Entry tags:

Yes, Master~

Consensual Control

Content Warning: Dubcon

Sex is fun. Sometimes, sex involves power dynamics. The master and the servant. The dom and the sub. Or, perhaps, something stranger. This is a meme for characters exploring the space defined by these power dynamics, without either party being forced into it against their will. It's a game, and the only winners are the ones who have a good time.

Of course, this being an RP meme, we can get a little surreal with it, too.

BDSM Rules. No outside enforcement of the dynamic; you just both agree to the rules. The safest version of this, because if you don't like what happens, you can just stop. For added fun, bring some costumes and role playing into it.
That's an Order. One of you is high enough status that the other can't freely disobey their orders. They wouldn't use that power against you, of course... but what if you asked them to?
Winner takes all. Like the first one, but with a PVP element. Have a fight, or a gamble, and wager yourself on the outcome. To the winner go the spoils, to do with as they please.
Hypnosis. Have you ever wanted to get hypnotized into being someone's sex toy? Now you can. Hypnosis is super real, and it puts you into a sort of trance that your partner can use to control you every thought.
Super Aphrodisiac. If you drink this, you'll be so overcome with lust that you won't be able to control yourself. What happens after that is out of your hands. Bottoms up.
Body control. The result of some kind of hypertech or magic ritual. For a fixed period of time, if your new master gives an order, your body will follow it automatically, with or without your permission. Depending on the version, they may even be able to control your sensitivity, or make you climax with a word.
Use your imagination. Got an idea along the theme that isn't on the list? Make up your own hook! I'm not your daddy.

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Bucky's grin goes sloppy when Steve ruffles his hair all over, messing up the picture Steve arranged him into. No longer the layout to sell to guys who're regulars at a place like this, he'd probably look more like to actually sell the hot tub itself in some magazine. Which also wouldn't be too bad. He really wouldn't mind getting into that kind of job, than juggling a bunch of jobs that'll probably blow his knees and back out by age fifty.

Bucky returns the over-the-top kiss with one of his own, making kissy faces back at Steve that definitely aren't attractive at all. He can have this with Steve: get bent over and slapped around before Steve pounds him into the mattress, get Steve gentling with him and allowing Bucky to practically curl up all over him…then settle back into something stupid and goofy. He can't imagine Steve doing that with Mr. Doe-Eyed or any of those other guys on his dance cards.

That might be what would really get to him after all. Maybe fooling around's just scratching an itch for some people. But teasing Steve like they're best of friends? No way, no how.

"Yeah, you gave me a better workout than the gym," turning over, Bucky arranges himself so he can both stretch his legs out but not take up all the space, arms resting on the tub's rim as he tilts his head back. "This feels incredible. When you start drawing for the New Yorker and get rich, you should get one of these."

Some might find it strange or juvenile but- it's them. It's more them than the fucking around, really, something no one else ever gets to have. Other artists don't really understand him, other clubs aren't places where he can be soft or silly, and outside their apartment he's got his back up at all hours because of how the world treats him. Bucky's always been different.

Never treated him like he'd break too easy, never pitied him. Just got on with it, roughhousing, playing, everything. Getting into and out of trouble. He could take or leave the rest as long as he got to keep this.

Steve shakes his head and leans back, submurged from the neck down, soaking and breathing in the warm air. It feels good on his lungs, his joints, leaves his skin all blotchy and warm. There's not a lot for it, he knows that. "Sure, Put it right in the middle of our parlor, next to your shoe closet."

Most people just don't get to know Steve. They see this scrawny scrap of a man with fine features and too-plush lips and just dismiss him. Talk right over him at best, walk right through him at worst.

Or if they do know Steve in the Biblical sense, like some of the guys on Steve's dance card, they still don't really know him. And far as Bucky sees it? That's their loss. This is something Bucky'll never admit out loud: in this case, he's real glad they don't ever get to see this side of Steve. Steve letting his hair down and acting just as stupid as Bucky does sometimes is something Bucky treasures like the world;s best secret. Especially when Steve's got his guard up so much outside their place.

Bucky takes a cue from Steve and sinks in lower, groaning as it warms all the neck and shoulder muscles that feel like they've been hard as a rock for ages. Even better is Steve sinking into it too, going loose and easy in the perfect heat.

Though he does knock a foot into Steve's hip. "No way in hell. If you're a fat cat, you can swing a nicer place. You'd get a nice fancy loft in one of the skyscrapers. Even get yourself a driver.

"One near Central Park. Lighting there's pretty aces." Makes drawing in the mornings easier, he's willing to bet. He'd have a whole room for sketching. Maybe even try his hand at actual paint, get some good inks. "Could get us a chef."

Because if he moves on up of course he's taking Bucky with him. It's only fair, Buck's been supporting him for years, more or less, he can't just walk away from the one solid thing he's had in his entire life. All the champagne and caviar in the world wouldn't mean a damn thing without Bucky right there next to him, enjoying the high life.

Living easy.

It's a nice dream, impossible as it is. Nothing he does will ever pay enough for that kinda lifestyle but...it's fun to dream, he supposes.

"Mmm, Central Park would be so nice, be able to go for morning runs, maybe visit the zoo. A personal chef would really top it off," Bucky murmurs. His eyes slip closed, lashes dark against skin gently flushed from the heat, and he sinks back a little further with a hum that's pure contentment as he lets himself drift in this picture they're painting between them. So rich that Steve would never need to worry about stretching their money to cover medicine, Bucky wouldn't have to scrap for pennies to make sure they got enough good.

Then there's that pipe dream of Bucky's that, in this fantasy, doesn't have to stay dusty in a closet. He's never told this one to Steve before. Never saw the point when they had all their focus on just getting by.

But If they had all the money they could ever want…

"I'd get us a good car. Plenty of gas to last us for ages," Bucky starts. He sounds a little faraway, as if already feeling the wind in his hair and Steve's knee against his as they roar down a long highway. "I'd take us on an actual road-trip all the way to California. And we'd make sure to stop at the Grand Canyon, maybe even camp there, you and me."

"...That sounds real nice, Buck. The dry air's supposed t'be good for me." Spending a night out in the wild isn't exactly his idea of a good time but...if it's with Bucky?

He'll go anywhere. Do anything, almost. Especially if it makes him happy. And the doc has said clear, fresh air would be good for him.

Also said he shoulda been dead ages ago, but who's to say that's gonna be any kind of accurate? He's got at least five more years in him, he figures. Long enough to treat Buck right. Make sure he gets closer to this dream of a long drive, a blue sky, and nothing to worry about.

"Probably breathe the best you ever have. We'd have to share a sleeping bag at night. Seeing as the desert gets pretty cold," Bucky adds. That and he doesn't even remember what it feels like to sleep by himself anymore, without someone else in the room with him. Even when they don't push their beds together, he can still feel Steve's presence, here the faint rasp of his breath.

Even if Bucky could afford his own place, even if it would be easier to run solo, he just wouldn't take it. It'd be too lonely without Steve filling up his life. And as long as Steve's at his side, it's the happiest Bucky's ever been. Even if Steve gets him into far more trouble than Bucky normally would.

But now Bucky's thinking about what Steve said earlier; about people paying for a show. "I was just thinking….Does the whole peepshow thing pay well here? Because maybe it's something to consider."

"Even with a good tent, huh? I don't mind." Even in this dream- it just makes sense to stick close. Rich or no paying extra doesn't seem wise when they both sleep better slotted up next to each other in one way or another anyhow. Buck keep'n him warm, Steve keep'n Buck company.

Definitely gonna have to talk to the owner about some kinda extra work. He wants to have a few more good memories with Buck for him to hold onto aside from shitty photos from Coney Island.

"...depends on the kinda crowd you draw. But we seemed pretty damn popular." He's never heard half so many people holler, and everyone seemed pretty damn interested in Bucky. Maybe they wanna see how they fit? How Steve takes Bucky in hand and leads him around by the long aching thread of desire?

Maybe they wanna see Bucky cry under his hands, see what made him moan so loud. "We can talk to Dolores on our way out."

That's another one to hold onto: pressed in close to Steve, warm and slotted up into each other and held there by a cozy sleeping back. The main reason they don't do that in winter back home is because a sleeping bag is an extra cost, and more importantly, all it'd take is one tenement fire to get them killed if they're stuck zipped into a sleeping bag. So Bucky saves that for a fantasy or two, where it's safe.

He just wishes they could actually go on this trip. Maybe even rent a car. Especially when every time Steve gets really sick, it's just a reminder that he's on borrowed time. He needs to get out, see the world while he can.

It all seems like a dream up until today. Now Bucky begins to wonder if there's a way to earn some extra money. Maybe he could drop one of the jobs that pays the least and do this thing instead if it ends up bringing more money.

"I figure if it earns good money, maybe it's something I could pick up," Bucky says slowly like he's working out a new plan. Something actually actionable instead of just treading water. "I really want to take you out to see the world. If this makes more greens than one of my other jobs…."

"...If you wanna, I can tell you who to talk to. Demand varies, no one really has a set schedule, Buck-" His eyes slit open, peering across the water. Of course there'd be demand for a handsome James Barnes doing all sorts of sin, that'd get good money. The real question is-

Could Steve stand it? The rest of the world see'n his fella, soft and kneeling and so damn gorgeous it could make an angel cry?

This is the one piece of Bucky he's mostly been able to keep for himself. The dames, the world, they get to see the swagger, the friendliness, the charisma. Some even get to see the goof, how bright he lights up at every weird bit of fantasy or sci-fi they can get their hands on. But this one sordid thing has been his and his alone.

...but if it would make him happy? He'd swallow down that bitter green and bear it with a smile. "We'll talk to her. She's wanted to meet you for awhile, now, anyway."

"Sure, I'd like to meet her," Bucky rolls his neck a little, then his shoulders slump nice and easy in the hot water. "I just figure maybe there's enough demand to make good money. You saw the reception we had. I'd try it at least once or twice, see how it goes."

That's one of the more dangerous things about James Buchanan Barnes: aside from being fiercely protective of Steve Rogers, Bucky knew early on that a lot of people found him handsome… and he wasn't above using it to make life easier for himself or sweet talk his way out of things. Or into things. Sometimes you got away with a lot by being good looking and charming. Nothing wrong with working with what God gave you.

Bucky's eyes are still closed, utterly relaxed and head resting against the rim of the hot tub, with several of the welts Steve left behind on his throat rosy red in the heat, with one even drawn down his throat like a dame's choker. If it smarts any, it fades into the delicious ache radiating all through Bucky, which he plans to savor long after this is over.

"She says anything about my wardrobe, you ignore it, alright? No one cares what I wear, here." He can't really afford to dress nice, they don't make suits his size or shape and even if they did? They'd cost too damn much for him to risk wearing here. Taking in Bucky's old hand me downs worked well enough. Got him through his day to day just fine.

Because She will say something, he knows she will, she always pouts over how he tries to dress butch with his bone structure- damn his inability to really grow any facial hair- and no amount of huffing or politely declining keeps her from trying to tart him up quite like that.

He's queer, sure, but he ain't a queen. That's not for him. He's got nothing against it but- maybe if he didn't have a hard enough time liv'n he'd think about it. But there's no real joy in the idea for him. But if she talks Bucky into it, Bucky might be able to talk him into it. God help him.

Bucky cracks an eye open for him, dying to ask what that story is. Mercifully he doesn't press it (for now). 'Course he can just get it out of Dolores whenever they meet. Bucky hasn't met a dame he couldn't charm.

"Sure, I'll just pretend those raggedy clothes you got back home are just fine," Bucky says, stretching his arms up and out, muscles flexing before he drapes them along the ledge. They're both turning to prunes at this rate, but Bucky's dreading getting out anyway. Who knows if they'll ever get a chance at a hot tub? Especially with his best friend for company.

But it doesn't stop Bucky from catching t he little grimace on Steve's face about this clothes business.

"Hell, I'm sure plenty of people here would prefer you just don't put anything on at all," Bucky says with a wink. "Save everyone the trouble."

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Yes, Master~

Consensual Control

Bucky 70 years later, just thinking "Man, FUCK Mike" at odd times. His one sided rival

Meets his grandson and he's just as pretty and twinky.

Bucky just residually offended to the end of time by this family line

finds what few portraits steve did of them and fumes

Bucky just stewing for ages at that point

Poor buddy. All the others in museams but none of his drawings made it.

Aw, at Steve thinking he only has five years to do well by Bucky :(

He tries to be a realist.

Don't worry Steve, tragedy'll come for you instead

In ways neither of them ever anticipated! 8D

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good place to wrap, you think?

Yep! Thank you for such a lovely thread and /thread wrap!