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and so the bedroom becomes the black room
Oct. 5th, 2014 02:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themission
kink (noun)
1. a sharp twist or curve in something that is otherwise straight.
2. a person's unusual sexual preference.
(no subject)
Sep. 26th, 2014 01:28 pmthemission[ Sometimes he locks Steve--Captain America, his mission--in a holding cell, a little windowless room with a cot to lie on, the door reenforced, thick enough (he knows, firsthand) to hold a supersoldier. Sometimes he keeps him chained face-first to a wall, hanging from thick manacles, his back exposed and vulnerable. Sometimes he keeps him in a room with a chair and metal cuffs that go over his arms and his legs, and a bank of computers to either side, dead and blank now, and a black halo overhead, a piece of machinery that used to come down over his head and run electricity through his muscles and his brain and make him scream, make him lose all the pieces of himself that weren't of use to Hydra's weapon.
The soldier destroyed the machine a long time ago; that isn't what he wants to use Steve for. He doesn't need a weapon. He doesn't want Steve Rogers to forget anything that is done to him here. It's someone else's turn to be used, to be what the soldier requires. There are lots of different rooms here, and lots of things to use on Steve or inside of Steve, but the one thing the soldier never does to him is make him forget, even when he won't stop calling him by that name that he hates hearing, it reminds him of terror and pain and unfathomable longing--
He comes into the room where he left Steve, on his back in the chair, restrained, turning on the bright overhead lights. He left Steve blindfolded, but he knows the lights are bright enough to penetrate the strip of black cloth, to be painful even for closed eyes, after hours in the dark waiting for the soldier's return. He's wearing his mask. He usually does, when he wants to toy with Steve, wants to make him hurt or make him come, because Steve wants to look into his face and see the man he used to be, the man he calls his friend, and the soldier won't give him that. Sometimes he doesn't even take the blindfold off, doesn't let Steve see his eyes. But he knows, in the cold depths of him, that he's afraid to look at Steve, that he hates and fears and yearns for his gaze, the blue eyes so desperately loving even when the soldier is hurting him.
He doesn't take the blindfold off yet. He walks to Steve's side, watching as he stirs a little under the lights, and then raises his hand--the right hand, the flesh hand--and slaps him across the face, hard. ] Wake up.
The soldier destroyed the machine a long time ago; that isn't what he wants to use Steve for. He doesn't need a weapon. He doesn't want Steve Rogers to forget anything that is done to him here. It's someone else's turn to be used, to be what the soldier requires. There are lots of different rooms here, and lots of things to use on Steve or inside of Steve, but the one thing the soldier never does to him is make him forget, even when he won't stop calling him by that name that he hates hearing, it reminds him of terror and pain and unfathomable longing--
He comes into the room where he left Steve, on his back in the chair, restrained, turning on the bright overhead lights. He left Steve blindfolded, but he knows the lights are bright enough to penetrate the strip of black cloth, to be painful even for closed eyes, after hours in the dark waiting for the soldier's return. He's wearing his mask. He usually does, when he wants to toy with Steve, wants to make him hurt or make him come, because Steve wants to look into his face and see the man he used to be, the man he calls his friend, and the soldier won't give him that. Sometimes he doesn't even take the blindfold off, doesn't let Steve see his eyes. But he knows, in the cold depths of him, that he's afraid to look at Steve, that he hates and fears and yearns for his gaze, the blue eyes so desperately loving even when the soldier is hurting him.
He doesn't take the blindfold off yet. He walks to Steve's side, watching as he stirs a little under the lights, and then raises his hand--the right hand, the flesh hand--and slaps him across the face, hard. ] Wake up.
(no subject)
Aug. 6th, 2014 07:56 amriflesnipe[ They end up staying at Steve's place instead of going back to Bucky's, the little bare, clean room with its stove off to one side, its threadbare couch with cushions that sag till your ass is almost on the floor, a closet-like second room with a mattress, barely qualifying as a bedroom. Pitcher and ewer. Table and chairs. Bucky's spent time there before and he's not snobbish about it; his own family's got better, but not by that much. Seems emptier now, sadder without Sarah; she was a nice woman. He should have bullied Steve harder into coming home with him, but then again, maybe it would've just depressed him to be surrounded by a family that isn't his own.
His folks will understand if he doesn't come home tonight. And he doesn't mean to, he'd rather stay with Steve, rather do what he can to look after him, because somebody's got to. Because this is his best friend in the world, and Bucky would do anything to remind him that he isn't alone.
They occupy the sofa together, a spring or some twisted piece of metal digging into Bucky's back, but he doesn't complain; he's got his arm around Steve's skinny shoulders and he's pulled him in until his head is leaned against his collar. Bucky's face is turned to him, his lips against his hair. ] We could go to that deli down the street, have a slice of pie or something. I'm buying if you want it. [ He's already pretty sure what Steve's answer will be but it's okay, he's not here to make him do anything he doesn't feel like doing. He's just here to be with him. ]
His folks will understand if he doesn't come home tonight. And he doesn't mean to, he'd rather stay with Steve, rather do what he can to look after him, because somebody's got to. Because this is his best friend in the world, and Bucky would do anything to remind him that he isn't alone.
They occupy the sofa together, a spring or some twisted piece of metal digging into Bucky's back, but he doesn't complain; he's got his arm around Steve's skinny shoulders and he's pulled him in until his head is leaned against his collar. Bucky's face is turned to him, his lips against his hair. ] We could go to that deli down the street, have a slice of pie or something. I'm buying if you want it. [ He's already pretty sure what Steve's answer will be but it's okay, he's not here to make him do anything he doesn't feel like doing. He's just here to be with him. ]
