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 (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-16 04:25 am (UTC)(link)He’s in a recliner in front of Sam’s TV, where he must have passed out unexpectedly, because Sam has a proper guest room with clean, matching linens and a bowl of mints he keeps in there as a joke. The clock on the cable box says it’s 9:13 in the morning, and Sam must have already gone for a run and eaten breakfast.
Or— It’s a weekday. He must, actually, have already left for work and left the radio on to keep Steve company. It’s endearing that Sam listens to the radio on purpose. When he realized how many people in the future just thought of the radio as something you hear in a taxi, Steve felt more disgusted than he already had by how he woke up: with that carefully restored vintage radio by his head. All the better to pull a con on the carefully restored vintage man.
He finds his phone under his ass. It still has some charge, so he texts Bucky, Let me know when you’re good with me coming home, and adds the horse emoji. He got here on his motorcycle. About the only time he ever rides is going and back and forth to see Sam.
Waiting for Bucky’s all-clear, he plugs his phone in, and brushes his teeth, and makes himself breakfast, and keeps the radio company.
Bucky is sitting at the kitchen table when he gets home. He’s holding a photograph in his hands, and he holds it out to Steve once Steve is in the other chair. It’s small, clipped from a longer strip. Before they had their beards or their fake identification. When they were new again to touching each other at all. Hand to shoulder. Head to shoulder. They went to a movie just to have somewhere to be, and after, Bucky dragged him into the lobby’s stupid overpriced photo booth and said, “Fuckin’ smile more. You’re killing me.”
Steve runs his thumb over it, covering his own face so he can look at Bucky’s. How Bucky’s turning to him, mouth open happy and wide. Even though everything was so tense and terrifying and they didn’t have a plan for the future at all.
“You took this off the fridge for your friend?”
“Yeah. Only incriminating evidence I found. It’s a good one, right? You’re smiling?”
“Because someone bullied me into it.” Bucky shrugs and takes the picture back. He's smiling. Almost. Steve says, “You been sitting here staring at that photo all day?”
“So what if I have?”
“Not a problem. You want to talk about your feelings.”
“No, I want orange juice. Do you want orange juice?”
Not really. “Sure. I’d hate to get scurvy.”
“Yeah, the eleventh bout of scurvy is really the worst.”
They don’t talk while Bucky pours them each a tall glass of orange juice. Steve continues not talking once he’s handed his glass, taking a long gulp, but Bucky says, “It’s not that I want to talk about my feelings.”
Steve puts his glass down. “No?”
“No. Yes. The thing is, that my feelings are that I want you to listen to my feelings.”
“Straightforward enough.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I just want to know that you will. That’s all there is to say about that.”
“Really? That’s all?”
“No.” Bucky closes his eyes and lets his head roll back. He takes a deep breath, chest lifting in his stripy sweater. He exhales and brings his head back to normal. He opens his eyes and stares at Steve hard. “Okay, so what if we do say it was rape.”
“Oh. Bucky. That’s—” He doesn’t know what that is. He feels proud of Bucky, but also like is heart is going to bite its way out of his chest, imagining him deciding that all along in the house. No. Not alone. With a friend. Who thinks his name is Jake. But who probably knows more than Steve. “You’re sure?”
“It’s not about sure about anything. Saying something doesn’t make it true. Okay? But. Maybe I could try saying it for a little while. To see what you’re getting out of it?”
“I’m not getting anything out of it.”
“That’s depressing. I’d hoped you were.” He looks at his lap. Steve pictures him at ten years old, sitting at the edge of the river and swinging his legs. “Nothing?”
“Nothing. I hate saying it. I hate that it’s true.”
Bucky screws his face up, biting his lip viciously. “God, your timing is brutal. Because I can’t disagree with you if I’m committing to this.”
“Oh, you started already? You didn’t even do a countdown.”
“You know, you’re right. Thank god. Okay. Are you ready? My last hurrah for now.”
“On the edge of my seat.”
“You mean you hate that it’s ‘true.’” He does air quotes. He exhales loudly. It’s almost cute.
“You want me to do the countdown with you now?”
“Yeah, yeah, fine.”
In unison, they say, “Three, two, one,” and Bucky adds, “Blast-off.”
He raises his glass of orange juice, and gestures at Steve to follow suit. “To being raped.”
Steve’s so shocked by his own laughter that he drops his glass, and it breaks open on the tabletop in three clean pieces. “Oh,” he says, watching the birth of what will one day be a huge orange stain interrupting the blue plaid.
“Aw, fuck, sorry. That’s my fault. I know that. I’ll clean it up.”
Unable to stop watching the stain, Steve says, “I didn’t have to drop it.”
“Of course you did. That was hilarious of me. Seriously.”
Bucky appears next to him with a paper grocery bag, and uses his metal hand to place the broken glass inside. Steve’s gaze switches from the stain to the hand. With a jolt, he returns to his body. He hadn’t realized that he’d been out of his body. He looks up at Bucky’s face, so close to his, as he tugs the tablecloth off the table before wadding it up. His furrowed brow. His chapping lips. Steve stretches up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Bucky makes a noise like a startled pigeon. He turns his head and smiles at Steve, then kisses him on the forehead. His beard is soft. “Back in a sec with a clean one,” and he heads off in the direction of the laundry room.
Over the course of the next few days, Bucky slips it into conversation more and more.
He lies down across the couch and puts his head on Steve’s thigh as Steve’s watching CNN. “Turn this racket off. Speaking as someone who’s been raped, I wanna watch Jeopardy.”
Head in the fridge as he puts away leftover ravioli, he yells, “You know ever since I was raped, I think pasta tastes better? And I thought it tasted great already!”
First thing in the morning, still squinting and his voice sleep-rounded, he says, “One of the times I was raped was in Tuscany. I think that’s interesting. Kinda funny.”
He gets home from class and sinks dramatically to the floor. “Jesus, it’s a hard life being a rape victim. You gotta learn to manage your money and everything.”
Then it’s a Sunday, and he says, “I miss your dick.”
They got back from church an hour ago. They don’t normally go to church, but Bucky remembered the night before that a classmate had invited them. Her name was Ella or Elizabeth or Enya. Bucky said, “She knows from my stuff from class that I’m not right with God. But maybe God and I can talk about all the rape.” For a second there, it didn’t sound like a joke.
At church, they were given bread as a welcoming gift. None of the hymns were familiar and no one kneeled for anything. Steve spent most of the service with his eyes closed, praying alone.
Now, they’re both lying Sunday-lazily on the living room carpet and Bucky misses his dick.
Steve raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you do? Okay. Go get the kitchen scissors.” He makes like he’s going to undo his fly. “The bleeding shouldn’t last that long, right?”
“Oh my god.”
“What? I just want you to have my dick.”
“I really, really hate you.” Bucky rolls over onto his stomach. He puts his elbows in the carpet and his chin in his hands.
“No, you don’t.”
“No. If I hated you, I wouldn’t miss your dick so much.”
“Buck.” He doesn’t have anything to say to that. Bucky’s bobby pins are silver, and they catch the light when he rocks his head from side to side like he’s listening to a song.
“You know I don’t just mean your dick. You know that’s metonymy. I miss getting fucked by you. I miss that part of you. I don’t want having been raped to mean I have to miss that part of you.”
“Is that why you’re doing this? You think that if you say it just enough times, I’ll fuck you?”
“No. I meant what I said. I want to see what it feels like. And I want to see what you fucking me feels like. Unrelated.”
“You already know what it feels like, wise guy.”
“I’ve got memory troubles. Remind me.”
Steve gets on his stomach too. Elbows and knees, he wiggles over to where Bucky is, so he can lay his head down on the back of Bucky’s thigh. “I don’t know if I’m still scared or not. I don’t know if anything’s different for me.”
“Well, how do you feel when you hear me say it?”
Steve kisses the inside of his knee, and Bucky hums. “Sad. And—fine, you are funny about it sometimes. Even if I feel like I should go back to church for saying that. But yeah, when you say it less like it’s a joke? I feel like I want to think you aren’t humoring me.”
“Why?”
“Same as before. I need to know that if I’m a bad person, you’ll be able to see me that way.”
Bucky makes a little thoughtful growling sound, and Steve kisses the outside of his thigh this time. Bucky says, “You don’t think what I’m doing helps that?”
“What, humoring me?”
“I’m not. It’s not like that. I told you, I wanted to see. And I don’t know. I’m not saying I mean it when I say it. But it makes me see them that way, right? Andy and Dorsey and, um. Et al.” Remembering that there are names Steve doesn’t know always makes his stomach feel molten. If he doesn’t know their names, he can’t find their records, and make sure they’re dead, and piss on their graves.
Molten at his core.
He tries to shove that feeling away. “Do you really see them that way when you say it?”
“Sure. I have to. You know I don’t do that kind of shit halfway.”
It’s true. Bucky’s always been a great actor; he had major roles in three different school plays. But he refused to turn it on at all, the times during the war that they were expected to film PSAs instead of just getting filmed as they were. He’d pretend to forget his lines and glower straight into the camera.
Steve’s quiet longer than he thinks he should be. Then his voice is smaller than he thinks it should be. “Is that okay for you?”
“I don’t know. You think it would be okay for me if I had to think you were evil? That you were hurting me and I had to leave? No. It wouldn't. But I can do all kinds of things that aren’t okay. The doing is what matters. And I think I could do it.” His voice gets smaller too. They match. “Even if it hurt. Maybe it would be even easier, the more it hurts. I don’t know, Steve.”
His front half collapses, arms flat at his sides, and he sighs, muffled by the floor. “Can you come up here? Can you kiss my knee again and then come up here?”
Steve kisses the back of his knee again. He pulls himself up parallel with Bucky’s exhausted body, rolling onto his side so he can get a good look at him. How his hair is a shambles, escaping from its pins. And there’s lint all over his nearest sweater sleeve. How his face is a little bit smooshed into the floor, but one eye peeks out, and a good amount of his mouth.
Steve says, “How’s it going up here? Weather’s nice.”
“Is it? Climate-controlled up here?”
“Oh yeah. Best climate control I’ve ever had.”
“Maybe I don’t need HVAC. Clearly my feelings make perfect weather on their own.”
“That what’s happening?”
“That’s what’s happening. Really, you ever gonna wanna fuck me again?”
“Of course I want to fuck you. I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”
“Aww, that’s romantic. You puttin’ that in your vows, honey?”
“Sure. James Buchanan Barnes. Darling. My beloved.” He shuffles closer until his lips are an inch from Bucky’s eyeball. “I want. And have always wanted. To pound your ass and call you a filthy slut for as long as we both shall live.”
Bucky laughs. It’s undignified. He sounds like he’s coughing up a hairball. It’s a series of bursts of hot breath against Steve’s neck.
“Yeah, that’s how you feel?”
“Of course.”
“But on a practical level? Is that how you feel?”
“Give me a week to think about it. I’m slow, Buck. You know that. I have to examine all my facts. All the facts of myself.”
“Sure, sure.” He moves his head so that he’s speaking straight at Steve’s mouth instead of Steve’s mouth speaking straight at his eyeball. “And I’ll keep talking about how I was raped.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s not going to sway my decision.”
“Well, maybe I want to. Maybe I’m not done seeing how my better half lives.”
It’s Sunday. They take a nap on the floor. Steve’s face against Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s arm around his waist.
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-16 04:51 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-21 01:56 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-16 05:03 am (UTC)(link)Also: absolutely loved the Steve/Radio bit at the beginning! <333
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-21 02:36 am (UTC)(link)i love that you loved that because every time i reread this to edit i was like, "wow, pushing your own steve/radio agenda much?" but it's an agenda i feel strongly about and so ultimately did not remove.
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-17 12:22 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-21 02:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-18 06:00 am (UTC)(link)GOD I continue to love all of this so so much, every installment is an absolute joy to read. Someone above commented on the pacing and I agree, it's so well measured and so dang good. The buildup is killing me. Bucky's irreverence here is still, like, my favorite thing in the whole universe. I almost died at him toasting to being raped. And all the subsequent little rape jokes, oh my god, perfect.
Not to mention - the husband drawing! The middle of the night heart to heart! "You know I don’t do that kind of shit halfway”! He misses Steve's dick! Aaand the ever-ominous “she knows from my stuff from class that I’m not right with God" (oh no) (oh yes)
I'm dying and loving every minute. Ten thousand thumbs up, authoranon.
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-21 02:06 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-21 02:17 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-21 03:00 am (UTC)(link)