(no subject)

[socket2me]

the SHOWER SEX meme
> Your character is in the shower with another character because they're close enough to do that together.

> You're helping each other get clean.

> You start getting freaky. Maybe this is the sequel to earlier sex or just unwinding after a bad week.
> If you're from a canon that is set in the olden days or a world without showers, you're in a bath or a hot springs or a bathhouse.

Comments

[vintagecaptain]

The dead tone of Bucky's voice hurt him, cut him down to his very soul. The last time he had heard that sort of tone Bucky had been strapped down to a table and mindlessly repeated his rank, serial number and nothing else.

He bit his lip against promising Bucky it would be okay. There was no guarantee of that Bucky was ever coming back and he had been working to accept that. It didn't matter either way, Steve would still help him.

The first step was washing away all the grime. He started with Bucky's shoulder, stubbornly treating both the same. He didn't want to ignore the arm, the mark of his failure and what his friend endured because Steve couldn't stop him from falling. The arm didn't seem to be effected by the water so he washed that too even though it was probably the cleanest part of Bucky right now.

"You aren't hurt?" he asked softly as he moved his hands and the soap down Bucky's flesh and bone arm, washing the space between his fingers. "You look alright."

He did, except for the scars that littered his shoulder and the rest of him. Bucky looked like he had spent a lifetime fighting but the truth was worse because Bucky spent a hundred lifetimes fighting a war without a choice.

[gavemyleftarm]

It was strange to be cared for like this. He couldn’t say he’d never been, he just couldn’t remember. It was there on the edge of his consciousness like a ghost, gone if he turned his head to see it. The harder he tried to dredge up his past, the harder it became to find those fragile pieces. For now it was enough to remember Steve, even in the vaguest of sense. Once, they’d be friends, brothers in arms, as close as two people could be without sharing blood. It was enough to know that bond cut through decades of programming, of brainwashing.

He could trust Steve, he reminded himself.

“No, I’m not hurt,” he answered in that same distant tone. Always so quiet now, so lost in searching his own mind to make sense of himself. No one cared for conversation with him in seventy years. One could say he was out of practice socialising and leave it at that, but there was so much more to his silence. It was deep, thoughtful silence, not the hollow silence he’d experienced before the crash. He canted his head, looking back at Steve over his shoulder. A faint smile pulled his lips and for a second, just a brief second, life came back to his feature just as an amused sort of exasperation came to his voice.

“I’m fine, Steve. I can manage this myself.”