[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.)
[Bucky turns a hair closer to Sam, tucking his stump back behind them where it can't spark or do whatever it did with the mirror. Maybe it's the symbiote, but Bucky doesn't want to think about the Soldier or the symbiote right now. He crosses the rest of the distance between their mouths both as a distraction and the physical desire. He likes hearing Sam laugh, likes seeing him smile, likes a whole bunch of everything Sam is made up of. His eyes are just one of many specific facets he enjoys. Right now, they remind him of the forest lingering just behind the shadows creeping through his head: deep, rich, and full of history.]
[ There's a small, contented thrill, a spike of pleasure, as Bucky closes the distance between them. Sam tips his head to kiss him back, dropping the mirror onto the cot beside him so he can push his hand into Bucky's hair. He's never gonna get tired of this, feeling the things Bucky likes and what he enjoys, shifting up the angle of the kiss to make it a little deeper- ]
(Hope you know how much I'm looking forward to learning.)
[ He doesn't want to break away from the kiss enough to ask, but his desire to touch, to trail fingers down the shape of Bucky's jawline is obvious enough, and there's a silent impression of can I? ]
[Above all, Bucky enjoys how kissing Sam makes his broodmate so happy, so invigorated. There's nothing quite like the echo of the thrill in Sam bleeding through the mental link. When Sam shifts the kiss, Bucky moves with him, not wanting to part so soon, not when their minds blend together in a way that causes the symbiote to add another layer of happiness to the pool. Sam's comment is met with a half smile, mostly as Bucky remains unconfident in his ability to kiss and do anything else at the same time.
For all Bucky's nerves regarding his ability, he finds comfort in Sam's enthusiasm, in his desire to learn what Bucky likes. Bucky's not sure he's ever met someone like Sam. At the silent question, Bucky sends a mote of agreement, the sense of nodding his head. Be careful accompanies the the notion, but he expresses clear consent regardless.]
[ There's been more times than Sam can count that he's glad for their symbiote connection, especially with Bucky, and right now's no exception. It's just a feedback loop of happiness, a never ending circle of Bucky enjoying the thrill he gets and Sam enjoying Bucky being happy and goddamn if they're not careful this could get a little addicting.
More than Sam's desire for physical contact with someone he loves usually is, anyway, which admittedly is still pretty strong.
He hums in satisfaction across the mental link, fingers scratching soothingly through Bucky's hair at those nerves, just a quiet acknowledgement that Sam's got no complaints here. When he gets consent from Bucky, he slides his hand down, nice and slow, a natural extension from in his hair down behind his ear to run his thumb down along his jaw as he kisses him.
He's never really said it before, mostly because he was more focused on showing it, but he kind of figures he should actually put it to words at least once. ]
(I'm never gonna hurt you, Bucky. Not unless I'm doing what I promised I would.) [ But that's a different kind of hurt, this is - Sam might know the words, locked away somewhere no one else can get them, but he wouldn't ever use them, won't ever use pain or fear to try to control him. ]
[Bucky chases more of that feedback loop, the thrill pushing away the darkness. For someone who dislikes too much emotion, he's perhaps enjoying the high a little too much. Sam's fingers scratch and Bucky presses closer, wanting more, and as his broodmate shifts his hand, Bucky's nerves surge forward again. He's not worried about Sam hurting him, it's the other way around.
Use them passes over the link, accompanied by a surge of pine and fir. There's no doubt he trusts Sam not to hurt him; it's the triggers, the symbiote, that bring about the unpredictability.]
[ It's hard to breathe, suddenly, both because Sam's not willing to pull back from kissing long enough to do more than quick bursts of air through his nose and because Bucky's pressing in closer. He wants more, and there's the feedback loop again because damn Sam is more than willing to sit like this for as long as they've got, and he wants -
And then his mind skips, a moment, because he's not sure the impression he got from Bucky's mind is the right one. He doesn't stop kissing him quite yet - he's still a little too caught up in hell yes more - but his mind curls around Bucky's more purposefully, seeking.
After a moment, he stops, though he doesn't pull away, leaning his forehead against Bucky's. He wants to ask how the hell Bucky can trust him that much, but he - they know each other. There's very little of Sam that Bucky hasn't seen, very few places in his mind that he hasn't touched. He wants to say no because the thought kind of makes him sick, but he can feel where Bucky's mind is going. ]
(I won't control you like that just to make you safer.) [ He'd rather kill Bucky if he has to than use the words to make him docile, even knowing Sam'll go out with him. ] (But I - could we use it to give you permission to say no, to want things? I don't know how this shit works.)
[In the back of Bucky's mind, there's a place that knows chasing happiness- chasing a high, really- is a bad idea. Separate from this, too, is the programming, burning him for wanting, for pursing that want, for engaging it. The two covalesce as Sam's lips part from his and Bucky's left breathless. A pleasant, summery haze has settled heavy in his head, but the programming is already at work attempting to evaporate every drop of happiness, to return the Soldier to a sterile, neutral affect.
However, it does have the side effect of clearing his head, of allowing him to actually think about Sam's question instead of glossing over it. He... honestly doesn't know. The words have only ever been utilized to use him: extract information, tame him, provide protection. If someone with kinder intentions said them, he's uncertain of their effect. What he does understand from decades of hearing them, however, is that they create a sense of safety, as oxymoronic as it sounds.
With the words, the Soldier- Bucky- can never be too erratic, too dangerous, too fast. He pulls up the second-hand memories of the robbery on the Waypoint, of the Soldier moving for the door. Saying the words should, in theory, prevent the Soldier from getting out into an innocent population. In regards to the smaller level issues like saying no and wanting things, though, only testing could provide answers.
Sitting a touch further back, but keeping at least one point of contact with Sam, he bites his bottom lip and drops his gaze.]
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
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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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( Guess I am. )
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( Hope you know how much I'm looking forward to learning. )
[ He doesn't want to break away from the kiss enough to ask, but his desire to touch, to trail fingers down the shape of Bucky's jawline is obvious enough, and there's a silent impression of can I? ]
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For all Bucky's nerves regarding his ability, he finds comfort in Sam's enthusiasm, in his desire to learn what Bucky likes. Bucky's not sure he's ever met someone like Sam. At the silent question, Bucky sends a mote of agreement, the sense of nodding his head. Be careful accompanies the the notion, but he expresses clear consent regardless.]
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More than Sam's desire for physical contact with someone he loves usually is, anyway, which admittedly is still pretty strong.
He hums in satisfaction across the mental link, fingers scratching soothingly through Bucky's hair at those nerves, just a quiet acknowledgement that Sam's got no complaints here. When he gets consent from Bucky, he slides his hand down, nice and slow, a natural extension from in his hair down behind his ear to run his thumb down along his jaw as he kisses him.
He's never really said it before, mostly because he was more focused on showing it, but he kind of figures he should actually put it to words at least once. ]
( I'm never gonna hurt you, Bucky. Not unless I'm doing what I promised I would. ) [ But that's a different kind of hurt, this is - Sam might know the words, locked away somewhere no one else can get them, but he wouldn't ever use them, won't ever use pain or fear to try to control him. ]
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Use them passes over the link, accompanied by a surge of pine and fir. There's no doubt he trusts Sam not to hurt him; it's the triggers, the symbiote, that bring about the unpredictability.]
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And then his mind skips, a moment, because he's not sure the impression he got from Bucky's mind is the right one. He doesn't stop kissing him quite yet - he's still a little too caught up in hell yes more - but his mind curls around Bucky's more purposefully, seeking.
After a moment, he stops, though he doesn't pull away, leaning his forehead against Bucky's. He wants to ask how the hell Bucky can trust him that much, but he - they know each other. There's very little of Sam that Bucky hasn't seen, very few places in his mind that he hasn't touched. He wants to say no because the thought kind of makes him sick, but he can feel where Bucky's mind is going. ]
( I won't control you like that just to make you safer. ) [ He'd rather kill Bucky if he has to than use the words to make him docile, even knowing Sam'll go out with him. ] ( But I - could we use it to give you permission to say no, to want things? I don't know how this shit works. )
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However, it does have the side effect of clearing his head, of allowing him to actually think about Sam's question instead of glossing over it. He... honestly doesn't know. The words have only ever been utilized to use him: extract information, tame him, provide protection. If someone with kinder intentions said them, he's uncertain of their effect. What he does understand from decades of hearing them, however, is that they create a sense of safety, as oxymoronic as it sounds.
With the words, the Soldier- Bucky- can never be too erratic, too dangerous, too fast. He pulls up the second-hand memories of the robbery on the Waypoint, of the Soldier moving for the door. Saying the words should, in theory, prevent the Soldier from getting out into an innocent population. In regards to the smaller level issues like saying no and wanting things, though, only testing could provide answers.
Sitting a touch further back, but keeping at least one point of contact with Sam, he bites his bottom lip and drops his gaze.]
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