[It's hours before he manages to make his way back to his room again. His meeting with Stark had been, well, a thing. Not quite the disaster he'd been envisioning, but in no way comfortable. At least on his part. The lack of shared history hadn't been anywhere enough to dull those feelings of guilt that he lives with daily. So coming face to face with an alternate version of Tony Stark?
Yeah, he refuses to be blamed for the now half-empty bottle of something he lifted from the bar downstairs. But on the plus side, at least he doesn't empty it before he finally reaches his room. Even goes as far as to screw the cap back on before he opens the door. Which is probably a good thing given the way he freezes, the way the bottle slips from his grip the moment he steps inside and catches sight of-]
Ash.
[His relief is impossible to contain, all tension slipping from his body at once at the realization that he really did come. That he knew, even if Bucky never actually wrote the words out.]
( not totally sure what he expected from this meet up, ash came and made himself comfortable in bucky's room, a little like he owns every room he occupies, sitting in a chair across from the bed, ankle over his knee, loosely thumbing through bucky's, his, bucky's copy of the little prince fondly. when bucky arrives, he straightens, but doesn't stand. it's there in his posture, the way he walks, the relief on his face to see ash hasn't let him down. ash knows what he needs, and he knows it with the surety of his next breath.
his feet land flat on the ground, legs spread, sinking kingly down in his chair. sharply, his fingers snap. there's a point to the bit of space between his thighs.
ash doesn't say kneel. bucky's been trained too well for that. still, he expects it all the same, waiting impatiently. )
[He only pauses long enough to push the door closed behind him, locking away the outside world for the time being. All that matters to him right now is that Ash is here. That the only person capable of reining in his conflicting emotions is only a few short paces away.
(Hold on, why is there still any kind of distance between them?)
He's across the room in seconds, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. The thud of his knees hitting the ground is mostly muffled by the plush carpet, though the impact itself is entirely ignored. All that matters is shuffling into the space between Ash's legs. Feeling the warmth of his thighs, the safety that permeates the air at being this close again. He wants to reach out. Wants to slip his fingers beneath the cuff of Ash's trousers to seek out the heat of his skin. Wants to duck forwards, to inhale the heady scent of Ash's crotch. To drown himself in it.
Yet somehow, he holds himself back. Sits on his heels, his hands loose on his knees. Despite the yearning, despite the clear need behind the way he looks up at Ash, their time together has taught him the importance of patience. At least when it comes to this.
Ash is the one who dominates, and Bucky is the one who submits to it. He's Ash's, to do with as he wishes. Ash's to break, to reform. To make human again.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'll see you there, then.
no subject
Yeah, he refuses to be blamed for the now half-empty bottle of something he lifted from the bar downstairs. But on the plus side, at least he doesn't empty it before he finally reaches his room. Even goes as far as to screw the cap back on before he opens the door. Which is probably a good thing given the way he freezes, the way the bottle slips from his grip the moment he steps inside and catches sight of-]
Ash.
[His relief is impossible to contain, all tension slipping from his body at once at the realization that he really did come. That he knew, even if Bucky never actually wrote the words out.]
no subject
( not totally sure what he expected from this meet up, ash came and made himself comfortable in bucky's room, a little like he owns every room he occupies, sitting in a chair across from the bed, ankle over his knee, loosely thumbing through bucky's, his, bucky's copy of the little prince fondly. when bucky arrives, he straightens, but doesn't stand. it's there in his posture, the way he walks, the relief on his face to see ash hasn't let him down. ash knows what he needs, and he knows it with the surety of his next breath.
his feet land flat on the ground, legs spread, sinking kingly down in his chair. sharply, his fingers snap. there's a point to the bit of space between his thighs.
ash doesn't say kneel. bucky's been trained too well for that. still, he expects it all the same, waiting impatiently. )
no subject
(Hold on, why is there still any kind of distance between them?)
He's across the room in seconds, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. The thud of his knees hitting the ground is mostly muffled by the plush carpet, though the impact itself is entirely ignored. All that matters is shuffling into the space between Ash's legs. Feeling the warmth of his thighs, the safety that permeates the air at being this close again. He wants to reach out. Wants to slip his fingers beneath the cuff of Ash's trousers to seek out the heat of his skin. Wants to duck forwards, to inhale the heady scent of Ash's crotch. To drown himself in it.
Yet somehow, he holds himself back. Sits on his heels, his hands loose on his knees. Despite the yearning, despite the clear need behind the way he looks up at Ash, their time together has taught him the importance of patience. At least when it comes to this.
Ash is the one who dominates, and Bucky is the one who submits to it. He's Ash's, to do with as he wishes. Ash's to break, to reform. To make human again.]