( there’s less nice places in the down, but ash is more inclined to make james comfortable than force some kind of fancy get together. the food isn’t the point, anyway — he drops the location of some neutral cafe, and starts getting ready. )
[Despite the timeframe and the fact that he should really be scoping out the cafe first, Bucky ends up only barely making it in time. He'd been caught between not turning up at all, and calling Sam or Peggy to talk to them about it first. But in the end, all he'd ended up doing was leaving a scribbled note tucked under his pillow. A location, just in case this was all just some kind of a trick. And then he was off.
Which leads to now. With Bucky stood just outside the cafe, heavily considering his life choices. And how, for some insane reason, he now finds himself waiting to find out whether he wants to drop to his knees for a supposed President of the United States or not.
( punctual to the boot, ash makes it right on the money. most of his time was spent getting to the down, but he took a solid while to look nice for the occasion (a date), mostly because whatever gene people have that allows them to look comfortably sloppy, is not something ash was blessed with at birth. he arrives, black buttoned shirt artfully crisp, slacks tailored to fit, shoes shiny. he sticks out a little like a sore thumb in the down, but he seems unbothered — nodding politely at anyone who takes note of him, smiling in a way that doesn't reach his eyes, smelling like rich cologne and leather.
anyway, it's not especially hard to clock james when he sees him — by comparison, he blends seamlessly into the down, and ash has to wonder if that was on purpose. no matter. he could note a veteran at a distance, and there's something vaguely haunted to james' presence that seems to say steer clear, i know how to bite.
obviously, ash does nothing of the sort. he saunters up to him, extending a hand. )
[On the other end of the scale, the clothes Bucky's wearing make it all too obvious that the Down is his home. The clothing he'd first arrived with were meant for Wakandan heat, adapted to support his formerly missing limb. So replacing his wardrobe here had become something of a priority. But with only second (third? forth?) hand clothing available to him, his options had been limited. Being practical had been more important than being picky.
Which is why the coat he wears is a size too big. The gloves he dons a size too small. Nothing quite fits right, and yet he seems entirely at ease with it all. He lives out of a go bag here, same as he did when he was on the run. Every sign of himself tucked away in the same pack he carries with him now. He's ready to disappear without a trace, and it's an instinct he's fighting not to follow through on right now.
Up until the moment the silence is broken, and Bucky's attention snaps to the new arrival.
And promptly freezes.]
Ash.
[A statement rather than a question. But a distracted one nonetheless. This isn't Steve. He knows that. Would be able to tell them apart blindfolded. But that doesn't make this any less jarring. Doesn't make it any easier to stomach the fact that he had a conversation like that with his best friend's doppelganger. Though rather than explain quite why he's staring so intently at the other man, Bucky instead pulls out his phone. Flicks his gaze between Ash's face and the screen more than once as he pulls up a picture instead.]
( it's not difficult to note the obvious discomfort in james — it was there before ash approached, but it rankles to uncomfortable heights once he makes himself known, hand awkwardly extended between them. obviously something is wrong, although there's very little ash can do to soothe whatever it is, given that he has no idea what he's fighting against. he's seen cornered lions look less combative than james right now, a fact that is as bothersome as it is enticing. ash, after all, is not the type to back down from anything. if anything, he appreciates a challenge.
he catches a glimpse at james' phone screen, but doesn't pry. his eyes flicker down and back up, hardening when they find his eyes — his own are bottle green, concealing the faint twitch of irritation in the iris. )
Are you going to shake my hand?
( he's been here, before. with a man he loves, who doesn't love him — a man who wouldn't shake his hand, so ash got push-ups instead, his foot pressing down at the center of his back. he's halfway to demanding it from james too, just to see if he would.
but, he's still trying to fix this. so, for now, he's on his best behavior — a ledge that is precariously thin. )
[Despite the prompting, despite the hand still offered out, all Bucky does is slap his phone in to it. Is share the explanation that had him stopping short in the first place. He knows he owes the man that much. That they whole reason they're here in the first place is because Ash is offering him something. A way out of his own head. Answers to questions he doesn't know how to ask yet. So he should at least be trying.
He doesn't break eye contact at first though. Doesn't look away no matter how much he wants to do exactly that. Both Steve and Ash have seen war, sure. But they both carry it differently. Both display their past actions in different ways. It's the look in his eyes. The set in his body. Ash is nowhere near the copy of his best friend that outsiders would see them as. Yet it's still enough of a similarity to have his guard drop a little. Enough to take the edge off of what would otherwise be an awkward encounter. A enough of a prompt for him to finally offer up a quiet-]
...Bucky. Most people call me Bucky.
[His gaze drops away at that, shifting to their feet, across to the cafe.]
Ain't so good with the whole formal thing.
[Handshakes, that is. But depending on what Ash is expecting from him here, it feels like a point worth making.]
( it isn't the first time he's been told he looks so much like someone else that it's uncanny, but it is the first time he's actually seeing this other person. steve. it's strange. ash stares at the phone for awhile, his expression kept carefully blank, taking in what he can from the two of them poised together. they must be close, he figures, if james — if bucky is comfortable enough to be nestled with him. he doesn't seem like the type to easily fit into a space someone provides him, unless he's sure it was made for him. so — they must be really close, then. like brothers.
his mind wanders immediately back to embry. brothers, right. there's no telling if their relationship is the same as his and embry's had been, but — it feels reflective. he and bucky, and their golden boys.
ash passes his phone back with a curt nod, all of it full with understanding. )
He calls you Bucky. ( it's not exactly a question. but then — ash doesn't mind the thought of acting as someone else in due time, if it's what bucky needs. carefully, he pats bucky solidly on the shoulder. ) Well, it's rude not to shake someone's hand, but I'll get over it, somehow. Let's sit.
( he takes the lead in through the doors, possibly to give bucky the chance to run away when his back is turned. in any case, he secures a table for the two of them and waits, turning every chair he sits upon into a throne. )
[Unlike before, there's no hesitation this time. No reason for him to hold back. So when Ash heads in to the cafe, Bucky follows after him almost immediately. With a stomach like his, he could say that the offer of food is an easy motivation. That living off of the levels of food this city grants Submissives isn't all that conductive to a super soldier's actual needs. But really, it's the other man from the picture who meets that need. Constant raids of Steve's fridge being enough to fill that void.
What Ash is offering though...]
Do I have to ask your permission or something?
[To take the empty seat that he's stood next to. He's been through Orientation. Has see what the city expects from them. And while everything Ash has said to him so far doesn't quite line up with the values they've tried to instill in him during his time here, it feels right to ask. Better to voice those questions than to let them eat away at him. It's what got him in to this situation in the first place. So why waste the opportunity to get the answers he needs now?]
( smiling is sometimes rare for ash — not that he's a sad person, but he is serious, like his body never really learned how to flash a smile that didn't belong on the cover of the new york times, first as a proclaimed war hero, and then again as the first third party president of the united states. still, it's a genuine one that he cracks at bucky, at the offer. to be honest, he's perfectly tickled by it, the hidden promise inside — it was difficult to get a read on him over text completely, but now ash feels like he can see the pages of his book spread, in a bold font. he wants to be considered worthwhile, a worthy investment. he wants to be praised for something other than a terrible job well done.
which is a relatable enough desire, that ash feels a kinship to him — though ash's story doesn't involve the severity of bucky's landmine mind. he doesn't make him wait long, giving a gesture to the chair. )
You'll note that wasn't actually asking permission. ( but he's endeared, not pissed, and his eyes sparkle accordingly. ) You can have a seat. All that will come after we come to an agreement.
( he thinks about his wording, smile drooping a little, before he nods. ash is very good at forgetting to ask for permission, at just assuming the world lives on the tips of his fingers. )
Well, I hope we'll come to an agreement, in any case. By the way — do you have any allergies? I like ordering for other people.
[Whether Ash realizes it or not, taking the seat feels like a test unto itself. He's used to sticking to corners. To the edges of a room where he can keep his back to the wall. All those years on the run, and he knows the importance of keeping an eye on his surroundings. Knows how dangerous it is to drop his guard. And here he is, having to decide whether or not to do just that. To choose to leave his safety in the hands of a man he only barely knows, and bare his back to the world.
His fingers curl around the top of the chair, unable to keep himself from casting his eyes over the rest of the patrons there. He knows he's being paranoid. That the only people who care who he is are the ones who brought him here. Who brought them all to this city and trapped them inside. So if they chose to come after him now, there's a good chance that half the people in the cafe would be dragged out alongside him. Including Ash.]
No allergies. I eat a lot more than regular people though.
[It's a somewhat distracted response as Bucky finally lowers himself in to the chair. As he takes a seat and places his trust in Ash to watch his back for him. If all goes to plan here, he'll be placing a whole lot more than just his safety in Ash's hands. So it feels like a first step he needs to push himself through. To trust him to do one thing he so rarely allows others to do.]
( the tension in bucky is not exactly subtle, but ash lets him come into it on his own — this entire meeting means very little if he doesn't give bucky the agency to choose trust him, so it's important he doesn't use any tactics in trying to convince him. ash takes the notions of consent and honesty very seriously. he's absolutely not one to sacrifice either of those things, in order to get what he wants.
still, bucky sits, and ash crosses one leg over the other, cockily imperious. )
Ah, got it. I do have a lot of questions about that, by the way.
( but none as immediate as putting orders in. someone comes to tend the table, and while it isn't the fanciest place he's ever been, ash orders an array of sandwiches and appetizers, hoping it's enough to fill bucky up. if not, they can always order more — if too much, he can send him home with something to fill up his fridge. actually, ash likes the thought of that so much, he might just do it anyway.
that taken care of, his focus becomes entirely narrowed on bucky. where he had been casually leaning back in his chair, ash instead sets his elbows on the table between them, before offering up one of his hands, like he wants bucky to put something in it.
[He wants to ask what those questions are. Wants to head them off before they reach any kind of uncomfortable territory. But before he can say anything, there's somebody approaching their table, and Bucky's mouth promptly snaps back shut again. But while his attention should be on the stranger stood nearby, Bucky finds himself watching Ash instead. Watches the ease in which the man takes control of the situation. His posture, his attitude, the way he talks. It all helps paint a picture of a man who's used to being in control. Who isn't used to not getting what he wants.
Which leads him to question just how much of what Ash has said to him so far is real, and how much of it is an act.
When the request- order? -comes though, he doesn't feel the same pressure here to play his role. To let the mark down his throat dictate his actions. And that's what makes it easy. What simplifies the decision he makes in following Ash's lead. In dropping his hand into the other man's. His right, on the off-chance that he wants to see what's underneath his glove. Explaining his left arm is tied in to a conversation he isn't in any kind of a rush to start. So for now he's content to just see what it is that Ash wants from him in the here and now, and leave what comes next till later.]
You said doing this helps you. Could help both of us. [Okay, so perhaps there is something he wants to know first.]
( despite the affectionate gesture, ash’s fingers trail up bucky’s hand instead, moving until he can lock his grip around his wrist, between the end of his shirt and the start of his glove. ordinarily, he’d squeeze — he’ll get to that. for now he just clasps him, thumb rubbing a sly back and forth across the delicate bones of his wrist, the soft, close to the surface veins that thump under his touch.
it soothes ash. he smiles a little wistfully down at where they touch, wondering not for the first time why he is the way that he is. )
… Yeah. ( it’s said at length, almost apologetically, buried inside a sigh. ) I was like this long before the war. I’m not sure why. I think, ( he takes a moment to think, honestly, before he carries on. ) the mundane and average ways of wanting someone have never appealed to me. A therapist would have a field day with me, I know. I am an orphan, so maybe I always go out searching for something that’s entirely mine. But — I had a happy childhood and a foster family that loved me, that gave me a better name. So. Best I can offer you is that I like this because I do. And I really, really do.
( his grip tightens in small increments — not strong enough to bruise, but strong enough to be felt. he watches bucky carefully, looking for tension. )
There’s this club in America that works as a sanctuary for people who need things to be discreet. Royalty and political powers, and the like. Maybe it was around when FDR was in office, but I couldn’t tell you for certain. I was taught there, how to properly dominant someone — and I had everything done to me that I would want to do to someone else.
( his face, otherwise neutral, turns to a predatory smile. his teeth glint, perfect and white. ) It was a very thorough education.
[There's a clear shift in his demeanor that comes with the hold. An uptick in his heartrate, and sharp intake of breath at the first touch of skin against skin. He can count the number of people he's close to on one hand. And even fewer that are allowed close enough to touch him. He knows the reasons, of course. Has had both Shuri and Ayo try to make him understand that there's nothing wrong with him being so hesitant to seek out contact with others. But there's a part of him that wants moments like this. Needs them because he so rarely gets them.
His attention stays fixed on Ash's face though. A fight to try and stay in control and listen to what's being said. But it doesn't quite make sense. The pieces of the puzzle not quite fitting together. Orphan or not, if he had a happy childhood, why would he want something like this? Why would the President of the United States need even more power?
It's as the grip tightens around his wrist though that his attention slips a little. That his gaze moves to the point they're connected, and the last of Ash's words slip him by at first. He misses the look. Misses the reaction. And it takes a few extra seconds for the words to filter through his mind clearly enough for him to respond.]
...what did they do to you?
[His question is quiet when it comes, his curiosity piqued. Everything he knows on the subject has come from this city. Something Ash has already made his displeasure about known. So he wants to know what he's really getting himself in to. Wants to understand just what could really be in store if they decide to take this any further. Ash is the one holding all the cards here, but that doesn't mean he can't try to even the playing field a little first.]
( he doesn’t ease up, with bucky’s caged animal behavior. he keeps the pressure just so, until he relaxes some, and then he pushes him further, tightening his grip. it does reach a bruising point, now — not battered or enough to break bone, but enough to push a stain onto the skin, vaguely in the shape of ash’s fingers. a bracelet, for bucky to wear.
the curiosity has ash nodding his head knowingly. he’s not ashamed to admit his desires — he knows they’re dark, unconventional, and more than a little troubling. but ash has never had an issue being exactly who he is, ultimately treasuring the notion of blatant honesty more than all else. )
Tied me up. Ropes, chains, and tape. I’ve been beaten, whipped, flogged, caned. Spanked. ( he doesn’t imagine bucky will stop him at any point and say yes sir, that one please, but he does keep an open mind for interest. ) Fucked with toys. Cock cages. Pierced, cut, bruised, burned. You’d have an easier time asking what I had no interest in at all.
( because the answer would be nothing. all of a sudden his grip loosens completely, and he’s back to holding bucky’s wrist gently, soothingly, made all the more comfortable by the knowing threat of violence that lingers just under the surface. )
… And after. I’ve had my welts soothed and my cuts kissed. My body put back to rights. ( his opposite hand moves over, turning bucky’s hand around so he can touch careful fingertips against the sensitive skin of his wrist. oddly — blemish free. huh. ) I couldn’t tell you what it’s supposed to feel like. It never really worked for me. But it was necessary to learn all the safe, right ways to hurt another person. I can explain what that feels like. How good it is, to see someone satiated and made peaceful by something you did for them, when they put their body in your hands.
It’s like magic. There’s nothing in the world that compares.
[Although the tightening of his grip earns Ash a confused look, there's barely any response to the list itself. To the variety of things that Ash has been subjected to during those times. He has a lot of thoughts on them, of course. Can already pin point a number of them that he has no interest in. Not when beatings were used to control him in a very different way to what's on offer here. Not when blood being drawn was only ever a result of him not doing as he was told.
But there's a difference. One that Ash makes abundantly clear, even if he doesn't fully understand it yet. The idea of being taken care of after. Of being pulled apart and put back together without losing your sense of self. It's something he's never had a chance to experience, even once he finally broke free from Hydra's control. They made the decision. Anything to benefit the cause. And he was just a tool to be used as they wanted.]
How can hurting someone be good for them?
[He sounds a little frustrated at that. Not having the answers he wants has never sat well with him. But here, it's even worse. This city makes no sense to him, not matter how hard he tries. So the idea of not only accepting his role but enjoying it is confusing, even with Ash's explanation.]
( ash gets it, probably more than anyone understands. what the history books will not write — he never wanted to be president. in fact, he’d been prepared to throw the lot of it away, his entire future as a major in the us army and his eventual standing as a political super power, for the hope of happiness. a life away from the war — with cows and goats and farmland. with embry.
ash knelt down in the dirt, a ring in his hand, the first time embry told him no. so — he gets it. sometimes he wants to take the brain right out of his skull and smash it to pieces. )
Violence — pain, discomfort, they’re all tools to do that. I’m not going to say it works all the time, for every person. But there has to be some truth to it, given the amount of people who engage in BDSM. ( drawing his hands away, ash folds them together on the table between them, the same stance he takes when signing documents. treaties. ) Your problem is that you see pain and pleasure as opposites. They aren’t. The line is a lot thinner than you might think. When you’re getting fucked and choked at the same time, you aren’t thinking about dying — you’re thinking the exact opposite. You cum harder. You feel better.
[When he takes his own hand back, he's not entirely aware of the way his fingers slip to his wrist. Doesn't realize that he wraps his hand around it in a pale mimicry of the way Ash had held it only seconds before. Instead, all his focus is on trying to figure out what to say in response. How to ask for what he wants without leaving all the power in Ash's corner.
Later, if all goes well, there'll be a time and place for that. Once everything is laid bare and decisions are made. And more importantly, once Ash knows what he's potentially signing up for here.]
This ain't me saying no.
[There's a "but" there. More he should be saying. And the fact they're even having this conversation in the first place should be enough of an indication that neither of them are taking this lightly. That they're able to talk like equals before-
Well, before.]
When I told you I don't know my limits, I meant it. You try to choke me, and there's about as much chance I try to kill you as there is that I just lie back and take it. [A pause, and he finally looks up at Ash again to add-] You said you want to help me. But I could end up hurting you.
( there's a lull in the conversation for a moment while ash gathers up his thoughts, keenly aware there's some blindspot in his understand of bucky, which frustrates him. but — ash is also not entitled to anything he doesn't want to share, when they've known each other the grand total of one day, and most of that day has been spent in bdsm educator mode. he doesn't need to know what he's fighting against in order to stand his ground on his points, anyway. ash is not someone who leaves room for doubt in the pockets of his mind, heartily and fully invested in whatever he sets his mind to. right now, it's bucky. )
We go slow. Find those limits. I am — ( he makes this point sharply, tapping his finger down in emphasis. ) not afraid of you. I don't care what you've done. But we're going to take precautions, to keep us both safe. We have these failsafes — safewords.
( it's that moment that their waitress decides to bring out enough dishes that have their table overflowing with options — the timing could've been better, but ash isn't going to take his small frustrations out on a service worker. he thanks her graciously, but snags bucky's attention back before he can dig in, leaning in like what he's saying is a secret. even though — here or anywhere, it really isn't. )
It's hard to say what's going through your mind ordinarily, and it's even harder in subspace. You have words that say a lot with a little. I think we should have two. ( he nods, affirming to himself. ) One that says, "I'm getting close to a breaking point" and one that says, "We need to stop." ( he nods his hand towards bucky's unbruised wrist. ) Did you want to hurt me when my hand was on you?
The food, when it arrives, is given a look. But even without Ash's interruption, he doesn't make any attempt to reach for it. Not yet. Not when he already has a good idea of just how things could be ending up between them. He'd seen how Ash had respond to his earlier question about the seat. It stands to reason that asking for permission to eat would lead to a similar response. And a part of him wants to see that. To know that he's capable of making somebody happy through something as simple as saying a few words.]
I don't want to hurt anyone. [He never has. But the choice had been taken away from him, even before Hydra. Being drafted had taken care of that.]
You weren't trying to hurt me. Not really. From everything you've said though, I don't think you would. At least not vindictively.
[And that really is the crux of the matter. Is what differentiates it for him. The Soviets. Hydra. Everything they'd done to him had been meant to hurt. Had been pain caused to force him in to doing what they want. His memories had been erased, his ability to consent entirely lost to him. They'd taken everything from him and given nothing but pain in return.
Ash though-]
If I refused to do something you told me to, what would you do?
( it does feel distinctly like a deliberation, like whatever goes on behind closed doors between the defense and prosecution when a recess gets called. the only thing on trial is bucky's worth, though — and perhaps a little of ash's as well. bucky doesn't want to hurt and ash doesn't want to lie. he knows his answer well before the question even leaves bucky's mouth, like the fabric of bdsm relationships is just woven into him, down to the very core. he knows exactly what he wants, always, and he knows it's better to be upfront than to smudge the truth for bucky's sake. )
I would tell you that it doesn't matter. If I tell you to do something, you do it.
( harsh on the outside, maybe. but some people find the loss of agency freeing, because humans are all oxymorons in their own ways. )
There will probably be a lot of things I tell you to do that you won't want to, because you find them shameful or embarrassing or demeaning. But when we're in that situation, ( he gestures outside the cafe to somewhere else, far in the distance, probably with a bed bolted with manacles in place. ) none of that matters. You don't belong to yourself in that moment, because you belong to me. All of that shame is mine, too. All the pain. Everything that happens will be because it's what I want.
( somewhere in his explanation, ash had leaned forward for emphasis, stressing the seriousness of his point. now, at the tail end of it, he eases back, relaxed in his seat. under the table, he sets his foot down on the outside of bucky's, almost strangely possessive. like he can't have anyone looking at bucky's feet without first seeing his, and knowing he spoken for. )
Safewording is different. If you give me that then I'll stop, undo whatever it is that I've done, and comfort you — through touch or otherwise, we'll need to talk about what's best for you. Once you're settled, we'll talk. About the scene and whatever went wrong, how to improve it or how to avoid it in the future. ( he gestures to whatever sandwich is currently in front of bucky, like royalty. ) Eat.
[For the food. For the permission to eat it. For staying there and answering every one of his questions. And above all else, for making the distinction so abundantly clear that what Ash is after, what he's offering, is nothing like any of Bucky's past experiences. Not when there's an explanation behind it. A way out still openly left on display. He could leave right now, and that would put an end to everything. Or in the future, a single word, and he'll be given back his autonomy.
This isn't torture. Isn't being broken down, a complete loss of self ready to be weaponized. Pain or not, this is different. And the only sense of fear that runs through him at what the future may hold is the fear of the unknown. Something that's as familiar as breathing, even long before the war changed what that unknown held.
By the point he opens his mouth to speak again, he's already finished his third sandwich. Has practically inhaled them all without realizing he's even gotten through the first. But he makes a point of swallowing down what's in his mouth first. Of wiping his face and brushing crumbs off his lap.
And then he's leaning forwards in return. Stares back at Ash with an expression that's far more open, far more relaxed than its been so far. He's made his decision already, even if he hasn't aired it yet.]
The things you ask- [No.] Tell me to do. I ain't always gonna understand it. Do I get to ask questions when that happens?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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name the time and place
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I changed my mind.
It’s dinner. Tonight.
Is Up or Down better for you?
( maybe it’s his first lesson in knowing ash, anyway. they work on his timetable. )
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got a mark down my throat though
if it's the up you need to sign off on me being there
[Something he'd feel a whole lot more uncomfortable saying if they weren't meeting up for a very specific reason.]
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( there’s less nice places in the down, but ash is more inclined to make james comfortable than force some kind of fancy get together. the food isn’t the point, anyway — he drops the location of some neutral cafe, and starts getting ready. )
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Which leads to now. With Bucky stood just outside the cafe, heavily considering his life choices. And how, for some insane reason, he now finds himself waiting to find out whether he wants to drop to his knees for a supposed President of the United States or not.
...yeah, his life is strange.]
» action
anyway, it's not especially hard to clock james when he sees him — by comparison, he blends seamlessly into the down, and ash has to wonder if that was on purpose. no matter. he could note a veteran at a distance, and there's something vaguely haunted to james' presence that seems to say steer clear, i know how to bite.
obviously, ash does nothing of the sort. he saunters up to him, extending a hand. )
James?
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Which is why the coat he wears is a size too big. The gloves he dons a size too small. Nothing quite fits right, and yet he seems entirely at ease with it all. He lives out of a go bag here, same as he did when he was on the run. Every sign of himself tucked away in the same pack he carries with him now. He's ready to disappear without a trace, and it's an instinct he's fighting not to follow through on right now.
Up until the moment the silence is broken, and Bucky's attention snaps to the new arrival.
And promptly freezes.]
Ash.
[A statement rather than a question. But a distracted one nonetheless. This isn't Steve. He knows that. Would be able to tell them apart blindfolded. But that doesn't make this any less jarring. Doesn't make it any easier to stomach the fact that he had a conversation like that with his best friend's doppelganger. Though rather than explain quite why he's staring so intently at the other man, Bucky instead pulls out his phone. Flicks his gaze between Ash's face and the screen more than once as he pulls up a picture instead.]
This city is a goddamned joke.
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he catches a glimpse at james' phone screen, but doesn't pry. his eyes flicker down and back up, hardening when they find his eyes — his own are bottle green, concealing the faint twitch of irritation in the iris. )
Are you going to shake my hand?
( he's been here, before. with a man he loves, who doesn't love him — a man who wouldn't shake his hand, so ash got push-ups instead, his foot pressing down at the center of his back. he's halfway to demanding it from james too, just to see if he would.
but, he's still trying to fix this. so, for now, he's on his best behavior — a ledge that is precariously thin. )
I don't see what's so funny.
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He doesn't break eye contact at first though. Doesn't look away no matter how much he wants to do exactly that. Both Steve and Ash have seen war, sure. But they both carry it differently. Both display their past actions in different ways. It's the look in his eyes. The set in his body. Ash is nowhere near the copy of his best friend that outsiders would see them as. Yet it's still enough of a similarity to have his guard drop a little. Enough to take the edge off of what would otherwise be an awkward encounter. A enough of a prompt for him to finally offer up a quiet-]
...Bucky. Most people call me Bucky.
[His gaze drops away at that, shifting to their feet, across to the cafe.]
Ain't so good with the whole formal thing.
[Handshakes, that is. But depending on what Ash is expecting from him here, it feels like a point worth making.]
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his mind wanders immediately back to embry. brothers, right. there's no telling if their relationship is the same as his and embry's had been, but — it feels reflective. he and bucky, and their golden boys.
ash passes his phone back with a curt nod, all of it full with understanding. )
He calls you Bucky. ( it's not exactly a question. but then — ash doesn't mind the thought of acting as someone else in due time, if it's what bucky needs. carefully, he pats bucky solidly on the shoulder. ) Well, it's rude not to shake someone's hand, but I'll get over it, somehow. Let's sit.
( he takes the lead in through the doors, possibly to give bucky the chance to run away when his back is turned. in any case, he secures a table for the two of them and waits, turning every chair he sits upon into a throne. )
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What Ash is offering though...]
Do I have to ask your permission or something?
[To take the empty seat that he's stood next to. He's been through Orientation. Has see what the city expects from them. And while everything Ash has said to him so far doesn't quite line up with the values they've tried to instill in him during his time here, it feels right to ask. Better to voice those questions than to let them eat away at him. It's what got him in to this situation in the first place. So why waste the opportunity to get the answers he needs now?]
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which is a relatable enough desire, that ash feels a kinship to him — though ash's story doesn't involve the severity of bucky's landmine mind. he doesn't make him wait long, giving a gesture to the chair. )
You'll note that wasn't actually asking permission. ( but he's endeared, not pissed, and his eyes sparkle accordingly. ) You can have a seat. All that will come after we come to an agreement.
( he thinks about his wording, smile drooping a little, before he nods. ash is very good at forgetting to ask for permission, at just assuming the world lives on the tips of his fingers. )
Well, I hope we'll come to an agreement, in any case. By the way — do you have any allergies? I like ordering for other people.
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His fingers curl around the top of the chair, unable to keep himself from casting his eyes over the rest of the patrons there. He knows he's being paranoid. That the only people who care who he is are the ones who brought him here. Who brought them all to this city and trapped them inside. So if they chose to come after him now, there's a good chance that half the people in the cafe would be dragged out alongside him. Including Ash.]
No allergies. I eat a lot more than regular people though.
[It's a somewhat distracted response as Bucky finally lowers himself in to the chair. As he takes a seat and places his trust in Ash to watch his back for him. If all goes to plan here, he'll be placing a whole lot more than just his safety in Ash's hands. So it feels like a first step he needs to push himself through. To trust him to do one thing he so rarely allows others to do.]
That serum I mentioned. It's another side-effect.
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still, bucky sits, and ash crosses one leg over the other, cockily imperious. )
Ah, got it. I do have a lot of questions about that, by the way.
( but none as immediate as putting orders in. someone comes to tend the table, and while it isn't the fanciest place he's ever been, ash orders an array of sandwiches and appetizers, hoping it's enough to fill bucky up. if not, they can always order more — if too much, he can send him home with something to fill up his fridge. actually, ash likes the thought of that so much, he might just do it anyway.
that taken care of, his focus becomes entirely narrowed on bucky. where he had been casually leaning back in his chair, ash instead sets his elbows on the table between them, before offering up one of his hands, like he wants bucky to put something in it.
almost imperceptibly, his eyes flash. excited. )
Give me your hand.
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Which leads him to question just how much of what Ash has said to him so far is real, and how much of it is an act.
When the request- order? -comes though, he doesn't feel the same pressure here to play his role. To let the mark down his throat dictate his actions. And that's what makes it easy. What simplifies the decision he makes in following Ash's lead. In dropping his hand into the other man's. His right, on the off-chance that he wants to see what's underneath his glove. Explaining his left arm is tied in to a conversation he isn't in any kind of a rush to start. So for now he's content to just see what it is that Ash wants from him in the here and now, and leave what comes next till later.]
You said doing this helps you. Could help both of us. [Okay, so perhaps there is something he wants to know first.]
You do stuff like this a lot?
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it soothes ash. he smiles a little wistfully down at where they touch, wondering not for the first time why he is the way that he is. )
… Yeah. ( it’s said at length, almost apologetically, buried inside a sigh. ) I was like this long before the war. I’m not sure why. I think, ( he takes a moment to think, honestly, before he carries on. ) the mundane and average ways of wanting someone have never appealed to me. A therapist would have a field day with me, I know. I am an orphan, so maybe I always go out searching for something that’s entirely mine. But — I had a happy childhood and a foster family that loved me, that gave me a better name. So. Best I can offer you is that I like this because I do. And I really, really do.
( his grip tightens in small increments — not strong enough to bruise, but strong enough to be felt. he watches bucky carefully, looking for tension. )
There’s this club in America that works as a sanctuary for people who need things to be discreet. Royalty and political powers, and the like. Maybe it was around when FDR was in office, but I couldn’t tell you for certain. I was taught there, how to properly dominant someone — and I had everything done to me that I would want to do to someone else.
( his face, otherwise neutral, turns to a predatory smile. his teeth glint, perfect and white. ) It was a very thorough education.
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His attention stays fixed on Ash's face though. A fight to try and stay in control and listen to what's being said. But it doesn't quite make sense. The pieces of the puzzle not quite fitting together. Orphan or not, if he had a happy childhood, why would he want something like this? Why would the President of the United States need even more power?
It's as the grip tightens around his wrist though that his attention slips a little. That his gaze moves to the point they're connected, and the last of Ash's words slip him by at first. He misses the look. Misses the reaction. And it takes a few extra seconds for the words to filter through his mind clearly enough for him to respond.]
...what did they do to you?
[His question is quiet when it comes, his curiosity piqued. Everything he knows on the subject has come from this city. Something Ash has already made his displeasure about known. So he wants to know what he's really getting himself in to. Wants to understand just what could really be in store if they decide to take this any further. Ash is the one holding all the cards here, but that doesn't mean he can't try to even the playing field a little first.]
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the curiosity has ash nodding his head knowingly. he’s not ashamed to admit his desires — he knows they’re dark, unconventional, and more than a little troubling. but ash has never had an issue being exactly who he is, ultimately treasuring the notion of blatant honesty more than all else. )
Tied me up. Ropes, chains, and tape. I’ve been beaten, whipped, flogged, caned. Spanked. ( he doesn’t imagine bucky will stop him at any point and say yes sir, that one please, but he does keep an open mind for interest. ) Fucked with toys. Cock cages. Pierced, cut, bruised, burned. You’d have an easier time asking what I had no interest in at all.
( because the answer would be nothing. all of a sudden his grip loosens completely, and he’s back to holding bucky’s wrist gently, soothingly, made all the more comfortable by the knowing threat of violence that lingers just under the surface. )
… And after. I’ve had my welts soothed and my cuts kissed. My body put back to rights. ( his opposite hand moves over, turning bucky’s hand around so he can touch careful fingertips against the sensitive skin of his wrist. oddly — blemish free. huh. ) I couldn’t tell you what it’s supposed to feel like. It never really worked for me. But it was necessary to learn all the safe, right ways to hurt another person. I can explain what that feels like. How good it is, to see someone satiated and made peaceful by something you did for them, when they put their body in your hands.
It’s like magic. There’s nothing in the world that compares.
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But there's a difference. One that Ash makes abundantly clear, even if he doesn't fully understand it yet. The idea of being taken care of after. Of being pulled apart and put back together without losing your sense of self. It's something he's never had a chance to experience, even once he finally broke free from Hydra's control. They made the decision. Anything to benefit the cause. And he was just a tool to be used as they wanted.]
How can hurting someone be good for them?
[He sounds a little frustrated at that. Not having the answers he wants has never sat well with him. But here, it's even worse. This city makes no sense to him, not matter how hard he tries. So the idea of not only accepting his role but enjoying it is confusing, even with Ash's explanation.]
Beating them. Making them bleed- I don't get it.
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( ash gets it, probably more than anyone understands. what the history books will not write — he never wanted to be president. in fact, he’d been prepared to throw the lot of it away, his entire future as a major in the us army and his eventual standing as a political super power, for the hope of happiness. a life away from the war — with cows and goats and farmland. with embry.
ash knelt down in the dirt, a ring in his hand, the first time embry told him no. so — he gets it. sometimes he wants to take the brain right out of his skull and smash it to pieces. )
Violence — pain, discomfort, they’re all tools to do that. I’m not going to say it works all the time, for every person. But there has to be some truth to it, given the amount of people who engage in BDSM. ( drawing his hands away, ash folds them together on the table between them, the same stance he takes when signing documents. treaties. ) Your problem is that you see pain and pleasure as opposites. They aren’t. The line is a lot thinner than you might think. When you’re getting fucked and choked at the same time, you aren’t thinking about dying — you’re thinking the exact opposite. You cum harder. You feel better.
At least, that’s the hope.
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Later, if all goes well, there'll be a time and place for that. Once everything is laid bare and decisions are made. And more importantly, once Ash knows what he's potentially signing up for here.]
This ain't me saying no.
[There's a "but" there. More he should be saying. And the fact they're even having this conversation in the first place should be enough of an indication that neither of them are taking this lightly. That they're able to talk like equals before-
Well, before.]
When I told you I don't know my limits, I meant it. You try to choke me, and there's about as much chance I try to kill you as there is that I just lie back and take it. [A pause, and he finally looks up at Ash again to add-] You said you want to help me. But I could end up hurting you.
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We go slow. Find those limits. I am — ( he makes this point sharply, tapping his finger down in emphasis. ) not afraid of you. I don't care what you've done. But we're going to take precautions, to keep us both safe. We have these failsafes — safewords.
( it's that moment that their waitress decides to bring out enough dishes that have their table overflowing with options — the timing could've been better, but ash isn't going to take his small frustrations out on a service worker. he thanks her graciously, but snags bucky's attention back before he can dig in, leaning in like what he's saying is a secret. even though — here or anywhere, it really isn't. )
It's hard to say what's going through your mind ordinarily, and it's even harder in subspace. You have words that say a lot with a little. I think we should have two. ( he nods, affirming to himself. ) One that says, "I'm getting close to a breaking point" and one that says, "We need to stop." ( he nods his hand towards bucky's unbruised wrist. ) Did you want to hurt me when my hand was on you?
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Refreshing.
The food, when it arrives, is given a look. But even without Ash's interruption, he doesn't make any attempt to reach for it. Not yet. Not when he already has a good idea of just how things could be ending up between them. He'd seen how Ash had respond to his earlier question about the seat. It stands to reason that asking for permission to eat would lead to a similar response. And a part of him wants to see that. To know that he's capable of making somebody happy through something as simple as saying a few words.]
I don't want to hurt anyone. [He never has. But the choice had been taken away from him, even before Hydra. Being drafted had taken care of that.]
You weren't trying to hurt me. Not really. From everything you've said though, I don't think you would. At least not vindictively.
[And that really is the crux of the matter. Is what differentiates it for him. The Soviets. Hydra. Everything they'd done to him had been meant to hurt. Had been pain caused to force him in to doing what they want. His memories had been erased, his ability to consent entirely lost to him. They'd taken everything from him and given nothing but pain in return.
Ash though-]
If I refused to do something you told me to, what would you do?
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I would tell you that it doesn't matter. If I tell you to do something, you do it.
( harsh on the outside, maybe. but some people find the loss of agency freeing, because humans are all oxymorons in their own ways. )
There will probably be a lot of things I tell you to do that you won't want to, because you find them shameful or embarrassing or demeaning. But when we're in that situation, ( he gestures outside the cafe to somewhere else, far in the distance, probably with a bed bolted with manacles in place. ) none of that matters. You don't belong to yourself in that moment, because you belong to me. All of that shame is mine, too. All the pain. Everything that happens will be because it's what I want.
( somewhere in his explanation, ash had leaned forward for emphasis, stressing the seriousness of his point. now, at the tail end of it, he eases back, relaxed in his seat. under the table, he sets his foot down on the outside of bucky's, almost strangely possessive. like he can't have anyone looking at bucky's feet without first seeing his, and knowing he spoken for. )
Safewording is different. If you give me that then I'll stop, undo whatever it is that I've done, and comfort you — through touch or otherwise, we'll need to talk about what's best for you. Once you're settled, we'll talk. About the scene and whatever went wrong, how to improve it or how to avoid it in the future. ( he gestures to whatever sandwich is currently in front of bucky, like royalty. ) Eat.
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[For the food. For the permission to eat it. For staying there and answering every one of his questions. And above all else, for making the distinction so abundantly clear that what Ash is after, what he's offering, is nothing like any of Bucky's past experiences. Not when there's an explanation behind it. A way out still openly left on display. He could leave right now, and that would put an end to everything. Or in the future, a single word, and he'll be given back his autonomy.
This isn't torture. Isn't being broken down, a complete loss of self ready to be weaponized. Pain or not, this is different. And the only sense of fear that runs through him at what the future may hold is the fear of the unknown. Something that's as familiar as breathing, even long before the war changed what that unknown held.
By the point he opens his mouth to speak again, he's already finished his third sandwich. Has practically inhaled them all without realizing he's even gotten through the first. But he makes a point of swallowing down what's in his mouth first. Of wiping his face and brushing crumbs off his lap.
And then he's leaning forwards in return. Stares back at Ash with an expression that's far more open, far more relaxed than its been so far. He's made his decision already, even if he hasn't aired it yet.]
The things you ask- [No.] Tell me to do. I ain't always gonna understand it. Do I get to ask questions when that happens?
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