bakerstreet | The Safe Word Meme

Things that would make him tap out as a sub: blindfolding without constant reassurance, humiliation, use of magebane or Templar techniques to subdue his magic.

Things that would make him tap out as a dom: blood or wounds beyond light bruising(he would automatically want to heal every injury), hysterical crying, lack of response to questions or check-ins.

He can also come in a female flavor, via "scentofdeath".

Aoba isn't much of a "top" or even a dominant. If he did, he would probably only stop if his partner called the word first.

Being a sub and bottom, however, is a different thing entirely for him. He generally hates having his hair touched, and depending on the canon point, even a little pinch can seriously hurt. Even that could be enough to make him want to back out. He is, however, very intent on keeping those around him happy, so some IC discussion of safe words will likely be necessary, as well as to inform Aoba that he can, in fact, stop things if he really wants to.

This is further complicated by the fact that he likely won't notice that he's in a bad way until after he starts to panic/cry/etc. He doesn't know himself very well, which is problematic for this sort of thing.

For this meme, I am curious as to how playing out pseudo-rape, and other intense kinks that are not related to toilet play, vore, guro, death, weight play, nor food play.

I am willing to start the thread so long as I know what we want to play. c:

[~~THIS IS MY ULTIMATE JAM HOMIES~~.

I mean.

I'm super super happy playing the person saying the safeword or taking care of the person who said the safeword. If he says the safeword, it's almost definitely due to his memories of the Cage, so there will be mentions of past non-con (just to warn you). If he's the dom, he's gonna be really super concerned about his partner and take care of them as much as he can. Let me know if you wanna work out the specifics!]

((ooc: I heard your call and I come to you! By which I mean, I read your pm, heh <3

I admittedly would love to explore Castiel safe-wording out, because I imagine it would take a lot for him to have to. He might not even know he should at first, and would try pushing on.

But if you'd prefer Sam safe-wording out, we can do that too. Let me know!))

((ooc: sure, we can have Cas safeword! (Or Sam safewording as the dom if he's being very stubborn.) As always, let me know if there's something I need to rewrite or change <3)

[When talking about this side of their relationship, they had both agreed that rules and punishments are necessary. Sam didn't like the idea of punishing Cas, but he understood it. It's a black-and-white world where the rest of their lives are usually so grey. If a slave does well, then he's rewarded. If he misbehaves or breaks a rule, he's punished. It's through punishment and giving his dues that he can be forgiven, and then they move on. In their lives, were other people's lives ride on the choices they make, everything seems complicated and overwhelming. There's a safety in their scenes together, for both of them.

Sam enjoys taking care of Cas much more than he does punishing him. He understands why the other man wants it, but he doesn't enjoy it. But this is for both of them, and he knows he'll be doing more harm than good if he doesn't follow through with his punishments. He'd be leaving Castiel on unfamiliar ground, where the rules don't apply, and Sam won't allow that to happen during their scenes. It's his job to give him safety, in whatever form that may come in.

So, even though he'd rather not, he still orders Cas to kneel facing the wall, leaning his hands on it, and facing chin down. His hands are bound in leather in front of him, and he's wearing his usual collar. He broke two rules during their play: he both spoke and came without permission. The punishment is lighter for the latter of those, but he former is a blatant disrespect for the rules, something Cas did consciously.

He walks up from behind, a riding crop in his hand. The riding crop is almost always used for punishments - unlike the flogger, it's unyielding and often bites skin. Sam doesn't get joy out of using it, but they both agreed on it.

He places the riding crop under his chin, lifting it slowly. His jaw is locked and his voice stern yet disappointed.] Tell me why you're being punished. [He's not actually angry at him, but he puts on the most convincing show he can. He keeps telling himself that this is for Castiel's benefit, not his own.]

[There's comfort in punishment, odd and twisted as that may be. Not that it feels good. But it helps Castiel back onto solid ground when the world tilts on its axis and leaves him reeling, when the burdens beyond their bedroom become too great for him to bear, the choices he has to make become too stifling.

Sam can take it all apart and put him back together the way he's meant to be.]

I had an orgasm without your permission, and talked without being prompted, Master. I was disobedient.

[And it had felt horrible to disobey the rule, one on purpose and one entirely just because everything else has overwhelmed him to the point where Castiel feels he has no handle on himself.

He broke the rules, he needs to be punished. It's as easy as that.

There's comfort in that.

He shivers at the touch of the riding crop, wants to beg forgiveness and be used properly for Sam's pleasure, but knows that would do neither of them any favors. This needs to happen for the stability of what they share. Still, the shame and trepidation are obvious in the width of his blue eyes and the hitch of his breath.]

[These things, these tiny little things, they really don't matter in the scheme of what they have faced. Compared to the people who died that Sam's hands, letting Lucifer out - breaking a nonsensical rule should be nothing. But he supposes that's the point. They created this world together to have someplace safe, not only for themselves but for the rest of the world. Everything Sam has touched, ever, has burned. Even now, sometimes he's afraid with one wrong touch, Castiel will burn to ashes, too.

He's more like Dean than he gives himself credit for. What he wants to do more than anything is shelter the few people he has left that he loves. He has a forgiving nature for everyone but himself, and he wants to gather Castiel up in his arms and kiss his head and tell him those mistakes don't matter. But, if he does that, then it devalues what he doesn't right in their little world of theirs, as well. All that praise and affection Sam gives him for doing something right won't matter, and Sam can't take that away from him.

He takes a deep, silent breath, and clenches the crop in his fist. He can do this. For Cas.]

Ten for speaking out of turn, and ten for coming without my permission, all on your back. [It was the predetermined punishment decided by the both of them, but it seems like too much now in the face of the actual pain he's going to inflict. It's different than hitting his ass and thighs with the flogger - this pain is sharper, and won't leave him floating on endorphin, but that's the point.] You will not move, and you will remain silent throughout your punishment, except to say your safety word.

[The sooner this is over with, the better, he assumes, so without another warning, he lands the first strike firmly on his back, leaving a red swell behind. Sam wants to wince at the sight of it, but he doesn't. He just lands another.]

[It's worse than Castiel thought it'd be, because being struck for punishment is very different than being struck for mutual pleasure. He'd let Sam utterly debauch him as long as he keeps call him good and praising him for wearing the bruises so well, but this... this is different, and between strikes two and three Castiel has the horrifying thought that it's wrong, that he can't do this, that he needs to call the word and end it.

He didn't expect to fail so soon, but he's smarter than most people give him credit for - he knows his own limits very well, even when he pushes them or even disregards them. It's painfully obvious to him that he won't make twenty, when as little as give as tears dripping down his cheeks.

But there's a dark, twisted part of him, hammered into an unpleasant shape by Heaven, that wants to obey now more than anything, wants to last through the impossibly sharp pain so that Sam can stand over his shredded back and call him 'good', declare him right again and fit to be placed back in line and used properly.

His fingers dig into the headboard so hard his knuckles turn white. The strikes fall too fast because the tears are tightening his throat, so he can't breathe properly between them. It's not Sam's fault, it's his, he needs to use his out and end it.

But part of him knows he deserves this more than he deserves his master's kindness, training, the good bite of the flogger, the bruises placed as reward and security blanket. Castiel has devastated Heaven, killed thousands. A shredded back is only the beginning of what he deserves.

He broke his master, too.

Part of him knows that he has to use his safeword. Another part of him knows that someone like him can never do enough penance, and that he doesn't deserve to be saved from punishment of any form.

By strike 15, Castiel goes slack and forgets how to breathe entirely.]

[Even the first strike feels wrong. All of the moralizing and justifying they do to make it acceptable, and it still feels wrong. The red line on his back were the crop hit is too red, too violent, not like the soft, muted pink the flogger usually leaves behind on his skin. He understand that this is voluntary, but the red manages to scream torturer to him in his mind.

He listens and waits for the safeword to come from his lover's lips, but it never comes. One more, than another. Still nothing, but he's shaking and obviously in a lot of pain. He clenches his fingers around the hilt, still not a single utterance coming from Castiel's mouth. He takes a breath - if Cas really wants this, needs it, then he needs to get it over with.

The strikes fall fast after that, faster than he means to. But he can't stand prolonging this. This isn't like when he uses the flogger, when he alternates the strokes while pushing a vibrator father up his ass, stretching him tantalizingly thin until he begs for release. He loves to draw out their scenes, loves to make Castiel so desperate that he spills tears. But the tears that are falling now aren't the same, not at all. There is no pleasure in this, and no promise of any. Just pain.

When he watches him collapse completely on the bed, he feels like he's been slapped in the face. Fuck, fuck, just a litany of curses run through his brain as he throws the crop over to the side.] Red, I call Red. [He says his own safeword, but he's already by Castiel's side by the time he's said it.

He's on completely unsteady ground here, and for the first time since becoming a dom, he's panicking. He tries to reign in his breath, pushing the stream of self-hatred aside for the moment - He tortured Cas, he tortured the man he loved, how could he do that - and tries to get a handle on what to do next.]

Cas - just lie there. Try to breathe, don't do anything else, okay? [He unbuckles the leather straps around both his neck and his wrists, but he's afraid touch him, afraid to damage him further, afraid that Cas is afraid of him. All he can do is pull the blanket over him before going to grab a bottle of water.]

[Ever since they started this, Castiel has grown rather familiar with the concept of subspace, that wonderful way his mind just floats away, high on endorphins, wrapped in that strange thread somewhere between pleasure and pain. He loves it, is amazed by it.

It's very far out of reach now. There's only pleasure overwhelming his mind now, negative emotions hot on its tail to make sure Castiel feels thoroughly rotten. He was a slolder of Heaven, and now he failed in taking the punishment and in calling a halt. He forces his dom into taking action, and even through the haze of violently red pain, Castiel knows that this can't be good on Sam either.

What had they been thinking?

Clearly they need to renegotiate their defintion of punishment, because this won't work. He's in pain, taking shuddering breaths. Every part of him trembles, ever part of him feels thoroughly terrible in more ways than one, and Castiel can only reach out, trying to get a hold of Sam as soon as the man returns. Sam may have been the one to inflict this pain, but he did so on Castiel's wish, and the fallen angel needs his dom close now, to ease the sharp edges of pain that make him hiss when he tries to shift a little.

Castiel doesn't realize his face is wet. He didn't even realize it could hurt so much, that his body could cling to the pain and make it flare up anew again at the slightest shift.]

Sam...

[He wants to know how bad the damage is, but also doesn't want to know, doesn't want Sam to see, wants to kiss away the need for a safe word and the fallout of calling it from Sam's lips.]

[While gathering the supplies with shaking hands, Sam can't help but think that this is it, he hasn't just ruined scenes for them but any form of relationship Sam could hope to have with Castiel. He'd been such a fucking idiot for doing this, and that taunting voice in his mind keeps asking if he enjoyed it, seeing his lover in genuine pain, if that darkness inside of him got off of torturing another being. He shouldn't be allowed anywhere near humans, the voice that sounds familiar tells him, much less someone as good as Castiel. You know it's true, and Sam could swear he could see Lucifer smiling back at him in the bathroom mirror.

Sam violently pushes the thought away. Sam can remind himself of what a fuckup he is later. Even if he's the worst dom in the world, much less a disgusting human being, he's going to take care of his sub. He's going to take care of Castiel, because it's the least he deserves.

When he walks back in the room, something between a gasp and a sob comes out of his throat when he sees Cas reaching out towards him, even after hurting him like this. Have I messed him up this much?, he wonders, but how can he refuse? He would be lying to himself even more if he said he didn't want to hold Cas in his arms, wrap him up and keep him safe from everything, even Sam himself.

He wipes a few stray tears away from his cheek, admionishing himself for allowing himself to cry, before climbing into the bed. He's still so afraid to reach out and touch, but he lies next to him and uses a damp, warm washcloth to wipe the sweat from his forehead and the tears from his cheeks.] It's okay, I've got you. [He mutters several times, deep and choked while trying to sound reassuring.] Can you drink some of this? [He asks quietly, handing him the bottle of water from the nightstand.]

[Even more than the agony his body currently finds itself in, seeing Sam suffering like this pains Castiel. He knows Sam, knows what the man is thinking now, how this is eating at him, making him crumble inside out, and Castiel won't have that. THe kind of relationship they're in requires them to take care of one another, and Castiel knows that Sam needs the reassurance and comfort right now as much as he needs it himself, if not more. He's merely, mostly, in physical pain. Sam's suffering is of a different, much more dangerous kind.

So Castiel reaches out, wipes his thumb along Sam's cheek bone. He doesn't even need to register the redness of Sam's eyes to know.]

In a moment. Just you, for a bit.

[And he moves closer, even though that's gotta hurt him, but all that matters right now is Sam. Sam means everything to him, and nothing, absolutely nothing is worth risking him or losing him. It took humanity for Castiel to fully understand the weight of that.]

Shhh, Sam. It's okay, it's going to be okay, I promise. I'm sorry, I should have used my safe word - I endangered both of us. It's going to be okay, Sam.

[And he brushes his hair aside with loving gentleness, just needs Sam to feel grounded and loved, because if Sam loses himself in worry and fear it won't do either of them much good.]

[He can't help but think that it's wrong that Castiel is trying to take care of him. People don't take care of Sam, and Sam doesn't ask to be taken care of - that seems to be the common theme these days. It felt almost natural for him to be the caregiver in their scenes then, to dish the pleasure and relief out to Cas, someone who deserves every ounce of it. Sam stands up on his own two feet because that's what he's had to do.

So he doesn't understand why he starts crying harder when his angel whispers to him and strokes his hair. It's pathetic, and not fair, he shouldn't be allowed to cry, he's the one who hurt the most important person --

But he leans into Castiel's palm anyway, and lets the tears fall anyway. He wraps an arm around his neck, away from the damage he inflicted on his back, and pulls him to his chest, burying his face in his hair.]

I'm sorry. [He repeats it over and over again, mingled with utterances of Castiel's name, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He can't move, can't do anything else. He feel that if he does, everything else will crumble around him.]

[I'd actually like him safe-wording out. Maybe as a result of something like temperature play (ice?), claustrophobia (just plain bondage), or sensory deprivation.

Fair warning - he's more likely to be kind of aggressive than clingy.]

Edited 2014-02-04 03:17 (UTC)

[ooc: There any chance you'd be up for something Bucky? Perhaps it's hard to let go of the Winter Soldier persona and so Bucky still has a Russian lilt when he speaks and maybe bondage can be a way that persona acts out a little?

Also, if it's alright with you, I'd be interested in all of the above for ice play, vanilla bondage, and sensory deprivation.]

[That actually sounds really, really amazing; I am more than interested.

Toss me a start if you're willing, and if you need me to just let me know and I'll get one up in a couple of hours?]

[Alright cool. And no don't worry about it, I'll go ahead and get something started now under a new reply.]

[Things would never be as they were. That much was clear when Bucky came to again as himself - mostly - and remembered just how much the world had changed and how much he had changed with it. Even though he was no longer a homicidal puppet, he still remembered it all.

His soul was never pure, he'd taken a man's life before in the war, but this.. Yeah, this was different. On a different plane of tainted and fouled by all the people he tortured, and enjoyed it, and lives he took mercilessly. Half the time he doesn't even recognize himself when looks in the mirror.

Like now.

It had been his idea. Bind Steve's wrists behind his back and his ankles together with military chord to ensure he wouldn't break free. It was a sick way to appease that darker part of his mind left over from being a Soviet drone. But he allowed Steve the privilege of sitting up in a chair. They were friends after all, weren't they? At least that's what he recalls when he sifts through his head muddled with memories of death and blood, and most times he questions if the memories of Steve are even his own.]

Have you chosen a safe word, yet? [A blindfold came down obstruct his vision and Bucky came around to his front to loom over the blond's nude and bound body to admire quietly.]

[Things couldn't go back to the way they had been. Too many things had changed and too much had happened for both of them. Bucky had changed more than Steve, but it was a different world and they were different people.

They were trying, though.

At least Steve was trying, which was why he was stripped naked with his wrists tied behind his back and his ankles bound to the chair he was in. What he was trying to do at the moment was exhibit trust in someone he had known longer than anyone -and who had tried to kill him.

Steve tensed a bit against the cord, not trying to seriously get out of them, but checking and testing them. He took a deep slow breath and closed his eyes as the blindfold came down, and physically relaxed himself when he heard -and almost felt- Bucky moving around to stand in front of him.]

Yeah. Red. [Because it's easy, simple to remember, is a universal sign of stop, but also because there's a hefty dose of irony there directed solidly at Bucky and where he's been.] I'm all right. [And a little turned on, right now.] What about you?

[That got an easy smirk out of him. Red had definitely been easy and the assassin also caught the irony, made him scoff lightly as he was reminded of the red star adorning his left bionic shoulder.]

Red it is, and I'm fine if you are. [He'd been searching for some sign of discomfort or uncertainty in his admiration for how much Steve had changed (because there hadn't been much time back during the war) and when he found none, Bucky himself could breathe a little easier.

He respected Steve for doing this, grateful for the trust that should have dissolved after recent events and his best friend entertaining this idea of his, as dark and demented as it truly was - Steve didn't need details. Not now. They were Bucky's own demons and he was dealing with them the best way he could.]

I'll try to keep this simple, but don't hesitate to stop me. [The Russian lilt was light but it was still there as he spoke. There's silence then, Bucky plucking an ice cube from a bowl full of them and returning to Steve and gently drew it up his arm and ending at his shoulder just to see his reaction. He went on to leave a cold stripe across his friend's broad chest, cold droplets sliding down his middle.]

[Steve knew he and Bucky hadn't really had a lot of time after Project Rebirth, and knew there were some pretty big changes in himself. They weren't the ones that were on his mind, now. The ones in Bucky were closer, but he was trying to reach past those to recover something more familiar.

And maybe to atone. Everything that had happened to Bucky and what he'd done since? He felt responsible for those. If he'd just managed to hold on, or hadn't had Bucky with him on that damned mission....

None of it would have happened.

He flinched away from the biting cold when ice touched his skin, sucked a breath in through his teeth and forced himself to stay still. His fingers curled into fists behind his back and a muscle near his jaw tightened for just a moment. He thought he could do this. He really did. ]

Yeah, sure.

[He thought he needed to do this, and was working to be able to do this and as long as the cold was skin deep he sort of, sort of could stay out of that place in his head that wasn't anything as defined as memory, but just cold darkness and disembodied voices.

This was possibly the stupidest thing he'd done, and maybe he shouldn't hesitate to stop Bucky, but between guilt and his own stubbornness - he wasn't going to at least damn well try not to call it.

He was going to fail, and soon. He just wasn't going to admit it.]

[Count on Steve to take the blame even if it weren't his to take. If Steve thought he could convince Bucky not to go on that mission, he still needed some time to let his head thaw out from being trapped in ice for so long. Trapped in ice...

There's an obvious pause on Bucky's part. He glanced down at the melting cube between the fingers made of flesh and frowned slightly, thankful for Steve not being able to see. He couldn't be there when Steve had to drop Red Skulls aircraft into the frigid ocean, but he wondered if this reminded him of that chilling moment.

His lips parted, ready to call it off himself, but then there was that part of him that hadn't fully disappeared. The part that liked to see the super soldier squirm and tense under the chilling bite of the ice. Nearly made his lips quirk into a smirk.]

You're doing fine.

[He tried to be encouraging, not wanting this to end, but he did and he should want it to end. Only not before the good part, at least.

Popping the melting ice into his mouth, the darker haired man took another from the bowl, held it between metal fingers to keep it from melting so quickly. Bucky knelt carefully in front of Steve with a thoughtful hum and reached out to trace over a nipple, slowly, with the ice. His eyes sharp, watchful as they studied Steve's face.]

[This was one hell a trust fall, but it wasn't the plunge into the ocean that Steve was being reminded of, or struggling with. He'd been awake, choosing, and active for that. Scared, yeah, but alert all the way to the point of impact.

It was the cold, dark, and immobility.

Saying that he remembered all the time he'd spent on ice would have been a lie, but he hadn't been completely unaware, either. Comatose, but with impressions filtering in. Once he started to thaw, they were stronger and came closer to being nightmare and flashback fodder than anything as simple as memory.

He steadied just a little at Bucky's ... reassurance. Took a deep breath and tried to actually do fine. That's what this was about, right? Besides, Steve didn't cry uncle easily.

Bucky's voice, that hum, coming from a different place gave him some warning that location was going to change. It didn't tell him where. The ice on his nipple made it harden, along with his cock getting a bit harder. He still almost cringed back away from it.

The deeper the cold sank, the more he felt the cold, the harder he was pushed toward the dark, silent, freezing immobility of the ice. The more trapped he felt. The closer to the edge of panic he got, the faster his heart beat, and the more tension spread from his abs to his chest to his shoulders and up the back of his neck.

The closer he got to the breaking point.

He didn't verbally respond to Bucky, just tried to mentally pull away from it.]

[It's wrong, so wrong, but if Bucky had been aware of what exactly he was forcing Steve to remember with a cube of ice in greater detail than what he can simply assume on his own, he would have relished it. Fed on it to fill the void that was left behind when they managed to unshackle him from the tether on his mind, soul, and body.

Though, being that that wasn't entirely the case now, the assassin took what he could get and the sudden tension tightening throughout Steve's body was something to salivate over.

He shouldn't...feel this sort of satisfaction he gets from torturing his friend. The same man he'd fend off bullies for when they were kids. Does this make Bucky a bully if he had the blond's consent? Because he certainly doesn't feel like one... He felt like he was in control, something he hadn't had in decades. Only downside was that Steve had to be his unfortunate victim to express that renewed control.

His gaze snapped down to the hardening cock in Steve's lap, smirking darkly at the larger man before giving the same treatment to his other nipple, only this time he leaned forward to sweep his tongue along Steve's chest to catch the running droplet, teasingly brushing the pointed nipple with his lips.

The fun had only just begun and there had been no warning for what was to come next. Strong, calloused fingers encompassing the base of Rogers' shaft firmly, the heat of Bucky's tongue against the underside of the head that sharply contrasted with the glide of cold and wet that followed.]

[The hell of it was, Steve knew. He knew Bucky needed some control back, because he knew where Bucky had been and how little control he'd had. His failure had started that loss of control for Bucky. The least he could do was give some of it back.

More and more Steve was feeling the cold, and somehow the sharp contrast to the heat of Brucky's tongue and breath made it worse. It was the heat and physical arousal that made him shiver the first time. It was the following, painful, shock of cold and wet that made him keep shivering.

He was almost too tense for it, his jaw locked and teeth clenched together, fists behind his back so tight that his nails were digging into his palms. He wasn't fighting the restraints, though. He wasn't fighting the restraints because he'd forgotten that he was capable of movement. He'd forgotten that he wasn't entombed in ice.

It was like some strange, twisted, erotic dream or hallucination. Something his trapped mind had invented somewhere in those seventy years of helplessness.

Then it snapped. Bucky's hand around him, breath, some particular smell, was just enough for him to grab hold of. He almost couldn't remember what a safe word was, never mind what his safe word was.

Another tense, shuddering, frozen moment and he just barely managed. It came out a snarl, an order, a demand, and absolutely panicked for all of that.]

Red.

[Either Bucky was getting him out, or he was going to dislocate both shoulders and break the chair doing it for himself.]

[There was nothing to give back because Steve wasn't at fault for what happened to Bucky. He knew what was at stake when he joined the army and followed Captain America. He was a soldier and a friend and it sucks what happened to him, but it's not Steve's fault.

If Bucky blamed anyone, it's himself for nearly losing himself, drunk with the power for making Captain America tense and squirm and... Call out his safe word.

Part of Bucky hated himself for finding so much pleasure in that, but that sadistic half was quickly pushed to the darker recesses of his mind, for now, feeling only guilt and concern now as he effortlessly undid Steve's bindings on both his wrists and ankles before he hurt himself. He removed the blindfold as well and knelt in front of Steve, hands hovering because he didn't know if he should touch or not.

Bucky chose not to.]

I shouldn't have talked you into this, it was a bad idea...

[It wasn't the fact that Steve actually had to say the safe word, it was how he said it that rose goosebumps on Bucky's arms and neck. ...And he'd be lying if he said some of that hadn't been caused by how great it felt to reduce Steve to such a state.

Bucky stood suddenly, stepped back several paces. He shouldn't even be in the same room, can't even bear to look at what he's done. What friend does that and likes it? Likes the sound of underlying panic or the rough snarl of the demand. His jaw clenched tightly, cock hard from all his conflicting thoughts and he nearly holds his head and shouts. But he doesn't.]

I'm sorry.

No.

[The no was all the negation he can manage for the apology at first. He had to get out of his head, into his skin and the present moment, and he had to move. The last -getting out of that chair and to his feet- helped a little with the first two, though his heart was still racing.

He gave his head a hard shake to clear it and stepped away from the chair and toward Bucky. Dear God, don't leave him alone like this - it was not a conscious thought, but it was an impulse that he was following subconsciously.]

Stop it.

Just... stop it, and get back over here. [Or stay still while he went there. He was still freaked out at himself. That wasn't making him inclined to cling, or be pushed down or held onto, but alone? No. No way.]

[Had it been anyone else, he would have left, but it's because that it is Steve that Bucky should leave regardless of being told to stay. He supposed it was the least he could do after pulling this crazy little stunt, though, he firmly believed being away from the super soldier was for his own good. Both of them.

Hesitantly, the brunet moved back over to Steve, cautiously and holding out his hand for Steve to take before quickly changing his mind and instead pulled Steve into him for hug.]

If you're mad at me, I deserve it. I'd understand.

[He held onto him tightly, the hand made of flesh rubbing gently against Steve's back to try and calm him, reassure him that everything was mostly alright. Although, maybe it worked more for Bucky, as Steve was firm and warm... it was comforting in a sense and it's been years since he's felt that way.]

[Steve hugged him back, both arms wrapped around and somehow still a little surprised at the way they fit together now, now that Bucky had been turned into Winter Solider and Steve had been turned into a Super Soldier. It just felt different.

But it was still reasonably reassuring.

He bit Bucky's (flesh and bone) shoulder hard enough to sting at the words, though.]

Stop bein' an idiot. I'm not mad at you.

[Disappointed in himself, wanting to apologize, but not mad at Bucky.]

You didn't do anything wrong.

[The sudden bite got a hiss from the Winter Soldier, Bucky tensing against Steve for a brief moment and just nuzzled his face pathetically into the taller man's neck. He wouldn't argue, not really, but he felt Steve should be at least a little angry with him.

It'd definitely make this easier...]

But I feel like I've done something wrong, you don't know how it made me feel to do that to you.

[And before Steve could assume what that was, Bucky pulled the Super Soldier closer so that he could really feel the hard mass trapped in his pants. Nearly breaking Steve hadn't just scared him, it turned him on like nothing else.]

Something's still wrong with me, Steve..

[Steve exhaled through his nose and into Bucky's hair, fingers tightened against Bucky's back and he shuddered just a little.]

Pretty sure the point was for you to get turned on, Buck.

[What, with the naked bondage and all.] Hell, I was turned on. [Wasn't quite still, but wasn't far from it. It was a physical thing for him, though, and he... kinda got off on adrenaline.]

You gave me a safe-word and you listened to it. Give yourself some credit here, would you?

I guess... I guess you have a point. Guess I'm just looking to blame myself for anything at this point.

[Because he'd never get over the guilt weighing on his shoulders - all the lives taken and such - but being here with Steve sort of made that weight a little more easier to endure than when he's alone.

And maybe Bucky actually took comfort in Steve being taller this time around, being able to engulf Bucky in his strong arms for once. For so long, he'd been used to it being the other way around.]

I'm still sorry... for everything.

[His lips were soft when they pressed lightly to the center of Steve's chest, Bucky giving a just barely there roll of his hips against him.]

[Steve slid a hand slowly up Bucky's back and into his hair, and made that hug just a little more intimate. He exhaled a little hard at the roll of Bucky's hips, and his fingers tightened just a tiny bit, though nowhere near hard enough to be pulling.]

Not your fault. [Quiet, and steadier for it, but still a bit rough. Rough with arousal and lingering adrenaline that was threatening to become a crash.] Come on. Let's lie down. We can take it from there, okay?

[He liked the feel of Steve's fingers sliding into his hair, tightening only slightly enough to make him crave more of it. He'd grown to like pain during his years as a Soviet spy and puppet, but he didn't know how to convey that into words to Steve.

The sound of his voice caught the focus of Bucky's icy blue eyes, staring at Steve curiously. He's never heard him like that before, rough with want and lust and Bucky could see how fast his pulse moved in the larger man's neck.

He didn't have to be told twice, Bucky was already moving them to the bed, shoving Steve down lightly and crawling over him to lick a wet line against that pulse that had caught his attention before. Then in silence, he straddled Steve's hips, pulled his shirt over his head to drop on the floor and slowly began to undo his belt, followed by button and zip and Bucky shifted to kick his pants off, leaving him just as bare.

At least something hadn't changed; Bucky still preferred going commando than not.]

[Sub; can either be the one safewording or not. Most likely causes are helplessness/total immobilization, especially if combined with sensory deprivation, or humiliation that hits too close to home.]

The Safe Word Meme

Anders | Dragon Age 2 | ota

Aoba Seragaki | Dramatical Murder | men only, please

Sam Winchester | Supernatural

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YAY ♥

AN ETERNITY LATER

pft time is relative~

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Steve Rogers | MCU | M/M

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Ah. Sorry, I forgot to ask if you prefer prose over brackets?

I am really cool with anything.

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...He's stubborn; I promise he'll safeword out in the next tag or so. Damn you, Rogers.

Hey, Bucky's not complaining haha

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Terra | Kingdom Hearts | OTA