freightcars | ic contact; duplicity

[ good morning, sir, it appears you had a bedroom invader sometime during the night, as jack benjamin is now curled up in the middle of your mattress, between you and, well, the lack of your ~~husband~~ prime submissive, who has likely disappeared for a morning run or whatever responsible people do at 8 on a Saturday morning.

what jack does is sleep like the dead, and unconsciously seek out all sources of heat to warm his frigid little body.

that would be why there are now icy little toes pressing up underneath bucky's pajama pants legs, leeching at the warmth of his skin and probably being incredibly uncomfortable in the process. secondly, a cold nose pushing at bucky's flesh shoulder, jack, in his sleep, attempting to burrow underneath the man' side, levering up the entire right side of his body while he digs out a space for himself there, thanks.

sorry for waking you, dear, but jack is a precious princess and he hates winter. ]

[ Sleeping with Jack is like sleeping with a short-haired dog that can't seem to stay warm. At some point during the night the damn thing winds up under your back or between your legs or, once, right up beneath your neck.

It's a damn good thing he's more or less immune to waking up stiff and sore, otherwise Benjamin might be a hazard to his REM.

He wakes up lazy, vaguely waffling over the idea of going back to sleep, and with no severe intentions of getting out of bed. He does, however, need to correct this grievous error in sleep posture. He does it by rolling over onto that right side and then flopping forward with an arm and half his chest over Jack, more or less pinning him beneath half a body's worth of weight (and metal).

You wanted this. You asked for this. ]

[ yes he did. and for about a minute or so, jack's perfectly content with this new status of being completely buried under this man and all his muscle and all his metal, squished down against the mattress, engulfed and burrowed away from the world.

up until the point he starts to suffocate. and maybe a little after, because he is very cozy as is.

at first, it's a muffled whine he's letting out against the bedsheets, and when bucky doesn't move from that, it's a more insistent muffled whine, and a wiggled shoulder. lift up, you butthole, you're murdering him. when bucky is still smothering him into the bed, he starts the all over bodily squirm, grumbling in vague, nonsensical grouchiness as he inches his way towards the edge of a shoulder or a side he can nose his face out from, just enough to breathe.

ah, yes. sweet oxygen. given he was face down, the side he squirmed to was bucky's right, so the left is still entirely covering him, more like a bucky blanket now than and leaning tower of barnes. weighted blankets are supposed to be good for anxiety, right? right???

somehow, this is still comfortable. ]

[ Muffles whines don't even earn Jack the cracking open of an eye. He elects to have selective hearing about it, thanks. When it comes accompanied by a full bodied squirm, Jack earns his first reaction: ]

Shhh.

[ Go to sleep asshole you're ruining his Mae West dream.

When Jack finally settles, a metal arm winds around him and tucks him in close like a body pillow or a teddy bear. Half for comfort, half to keep him still. Welcome to the rest of your life, Jack. Hope you don't need to take a piss any time soon. ]

[ thankfully, he's too committed to his new found warmth to care about a later need to take a piss. bucky's shushing gets him another grumble, but jack's too close to that hazy, barely awake state to really care much beyond that. soon enough, with his air channel found and his person securely burrowed, jack's drifting back towards sleepiness and dreams.

bucky winds an arm about him, tucking him close, and jack, half in a dream and half conscious, lets out an airy sigh, nuzzling against the closest body part that isn't his own. likely a shoulder or a neck, who knows. it isn't mae west in his dream, and not even really a person, just some vague body of solid presence and cozy contentment.

a hand grips at bucky's arm, tugging it in against his chest, like his own teddy bear, and as bucky tugs him in close, jack pulls him tight to him as well, the comfort a powerful and soothing thing, as with the certain level of possession to it.

buuut, should his mae west dream start getting hot and heavy, bucky does now have jack's ass lined up against his crotch, so there's that. otherwise, settle in, because jack's not waking up for another couple hours at least, probably with an ache in his ribs for sleeping like this, buck fuck it, he's comfy. ]

[ As a matter of fact, his Mae West dream does start getting hot and heavy. It manifests slowly, in the first twitches of morning wood that presses into the pressure Jack's giving him at his front. It isn't long before he's fully hard and leaking into the soft cotton of his boxer shorts, nestled into the crook of Jack's ass, pulsing needy.

It starts with just the careful, sleep-muted flexing of thighs. Barely an inch of movement, a subtle drag, an up and a down. Rhythmic, slow, gentle. Probably not enough to wake either of them up, but enough to scratch an itch in a way that really only makes it worse.

He exhales, a throaty sound. ]

[ the longer they're still (mostly) again, the further jack falls into sleep, or half-sleep. a vague, abstract dream, with a heavy male body against him and the scent of james barnes all around him, the press of metal familiar against the back of his shoulder and his arm. these are all normal, every day things to him, and honestly, so is the cock grinding his ass.

a quiet, barely there, sleepy hum comes from jack's throat, and he squirms a little more, situating until the set of his thick hardness rutting against him fits perfectly between his cheeks, albeit with the thicker fabric of his sleep pants in between. consequence of going to be cold, but his body's starting to heat a little.

the gently, subtle rock of bucky's cock against him is slow and easy, comfortable, and jack's lips mouth lazily against the naked bicep he's tucked his face against. suffice to say, his dick's filling, the grind of bucky's hips pushing his own down against the mattress, it's only to be expected. ]

[ Thank you for lining them up just right, you're really doing him a solid while he does you a solid. His dick appreciates the effort anyway, the right amount of pressure, the right amount of friction, the simulation of an experience almost as good as the experience himself.

Barely-there movements become a little more there, but in a sort of disjointed way. His arm are dead, his upper body doesn't really move, he's largely immobile except for hips. They dip back a little farther, then push forward in a drag so sweet it leaves him twitching and has a little sleepy noise purring out of the back of his throat.

Just a quiet, barely there mmm.

Mae, you know how to treat a guy. Good on ya. ]

[ you're very welcome, dear, it's what he does best. as bucky slots against him, and pushes down between his cheeks, the slow, sweet drag of it inspires the half-there dream jack's settling into, loving the weight that presses down and holds him, the thickness against his ass, the heat of bare skin crowding him down against the mattress.

you'd think someone like jack would hate being held down, but honestly, there's a kind of safety to being pinned underneath a body he trusts - underneath bucky's at least. while it isn't bucky in his dream (and it sure as hell isn't mae), the feeling of security was there as he'd dozed off.

more likely, it's some chris hemsworth looking greek adonis motherfucker dragging his cock up and down and up and down and driving him mad with just not enough. the low hum that purrs deep against his back rattles through him, and jack lets out a soft keen, like a whimper or a whine, hips pushing back against the source of pressure and fiction.

his cock, swollen and leaking against his briefs, throbs and jack, lost and sleepy and not all here, shoves at his waist band (or his shirt? or the blanket? it's hard to be that functional in a dream, usually he just writhes until he gets the feeling he wants). there's a barrier in the way and he's pushing at it - that's all dream-jack knows. get thee gone, pj pants. ]

ic contact; duplicity

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