ic contact; duplicity

[freightcars]

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[cicatrize]

[ 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. ]

[freightcars]

[ 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. ]

[cicatrize]

[ 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. ]