[ Sam doesn't really care about rusty, honestly. The fact that it's Bucky means a hell of a lot more to him than all the kissing skills in the world, and the way he can tell how much Bucky likes the way that feels - that's worth more than anything. Sam's always been into being able to figure out what his partner likes, always enjoyed being the one to make them feel good, but the feedback from the broodbond is-
It's a thing. It's a rush, and Sam leans into Bucky's touch on his neck, too, encouraging.
There's a trickle of amused affection when Bucky's nose bumps against his, and Sam briefly bumps his nose back, playful, before Bucky tilts his head and they slot completely together. Sunlight sparks in his mind, the clouds that usually obscure it dissipating, and he makes a small, contented noise in the back of his throat. ]
[Along with the rustiness comes a lack of knowledge regarding timing and technique. He slowly pulls his mouth back, but keeps his hand curled at the nape of Sam's neck, unsure of what to do. Sam seems to enjoy kissing him and physical affection, in general, seems to please Sam. A silent question of what do I do now brushes about the borders of the link, even as he clings tight to the taste of Sam's sunshine and the sound of the birds' carols.
Above all the uncertainty, though, Bucky loves the gratitude and sense of joy rolling thrpugh him in waves. awhat started as yet another panic attack changed over in a heartbeat into something new and good.]
[ Sam smiles as Bucky pulls back, tugging just a little with the fingers he's still got in Bucky's hair before he scratches again. Whatever you want to curls out in an automatic response, but he follows it up by pressing a tiny, brief kiss to the corner of Bucky's mouth.
He knows Bucky has a hard time with wants, but like this, their broodlink open wide and the two of them as much in each other's heads as in the physical world, with the sheer amount of gratitude and joy he's getting from Bucky that's echoed back from him - goddamn he'd do this all day every day if it makes Bucky happy, figure out a way to turn every damn bad experience that Bucky's had into something new and different even if it takes him a lifetime - well.
Sam kind of hopes that maybe they can figure out this wanting thing. ]
(It's just you and me here, Bucky, we got nothing to worry about. Doesn't matter if you don't know what to do, just gives us an opportunity to figure it out together, yeah? I like that. For now - how about we finish that shave, and then go from there?)
[Without the snow to obstruct his view, in addition to the shared sunlight pouring over the broodlink, Bucky can see further into the expanse of his mind than he ever though possible. For the longest time, he thought the lonely jade tower surrounded by barbed wire and eternal snow would be the only part of hiim. There would be nothing else to explore, only continued work on digging under the snow to see what may lie underneath.
But now? Now he can see beyond the mental border he himself marked with barbed wire. Above the tangle of metal, a proud forest stands tall, so thick Bucky can't make one tree from the next. Yet past the trees is a familiar city skyline in the distance. Brooklyn.
He never thought there would be more to his mind than the lonely jade tower, never be more than HYDRA and the hope that uncovering the snow meant finding triggers. Now, there's so much more and Bucky can't help the rush of emotions unfurling in all directions.
His eyes burn as he smiles, soft and warm- a far cry from his smirk. Nodding, he offers a mental impression of sure, shaving is fine.]
[ Bucky's mind is breath taking. Because it's beautiful, sure, Sam is equally caught up in the sun lit trees and the skyline of a city that's both home and foreign to Sam.
But also because it's Bucky. All of it is Bucky, and the sheer expanse of it is breath taking.
The hope that Bucky feels looking at the broadened landscape of his mind is just as breath taking, and Sam is just so damn grateful to be a part of it, to get to see it -
Somewhere buried far down, part of him accepts that he will never, ever get rid of the symbiote, not when it can help them have this, but conscious awareness of that will probably come much, much later.
Now, Sam smiles back, before letting go enough to reach for his shaving kit, though he stays close with his leg pressed against Bucky's.
He dips his fingers in a cup of water, then gently runs them back through Bucky's beard, just enough to get it wet - and if he lingers a little and scratches more than is strictly necessary, well. He just wants to, all right.
After that he squeezes out some shaving gel and rubs it between his hands, both to get it to frothe and to heat it up. Sam doesn't want there to be anything cold or clinical about this, and he leaves the impression of what he's gonna do before he sets one hand on Bucky's jaw, lathering up skin-warmed foam. ]
[Bucky is quietly embarrassed at Sam considering any part of him breath taking. His smile melts into more of an affectionate mush and the burn in his eyes doubles. His heart swells even as Sam moves judt far enough away to prepare the shaving cream. While eye contact is usually uncomfortable, bordering on distressing, but right now, it feels good and right.
Everything about this feels right. Sam's wet fingers dragging through his beard relax him and when Sam starts scratching, Bucky wants nothing more than to make Sam happy for the rest of their lives. Bucky's never felt that way about anyone before and he's not entirely sure what to do with the sensation.
When the scratching stops, he straightens from where he half-slouched against Sam. Foam should be alright. There's no blades here yet. He can do this for Sam]
[ There's a hell of a lot of Bucky that's breath taking as far as Sam's concerned - and he kind of likes Bucky being quietly embarrassed, he's gotta admit - but all right, he'll back off that.
The continued eye contact is definitely making his heartrate quicken a bit, but it's not like that's new. The happiness he's feeling is new, though, and there's definitely the feeling that he's just kind of basking in it. Shit he loves this dumb jackass so much.
He hums quietly as Bucky straightens up, getting to work on spreading the foam over Bucky's beard, fingers still scratching occasionally.
Then he grins wide at Bucky, and playfully brushes his thumb against Bucky's nose to leave a little foam dollop on the tip of it. ]
[At the return of the scratches, Bucky's nerves settle again, soothed by the gentle tug of nails against his skin. When Sam grins, Bucky raises his eyebrows, but then he's got a dollop of foam on his nose and he can't help but chuckle lightly. He probably looks more his age with the white foam in his beard, being a hundred years old and all. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he'll start aging now that he's been out of cryo for a touch over three years. For now, though, he can laugh at the white beard and try to dispel the slowly growing nerves.]
What's a Buckbeak? [says the guy who missed all of Harry Potter]
[ Bucky looking up and chuckling at him like that almost makes Sam want to hold off on the shave right here, to keep giving Bucky reasons to laugh - but no, he knows better. They can get back to this point again; it doesn't mean anything if they do it by just never touching on anything that's potentially upsetting. ]
A good looking guy with shaving cream on his nose. [ Sam's teasing, smile wide, but his mind supplies the real answer easily - a stunning feathered animal, part bird, part lion. A character in a book, a movie. ] Always wanted one.
[ Of course, they've got the birdlings - maybe they'll grow up into one. Not the point, anyway. Sam scratches one more time, mind curling around Bucky's and settling in their broodlink more firmly so Bucky'll know everything he's gonna to before he does it -
And then picks up the razor, and moves to make the first gentle swipe over Bucky's jaw. ]
[At first, Bucky's a touch puzzled by Sam's initial answer, but then the impression of a bird-lion billows across the link and he's not sure how he compares. He finds himself smiling at the thought of the twins, waiting for them back on the station. Sam scratches his beard one more time and then his eyes catch the gleam of metal out of his peripheral. On instinct, his right hand surges out to close about Sam's wrist, tight like a manacle.
[ One of the best things about their brood link, and about their connection being so strong, is that Sam can feel when Bucky's instincts flare up. He stops the second Bucky grabs him, making no move to pull his hand from Bucky's grasp. ]
It's fine - that's just you letting me know you need another minute. Look, man, I know that words didn't get you anywhere for a real long time; it makes sense that you'll react with what you've got. But you've got me, Bucky, you've got me. And I'm getting pretty good at learning what you're trying to tell me, so we can do this together. I'm not in any hurry.
[ No, he's not in any hurry - and he gets it, he does. Sam breathes, nice and slow, in to seven and out to eleven. ]
How about you breath with me, and count off everything you see in the room that's green - and you can hold on until you feel like you're ready to try again, then let go?
[Bucky nods silently, even as the bitter taste of shame works its way up his throat. He thought he was comfortable enough. Hell, Sam's been doing everything under the sun to ease his nerves and yet here they are. Gone is the glow of happiness, the bright sunshine to illuminate the full landscape of his mind. Gone is the proud forest full of fur and pine. Gone is the distant glimmer of a city he barely remembers, but recognizes all the same.
Instead, the snowstorm has resumed and the flowers that sprung up from under the ice are quickly covered in frost and ice.
But Sam says his name, reminds him this is different, that one step back doesn't mean giving up and he breathes as deeply as he can.]
One. [Inhale. Long exhale.] Grass. Two. [In through the nose and out through the mouth.] Tent.
[ His mental presence grows stronger as he moves more completely into their shared mind space - becomes the feel of fingers laced together, the press of lips to the side of Bucky's temples, wings wrapped around them both in a soft, sturdy hug to try to ward off the chill.
There's a faint hint of something between respect and appreciation when he feels Bucky pulling himself back and trying to regroup, when he breathes with him.
Sam'd offer to hold his hand, to give him something to focus on, but he kind of needs both of them to do this properly. His eyes flick down to Bucky's hand still locked around his wrist, and he gets something of an idea. ]
You can keep holding on if you want to. Might help so you know we can stop at any time.
[Mentally, Bucky draws closer, curls himself into Sam's mental embrace of flowers and wings and everything he loves about Sam Wilson. They can do this. Bucky just needs to take it one step at a time. He follows his gaze down to Sam's wrist where two silver wings tangle and pull. He sucks in a breath- three- to try and loosen his grip to focus on the feather charms instead.
As usual, Sam seems to have the perfect ideas for dealing with Bucky's issues.] Yeah.
[ Sam can't help but smile, just a little, as he follows Bucky's focus down to his wrist and the silver charms there. He itches to reach out and fiddle with them like he's done dozens of times since Bucky gave him the bracelet, or to play with Bucky's -
But not right now. Right now he focuses, wraps himself around Bucky as his broodmate curls into him. Does his best to remind Bucky that he's not alone, that he'll never have to do any of this alone.
That Sam loves him, though he keeps that dimmer so he doesn't overwhelm him.
It helps that he's been there. Or - something like there. He's never gonna try to say he understands what Bucky's going through, not more than what he can feel from their connection, but he knows what kind of things might help someone going through an extreme version of PTSD because he can extrapolate from the kinds of things that helped him.
Sam takes another few breaths, and then moves his hand in to try again, nice and easy. ]
[This second attempt is much more successful. With Bucky mentally curled against Sam and physicaly gripping Sam's wrist, absolutely none of the movements are unknown. The blade slides smoothly down his face, catching on an extra long hair here or there, but nothing that strikes as overly painful.
Alright, maybe they really can do this.
Bucky's breathing has evened out, his posture loosened, but his grip on Sam's wrist remains. Maybe he needs a few more swipes to be completely comfortable.]
[ Sam's pretty damn sure the two of them can do just about anything they set their minds to, if they're working together. The two of them, they make a damn good team. Always have, now it's just -
Well. Now it's just a little more than a team.
He'll keep going, slow and steady - and honestly touching Bucky as much as he can, scratching through what's left of his beard and lingering strokes over his jaw - until Bucky stops him, or until he's clean shaven. ]
[With the end of each pass of the razor, Bucky's nerves rebundle, but once the metal touches his skin again he seems to calm for the duration of the stroke. Sam keeping in contact doesn't hurt either and the scratching keeps him soothed until all of a sudden the shaving seems to stop.]
(Is it done?) [He hasn't released Sam's hand yet and can't tell if his face is clean shaven or not.]
[ There's a moment where Sam's breath catches - nothing close to what it does whenever Bucky meets his gaze, because there's always gonna be something about Bucky's eyes that gets to him - but there's definitely a moment.
Sam's kind of partial to the stubble, if he's honest, but clean shaven is a hell of a good look on Bucky. A world of difference from the hobo beard. ]
[Bucky can't remember the last time he wanted to look at himself. He didn't keep any mirrors in his lodgings in Bucharest and it's not like HYDRA let him look at himself ever. Honestly, he doesn't really know what he looks like. Even on the Station while showering for those brief moments, the programming took over and he kept his eyes down.
He's a little nervous, though he's not sure why. It's just a mirror, just a look at himself.]
[ Because it's a look at himself, that's why. When you're not even sure who you are or if that's someone you like all that much - well it's a hell of a thing to look in the mirror and be faced with all of that.
Sam knows.
But whatever Bucky's gonna see, it's not gonna be alone. Sam shifts his hand, sliding it down in Bucky's grip so he can tangle their fingers together. Then he pulls out the mirror in his shaving kit with his free hand, holding it up and angling it so they can both see into it. ]
(I look like him.) [He frowns at himself in the mirror, unsure how to feel about this clean-shaven version of himself.] )The other guy.)
[The other Bucky, he means, but doesn't say aloud. His grip on Sam's hand tightens. The beard won't get caught in the disguise anymore, that's for sure. Is this how he's always looked? Underneath the beard? His eyes seem sunken in and without the beard, his cheeks seem to be almost cut into, his jaw solid under all the hair.]
[ But he does look a little bit more like him, maybe - the same way Sam might look a little more like the guy he used to be when he first enlisted if he shaved. He squeezes Bucky's hand back, leaning against him a little. ]
(We can leave some stubble next time, see if that fits more. You can change that up however you want, you know? Beard, hair, clothes - it's okay not to settle on anything for a while. Figure out what you like.)
[In the corner of Bucky's mind, he keeps forgetting that Sam didn't know the other Bucky. Steve did, but Sam never did. Only seen pictures reminds him of this and for a moment he's genuinely glad Sam never knew him before, never looked at him with horror and shock. To Sam, he's just Bucky.
He breathes out, seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven, and breathes in again, one-two-three-four-five-six, before he leans back against Sam.
He's just Bucky.
There's a silent acknowledgment of Sam's proposition, of trying things until they figure out the best option. For now, this is livable, the braids and feathers are enough to keep him grounded in the here and now with Sam.
The mirror's just close enough that he can tap it with the end of his stump, something he's not really ever done before. His left arm mostly goes unused except to prop open books or stabilize himself against something. It's a strange sensation touching it to metal and there's a little bit of a spark that makes him pull it back immediately.]
(What about this other guy in here?) [Talking about Sam's reflection.] (I like his eyes.)
[Okay so maybe he did hear Sam's comment on his eyes, but chose to ignore it for the liplock.]
It's something Sam's tried his best to make clear to him, that Sam's got no frame of reference for whoever Bucky was back in the stone age, and feeling it coming from Bucky himself is pretty damn nice. He loves the guy sitting next to him, for better or worse.
He watches curiously as Bucky reaches out to tap the mirror with the metal stump - and somewhere absently in the back of his mind he wonders if they could do something to help with that - but then his attention is caught by what Bucky says.
Sam laughs, surprised and pleased, as he leans in a little closer. So he was listening to him when he was flirting a little. ]
(You do, huh? Look at that, we're figuring out things you like already.)
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
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It's a thing. It's a rush, and Sam leans into Bucky's touch on his neck, too, encouraging.
There's a trickle of amused affection when Bucky's nose bumps against his, and Sam briefly bumps his nose back, playful, before Bucky tilts his head and they slot completely together. Sunlight sparks in his mind, the clouds that usually obscure it dissipating, and he makes a small, contented noise in the back of his throat. ]
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Above all the uncertainty, though, Bucky loves the gratitude and sense of joy rolling thrpugh him in waves. awhat started as yet another panic attack changed over in a heartbeat into something new and good.]
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He knows Bucky has a hard time with wants, but like this, their broodlink open wide and the two of them as much in each other's heads as in the physical world, with the sheer amount of gratitude and joy he's getting from Bucky that's echoed back from him - goddamn he'd do this all day every day if it makes Bucky happy, figure out a way to turn every damn bad experience that Bucky's had into something new and different even if it takes him a lifetime - well.
Sam kind of hopes that maybe they can figure out this wanting thing. ]
( It's just you and me here, Bucky, we got nothing to worry about. Doesn't matter if you don't know what to do, just gives us an opportunity to figure it out together, yeah? I like that. For now - how about we finish that shave, and then go from there? )
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But now? Now he can see beyond the mental border he himself marked with barbed wire. Above the tangle of metal, a proud forest stands tall, so thick Bucky can't make one tree from the next. Yet past the trees is a familiar city skyline in the distance. Brooklyn.
He never thought there would be more to his mind than the lonely jade tower, never be more than HYDRA and the hope that uncovering the snow meant finding triggers. Now, there's so much more and Bucky can't help the rush of emotions unfurling in all directions.
His eyes burn as he smiles, soft and warm- a far cry from his smirk. Nodding, he offers a mental impression of sure, shaving is fine.]
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But also because it's Bucky. All of it is Bucky, and the sheer expanse of it is breath taking.
The hope that Bucky feels looking at the broadened landscape of his mind is just as breath taking, and Sam is just so damn grateful to be a part of it, to get to see it -
Somewhere buried far down, part of him accepts that he will never, ever get rid of the symbiote, not when it can help them have this, but conscious awareness of that will probably come much, much later.
Now, Sam smiles back, before letting go enough to reach for his shaving kit, though he stays close with his leg pressed against Bucky's.
He dips his fingers in a cup of water, then gently runs them back through Bucky's beard, just enough to get it wet - and if he lingers a little and scratches more than is strictly necessary, well. He just wants to, all right.
After that he squeezes out some shaving gel and rubs it between his hands, both to get it to frothe and to heat it up. Sam doesn't want there to be anything cold or clinical about this, and he leaves the impression of what he's gonna do before he sets one hand on Bucky's jaw, lathering up skin-warmed foam. ]
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Everything about this feels right. Sam's wet fingers dragging through his beard relax him and when Sam starts scratching, Bucky wants nothing more than to make Sam happy for the rest of their lives. Bucky's never felt that way about anyone before and he's not entirely sure what to do with the sensation.
When the scratching stops, he straightens from where he half-slouched against Sam. Foam should be alright. There's no blades here yet. He can do this for Sam]
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The continued eye contact is definitely making his heartrate quicken a bit, but it's not like that's new. The happiness he's feeling is new, though, and there's definitely the feeling that he's just kind of basking in it. Shit he loves this dumb jackass so much.
He hums quietly as Bucky straightens up, getting to work on spreading the foam over Bucky's beard, fingers still scratching occasionally.
Then he grins wide at Bucky, and playfully brushes his thumb against Bucky's nose to leave a little foam dollop on the tip of it. ]
Looking good, Buckbeak.
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What's a Buckbeak? [
says the guy who missed all of Harry Potter]no subject
A good looking guy with shaving cream on his nose. [ Sam's teasing, smile wide, but his mind supplies the real answer easily - a stunning feathered animal, part bird, part lion. A character in a book, a movie. ] Always wanted one.
[ Of course, they've got the birdlings - maybe they'll grow up into one. Not the point, anyway. Sam scratches one more time, mind curling around Bucky's and settling in their broodlink more firmly so Bucky'll know everything he's gonna to before he does it -
And then picks up the razor, and moves to make the first gentle swipe over Bucky's jaw. ]
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Shit.
This wasn't what he wanted. ]
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It's fine - that's just you letting me know you need another minute. Look, man, I know that words didn't get you anywhere for a real long time; it makes sense that you'll react with what you've got. But you've got me, Bucky, you've got me. And I'm getting pretty good at learning what you're trying to tell me, so we can do this together. I'm not in any hurry.
[ No, he's not in any hurry - and he gets it, he does. Sam breathes, nice and slow, in to seven and out to eleven. ]
How about you breath with me, and count off everything you see in the room that's green - and you can hold on until you feel like you're ready to try again, then let go?
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Instead, the snowstorm has resumed and the flowers that sprung up from under the ice are quickly covered in frost and ice.
But Sam says his name, reminds him this is different, that one step back doesn't mean giving up and he breathes as deeply as he can.]
One. [Inhale. Long exhale.] Grass. Two. [In through the nose and out through the mouth.] Tent.
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There's a faint hint of something between respect and appreciation when he feels Bucky pulling himself back and trying to regroup, when he breathes with him.
Sam'd offer to hold his hand, to give him something to focus on, but he kind of needs both of them to do this properly. His eyes flick down to Bucky's hand still locked around his wrist, and he gets something of an idea. ]
You can keep holding on if you want to. Might help so you know we can stop at any time.
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As usual, Sam seems to have the perfect ideas for dealing with Bucky's issues.] Yeah.
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But not right now. Right now he focuses, wraps himself around Bucky as his broodmate curls into him. Does his best to remind Bucky that he's not alone, that he'll never have to do any of this alone.
That Sam loves him, though he keeps that dimmer so he doesn't overwhelm him.
It helps that he's been there. Or - something like there. He's never gonna try to say he understands what Bucky's going through, not more than what he can feel from their connection, but he knows what kind of things might help someone going through an extreme version of PTSD because he can extrapolate from the kinds of things that helped him.
Sam takes another few breaths, and then moves his hand in to try again, nice and easy. ]
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Alright, maybe they really can do this.
Bucky's breathing has evened out, his posture loosened, but his grip on Sam's wrist remains. Maybe he needs a few more swipes to be completely comfortable.]
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Well. Now it's just a little more than a team.
He'll keep going, slow and steady - and honestly touching Bucky as much as he can, scratching through what's left of his beard and lingering strokes over his jaw - until Bucky stops him, or until he's clean shaven. ]
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( Is it done? ) [He hasn't released Sam's hand yet and can't tell if his face is clean shaven or not.]
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Sam's kind of partial to the stubble, if he's honest, but clean shaven is a hell of a good look on Bucky. A world of difference from the hobo beard. ]
( Yeah, we, uh. We're good. You wanna see? )
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He's a little nervous, though he's not sure why. It's just a mirror, just a look at himself.]
( Yeah. )
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Sam knows.
But whatever Bucky's gonna see, it's not gonna be alone. Sam shifts his hand, sliding it down in Bucky's grip so he can tangle their fingers together. Then he pulls out the mirror in his shaving kit with his free hand, holding it up and angling it so they can both see into it. ]
( Whattya think? )
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[The other Bucky, he means, but doesn't say aloud. His grip on Sam's hand tightens. The beard won't get caught in the disguise anymore, that's for sure. Is this how he's always looked? Underneath the beard? His eyes seem sunken in and without the beard, his cheeks seem to be almost cut into, his jaw solid under all the hair.]
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[ But he does look a little bit more like him, maybe - the same way Sam might look a little more like the guy he used to be when he first enlisted if he shaved. He squeezes Bucky's hand back, leaning against him a little. ]
( We can leave some stubble next time, see if that fits more. You can change that up however you want, you know? Beard, hair, clothes - it's okay not to settle on anything for a while. Figure out what you like. )
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He breathes out, seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven, and breathes in again, one-two-three-four-five-six, before he leans back against Sam.
He's just Bucky.
There's a silent acknowledgment of Sam's proposition, of trying things until they figure out the best option. For now, this is livable, the braids and feathers are enough to keep him grounded in the here and now with Sam.
The mirror's just close enough that he can tap it with the end of his stump, something he's not really ever done before. His left arm mostly goes unused except to prop open books or stabilize himself against something. It's a strange sensation touching it to metal and there's a little bit of a spark that makes him pull it back immediately.]
( What about this other guy in here? ) [Talking about Sam's reflection.] ( I like his eyes. )
[Okay so maybe he did hear Sam's comment on his eyes, but chose to ignore it for the liplock.]
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It's something Sam's tried his best to make clear to him, that Sam's got no frame of reference for whoever Bucky was back in the stone age, and feeling it coming from Bucky himself is pretty damn nice. He loves the guy sitting next to him, for better or worse.
He watches curiously as Bucky reaches out to tap the mirror with the metal stump - and somewhere absently in the back of his mind he wonders if they could do something to help with that - but then his attention is caught by what Bucky says.
Sam laughs, surprised and pleased, as he leans in a little closer. So he was listening to him when he was flirting a little. ]
( You do, huh? Look at that, we're figuring out things you like already. )
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