garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hydratrashmeme2015-09-09 07:23 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2015-09-09 07:23 pm
Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch
Holy shitballs, look at us go. Welcome to Captain America fandom's resident wretched hive of scum and villainy: ROUND THREE. AKA Bad Guys Do Dirtybadwrong Things To Your Faves, AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. As usual, BLANKET NON-CON AND NSFW WARNINGS apply: just assume going in that everything in this landfill is unfit for human consumption.
Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.
[Round 1] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained bygreenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]
Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.
Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.
[Round 1] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by
greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.
FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-04 03:12 am (UTC)(link)Sam mentions this as he’s handing Steve his denim jacket, and Steve turns to stare at Bucky, who shrugs from where he’s leaning against the wall. “What?” he says. “It was creative nonfiction.”
Sam fails to stifle his cackle.
At Sam’s insistence—and backpack full of ingredients—they’re having Bloody Marys. He explains, “So I know I don’t normally drink, but it’s only fair to give you two a fighting chance at beating me. Did they even have board games in the 1500s or whenever it is you hail from?”
Bucky shrugs. “We used to play Monopoly, but then Steve decided it was politically unforgivable.”
“It is,” Steve says, and takes the stuff for Bloody Marys into the kitchen. He’s never done this before, but it would be poor host behavior to not make Sam’s drink for him.
As he’s going, Bucky starts shoving Sam toward the couch, Sam laughing and saying, “What the hell, man? I can find my own way there. I don’t need Russian GPS.”
Steve thinks you probably don’t need a blender to make Bloody Marys. He uses the blender anyway, and stares, transfixed, at the red swirl. Over the noise, he can still hear Sam and Bucky talking in the next room, can picture them laid out languorously on opposite ends of the couch, facing one another. Their voices are muffled, but barely, for him.
He hears Bucky ask, “Is Steve acting weird to you?”
“Steve’s always acting weird to me. You’re both always acting weird to me. You have a painting of the Keebler elves hanging in here. There are fifteen different bottles of shampoo in your bathroom. You refuse to use your dishwasher.”
“Yeah, well, can’t see what’s going on in there. Why trust it?”
“Okay, so, one: that does not address the Keebler elves painting, which I’ve asked about every time I’ve been over to this house of cutesy horrors. Two: Is Steve acting weird to you?”
“He keeps asking how I’m doing. And his face is wrong.” Steve almost abandons the blender to go out and ask what that means, but he doesn’t believe in not holding the lid on firmly the whole time. Otherwise, who knows what could happen?
Anyway, Sam handles the question for him. “His face is wrong?”
“Something’s wrong about it. It’s hard to explain. He’s been like this since our date.”
“That art gallery date you were talking about? I’ve heard postmodern art can do that to people.”
“I thought he would like it. Well, who can say? Don’t worry about it. Worry about me kicking your ass at Apples to Apples.”
Steve turns the blender off. It all seems blended. I.e., it looks exactly the same as it did when he poured it in, because it’s all liquids. He braces himself on the counter with his hands and closes his eyes.
Is his face wrong?
No longer muffled by the whirring, Sam says, “You guys know this game doesn’t really work with only three people?”
“Don’t be so defeatist. If it can work with two people, it can work with three.”
“I mean, okay, but it also doesn’t—” This seems like a good moment for Steve to pop his head back in. To see. To know. Is Bucky’s face wrong? He clears his throat.
Sam and Bucky are positioned exactly as he imagined them, though Sam is also absentmindedly kicking Bucky’s shin. Bucky’s face looks like Bucky’s face.
“Are these celery sticks supposed to go in the blender too?”
Sam huffs and tilts his head forward, looking at Steve through beautiful, incredulous eyelashes. Instead of answering, he says, “Steve, what’s with the elf painting?”
“Bucky found it on the street.”
Sam lifts a fist to his mouth and looks determinedly at the wall like it might give him a better answer.
Bucky, helpful as always, says, “I found it on the street.”
Once Sam’s managed to win at Apples to Apples, purely because whose cards were whose was obvious from space and Bucky always purposefully chose Sam’s answer over Steve’s, it’s two a.m. and Sam is too drunk on Bloody Marys to be driving back home. He sacks out on the living room floor in an Army surplus sleeping bag from their supply closet, muttering in his half-dozing state, “I beat you. I beat everyone. Thanks, you guys, for, you know. Sucking at this.”
Bucky tenderly turns him onto his side even though Sam insists, “I’m not eighteen, you know. I can handle my Bloody Marys.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says. “We can all handle everything.”
After they switch off both bedside lights so that the room is lit only by the glugging blue lava lamp Bucky keeps on his desk, Bucky snuggles up to Steve’s side, wrapping around him, both arms and both legs clamping Steve in place. He kisses the underside of Steve’s jaw, rubs his nose along Steve’s cheek.
“Hey, there,” Steve says. He’s still looking up at the ceiling, but his voice is warm and friendly.
“Hey, there.” Bucky kisses him at the corner of his mouth.
“How’s it going?”
As an answer, Bucky peels his limbs away and sits up, cross-legged, tugging on Steve’s arm so he’ll sit up too. Steve makes a show of implacability for a moment, then goes easily and mirrors Bucky’s pretzeled legs. They face each other like that. It feels ritualistic, like they’re about to become blood brothers (again). He waits, curious to see if Bucky has a plan.
He does, at least kind of, scooting forward until he’s almost in Steve’s lap, and can wrap his arms around his shoulders and start kissing all over the side of Steve’s face. Steve captures his face with a hand at his jaw and kisses him on the mouth, soft and urgent. He ends it, and Bucky edges forward to whisper throatily in Steve’s ear, “I’m turned on.”
Steve snorts. “Oh, wow. Huh, you are learning to write creative nonfiction.”
“Shut up. I am. I’m turned on. I’m hot for you.”
And Steve, well. Steve isn’t not also turned on, as of a minute ago, but— “Sam’s here.” He puts a steadying hand on Bucky’s waist, nudging him back a couple inches.
Bucky frowns. “He’s asleep. And on the other side of the house. Don’t you want to get back at me for letting him win the game?”
“I knew it,” Steve hisses.
“So show me who’s boss. Show me who should have won.”
“I didn’t understand half the cards he put down. Who the hell is Danielle Steel? ”
“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t know either. That’s how I knew they were his.”
“That’s cheating, Buck! You can’t pick cards if you don’t know what they mean!”
“Tell me some more things I did wrong.” Bucky takes Steve’s hand and pulls it to his throat in a silent request, grinning and biting his own thumb.
Steve hasn’t meant to be acting weird, but he realizes, now, that of course he has been, and of course it’s been obvious. He’s been tiptoeing around the Andrews in the room, softening every smile, keeping his hands too much to himself. If Bucky can go to all the effort to speak about his abuse lightly, with strangers, with Steve’s hand in his, there’s no excuse for Steve to let it bog him down. Bog them both down. He can be normal.
He slides his hand further up Bucky’s throat to force his head up and back, raising himself on his knees so he towers over him. Bucky has to stare straight up at his face.
He says, “‘A Morgue’ is a fucked up card to put down for the word ‘delicious,” and Bucky snorts and gets taken over by giggling, enough that Steve pulls his hand away from his throat. He’s afraid Bucky’s going to manage to thrash at the exact right angle and intensity to cut off the blood to his brain with the hapless aid of Steve’s palm.
“Hey!” Bucky says, and tugs on Steve’s wrist. “Put it back. I’ll be quiet.”
Steve wraps some of Bucky’s hair around his fist and pulls so his neck bows to the side, so Steve can feel the vibrations of his now-silent giggling. “I’m more worried about ‘still’ than ‘quiet.’ I’m kind of trying not to harm you over here.”
Bucky allows himself one more dramatic guffaw before smoothing out into perfect stillness, frozen smiling up at Steve, serene, not even blinking.
Steve says, “Thank you,” and uses the fistful of hair to straighten Bucky back up, then releases him and puts his hand around Bucky’s throat again, though looser this time, nervous that he might think the next thing Steve says is also unbearably hilarious.
Trying his best to sound grave, he says, “And that’s another thing. It’s bad form to laugh at your own jokes.”
Bucky just pulls an amused face. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yeah. Some asshole.” He propels Bucky down onto his back by the grip on his throat. “Maybe multiple assholes.”
He rubs his palm over Bucky’s cock through his pajama pants, and Bucky keens loudly, turning the sound into the words, "Your asshole."
Steve takes his hand off Bucky’s throat again and covers his mouth. “Now I’m worried about quiet. We have. A guest.”
Bucky smiles against his palm and murmurs into it, “Sorry.”
He removes his hand. “Can you be quiet without help?”
Bucky makes a lip-zipping motion and nods.
He palms Bucky’s cock again, watching his face, double-checking before doing anything else, and Bucky keeps his mouth shut, gazing at him so openly, so fondly, so doe-eyed that it hurts. So doe-eyed that Steve has to look away, and he ducks down and skates his teeth across Bucky’s clothed erection the exact right amount, and the muscles in Bucky’s thighs jump. His hands twitch. But he’s silent.
Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s waistband, intimating that he wants to tug his pants down, and looks back up at Bucky. He’s still gazing.
“This good?”
Bucky takes a shaky breath and nods. Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s waistband, but doesn’t move beyond that.
“You just need to keep your voice down, you know. It’s okay to talk.”
Bucky shifts up onto his elbows. “Do I gotta?”
“Well, you do gotta tell me what you want, yeah.”
“I told you. Show me who’s boss.”
Steve pins him down by his hips, letting his waistband snap against his skin when he releases it. “I got that part.” He tilts his head to the side. He knows that Bucky gets thrown off, occasionally, by the question of what he wants; it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know, just that he needs a minute, and if it’s someone he trusts asking, he likes to be talked through it. “You want me to suck you off? I promise to be an asshole about it. ”
Bucky licks his lips, but doesn’t say anything.
“Buck? You want something different?”
“Yeah. Yes. I mean, no, not something different.” Bucky shakes his head like a wet dog, then grins. “Please. That would be good. That would be great. I want your teeth around me, all right?”
As Steve’s sucking a third bruise into Bucky’s inner thigh, high enough that his cheekbone makes contact with Bucky’s testicles, the fingers of his left hand pressing on the first two bruises and his right hand still holding down Bucky’s hip, thumb hard against bone, Bucky whispers, “Thank you. Thanks. Thank you.”
Steve lifts his mouth to say, “Well, yeah.”
Bucky’s metal hand brushes the top of Steve’s head, not even his skull, just the faintest rustling of his hair. Steve presses into the touch and Bucky jerks back. Steve looks up at him. Bucky’s face is frozen. He’s holding his wrist tight in his other hand like he thinks the arm might become sentient and repeat the crime of sweetly touching Steve’s hair.
Steve furrows his brow. He pets Bucky’s thigh in a spot away from the bites. “Hey, Buck. You can touch me. It’s okay.”
A little life floods back into Bucky’s face. He smiles. It’s shaky. “I know that, Steve.” He rolls his eyes. “Just a glitch.”
“You sure you want me to keep going?”
“Yes. And I want you to be an asshole about it, like you said. You’re being nice and shit. What's going on?”
He stares into Steve’s eyes. It isn’t clear if he’s trying to find something in there or if wants Steve to find something in his eyes, if he’s handing Steve a sliver of what’s going on in his head. But he looks sincere, and stable, and real, and his thigh is warm and solid under Steve’s palm, and Steve accepts that whatever’s going on in Bucky’s head, it isn’t bad.
He lowers himself back between Bucky’s legs, but before he does anything, he takes Bucky’s metal hand and places it against the top of his own skull.
“Pull on my hair if something’s bothering you and you can’t talk.”
Bucky says, “Yes,” and Steve bites him as hard as he can over an already dark bruise. Bucky squirms dramatically, but doesn’t pull on his hair, doesn’t pull on his hair at all that night.
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-04 04:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-04 04:59 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-04 06:01 am (UTC)(link)OH
MY
GOD
I didn't think this would get a fill (I nearly squealed when i saw it did), let alone as AMAZING as this is so far. I'm going to make a list? Because
I'm two drinks in andyes.1. The little snippets of their sex life are so ridiculously hot. I don't know how you like, peered directly into my garbage brain and checked off all my kink boxes, but you did, so congrats! The hair-pulling, the slapping, the choking, biting, the banter. The banter!!! It's steamydirtyhot but also has this undercurrent of how much they love and care about and are comfortable with each other but ALSO this almost menacing undercurrent of hints at Bucky's trash past and I am just. Absolutely verklempt.
ALSO:
“It’s good. It’s good. It’s good,” Bucky’s chants, voice gone breathy.
“It—It is,” Steve says. He moves his hand up higher to force Bucky to show his throat more, and the chanting grows more insistent like Steve’s arguing with him about it instead of agreeing. “It’s good that you registered for those classes, Buck,” Steve says, close to finishing. “My smart fucking slut. Even the money management. You’re gonna do great.” Shuddering, he groans, “Especially with the writing.”
Bucky used to make fun of him for coming faster from talking about ordinary things during sex. He doesn’t this time. He takes Steve’s hand and holds it.
IM GONNA DIE??? I'm gonna die.
2. I'm also loving how much their banter - both in and outside of sex - seems to be kind of teetering on the edge of miscommunication, but only just. They certainlytalk to each other; they negotiate, they discuss - but there are still all these moments where they don't quite fully hear each other, don't ask the right questions, don't mean the same thing even as they use the same words, don't quite put two and two together. It's nuanced and well-crafted and quite wonderful to read.
3. Their (thematically symbolic) ART DATE, omg.
4. Skipping ahead to COME PLAY BOARD GAMES WITH US SIGNED YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE and the wonderful Bucky/Sam relationship - this was not even in the prompt but again, thank you for reading my mind, authoranon; their brief interactions are so spot-on and I am just BASKING in it.
5. And the humor throughout! As well as Bucky's sense of humor - so good! There's a time and a place for thoroughly grimdark catatonic angst fic, of course, but I love how much, idk, humanity? there is in all of this? Steve and Bucky don't just exist to make us sad in the context of this story, they're very much fully fleshed-out characters/people with rich, active lives and I love it. And I expect it will make the inevitable painful fallout all that much worse when it comes.
6. Also, going back to Bucky's classes - I'm a sucker for anything that incorporates Bucky developing hobbies/pastimes and making new friends in his recovery, and you've nailed that here, too. I love Steve's observation about forgetting/remembering that Bucky actually likes being around people, as well as Steve being awkward around Bucky's friends.
Also, I'm yelling over Bucky casually chatting about "ex-boyfriends" with his classmates, as if having been abused by a sadistic military handler is just like, a normal thing - Bucky, no! (yes!!!)
7. Your Steve voice is great, as is your Bucky voice - they feel really balanced and, idk, particularly well-matched in this? I am of course eagerly awaiting the ugly fallout, but I'm also, I dunno, really quite endeared by them here. It's lovely to read.
I've worn myself out trying to coherently get across all the things I adore about this - what I've written here is probably incomplete - but needless to say, I do love this in like, every imaginable way. And I can't wait for the imminent trash drama to come. <3
Please accept a gift of all the beer bottles currently piling up under my sink, as well as the three rotting peaches I tossed into my compost bin this morning!!!
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-05 10:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-04 10:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-15 08:27 pm (UTC)(link)