Feeling Dominant

[sockdere]

The Feeling DOMINANT Meme No matter what your usual preferences are, today, you're feeling dominant. This doesn't mean Dominant with a capital D as in the BDSM sense - unless that's what you're into. It simply means you want to take charge. Maybe you even want to be aggressive and possessive, or you just want to show what you want and when you want it. There could very well be some emotional desires behind this fancy, as well. This could be a complete change in your normal personality, an extension of what you're naturally like, or a normal but possibly unexplored part of you. It could even mean a spike in sexual interest, libido, or confidence if you're usually not the one to initiate. So whether you're with an established partner, in an AU setting, or with a one-night stand, let your inner boss shine through and top or top from the bottom. You can control...and that just may be exactly what they want. Comment with your character, preferences, and any info you'd like to include. All top levels are now feeling dominant, whatever that means for your character: aggressive, sweet, patient, demanding, strong, caring, uncaring, etc. Reply to others. Thread.

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[unclesam]

[ aaahhh lovely, and yes, we can definitely explore more stuff over time :3 very here for it. Let's roll with Romania for now. Let me know if this starter works for you? ]

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[ That's it - he's suing Steve Rogers for emotional damages.

Sam envisions that if his life were a movie, this would be the moment where a record scratch would play, and a voice over would go 'I bet you wonder how I ended up here' over a comical freeze frame of the club's entrance. Because Sam Wilson finds himself standing in front of a bdsm club. In Romania.

Fuck his life, man.

It's not that Sam is a prude, honestly, it's just that this feels like an elaborate setup. Maybe it's proof Barnes is unearthing a sense of humor in the scrambled eggs that are his poor excuse for a brain, because why else would Sam be able to trace a lead here? He's had promising close calls with Barnes in the past, but this - this is something else.

And it's probably either nothing, or an elaborate prank. Hence suing Steve for emotional damages.

Sam rubs a hand over his face and sighs. The worst thing is, he knows what this is gonna look like. He's a tall, buff black man about to enter a European BDSM club. The stereotypes write themselves. But it's not like that. Well, it's a little bit like that, just not like that.

It's just a job though, either way, right? He's going in there and either finding yet another dead end on his missing person's case, or he finds Barnes in a compromising position he never expected to have to find Barnes in, and it's just got disaster written all over it either way.

And on the way, he might have to handle people making the wrong assumptions over his wants and needs because there's a particular image of men who look like him that people have.

Sam is a thrill seeker who hurtles through the sky with nothing but tac gear and a fancy jet pack, throwing himself at helicopters on the way. The last thing he wants in life is to have control. Ain't exactly his fault he could never explore because there's precious few people strong enough to handle him.

But that's not the point, is it. The point is finding Barnes. And so, Sam follows his lead - into the club. And if there's a tingle of anticipation over what he'll find, well.

Not the first time he's jumped feet first at helicopter blades, right? ]

[ass_ass_in]

[ As careful as Bucky has been, as atuned to the possibility that he might be being tailed -- and heaven knows he's thrown off enough tails in the last few months -- on nights like these he's far less wary, more focused on the need that has been building in him all week. His nights are wave upon wave of memories. Not nightmares, just his subconscious waking back up, drowning him in wave upon wave of service to HYDRA. They're cruel memories, memories that go so far back as the original torture that broke him, and spanned the entirety of the time since. Decades, in and out of the ice, on missions and not, with a variety of handlers, a variety of purposes, a variety of cruelties; but always the same subservience.

The need for control itches under his skin. It makes him careless.

The first time he'd ended up here, he'd walked into what had felt like hell on earth. It was all too much all at once, the sights and smells and sounds, people voluntarily bound and abused the way Bucky could feel if he let himself look in any one direction for too long. But someone had come over and squeezed his face, and said 'My, what a pretty mouth', and Bucky had glared at him so hard he'd staggered back, laughing. It was lucky he didn't have a broken wrist, but... Well. Laughter had turned into an invitation. Show him the ropes, share his sub. Not just a sandwich, as it turned out.

These days, Bucky didn't need to share. He was confident. He waited. He chose. Single people came here all the time, some more nervous than others. Men, women, it didn't matter. Being the one who got to give the commands made Bucky feel safe. In control. And considering he was a brainwashed former assassin on the run from good guys and bad guys, someone who might just lose his autonomy again at any second, any brief glimmer of being the one in control was a desperate lifeline.

The sex never even ended up being the point. Not really. Bucky rarely actually ever got off, in these scenes. But no matter what he did with the people he chose, he always ensured they left him with what they wanted, unlike the way that submission had been for him. It was an honor code.

The man who stepped through the door was American. Fuzzily familiar, but Bucky had only had passing glimpses of Sam during their battles. Sam screaming as he pulled the steering wheel clear out of his car. Sam in his exo suit striding beside Steve. Sam falling from the helicarrier. That was more or less it. It'd surely come to him, but for the moment all Bucky cared about was what was visible, the trepidation in his expression, the way his gaze was hunting for something across the room until it fell on Bucky.

There was a thrill in his chest. A knowing. Bucky was currently helping another man with his shibari, his fingers nimble and efficient on the ropes despite his gloves, tidy with the knots, well trained from days of hard work on the docks. His hair obscured his face as he crouched over the woman, dipping down close enough that he could speak to her in hushed Romanian, pointing out the man at the door.

"I'm going to fuck him," he told her, brazenly. "What do you think?"

She was gagged already, so there was no answer. Instead, Bucky stood, excusing himself from the other dom, and stepped quietly toward the man waiting precariously at the door. Despite the murderous silence of his steps, the predatory interest in his gaze, his approach toward Sam was all interest. The fact he wasn't looking right into his face, instead raking his body with his gaze, probably made a clearer point.

Bucky, in turn, was dressed carefully, so as to conceal his arm entirely. The leather jacket didn't come down any further than the top of his abs, and it was closed with thick laces rather than buckles, buttons or zippers, only revealing enough of his chest to prove he was human and not so much as to reveal the scar tissue or metal on one side. His pants and boots were the same pair he'd worn when he'd fled D.C., if only because it was hard to find suitable places to conceal weapons in regular clothes. And they were black, and went all the way round his thighs, both of which were advantages.

His gaze came back up, looking into the man's face again. Strange how just a pair of goggles could obscure a man's entire identity, but Bucky's memory was hardly all that good in the first place. ]

You looking for something in particular, American?

[ That much he knew for sure. It was the posture. The self assuredness. Or maybe it was just his mind trying to semophore for help. ]