Re: there's more than one of everything; steve rogers/tj, m (2/2)myherodrowningAugust 23 2012, 17:38:05 UTC
The bottle empties all too quickly, their skin buzzing with the feeling of it, though Steve’s mostly just pretending at this point, but TJ doesn’t seem to mind.
“You look like someone I used to know,” Steve manages, and TJ pulls off his jacket, unbuttoning the first few fastenings of his white dress shirt.
“Do I?” TJ asks, looking over at him, desire plain in his eyes.
“My friend. James. I watched him die.” Steve isn’t sure why he says it, it’s certainly not necessary and it will probably dampen the mood, but the fact remains that he hasn’t been able to talk to anyone about Bucky, really, and he just needs - Well. He just needs to get some of it out, because he’s climbing against the walls, his mind overwhelmed with all of the things he can’t say because no one knows what to do after he opens up about it.
“I’m sorry,” TJ says, standing close, his fingers playing along the waist of Steve’s trousers. “That must have been horrible. Were you close?”
“We knew each other from since when we were kids. He knew me better than anyone. We were always together, always, and he was - we were - I mean-”
“You loved him,” and the words come easy on TJ’s tongue, and there’s no judgment there, no speculation, only mild curiosity and the compassion that Steve hadn’t expected from him, but it’s there all the same.
“Yes,” Steve says, his voice gone a bit breathless at the way that TJ’s hands are rubbing over his chest, his sides, tipping his head up and kissing at Steve’s jaw. And after that, there’s no more words. There’s only the way TJ pulls him to a bed, their clothes going everywhere, and Steve’s dizzy with it all - the way TJ’s mouth feels against his, their tongues tangling, the soft sounds they both make, and when they finally fuck, Steve’s on his stomach, fingers tearing into the sheets beneath him.
TJ’s gripping at his hips, too tight but Steve won’t bruise even though he kind of wishes that he would, holding his ass up in the air as he thrusts into him, hard and just the right side of too-rough. Steve suspects that under any other circumstances, were TJ not drunk or high or both, that it might be different, slower, more tender, but this is the exact edge he needs, and the younger man doesn’t seem to mind that the name Steve cries out isn’t his.
After all, it’s not like being with Steve means anything more to TJ than someone to fuck, so the former first son can’t begrudge the Avenger anything.
The bottle empties all too quickly, their skin buzzing with the feeling of it, though Steve’s mostly just pretending at this point, but TJ doesn’t seem to mind.
“You look like someone I used to know,” Steve manages, and TJ pulls off his jacket, unbuttoning the first few fastenings of his white dress shirt.
“Do I?” TJ asks, looking over at him, desire plain in his eyes.
“My friend. James. I watched him die.” Steve isn’t sure why he says it, it’s certainly not necessary and it will probably dampen the mood, but the fact remains that he hasn’t been able to talk to anyone about Bucky, really, and he just needs - Well. He just needs to get some of it out, because he’s climbing against the walls, his mind overwhelmed with all of the things he can’t say because no one knows what to do after he opens up about it.
“I’m sorry,” TJ says, standing close, his fingers playing along the waist of Steve’s trousers. “That must have been horrible. Were you close?”
“We knew each other from since when we were kids. He knew me better than anyone. We were always together, always, and he was - we were - I mean-”
“You loved him,” and the words come easy on TJ’s tongue, and there’s no judgment there, no speculation, only mild curiosity and the compassion that Steve hadn’t expected from him, but it’s there all the same.
“Yes,” Steve says, his voice gone a bit breathless at the way that TJ’s hands are rubbing over his chest, his sides, tipping his head up and kissing at Steve’s jaw. And after that, there’s no more words. There’s only the way TJ pulls him to a bed, their clothes going everywhere, and Steve’s dizzy with it all - the way TJ’s mouth feels against his, their tongues tangling, the soft sounds they both make, and when they finally fuck, Steve’s on his stomach, fingers tearing into the sheets beneath him.
TJ’s gripping at his hips, too tight but Steve won’t bruise even though he kind of wishes that he would, holding his ass up in the air as he thrusts into him, hard and just the right side of too-rough. Steve suspects that under any other circumstances, were TJ not drunk or high or both, that it might be different, slower, more tender, but this is the exact edge he needs, and the younger man doesn’t seem to mind that the name Steve cries out isn’t his.
After all, it’s not like being with Steve means anything more to TJ than someone to fuck, so the former first son can’t begrudge the Avenger anything.
They’re both getting something that they need.
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