed the flare of his hip into Steve's groin, feeling the stiff member pressing back.

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.