Aɴᴅʏʀ Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deconstruct) wrote2016-06-08 04:00 am
deconstruct) wrote2016-06-08 04:00 am
v2 OPEN POST;
NETWORK | ACTION | PROMPTS | NSFW/SFW | IT'S ALL GRAVY
NETWORK | ACTION | PROMPTS | NSFW/SFW | IT'S ALL GRAVY
About 15-20 yards.
[ As Steve's rushing his way over, Andyr's eyes are skimming over the walls, like he's waiting for them to start closing in, swallowing thickly, before willing his feet to move. But, not towards the door. He's here for a reason, he needs to finish what he's doing. Andyr's always been very stubborn about when to have his meltdowns. Or having them at all, when he should be able to just swallow it down. There's worse things than a room. ]
Catfish have over 27,000 taste buds. Humans have around 7,000. [ he starts to mutter distractedly, as he heads for a clipboard on one of the counters, like a quiet mantra. ] On average, flying fish can glide 160 feet, but have been known to glide as far as 660 feet, and they can reach heights up to 19 feet.
[ As Steve's rushing his way over, Andyr's eyes are skimming over the walls, like he's waiting for them to start closing in, swallowing thickly, before willing his feet to move. But, not towards the door. He's here for a reason, he needs to finish what he's doing. Andyr's always been very stubborn about when to have his meltdowns. Or having them at all, when he should be able to just swallow it down. There's worse things than a room. ]
Catfish have over 27,000 taste buds. Humans have around 7,000. [ he starts to mutter distractedly, as he heads for a clipboard on one of the counters, like a quiet mantra. ] On average, flying fish can glide 160 feet, but have been known to glide as far as 660 feet, and they can reach heights up to 19 feet.
[ Not too far, but still far enough. Steve frowns, moving across the level once he hits the bottom of the stairwell, and it doesn't take him any time at all to find the right place, the one very clearly meant as a lab for experimenting on whatever people they dragged here. Considering the planet, probably a mix of humanoid and not, but that isn't something he should be thinking about when he walks up next to Andyr with a hand already at his elbow. He's missed the majority of the fish facts, though his concern doesn't waver an inch. ]
Hey. [ Steve doesn't try to take the clipboard. All he does is scan the counter and the other side of the room to note that, in fact, they're alone. ] Let's move out. We can come back later.
Hey. [ Steve doesn't try to take the clipboard. All he does is scan the counter and the other side of the room to note that, in fact, they're alone. ] Let's move out. We can come back later.
[ Steve's boots echo in the large room, and Andyr knows the sound and gait that signals him, along with the uptick hurry - he's worried. The touch at his arm is a warm reminder of who Steve is and all the stability he offers is there, and Andyr reaches out to put a palm on his forearm, giving a soft squeeze. ]
It's okay. I'll be okay. [ steve's here now, and that makes him relax a few notches, and he's trying to concentrate more on what's in the file than what's around him. brows knit, he's flipping through the pages on the clipboard, looking for something that makes sense while absently, more unconsciously, muttering more memorized facts and figures to himself, low, under his breath and almost unheard: There are three classes of fish: jawless, cartilaginous, and bony, over 25,000 species, the word “piranha” is from the Tupi (Brazil) 'pira nya' and means “scissors”, an Atlantic hagfish can make enough slime in one minute to fill a bucket-- ] We should take this back to Alva.
It's okay. I'll be okay. [ steve's here now, and that makes him relax a few notches, and he's trying to concentrate more on what's in the file than what's around him. brows knit, he's flipping through the pages on the clipboard, looking for something that makes sense while absently, more unconsciously, muttering more memorized facts and figures to himself, low, under his breath and almost unheard: There are three classes of fish: jawless, cartilaginous, and bony, over 25,000 species, the word “piranha” is from the Tupi (Brazil) 'pira nya' and means “scissors”, an Atlantic hagfish can make enough slime in one minute to fill a bucket-- ] We should take this back to Alva.
[ it isn't like the houses here - he's allowed to go where he likes when he likes, wear what he pleases, eat what he pleases, say anything. just so long as he doesn't leave the premises without an attendant. that's what makes all of the rest irrelevant. he's watched, so so closely, like he's a bomb about to explode, even more closely than Hapsburg, where they just wanted him to sit in his room and be invisible until his body was needed again. he understands why. when natasha had first liberated the house, after all the questions and legal red tape, when he was set up with a hotel and allowed to go free into the city, he'd completely lost it. two hours, and he'd found himself in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, screaming. three paramedics injured, five police men put in the hospital, and a taser later, and he was stuck here.
in the first few weeks, the psych ward doctors learned better than to try medicating him or coming near him with any kind of needles or wires. it had all been yoga classes and guided meditation and counseling sessions he was either silent or profane for, with wardens following him around, standing just far enough away to feel like they aren't being suffocating, but still watching him closely any time another person passed by.
natasha showed up halfway through the fourth week, having come back from a mission and heard he wasn't out yet. refusing to cooperate, oddly silent outside of outbursts, unstable and violent. and yet, she'd sat across the table from him, and it'd only take about ten minutes of quietly prodding at him to get him talking again. just something familiar about her, after knowing her in Hapsburg, chats in sign language through the soundproof glass wall of his room, seeing her in the halls on his way to or from the labs. he knows she isn't who she told him she was, but she'd gone in regardless, into that hell, to get him and the others out. when no one else cared enough to so much as lift a finger.
she'd started coming regularly, first once a week, then twice, soon every other day. they'd talk, or watch what sitcoms were on the commons area TV, walk around the grounds. sometimes she'd bring a laptop and try to catch him up on pop culture. eventually, natasha gave him a cell phone, told him to text or call whenever her wanted, her personal number the only one programmed in. he knows they put a wire on her, sometimes, and a device in her ear to tell her what question to ask - the only way the shrinks have found to get anything real out of him, but he doesn't fault her for it. knows she's just trying to help. maybe someday he'll go into those too homey rooms with them and talk. not yet. for know, he's just doing what feels comfortable, and that's spending time with her.
like this, in one of the large gym rooms, with mats set out on the floor. for a long time, he'd insisted on training alone, wouldn't spar with her for fear of losing it and hurting her. turns out his strength isn't so much an issue when she's not only on par with him in terms of skill, but beyond. and the stray hits that have a bit too much force behind them? she's had worse, it seems. she's a normal girl fighting in a world threatened by titans, and god she seems so unreal. incredible, really. it becomes something regular, and when she has to leave for a few weeks on mission, Andyr spends the time texting her, bored with his days otherwise, but trying to cooperate better, for the fact she wants him to. by the time she comes back, he's missing her like hell, and they go straight to the mats again.
about halfway through the first fight, he catches her in a lock, and natasha gets herself free by kissing him, out of the blue. for a second he's stunned, and that's really all she needs to elbow him in the stomach and throw him on his ass, Andyr watching her, upside down, with a tilt to his head.
huh.
round two, and they go to the ground with a quick sweep, turning it into a grappling match, which always means being an awkward kind of close to another body, but isn't something andyr's ever felt self-conscious of, until now, with her legs wrapped around his hips, his arms gripping at her shirt, or her shoulder, or a forearm as they shift and struggle. it distracts him enough that his technique is completely off, and he's out shortly after, tapping his surrender against the mat and she arm bars him. natasha's grinning at him like there's some joke he's missing, and he's trying to figure out if she's doing this just for fun, or something else.
round three, and andyr's determined to play this game as well, too competitive to just accept the sabotage. at the first punch, he's slipping past, pushing flush to her, and kissing her full on the lips, a hand on her waist and another on her shoulder, as he lingers, tugs at a lip, and sweep a foot behind her ankles. a push at that shoulder, and she goes down, but not without taking him with, her shin kicking out the back of his knees, as they both dissolve into a fit of struggles for dominance, all groping hands and too close grinding, until she's straddling his hips, bright red hair falling in a curtain around them, with teeth pulling at andyr's lower lip, as she grinds a rhythm against the too prominent form of his hard length, easy to find through the thin pants he wears in the psych ward. the purpose of this was lost somewhere down the road to this point, and all he knows now is the sweet, slow friction she'd rolling out against him, the soft, smooth texture of her lips, the taste of peach chapstick, and his hands curling into the fabric of her shirt.
until a rip sounds out.
ah. oops. that would be natasha's collar. ]
Shit. [ he hisses out, cursing himself for letting his mind go that far, while he has her in his hands. ] Sorry.
in the first few weeks, the psych ward doctors learned better than to try medicating him or coming near him with any kind of needles or wires. it had all been yoga classes and guided meditation and counseling sessions he was either silent or profane for, with wardens following him around, standing just far enough away to feel like they aren't being suffocating, but still watching him closely any time another person passed by.
natasha showed up halfway through the fourth week, having come back from a mission and heard he wasn't out yet. refusing to cooperate, oddly silent outside of outbursts, unstable and violent. and yet, she'd sat across the table from him, and it'd only take about ten minutes of quietly prodding at him to get him talking again. just something familiar about her, after knowing her in Hapsburg, chats in sign language through the soundproof glass wall of his room, seeing her in the halls on his way to or from the labs. he knows she isn't who she told him she was, but she'd gone in regardless, into that hell, to get him and the others out. when no one else cared enough to so much as lift a finger.
she'd started coming regularly, first once a week, then twice, soon every other day. they'd talk, or watch what sitcoms were on the commons area TV, walk around the grounds. sometimes she'd bring a laptop and try to catch him up on pop culture. eventually, natasha gave him a cell phone, told him to text or call whenever her wanted, her personal number the only one programmed in. he knows they put a wire on her, sometimes, and a device in her ear to tell her what question to ask - the only way the shrinks have found to get anything real out of him, but he doesn't fault her for it. knows she's just trying to help. maybe someday he'll go into those too homey rooms with them and talk. not yet. for know, he's just doing what feels comfortable, and that's spending time with her.
like this, in one of the large gym rooms, with mats set out on the floor. for a long time, he'd insisted on training alone, wouldn't spar with her for fear of losing it and hurting her. turns out his strength isn't so much an issue when she's not only on par with him in terms of skill, but beyond. and the stray hits that have a bit too much force behind them? she's had worse, it seems. she's a normal girl fighting in a world threatened by titans, and god she seems so unreal. incredible, really. it becomes something regular, and when she has to leave for a few weeks on mission, Andyr spends the time texting her, bored with his days otherwise, but trying to cooperate better, for the fact she wants him to. by the time she comes back, he's missing her like hell, and they go straight to the mats again.
about halfway through the first fight, he catches her in a lock, and natasha gets herself free by kissing him, out of the blue. for a second he's stunned, and that's really all she needs to elbow him in the stomach and throw him on his ass, Andyr watching her, upside down, with a tilt to his head.
huh.
round two, and they go to the ground with a quick sweep, turning it into a grappling match, which always means being an awkward kind of close to another body, but isn't something andyr's ever felt self-conscious of, until now, with her legs wrapped around his hips, his arms gripping at her shirt, or her shoulder, or a forearm as they shift and struggle. it distracts him enough that his technique is completely off, and he's out shortly after, tapping his surrender against the mat and she arm bars him. natasha's grinning at him like there's some joke he's missing, and he's trying to figure out if she's doing this just for fun, or something else.
round three, and andyr's determined to play this game as well, too competitive to just accept the sabotage. at the first punch, he's slipping past, pushing flush to her, and kissing her full on the lips, a hand on her waist and another on her shoulder, as he lingers, tugs at a lip, and sweep a foot behind her ankles. a push at that shoulder, and she goes down, but not without taking him with, her shin kicking out the back of his knees, as they both dissolve into a fit of struggles for dominance, all groping hands and too close grinding, until she's straddling his hips, bright red hair falling in a curtain around them, with teeth pulling at andyr's lower lip, as she grinds a rhythm against the too prominent form of his hard length, easy to find through the thin pants he wears in the psych ward. the purpose of this was lost somewhere down the road to this point, and all he knows now is the sweet, slow friction she'd rolling out against him, the soft, smooth texture of her lips, the taste of peach chapstick, and his hands curling into the fabric of her shirt.
until a rip sounds out.
ah. oops. that would be natasha's collar. ]
Shit. [ he hisses out, cursing himself for letting his mind go that far, while he has her in his hands. ] Sorry.
Edited 2016-08-21 05:32 (UTC)
[ Natasha had thought she knew plenty about the things one person, one organisation can do to another -- but it turns out that there are more things out there to provide fresh horrors, and Hapsburg with its inhabitants is one of them. She is no stranger to people being used as commodities, tools to serve a profit-driven purpose, because in the end that's all it is, isn't it?
That knowledge doesn't prepare her for what she had uncovered within the walls of Hapsburg, or the people she would find there -- namely, Andyr Prince, the ferociously beautiful young man used time and time again, put away like a shovel in a toolshed as they bled his life out of him a little at a time. It's what nightmares are made of, and when she had finally rescued them, giving them the freedom they all deserved from the beginning, she know that it was the start of a much harder journey.
See, this is what's easy; the much more difficult part is on Andyr's shoulders, to pick up the pieces and rebuild his life. Natasha could not stay, but she came back as often as she could, the Widow finding herself tethered to this violent, hurting man, the most damaged of them all. It takes one hell of a long time to make progress, but they do -- she makes it a point to come the moment she finds some spare time, wanting him to know that he's not alone, that she hadn't hauled him out of one prison to put him in another one. She had given them specific instructions on Andyr, important notes of what and who he is, and how he is to be approached. They'd ignored it at first, well-meaning to a fault, until they learned it the hard way, and it took Natasha all she had not to tell them that they were idiots.
Still, things continue to improve, and visiting Andyr has somehow become a new staple in her life. The texting had been a godsend; and Natasha had always smiled when his texts came in, each one without so much as a salutation and as if he'd simply decided to launch right into his message without preamble -- she considers that a most endearing trait. She had sent back messages, sometimes pictures of whatever piqued her interest wherever she was, a reminder that she's thinking of him.
All of which, of course, had led to unsupervised sparring sessions like these; she'd first played dirty just because she could, but the look on Andyr's face had sent her heart racing -- the taste of it familiar, the desire that coils within her stomach providing a revelation, then another. He's a deadly fighter, strong and powerful and at times frightening, but she had learned to take her fear in stride, to trust that he would not hurt her. Of course, Andyr catches on to her tricks, and when he rips a gash in the collar of her shirt, his body curled over hers and the hard line of his cock pressing into her thigh, she leans up to kiss his mouth recklessly, her fingers coming up to run through his dark hair.
It's gotten longer now, and it looks good on him. ] For what? [ She's smiling against his mouth, red hair tumbling over her shoulders as she keeps him pinned under her. Her hand slips from his hair to unbutton her shirt, her heart pounding with adrenaline and action. Her eyes are dark with challenge as her black bra is exposed -- they are two consenting adults with a raw appreciation for each other; the culmination of a tension that has been building up with every day they'd been with each other, every time one pins the other to the mat, every time he looks at her and makes her feel like it's past time she acted on the things she'd wanted to do to him. ]
I liked that. [ She admits quietly, guiding his hand down between her breasts, over the clasp of the front of her bra. ]
That knowledge doesn't prepare her for what she had uncovered within the walls of Hapsburg, or the people she would find there -- namely, Andyr Prince, the ferociously beautiful young man used time and time again, put away like a shovel in a toolshed as they bled his life out of him a little at a time. It's what nightmares are made of, and when she had finally rescued them, giving them the freedom they all deserved from the beginning, she know that it was the start of a much harder journey.
See, this is what's easy; the much more difficult part is on Andyr's shoulders, to pick up the pieces and rebuild his life. Natasha could not stay, but she came back as often as she could, the Widow finding herself tethered to this violent, hurting man, the most damaged of them all. It takes one hell of a long time to make progress, but they do -- she makes it a point to come the moment she finds some spare time, wanting him to know that he's not alone, that she hadn't hauled him out of one prison to put him in another one. She had given them specific instructions on Andyr, important notes of what and who he is, and how he is to be approached. They'd ignored it at first, well-meaning to a fault, until they learned it the hard way, and it took Natasha all she had not to tell them that they were idiots.
Still, things continue to improve, and visiting Andyr has somehow become a new staple in her life. The texting had been a godsend; and Natasha had always smiled when his texts came in, each one without so much as a salutation and as if he'd simply decided to launch right into his message without preamble -- she considers that a most endearing trait. She had sent back messages, sometimes pictures of whatever piqued her interest wherever she was, a reminder that she's thinking of him.
All of which, of course, had led to unsupervised sparring sessions like these; she'd first played dirty just because she could, but the look on Andyr's face had sent her heart racing -- the taste of it familiar, the desire that coils within her stomach providing a revelation, then another. He's a deadly fighter, strong and powerful and at times frightening, but she had learned to take her fear in stride, to trust that he would not hurt her. Of course, Andyr catches on to her tricks, and when he rips a gash in the collar of her shirt, his body curled over hers and the hard line of his cock pressing into her thigh, she leans up to kiss his mouth recklessly, her fingers coming up to run through his dark hair.
It's gotten longer now, and it looks good on him. ] For what? [ She's smiling against his mouth, red hair tumbling over her shoulders as she keeps him pinned under her. Her hand slips from his hair to unbutton her shirt, her heart pounding with adrenaline and action. Her eyes are dark with challenge as her black bra is exposed -- they are two consenting adults with a raw appreciation for each other; the culmination of a tension that has been building up with every day they'd been with each other, every time one pins the other to the mat, every time he looks at her and makes her feel like it's past time she acted on the things she'd wanted to do to him. ]
I liked that. [ She admits quietly, guiding his hand down between her breasts, over the clasp of the front of her bra. ]
[ It's two years to the day since they've made this arrangement official -- they don't quite put a name to it because it defies the trappings of labels, and Natasha's never been impressed with the whole traditional relationship paradigm.
So they are what they are, close and knitted together, her and her precious boy (he still gets feisty when she says this, but she knows he enjoys it), and they're currently celebrating their anniversary in one hell of an expensive hotel suite in the middle of the deep blue sea, with a massive glass dome above their heads where they could see all the sea creatures that swim past and over them. And oh, there are many; shimmering fish of all shapes and sizes, eels and squid and octopuses with a few rays here and there.
But what's most breathtaking, she thinks, is looking up at the belly of a great white shark as it lazily swims overhead, a much smaller shark -- its offspring -- swimming along. ]
That's beautiful. [ Witnessing the wonder and majesty of nature right here is a culmination of all the things that they had worked on together; getting Andyr acclimatised to society, to the extent that he could go to the other side of the world with her without a problem. That had taken a long time, baby steps and regressions and everything in between, but it's all worth it. She's curled up against him, her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, his arm around her. ] Didn't you tell me before that shark babies ate each other in the womb?
So they are what they are, close and knitted together, her and her precious boy (he still gets feisty when she says this, but she knows he enjoys it), and they're currently celebrating their anniversary in one hell of an expensive hotel suite in the middle of the deep blue sea, with a massive glass dome above their heads where they could see all the sea creatures that swim past and over them. And oh, there are many; shimmering fish of all shapes and sizes, eels and squid and octopuses with a few rays here and there.
But what's most breathtaking, she thinks, is looking up at the belly of a great white shark as it lazily swims overhead, a much smaller shark -- its offspring -- swimming along. ]
That's beautiful. [ Witnessing the wonder and majesty of nature right here is a culmination of all the things that they had worked on together; getting Andyr acclimatised to society, to the extent that he could go to the other side of the world with her without a problem. That had taken a long time, baby steps and regressions and everything in between, but it's all worth it. She's curled up against him, her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, his arm around her. ] Didn't you tell me before that shark babies ate each other in the womb?
[ andyr had practically lost his shit at the announcement of where they'd be going for their anniversary, hit with it just after she'd let him come after an hour worth of edging. mind still spinning, he hadn't believed her at first, until she pulled up the laptop to show him pictures of the hotel they'd be going to. after about a minute to let it sink in, he'd exploded. first, picking her up and spinning her around on the mattress, then doing a backflip off the edge of the bed, then ran a circuit around the apartment bare-assed, until he came back to press her into the mattress and kiss her like she's his entire universe.
which, really, she sort of is. she set him free, worked with him to reenter the world, brought him into her house, loved him, cared for him, bought him a damn fish tank. maybe it isn't the healthiest of attachments, but andyr'd never believed, during his time in hapsburg, that he'd ever be able to walk down a city street and feel like anything but a time bomb wrapped up in razor wire. now, he's here. after a long flight, lounged out under a glass dome in the middle of the sea, smiling up at the belly of a great white, as his fingers play at locks of bright red hair, natasha's warmth snug and cozy against him. ]
Yep, all but one other. It's a struggle for paternity, because sharks get knocked up by more than one father usually. [ yeah, sharks are metal as fuck. turning his eyes from the ceiling to her, he kisses at her forehead, soft and sweet and adoring. ]
I love this place. Thank you, seriously. [ things he'd never even dreamed of. natasha makes reality out of what he'd only ever thought impossible. she's unrelenting and indomitable in that, and god he loves that about her. ]
which, really, she sort of is. she set him free, worked with him to reenter the world, brought him into her house, loved him, cared for him, bought him a damn fish tank. maybe it isn't the healthiest of attachments, but andyr'd never believed, during his time in hapsburg, that he'd ever be able to walk down a city street and feel like anything but a time bomb wrapped up in razor wire. now, he's here. after a long flight, lounged out under a glass dome in the middle of the sea, smiling up at the belly of a great white, as his fingers play at locks of bright red hair, natasha's warmth snug and cozy against him. ]
Yep, all but one other. It's a struggle for paternity, because sharks get knocked up by more than one father usually. [ yeah, sharks are metal as fuck. turning his eyes from the ceiling to her, he kisses at her forehead, soft and sweet and adoring. ]
I love this place. Thank you, seriously. [ things he'd never even dreamed of. natasha makes reality out of what he'd only ever thought impossible. she's unrelenting and indomitable in that, and god he loves that about her. ]
[ They shape their own reality, and Natasha shows him that it's possible, that she would give him whatever he wants when he asks for it. Theirs is an unhealthy, intense sort of attachment -- but it works well and it makes them both happy, so who is to say what's right and what's wrong?
She can never forget the joy on his face when she told him, when he'd pretty much lost it, excitable like a little boy and her -- her watching him do it, her heart full and warm with something like love, something she had thought she would never feel for another again. But here he is, Andyr Prince, so beautiful and brimming full of life, a world of difference from the man she had first set eyes on. He's still a ticking time bomb wrapped with razor wire, but he's given her ways and clues to solve him, to show him a new road and walk down that path with him.
What he shows her is worth everything in the world -- his gentler, warmer side, untouched and protected from Hapsburg, the scars that he still wears that makes her heart ache. She looks back at him, warm and tender, basking in his attentions as her hand rests on his bare stomach. They're stretched naked underneath the sky, the sea, and she kisses his shoulder. It's the two of them against the world, both of them making their own destiny out of death and destruction. ]
It's all you, baby. [ She says quietly, her fingers tracking over his abs. ] You've come so far, haven't you? You're brave, strong, and more resilient and powerful than anyone who's ever wanted to hurt and use you.
She can never forget the joy on his face when she told him, when he'd pretty much lost it, excitable like a little boy and her -- her watching him do it, her heart full and warm with something like love, something she had thought she would never feel for another again. But here he is, Andyr Prince, so beautiful and brimming full of life, a world of difference from the man she had first set eyes on. He's still a ticking time bomb wrapped with razor wire, but he's given her ways and clues to solve him, to show him a new road and walk down that path with him.
What he shows her is worth everything in the world -- his gentler, warmer side, untouched and protected from Hapsburg, the scars that he still wears that makes her heart ache. She looks back at him, warm and tender, basking in his attentions as her hand rests on his bare stomach. They're stretched naked underneath the sky, the sea, and she kisses his shoulder. It's the two of them against the world, both of them making their own destiny out of death and destruction. ]
It's all you, baby. [ She says quietly, her fingers tracking over his abs. ] You've come so far, haven't you? You're brave, strong, and more resilient and powerful than anyone who's ever wanted to hurt and use you.
[ of all the places he could've been sent by the Ingress flipping out - the death matches, the slaves kept as servants, left with the others to carry out a rescue - it had to be this. someone had to look him over, see that he's young and pretty, look at exotically covered eyes and full lips, strip him down and view the tone of his body, the bizarre metal drilled into his back, and deem him a object for lust. a shock collar around his neck and a man with a rifle at his back had led him into a room like an opium den turned harem, where hands strayed all across his naked body and Andyr had to bit into the inside of his cheek to keep his arms under control, as his mind screamed and lashed against the inside of his skull.
he'd had to wait, until the man with the rifle's eyes strayed to a woman splayed out over three men, sick desire blinding him for just an instant - all he'd needed to shove the butt of the rifle into his throat, hard enough for a snap to ring out, shortly followed by the sizzle of electrocution. screaming at the agony of electric fire in his veins, he'd launched himself at the one holding the remote, punching and punching and punching until the guard's face was unrecognizable. the device crushed into useless pieces, and Andyr's vision went red. what happened after was a wash of screams and violence, andyr remembering the feeling of flesh ripping underneath his fingers, the crack of bone, the gurgle of a man trying to whimper through blood flooding his throat.
by the time bucky'd showed up, having cleared the halls beyond this one room, it was something out of a grotesque horror film, andyr sitting in the middle of it, washed in blood, still wearing that collar, every inch of him with a pulse of tremor. seeing him, knowing him, he'd raised up, and paced over, to place himself directly into bucky's arms, a hand going to the metal appendage, like it was a solid reminder of who he is, and what he is to andyr - the proof of it. "Take me home", he'd told him simply.
refusing the medbay, he'd gone straight to a shower, feeling dirty inside and out, scrubbing at his skin until it left rashes (which quickly healed, but happened all the same), never again, he'd sworn to himself two years ago. never again, never again, never again. and yet, here he was. they hadn't even needed the drugs and restraints. just a gun to his head, and he'd bowed to it. sobs like screams ripped from the nomo deck showers, as andyr punched at the tile lining the stall, underneath the showerhead, until it cracked and fell away, leaving a dent in the metal behind it.
eyes still rimmed red, he'd marched back to bucky's private room, hand curled in the towel around his hips. he can't do this. not again. he can't feel like his body is his own again, like there aren't fingerprints staining his bones, can't forget the 'property of' disclaimer drilled into his spine, but perhaps if he can't be his own, he can be bucky's.
his hand reaches out for barnes' metal wrist, and andyr turns, to push his back against bucky's chest, silently, leaning back against him in a way that feels like surrender, but without any ounce of shame or defeat in it. simply letting go. his hand moving to cover the back of bucky's mechanical one, he pulls him to slide against his naked, damp stomach, fingers splayed. downward, slowly, until he's urging him to touch beneath the towel wrapped loose and low on his hips. ]
Please. [ he whispers, into the side of Bucky's throat. he needs this. ]
he'd had to wait, until the man with the rifle's eyes strayed to a woman splayed out over three men, sick desire blinding him for just an instant - all he'd needed to shove the butt of the rifle into his throat, hard enough for a snap to ring out, shortly followed by the sizzle of electrocution. screaming at the agony of electric fire in his veins, he'd launched himself at the one holding the remote, punching and punching and punching until the guard's face was unrecognizable. the device crushed into useless pieces, and Andyr's vision went red. what happened after was a wash of screams and violence, andyr remembering the feeling of flesh ripping underneath his fingers, the crack of bone, the gurgle of a man trying to whimper through blood flooding his throat.
by the time bucky'd showed up, having cleared the halls beyond this one room, it was something out of a grotesque horror film, andyr sitting in the middle of it, washed in blood, still wearing that collar, every inch of him with a pulse of tremor. seeing him, knowing him, he'd raised up, and paced over, to place himself directly into bucky's arms, a hand going to the metal appendage, like it was a solid reminder of who he is, and what he is to andyr - the proof of it. "Take me home", he'd told him simply.
refusing the medbay, he'd gone straight to a shower, feeling dirty inside and out, scrubbing at his skin until it left rashes (which quickly healed, but happened all the same), never again, he'd sworn to himself two years ago. never again, never again, never again. and yet, here he was. they hadn't even needed the drugs and restraints. just a gun to his head, and he'd bowed to it. sobs like screams ripped from the nomo deck showers, as andyr punched at the tile lining the stall, underneath the showerhead, until it cracked and fell away, leaving a dent in the metal behind it.
eyes still rimmed red, he'd marched back to bucky's private room, hand curled in the towel around his hips. he can't do this. not again. he can't feel like his body is his own again, like there aren't fingerprints staining his bones, can't forget the 'property of' disclaimer drilled into his spine, but perhaps if he can't be his own, he can be bucky's.
his hand reaches out for barnes' metal wrist, and andyr turns, to push his back against bucky's chest, silently, leaning back against him in a way that feels like surrender, but without any ounce of shame or defeat in it. simply letting go. his hand moving to cover the back of bucky's mechanical one, he pulls him to slide against his naked, damp stomach, fingers splayed. downward, slowly, until he's urging him to touch beneath the towel wrapped loose and low on his hips. ]
Please. [ he whispers, into the side of Bucky's throat. he needs this. ]
[ The first thing Bucky did when he found Andyr, soaked through with blood and gore and the sickening accompanying scent of waste -- because when people are killed and ripped apart, all of what's inside of them spills out; it's never as clean as what you see in the movies -- is to unsnap the collar that has held him captive.
The second thing he did was to take him back to the ship, keeping a tight lid on his thoughts and emotions because surely, whatever he's thinking right now is nothing compared to the turmoil and the hatred, the pain and anger and fear that churns in Andyr like a brewing storm, unleashed upon the slavers who had thought they could keep him obedient. It sickens and enrages him to know that he had been at their mercy for so long -- Bucky had abandoned everything else the moment he knew Andyr was taking, committing all his time and effort into hunting the man down, narrowing the location and extracting him from the place as quickly as he could.
He doesn't know if he had been in time -- he doesn't care for the bodies that Andyr's racked up, as long as he's safe; but there's something in those glassy eyes that tells him that something's cracked anew inside of him, and with all of Bucky's heart he wants to close over it, to mend it and tell him that he's safe.
Bucky keeps his distance, cleaning up while Andyr headed to the showers. He's out sooner than the man is, giving him time to process the trauma of what's happened, sure to be there for him when he needs.
Soon enough, Andyr comes and presses up against him like a kitten seeking warmth, seeking validation and need, and he smells the soap's fragrance instead of blood, the dampness of his skin as he's stepped out of the shower. Andyr leans against him and it's open surrender, it's a yearning that he understands completely; open and vulnerable and matter-of-fact, and once more he wonders at Andyr's trust in him, the simplicity and weight of it both.
So when he guides his hand down, down to his stomach, underneath his towel, Bucky moves further, pressing close to his back and pressing his lips to his shoulder, his neck. ]
Okay. [ He murmurs quietly, softly, as the towel pools at his feet. He will claim him, and wipe away everything that the slavers had tried to stain him with. ] Okay, Andyr. You're mine, right?
The second thing he did was to take him back to the ship, keeping a tight lid on his thoughts and emotions because surely, whatever he's thinking right now is nothing compared to the turmoil and the hatred, the pain and anger and fear that churns in Andyr like a brewing storm, unleashed upon the slavers who had thought they could keep him obedient. It sickens and enrages him to know that he had been at their mercy for so long -- Bucky had abandoned everything else the moment he knew Andyr was taking, committing all his time and effort into hunting the man down, narrowing the location and extracting him from the place as quickly as he could.
He doesn't know if he had been in time -- he doesn't care for the bodies that Andyr's racked up, as long as he's safe; but there's something in those glassy eyes that tells him that something's cracked anew inside of him, and with all of Bucky's heart he wants to close over it, to mend it and tell him that he's safe.
Bucky keeps his distance, cleaning up while Andyr headed to the showers. He's out sooner than the man is, giving him time to process the trauma of what's happened, sure to be there for him when he needs.
Soon enough, Andyr comes and presses up against him like a kitten seeking warmth, seeking validation and need, and he smells the soap's fragrance instead of blood, the dampness of his skin as he's stepped out of the shower. Andyr leans against him and it's open surrender, it's a yearning that he understands completely; open and vulnerable and matter-of-fact, and once more he wonders at Andyr's trust in him, the simplicity and weight of it both.
So when he guides his hand down, down to his stomach, underneath his towel, Bucky moves further, pressing close to his back and pressing his lips to his shoulder, his neck. ]
Okay. [ He murmurs quietly, softly, as the towel pools at his feet. He will claim him, and wipe away everything that the slavers had tried to stain him with. ] Okay, Andyr. You're mine, right?
[ there are very, very few times in Andyr's life that he's ever thought he needed protecting, ever wanted it, or would ever have accepted it. he'd been so 'be my own hero' since his third or fourth month in Hapsburg, and it was a philosophy he clung to like a lifeline. chanting it like a mantra to himself that he could stomach this, that he could bring himself through it, that he was strong enough for it.
but it's times like this that break him.
it's what has him nodding his head, as his body slumps against the cradle of bucky's chest, the towel slipping free with andyr not at all concerned about how bare it leaves him. ]
I'm yours. [ he murmurs, against the roughness on Bucky's jaw, those words not easy for him to say. he'd spent so, so long fighting tooth and nail, quite literally, to be able to call his body, his mind, his soul in some way his own. to at least fight for it to be his own. to never surrender it. but it's things like what happened at the slaver post that make him feel like he can't breathe to get the words past his throat. they're stuck there, choking him with the lie he knows it is. so, yes, he's bucky's, because he can't protect himself, he can't even fool himself into thinking he ever could protect himself right now. he's bucky's, until he can be his own again. ]
I trust you. [ andyr whispers, with the hand covering bucky's moving up to grip the metal of his forearm, up further to curl over the mechanical bicep. it's a symbol of the horror done to him, and it's also something that's made him so, so strong, and that's what Andyr feels safe in. like that bond of shared trauma promises something to him. there's so, so few people Andyr can let himself go into the care of, maybe only one or two besides. Bucky's now part of that list, even as small tremors quake through Andyr's hands, his shoulders, his legs. a quiet shake he can't control either. ]
but it's times like this that break him.
it's what has him nodding his head, as his body slumps against the cradle of bucky's chest, the towel slipping free with andyr not at all concerned about how bare it leaves him. ]
I'm yours. [ he murmurs, against the roughness on Bucky's jaw, those words not easy for him to say. he'd spent so, so long fighting tooth and nail, quite literally, to be able to call his body, his mind, his soul in some way his own. to at least fight for it to be his own. to never surrender it. but it's things like what happened at the slaver post that make him feel like he can't breathe to get the words past his throat. they're stuck there, choking him with the lie he knows it is. so, yes, he's bucky's, because he can't protect himself, he can't even fool himself into thinking he ever could protect himself right now. he's bucky's, until he can be his own again. ]
I trust you. [ andyr whispers, with the hand covering bucky's moving up to grip the metal of his forearm, up further to curl over the mechanical bicep. it's a symbol of the horror done to him, and it's also something that's made him so, so strong, and that's what Andyr feels safe in. like that bond of shared trauma promises something to him. there's so, so few people Andyr can let himself go into the care of, maybe only one or two besides. Bucky's now part of that list, even as small tremors quake through Andyr's hands, his shoulders, his legs. a quiet shake he can't control either. ]
And you're safe.
[ Bucky's words are a low rumble. He knows this desire for what it is -- for Andyr to melt into him, to know that he's not alone, and his words, when spoken out loud, serve to reinforce the sentiment, re-drawing the lines that had been smudged and decimated when the slavers had gotten their grubby hands on him. He lays kisses against the sharp, defined line of Andyr's jaw, the plates of his metal arm shifting under Andyr's touch, alive under his hands.
He will draw those lines again, remind Andyr again and again that he's safe to come out, that Bucky won't let that happen to him again. He knows how much it takes out of Andyr to even seek him out like this; and how, right now, he's beyond petty pride and ego.
He's Bucky's, for as long as he needs him, for as long as he wants to be sheltered and protected; they will tend to his wounds together, and he doesn't miss the way his body trembles. Bucky only holds him tighter, possessive and firm, before he gently guides him to the bed -- he will wipe off every filthy word, every minute of every day that Andyr had been forced to stay captive, and his soft murmured words of comfort are a binding promise to mitigate the horrors he has been subjected to. ]
You're all mine, and I'll take care of you. [ His words are soft against his ear, quiet and soothing, gently easing Andyr down with him to the bed that they share together. His Andyr is fully naked now, but it doesn't matter -- Bucky is his shield, and he will keep him away from the rest of the world. ] You've been very brave, but let me take care of you now.
[ Bucky's words are a low rumble. He knows this desire for what it is -- for Andyr to melt into him, to know that he's not alone, and his words, when spoken out loud, serve to reinforce the sentiment, re-drawing the lines that had been smudged and decimated when the slavers had gotten their grubby hands on him. He lays kisses against the sharp, defined line of Andyr's jaw, the plates of his metal arm shifting under Andyr's touch, alive under his hands.
He will draw those lines again, remind Andyr again and again that he's safe to come out, that Bucky won't let that happen to him again. He knows how much it takes out of Andyr to even seek him out like this; and how, right now, he's beyond petty pride and ego.
He's Bucky's, for as long as he needs him, for as long as he wants to be sheltered and protected; they will tend to his wounds together, and he doesn't miss the way his body trembles. Bucky only holds him tighter, possessive and firm, before he gently guides him to the bed -- he will wipe off every filthy word, every minute of every day that Andyr had been forced to stay captive, and his soft murmured words of comfort are a binding promise to mitigate the horrors he has been subjected to. ]
You're all mine, and I'll take care of you. [ His words are soft against his ear, quiet and soothing, gently easing Andyr down with him to the bed that they share together. His Andyr is fully naked now, but it doesn't matter -- Bucky is his shield, and he will keep him away from the rest of the world. ] You've been very brave, but let me take care of you now.
[ Andyr spends his life refusing to relax, stop fighting and just heal. most days, taking a break from that relentlessness of his personality feels uncomfortable, like there's something he's neglecting, something he should be doing, but here, when he's been broken down to the base of him, feels like a scared, seventeen year old boy locked away in a cell with no mother, no father and no sister - no one coming to get him - it's as if it's his only relief. he's only fortunate, this time, to have bucky here, and to foster the kind of trust for this man that allows him to put himself in his hands and let go.
soft kisses against his jaw, arms circling his body and careful words at his ear, it's more gentle than likely anyone outside this room would believe bucky barnes could still be, and it's everything Andyr needs to sink into right now. a quiet sigh, like a exhale that breathes out the last of his holds on himself, deflate him some, and andyr goes where he's led, letting bucky's words wash over him, and willing himself to put absolute faith into those small promises. ]
Okay. [ a whispered murmur, almost trance-like, as his body eases down to the mattress that gives comfortably under his weight, feeling the dip when Bucky crawls in along with him, and Andyr doesn't seem to want to take his hands off him. always touching at some point, be it a hand on his arm, gripping a wrist, or both arms looped over his shoulders, when they settle, gravitating towards him like his body alone is a safe haven. as if he could crawl in and nestle somewhere between his ribs, and stay, warm and hidden and protected, close to everything else vital to bucky. ]
You came for me. [ the words are murmured against bucky's neck, near the hollow of his throat, as andyr's hands pull at his clothes carefully. he'd been too lost in his head to say it earlier, but he'd realized it then. bucky's the only one who's ever come for him. when the Houses took him, he had no family left, no father who would commit his every waking moment to getting his son back, and the people of his neighborhood, no matter how much they may have been fond of him or appreciated him, would all step back when the line of Hapsburg soldiers appeared. it had been a whispered chant in the back of his mind the entire six and a half years he was sealed in that cell, or strapped to the operation tables, only growing louder when the screams started - no one's coming for you, no one's missing you, because no one cares.
but bucky had. ]
You came for me. [ Andyr rasps again, this time touched with emotion, hoarse with his throat constricting, an ache that comes with that familiar surge of tears wanting to push out from him, and he closes his eyes tight, seeking out bucky's lips, kissing him with all of that stunned gratitude and need pressed into it, gasping when his lips part, fingers in bucky's hair pulling at him. needing so much more of him. ]
soft kisses against his jaw, arms circling his body and careful words at his ear, it's more gentle than likely anyone outside this room would believe bucky barnes could still be, and it's everything Andyr needs to sink into right now. a quiet sigh, like a exhale that breathes out the last of his holds on himself, deflate him some, and andyr goes where he's led, letting bucky's words wash over him, and willing himself to put absolute faith into those small promises. ]
Okay. [ a whispered murmur, almost trance-like, as his body eases down to the mattress that gives comfortably under his weight, feeling the dip when Bucky crawls in along with him, and Andyr doesn't seem to want to take his hands off him. always touching at some point, be it a hand on his arm, gripping a wrist, or both arms looped over his shoulders, when they settle, gravitating towards him like his body alone is a safe haven. as if he could crawl in and nestle somewhere between his ribs, and stay, warm and hidden and protected, close to everything else vital to bucky. ]
You came for me. [ the words are murmured against bucky's neck, near the hollow of his throat, as andyr's hands pull at his clothes carefully. he'd been too lost in his head to say it earlier, but he'd realized it then. bucky's the only one who's ever come for him. when the Houses took him, he had no family left, no father who would commit his every waking moment to getting his son back, and the people of his neighborhood, no matter how much they may have been fond of him or appreciated him, would all step back when the line of Hapsburg soldiers appeared. it had been a whispered chant in the back of his mind the entire six and a half years he was sealed in that cell, or strapped to the operation tables, only growing louder when the screams started - no one's coming for you, no one's missing you, because no one cares.
but bucky had. ]
You came for me. [ Andyr rasps again, this time touched with emotion, hoarse with his throat constricting, an ache that comes with that familiar surge of tears wanting to push out from him, and he closes his eyes tight, seeking out bucky's lips, kissing him with all of that stunned gratitude and need pressed into it, gasping when his lips part, fingers in bucky's hair pulling at him. needing so much more of him. ]
I'll always come for you, Andyr. Always.
[ Bucky's words hold a quiet vehemence, a powerful promise he whispers against his mouth when he kisses him over and over, bearing him down onto the mattress. His Andyr carries scars no one else should carry; a burden that is terrible and heart-wrenching all at once. He can hear the plaintiveness in his voice, the desperation and the gratitude he laps up and absorbs with a frightening intensity, an eagerness to comfort and to ease all his pain away.
His hands roam Andyr's body, tracking over every inch of skin and marking him, fingers digging into flesh lightly here and there, leaving light bruises that will heal within hours. Bucky's nudging Andyr's legs open because he knows what he needs, when he's here like this and he needs to get out of his head.
Even so, he's in no hurry. He's hitching Andyr's legs around his waist as his mouth finds his, heated and wanting, trailing down to his throat while his free hand comes to wrap around his dick, warm metal wrapped around his heated skin. Bucky makes a soft noise as he finds his way to his mouth again, his dark eyes glittering. ]
I don't care if I have to move the world to find you, Andyr. I always will.
[ Because he will be the one who saves him when no one else is brave enough to step forward; and he would commit every waking moment to keeping him safe and by his side, cleansed from his trauma at the slavers. Bucky can't feel entirely sorry for them, really -- they've had it coming for thinking that they could leash a tiger before Andyr leaped for their throats.
His hand other hand comes to curl around Andyr's throat, gently resting there as he nudges his head up for another deep, hot and searing kiss. ] You belong to me, and I'm going to make sure no one hurts you again.
[ Bucky's words hold a quiet vehemence, a powerful promise he whispers against his mouth when he kisses him over and over, bearing him down onto the mattress. His Andyr carries scars no one else should carry; a burden that is terrible and heart-wrenching all at once. He can hear the plaintiveness in his voice, the desperation and the gratitude he laps up and absorbs with a frightening intensity, an eagerness to comfort and to ease all his pain away.
His hands roam Andyr's body, tracking over every inch of skin and marking him, fingers digging into flesh lightly here and there, leaving light bruises that will heal within hours. Bucky's nudging Andyr's legs open because he knows what he needs, when he's here like this and he needs to get out of his head.
Even so, he's in no hurry. He's hitching Andyr's legs around his waist as his mouth finds his, heated and wanting, trailing down to his throat while his free hand comes to wrap around his dick, warm metal wrapped around his heated skin. Bucky makes a soft noise as he finds his way to his mouth again, his dark eyes glittering. ]
I don't care if I have to move the world to find you, Andyr. I always will.
[ Because he will be the one who saves him when no one else is brave enough to step forward; and he would commit every waking moment to keeping him safe and by his side, cleansed from his trauma at the slavers. Bucky can't feel entirely sorry for them, really -- they've had it coming for thinking that they could leash a tiger before Andyr leaped for their throats.
His hand other hand comes to curl around Andyr's throat, gently resting there as he nudges his head up for another deep, hot and searing kiss. ] You belong to me, and I'm going to make sure no one hurts you again.
[ there's hardly even a sting for the pressure that's hard enough to invite bruises to color his skin, blue and purple, for all his body has evolved, has adapted to what he'd been put through, for what his genetic nature tried to do from the inside to protect him. his pain tolerance is absurd, at this point, but he knows the press of bucky's fingers and the curl of his hands against his skin, and he knows there's enough force in it to mark him. it might look odd to be sighing softly, like relief, at the aspect of visible injury, when the same gesture from anyone else would have him insulted and enraged. with bucky, it just feels like becoming human again.
all it takes is the careful nudge to his knees, and Andyr's thighs part to let bucky settled between them, hips cradled against the backs of his legs as they wrap over his waist, twisting around bucky's body and pulling himself as close as he can to his warmth and security. to the streaming words of assurance, protection and such gentle nurturing Andyr hasn't known in what feels like a lifetime. he breathes out with murmured words, nodding his head. ] I believe you, Bucky.
[ of all the people on the ship who've told him about how they'd come help him fight his war back home, or how they'd want to save him from something like that, right now, Bucky's the only one he truly believes.
too strong emotion, like a fever rising in him, swells, making his chest feel tight, and with Bucky reaching between them to take him in hand and stroke arousal along his cock, it's a very personal kind of intimacy they don't typically have. andyr bare in every sense of the word, and bucky all strong muscle and sturdy support, still dressed from after his shower, entirely in control of this. a shaky inhale goes through him, throat hitching under Bucky's hand, and leaves him slowly, with a faint moan, as his hips push up into the metal circling his dick, pumping sweetly. ]
I'm sorry. [ it just tumbles out, in the freefall of all that's he's letting go, and andyr shakes his head a bit, eyes closed, with a crease between his brows, not even sure what he's apologizing for. for being a mess? certainly not for the bloodbath he'd left behind. for not saving himself? for what compromise of his dignity he'd made in order to wait for the moment he needed to safely snap back, rather than just his proud, no exceptions refusal and defiance he'd always carried before. not that bucky had been there for that, not that he's in his head now to know, but there's still that shame in him, as if he knows, as if the entire ship does.
andyr mutters it again, i'm sorry, but pushes to press his face into the curve of bucky's shoulder and neck, as if that could block out the entire reality of it. his legs around bucky's hips squeeze and pull at him, arching up for more of him, as his hands pick at the closures of his top, and the fly of his pants shortly after, wanting to get to his skin - his stomach, his chests, his hips, anything so long as it's him. ]
all it takes is the careful nudge to his knees, and Andyr's thighs part to let bucky settled between them, hips cradled against the backs of his legs as they wrap over his waist, twisting around bucky's body and pulling himself as close as he can to his warmth and security. to the streaming words of assurance, protection and such gentle nurturing Andyr hasn't known in what feels like a lifetime. he breathes out with murmured words, nodding his head. ] I believe you, Bucky.
[ of all the people on the ship who've told him about how they'd come help him fight his war back home, or how they'd want to save him from something like that, right now, Bucky's the only one he truly believes.
too strong emotion, like a fever rising in him, swells, making his chest feel tight, and with Bucky reaching between them to take him in hand and stroke arousal along his cock, it's a very personal kind of intimacy they don't typically have. andyr bare in every sense of the word, and bucky all strong muscle and sturdy support, still dressed from after his shower, entirely in control of this. a shaky inhale goes through him, throat hitching under Bucky's hand, and leaves him slowly, with a faint moan, as his hips push up into the metal circling his dick, pumping sweetly. ]
I'm sorry. [ it just tumbles out, in the freefall of all that's he's letting go, and andyr shakes his head a bit, eyes closed, with a crease between his brows, not even sure what he's apologizing for. for being a mess? certainly not for the bloodbath he'd left behind. for not saving himself? for what compromise of his dignity he'd made in order to wait for the moment he needed to safely snap back, rather than just his proud, no exceptions refusal and defiance he'd always carried before. not that bucky had been there for that, not that he's in his head now to know, but there's still that shame in him, as if he knows, as if the entire ship does.
andyr mutters it again, i'm sorry, but pushes to press his face into the curve of bucky's shoulder and neck, as if that could block out the entire reality of it. his legs around bucky's hips squeeze and pull at him, arching up for more of him, as his hands pick at the closures of his top, and the fly of his pants shortly after, wanting to get to his skin - his stomach, his chests, his hips, anything so long as it's him. ]
Don't be sorry. [ He says quietly, firmly, taken by the way Andyr yields to him. He calms that frantic, fluttering nature with infinite patience and a tenderness that he guards from everyone else. This is meant for Andyr, a precious, rare thing saved for him; and he grinds against Andyr's naked length, feeling the smaller man rise up against him with a desire that he intends to fulfill.
Tonight, everything revolves around Andyr, everything is about him -- and he only moves away to let Andyr shuck his shirt off, rolling his shoulders gracefully before moving back to crush his mouth against his. ]
Never be sorry. [ He's insistent, his hand pulling away from Andyr's throat as he continues to stroke his cock. Bucky's devotion is silent but evident, his attention centered completely on his needs.
Feeling Andyr thrust into his hand is a sensuous, erotic thing, and he murmurs against his mouth, feeling that naked cock rub up against his jeans. He has the control here, but he uses it for Andyr's sake, keeps him safe and drives the nightmares away.
He reaches for the lubricant by the bedside and offers it to him. ] I'm going to take care of you, Andyr. Tell me what you want. Let me make you feel good.
Tonight, everything revolves around Andyr, everything is about him -- and he only moves away to let Andyr shuck his shirt off, rolling his shoulders gracefully before moving back to crush his mouth against his. ]
Never be sorry. [ He's insistent, his hand pulling away from Andyr's throat as he continues to stroke his cock. Bucky's devotion is silent but evident, his attention centered completely on his needs.
Feeling Andyr thrust into his hand is a sensuous, erotic thing, and he murmurs against his mouth, feeling that naked cock rub up against his jeans. He has the control here, but he uses it for Andyr's sake, keeps him safe and drives the nightmares away.
He reaches for the lubricant by the bedside and offers it to him. ] I'm going to take care of you, Andyr. Tell me what you want. Let me make you feel good.
[ the moment bucky's shirt is off and tossed away, andyr's arms reach up, wrapping over broad shoulders, and around his side, pulling his face to bucky's chest, burrowing against the side of his neck and hiding himself there, against the strength of the man's torso. bucky's always so solid, and nothing feels safer to him than this - being curled against that sturdiness, feeling bucky's weight press down against him and his arms frame his body.
bucky makes him sweet promises, to take care of him, to always find him, to protect him, and puts all the faith he has into him, holding tight and letting the rest of his will crumble for the moment. he's tired of standing on his own, picking him back up every time he's knocked down. bucky's willing and able, and treating his body like something holy right now, andyr's back bow up against him, as his head falls back, and his eyes close. a bottle is pressed into his hand, and andyr doesn't need to look down to know what it is. yes, this is what he needs, exactly this. something good, something kind, something that makes him feel like more than a pile of bones and pretty skin. ]
I want you inside me. [ he's telling him, against bucky's shoulder, as he pops the bottle open, and seeks out bucky's hand. loathe to end the sensation as he is, he's tugging at the one stroke him, pulling him off with a quiet sigh, enough to slick the lubricant along his fingers, and direct him back down. his thighs spread further, hips tilting up, and andyr pulls bucky's hand to slip between his cheeks and press inside him.
he won't take much stretching - they've been doing this a lot lately, and he wants bucky's cock pushing up into him, filling him up and retaking him, as soon as he can. fingers ply at the closures of his pants against, pulling them open and pushing the fabric off his hips, enough that he can coat bucky's dick, make the eventual slide smooth and slick and easy and perfect. ] Slow, I wanna feel it.
bucky makes him sweet promises, to take care of him, to always find him, to protect him, and puts all the faith he has into him, holding tight and letting the rest of his will crumble for the moment. he's tired of standing on his own, picking him back up every time he's knocked down. bucky's willing and able, and treating his body like something holy right now, andyr's back bow up against him, as his head falls back, and his eyes close. a bottle is pressed into his hand, and andyr doesn't need to look down to know what it is. yes, this is what he needs, exactly this. something good, something kind, something that makes him feel like more than a pile of bones and pretty skin. ]
I want you inside me. [ he's telling him, against bucky's shoulder, as he pops the bottle open, and seeks out bucky's hand. loathe to end the sensation as he is, he's tugging at the one stroke him, pulling him off with a quiet sigh, enough to slick the lubricant along his fingers, and direct him back down. his thighs spread further, hips tilting up, and andyr pulls bucky's hand to slip between his cheeks and press inside him.
he won't take much stretching - they've been doing this a lot lately, and he wants bucky's cock pushing up into him, filling him up and retaking him, as soon as he can. fingers ply at the closures of his pants against, pulling them open and pushing the fabric off his hips, enough that he can coat bucky's dick, make the eventual slide smooth and slick and easy and perfect. ] Slow, I wanna feel it.
( continued )
[Ronan's spine curves in reaction to the fingernails dragging across his back, his body sliding against Andyr's. He feels pleasantly helpless at the mercy of Andyr's desire, and if he was better at lying to himself, he might have been able to argue that he's absolved of the responsibility for this. Because, oh, how could he resist this? Andyr's mouth on his mouth and Andyr's hands running over his skin. A boy can only handle so much temptation.
But Ronan's not so delusional, and guilt nags at him for the heaviness between his legs and every moment spent in anticipation of Andyr's next touch. His lips part as he pants against Andyr's mouth, whispering a half-formed prayer before his tongue slides back in to savor the taste of him.
Ronan's hands find Andyr's nipples and he feels fleetingly scandalized, like he's discovered something forbidden, before his thumbs begin to rub experimental circles over them and he begins to consider that he might actually be capable of giving Andyr not just attention but pleasure.]
[Ronan's spine curves in reaction to the fingernails dragging across his back, his body sliding against Andyr's. He feels pleasantly helpless at the mercy of Andyr's desire, and if he was better at lying to himself, he might have been able to argue that he's absolved of the responsibility for this. Because, oh, how could he resist this? Andyr's mouth on his mouth and Andyr's hands running over his skin. A boy can only handle so much temptation.
But Ronan's not so delusional, and guilt nags at him for the heaviness between his legs and every moment spent in anticipation of Andyr's next touch. His lips part as he pants against Andyr's mouth, whispering a half-formed prayer before his tongue slides back in to savor the taste of him.
Ronan's hands find Andyr's nipples and he feels fleetingly scandalized, like he's discovered something forbidden, before his thumbs begin to rub experimental circles over them and he begins to consider that he might actually be capable of giving Andyr not just attention but pleasure.]
[ Andyr's lips part, about to ask about the whispered words, having a good guess what they are but more wanting to check that Ronan's alright with this. That's abruptly derailed when Ronan's roaming hands find his nipples, and shocks of tingling pleasure shoot through him, heat racing along his spine, and pooling at the pit of his stomach, as there's a somewhat involuntary roll of his hips against his friend's. A quiet, sharp groan is lost in between their lips, but Andyr's had something spike in him, head ducking to suck at the side of Ronan's throat, pulling up a red mark there that he'll perhaps feel like apologizing for later.
Ronan isn't just a good friend, and a great man with a noble soul. He's utter gorgeous, in the sharp angles of his features, the brightness of his eyes, and the solid build of his body. The art spanning his back seems so perfect to him, as if it just floated up to the top of his skin on its own, and Andyr can't stop thinking of just how fucking hot it is.
A hand eases at Ronan's shoulders, a light push that doesn't force him to lay his back to the floor of the tent, but more guides. Andyr's been in a place of no choice with this before, and it's the deepest violation he's ever known. Never would he allow the same to happen to Ronan, who's so giving and so loving and so kind. With that in his mind, as he kisses down Ronan's neck and shoulders, lips brush against the bud of a nipple, he pauses, glancing back to him, before everything's carried away. ] Good?
[ huffed out, breathless. he's clearly wanting more of him, but like hell he'd take without permission. ]
Ronan isn't just a good friend, and a great man with a noble soul. He's utter gorgeous, in the sharp angles of his features, the brightness of his eyes, and the solid build of his body. The art spanning his back seems so perfect to him, as if it just floated up to the top of his skin on its own, and Andyr can't stop thinking of just how fucking hot it is.
A hand eases at Ronan's shoulders, a light push that doesn't force him to lay his back to the floor of the tent, but more guides. Andyr's been in a place of no choice with this before, and it's the deepest violation he's ever known. Never would he allow the same to happen to Ronan, who's so giving and so loving and so kind. With that in his mind, as he kisses down Ronan's neck and shoulders, lips brush against the bud of a nipple, he pauses, glancing back to him, before everything's carried away. ] Good?
[ huffed out, breathless. he's clearly wanting more of him, but like hell he'd take without permission. ]
[Ronan goes where Andyr guides him, his body either entirely responsive to Andyr's will or entirely unresponsive to Ronan's. On his back, he gives in to every touch, soaking up Andyr's kisses and sucking in soft gasps as those lips seem to find a path that's especially sensitive and Ronan wonders, distantly, how the fuck Andyr knows exactly where to put his mouth.
And then Andyr's found his nipple, and even the lightest graze sends an electric shock of pleasure through him, striking the core of him and drawing out a moan when he opens his mouth to answer:]
G-Good.
[Actually, he doesn't really understand the question. It occurs to him only a few seconds later that Andyr's asking for permission, not feedback. Not that it matters, as long as the result is Andyr's mouth on his skin. Ronan's hands slide up to Andyr's hair, fingers combing through it in encouragement. They can't possibly stop now.]
And then Andyr's found his nipple, and even the lightest graze sends an electric shock of pleasure through him, striking the core of him and drawing out a moan when he opens his mouth to answer:]
G-Good.
[Actually, he doesn't really understand the question. It occurs to him only a few seconds later that Andyr's asking for permission, not feedback. Not that it matters, as long as the result is Andyr's mouth on his skin. Ronan's hands slide up to Andyr's hair, fingers combing through it in encouragement. They can't possibly stop now.]
[ Andyr knows because he isn't a virgin, and it hadn't exactly been an 'everything in one night' sort of deal. teenage fooling around was a normal sort of thing, as far as andyr'd believed, which is why he isn't feeling particularly bad about screwing around with another teenager, along with the fact he's 18. between that, and the fact alvary seemed to think prostate exams was the perfect time to go about giving detailed sex ed talks, but what he's doing with ronan is just what feels right - laving against the hardened nipple, sucking softly at him, and knead the bud between dull teeth.
his lips smile against ronan's skin, laugh coming out in a puff of warm air against saliva slick skin, at ronan's encouragement - the gasp, the hand in his head, the good that sounds more compliment than permission, but andyr takes it. hands roam, scraping up his side, moving to rub at the other nipple, thumb caressing in small circles, occasionally a tender pinch as he rolls the bud between fingertips. he swaps, trading sides, and leaves another deep red make at ronan's side, a few inches lower than his armpit. ]
You're freakin' gorgeous, Ronan, you know that? [ andyr breathes it out, as he kisses down his sternum, to his stomach, licking along the dipped lines between his muscles. it feels near worshipful, what attention he gives to his friend's body, before skimming back up to his lips, framing his cheeks in his hands, and settling him with another passionate, burning kiss. [
his lips smile against ronan's skin, laugh coming out in a puff of warm air against saliva slick skin, at ronan's encouragement - the gasp, the hand in his head, the good that sounds more compliment than permission, but andyr takes it. hands roam, scraping up his side, moving to rub at the other nipple, thumb caressing in small circles, occasionally a tender pinch as he rolls the bud between fingertips. he swaps, trading sides, and leaves another deep red make at ronan's side, a few inches lower than his armpit. ]
You're freakin' gorgeous, Ronan, you know that? [ andyr breathes it out, as he kisses down his sternum, to his stomach, licking along the dipped lines between his muscles. it feels near worshipful, what attention he gives to his friend's body, before skimming back up to his lips, framing his cheeks in his hands, and settling him with another passionate, burning kiss. [
[Ronan isn't unaware of his beauty, being the subject of at least one stalker obsession and having the unfortunate effect of causing women to swoon wherever he goes. But only Adam has ever made him feel desirable, and only in the precious few hours before his departure, so this... This is all new to Ronan. Being told that he's gorgeous, being treated like this by someone he desires with equal fervor.
Andyr's mouth and hands are driving him wild. Ronan's hips jerk as Andyr nips and sucks and rubs at his nipples, his breath escaping ah ah ah like he's on the verge of protesting but ultimately decides he wants it to never stop.
And as Andyr's mouth dips lower and runs over his taut abs, Ronan's mind becomes a white haze of lust and he loses all capability of coherent thought. When Andyr rises to catch his lips again, Ronan's thighs slide up to trap his waist, grinding hip-to-hip.]
Andyr's mouth and hands are driving him wild. Ronan's hips jerk as Andyr nips and sucks and rubs at his nipples, his breath escaping ah ah ah like he's on the verge of protesting but ultimately decides he wants it to never stop.
And as Andyr's mouth dips lower and runs over his taut abs, Ronan's mind becomes a white haze of lust and he loses all capability of coherent thought. When Andyr rises to catch his lips again, Ronan's thighs slide up to trap his waist, grinding hip-to-hip.]
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