fossilised | I come from a land of ice and snow

I come from a land of ice and snow

Asgard sat atop the branches of Yggdrasil since time began, and little had changed in their society in the years since. Each Asgardian was long-lived into the millennia, their lands were fertile, their people brave and strong. They had their vassals, their allies, and their enemies. Yet even those who opposed them respected the might of the Golden Dias, and the royalty who sat upon it. Currently that was Odin Borson, though he grew weary more easily now and had begun to consider passing the throne to his eldest son.

He had been blessed with many children, but only two that he considered worthy of his lineage and status. His firstborn, Thor, strong and honourable and everything an Asgardian warrior should be. His second son, Loki, was not natural born, though none knew that but his wife. He was different, a creature of magic and mayhem, of sharp intelligence. Both were worthy, but together they would take Asgard to a new prosperity, he was certain of it.

Midgard, where the mortals dwelt, was a land raided every few centuries for stock. It was seen as a breeding ground, much like a corral for cattle. Mortals were lesser, short-lived and weak, they were fit only as slaves. The last raid had taken place when Loki had been but a baby, nearly a thousand years ago, but the mortals that had been taken had been bred and cared for so that a healthy slave population still thrived. Slaves were given a weakened mixture of Idunn's crop with their food, to extend their natural lives to at least a few centuries in order to make them worth the effort to train. They had no rights, but they were taught well that this was their natural position.

All slave children were raised in a central pen and taught the same when small, those that then displayed talent at cooking, riding, hunting, housework, artisan skills, or singing were then measured off to be specially trained for higher masters. Every five years those who could afford to buy a slave, or those of high enough status to simply demand them, came to the corral and chose. Those who were chosen were special, were envied, and those who were not ended up working the fields out in the far reaches of Asgard, the most menial of work.

Anthony and Steven had been friends since they were little and being raised in the large pens together. Both had excelled, Anthony at crafting and Steven at warrior's skills, but neither were chosen when they were five, nor ten, nor even fifteen. Now, at twenty, it was their final chance to be chosen before they would be assigned to one of the meanest farmers beyond the borders of the great capital. Steven woke Anthony as the dawn rose, mingled excitement and nerves on his face.

"Anthony! Wake up, I've got news! I heard the overseer talking to one of the passing guards, and Princes Thor and Loki are coming to the corral today."

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Steve's brow furrowed, now he'd have to find out whether the prisoners had been wilfully neglected out of revenge, or if a schedule for feeding them had simply slipped through the cracks of their disorganised and fractured little society. Either way, he'd have to keep a closer eye on making sure their basic needs were met.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry that happened."

Now would be the perfect opportunity for him to leave and return to Bucky, which all his heart wanted to do, but-- But Steve could never walk away from doing the right thing, even when it was beating his head against a wall, so he took a step towards Tony instead with earnest eyes.

"Maybe we won't convince each other, but I want to talk to you about it. I want to hear why you are so eager to stay as property and I hope you will listen to my views in return."

A dialogue with one's captor was strange and unheard of. Even if Steven was his race, a slave was a slave. Thankfully, Anthony was nothing like his own Steven, who would likely not see this for what it really could be... An opportunity. He'd be much too weirded out.

Pausing as he walked, Anthony schooled his face before he turned back around to face Steve.

"All right. Tomorrow." He learned from Loki that it was important to be the one to set the terms. He could also see that Steven had been dragged away from something important and wanted to return. He'd find out about that later. "After what's left of my people have eaten."

Steve hadn't expect any kind of agreement and so he was taken aback when it was given so readily, not that he would complain at all for it meant that he would be able to actually talk properly and maybe change some minds. It was a long shot, but these people were slaves and deserved the opportunity to see that they had been victims as well.

"Yeah, okay, I'll come back in the morning. I'll make sure someone brings some food now."

He didn't wait much longer than that, turning and striding out to go and see to food and then hurrying back to Bucky's side. Bruce stood next to Tony, expression carefully neutral.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Probably not. Not if I can't control my face on how disgusting I think they are," Anthony said as he sat beside Bruce on the floor in the corner. They were used to simple furnishings and sitting on the floor felt better than at the opulent dining table in the other room. "But I don't think we have any other choice."

They needed to find out who killed their people. They needed to break out of here. They needed to take as many with them as they could.

"But I know Steven. He's not the right one but he's close enough. He's easy to manipulate if you do it on his own terms." And that meant playing along with this desire for freedom.

As much as it made his skin crawl

Bruce, like most of the slaves and most of the Aesir, was not given to deception and manipulation in that way. They preferred honest combat or, in Bruce's case, honest discussion that didn't dishonestly weave perception until it changed to suit the cause of one of the participants.

But Anthony was Loki's slave, and he had learned that problems could sometimes be solved with deception where brute force failed, and so he nodded to Anthony's plan even while looking troubled.

"Be wary that you don't play a part too long that you forget that it's a part, I would be loathe to explain to your prince that you have chosen to forsake him."

Startled, Anthony stared at Bruce with dark eyes and a grimace. "I'm going to forget you said that," he replied. "You, of all people, know my prince owns all of me completely. And that includes my heart."

He didn't mean to be a petulant teenager about the whole thing, but he did stomp off to leave Bruce alone in one of the rooms none of them had used. At least that would satisfy the elder slave that his charge when his master was not here would not defect. Not with feelings that strong.

Steve wasn't thinking too hard about the meeting tomorrow, unless his verbal sparring partner. He was content to just lay across the bed until Bucky woke and then watch him eat and follow him to the bathroom--

He was like a little duckling, something Steve had never been. Everyone used to think that it was Steve that was Bucky's puppy but in reality, it was Bucky that dragged Steve out or spent hours laying around his bedroom when he was sick instead of keeping dates.... Steve was the one that got them into trouble. Bucky had always been the follower.

Not so much anymore. Not after Bucky had died. Again. Steves heart couldn't take it.

It didn't feel natural having Steve follow him around like this, Steve had always been the leader and Bucky had always been the follower. He watched Steve watching him through the curtain of long lashes, still pretending to be asleep in the closet, before he suddenly rolled up to his feet and strode over to stand in front of Steve.

"Punch me."

It was a low given command, not a request but an order. The sort of cocky tones he used to use way back when, before he became diffident and quiet and monotone.

"Stand up and punch me."

Steve slowly lifted his eyes, as if still trying to decide if he wanted to look at the area where there used to be a massive hole in Bucky’s chest or not. His gaze lingered, frightened, for just a moment before his eyes traveled towards steel, grayer eyes than his own. “I think you know already that I’m not going to do that,” Steve said, pointedly, though there was a smile on his face, soft and understanding.

He had to be when it came to Bucky. The man had one issue after another and Steve managed to stand strongly by him even through death. How much more he could take, however, was likely reaching it’s point. If something didn’t settle soon, he’d have to either adapt to be icy or just crumble. No one wanted either Steve Barnes. There were enough people here who had already fallen apart. And a colder Steve would be impossible to deal with.

"I said punch me."

This wasn't about Bucky's issues for once, it was about Steve's. He walked over to stand so close that there was only an inch or two between them, so that he could feel the body heat coming off him.

"You're not gonna believe that I'm not made of spun glass if you don't, and I don't want your punk ass following me everywhere. I watch your six, Steve, I can't do it if you're not gonna trust I'll be okay."

If Bucky thought he was intimidating, he had another thing coming. Steve had, never once in his life, found Bucky Barnes to be anything of the sort. He might have towered over him for most of his life but even that, the suave boxer had been more about smelling the flowers than smashing them into pulp. Steve did, however, stand up. He didn’t want to be lorded over, he never had.

“I know you’re not made of glass,” he said, stubborn to his core. “I can see it for myself, can’t I? Hitting you won’t prove anything anyway. I just need you to let me do this, Buck. Give me a few damned days, will you?”

Bucky had just been killed and then somehow magically unkilled in the last twenty hours and while Steve might be a super soldier, he was still a person. He’d barely begun to grieve. “You game me a whole heck of a lot of crap when we were on that ship and you told me that if I got myself killed, you’d go back to being nothing. I don’t have that luxury. People need me. But my heart dies with you. I know that now, I felt it. And I need some damned time to convince myself that you’re not going away again. You’ve had two real, real close shots.”

Maybe he wasn't being fair, but he had a feeling that time wasn't going to fix this. That if he let Steve latch on like this now then it might just get worse, that he'd get paranoid something would happen whenever they were out of sight of one another. So he took hold of Steve's hand and pressed it to his chest right where the hole had been, where it was just firm muscle and unbroken skin now.

"You think I'd let your heart die?"

His words were soft, but the softness of affection for once rather than the usual soft blankness to his tone.

"No matter what, Steve, I'm gonna come back to you. You made me remember when I thought there was nothing left, it was your memory that let Loki find me in the afterlife, trust me when I say I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in a pressed a kiss to Steve's lips, fierce and possessive.

Nothing they did was ever without passion. Not even fighting. Steve didn't have to really give into the urge to press himself to Bucky and thankfully, the walls could handle them. He still had questions, a whole lot of questions really, especially now that Bucky just said 'afterlife' and not 'heaven,' but Steve would let that question linger around for another time.

This was what he needed. A close and tactile confirmation that Bucky Barnes was here and alive and warm in his arms.

Hopefully no one needed him for a little while, though. Steve planned oh touching as much of Bucky's skin as his husband would allow before invariably pulling his hands away. Close enough was good enough for now.

Something had changed in him from death.

Not a lot, he was never going to be the man that he had been before, but mingling with those parts of himself or versions of himself that had died without being turned into the Soldier, they had given him something back. Not enough for him to sleep in the bed yet, perhaps, not enough to make jokes and laugh with anyone but Steve, but-- but enough to want to touch his husband and not feel revulsion from it.

So Steve might be surprised to find that Bucky just deepened the kiss instead of pulling away, and that one of his hands slid down his pants pretty boldly.

So far, Steve had been getting one sided attention from his husband. He didn't mind so much but he wanted to be able to touch back. He wanted to make Bucky feel the way that he was feeling after his husband left him breathless and consciously aware of every inch of his skin.

So far, encounters like this had happened only in the afternoon with the windows open and the room bright. Steve was always on his back and unclothed. Bucky was always fully dressed. Steve came. Bucky just looked like a cat with the cream and forced Steve to just continue to lay back and enjoy.

But this was different. So very different everything about it was not what Steve was expecting and he loved it! Emboldened, he reached behind his husband and, feeling naughty and exhilarated, grabbed for his ass. He had no idea that being dead and mingled with his other possible selves had helped him at all.

He didn't even think to ask about it.

There wasn't that frozen moment that usually happened when Steve became overwhelmed and tried to touch him, where he tensed and then backed up with an expression somewhere between guilt and fear. Usually followed by apologies from both of them and an awkwardly silent rest of the evening.

No, this time, Bucky gave the softest of moans and leaned further into Steve. His hand, now properly down the front of Steve's pants, grasped him firmly and began to stroke in slow and even motions to tease him.

He didn't even consider how different he was yet, caught up in the moment. But if he did, and when this was over and he realised, he'd be happy. He never wanted to push Steve away before, he just couldn't help it.

This was all new for Steve. He'd been so strictly hands off that he almost moaned himself in response from getting that sort of noise out of Bucky. He was nothing if not enthusiastic, nothing if not beyond willing to enjoy every last little burst of pleasure he could wring from the other man.

Even if it was silly and maybe even a little childish, this more than anything was what Steve needed.

He gasped as Bucky teased him and released his own hold on the other man to remove his shirt with a shake of his fingers due less to nerves and more to excitement... Which in turn caused that shirt to rip open.

Steve paid it no attention, unbuckling his own pants instead so Bucky had more room to work.

Bucky didn't care about ripped buttons or pretty much anything except getting closer to Steve right now. It didn't matter that they were already pressed together, he wanted to feel their skin together, feel the heartbeat in his chest and the lifeblood in his veins, he wanted everything.

He bit at Steve's lip, just lightly, as he released his hold on Steve's erection just long enough to tug at his own pants to open them too. It was an invitation he had never given Steve before, implicit permission to touch as well, to go to more intimate areas than he had ever been allowed before.

Steve's only reaction was excitement. He immediately took that invitation, with relish, not thinking about the hows or the whys of it. Though he couldn't call any of this muscle memory since he had been raised good and Catholic, Steve had never dared to touch himself, and he'd only been touched by Bucky a handful of times.

But there was that latent memory of childhood curiosity where he and Bucky had sat on the ground, facing each other, hands fumbling inside of trousers, cheeks pink with lust and guilt and a desire to kiss one another though they hadn't given into that secondary sin.

Besides, Steve was a fast learner. He knew what he liked and he could figure out pretty easily what it was that Bucky liked too.

Enthusiasm was always one of Steve's strong suits.

Bucky hadn't been touched in a way to actually make him feel good in decades, in what felt like a lifetime. Even when he had touched Steve in their few forays into intimacy after marriage, he had never quite got an erection himself, as if his body was no longer capable of that kind of stimulation.

Boy, was he wrong.

With just a few touches of Steve's hand, he was hard and throbbing against his husband's palm, breath gushing out in a hot and sudden exhale as his head fell forwards to rest on Steve's shoulder.

"Steve-- Steve!"

Whatever he was doing it had to be awesome for Bucky to say his name like that. "I've got you," he said, which was true in more ways than one. He didn't increase his speed or his hold so much as wrapped his arm around his husband to hold him nice and close. He wanted all of that passion pressed against his skin, which was surprisingly easy to do with Bucky huffing against his neck.

He kissed his cheek and the top of his head and let the ride carry him on. He was thick and hard and Mostly out of his own pants, and a good shake of his hips caused them to fall to his ankles. He picked Bucky up and stepped back three times to drop them both onto the bed so that Bucky could enjoy what he'd been doing to Steve for awhile now.

There was no teenage fumbling. Just the genuine desire of one man wanting to please another.

Steve was a man like no other, and Bucky wasn't sure what he had done in a past life to deserve someone as wonderful for himself. But it must have been something amazing. He didn't know anyone who could be denied time and time again, by someone meant to be their spouse, and still be so eager and genuine and unselfish when he finally got what he had been waiting for.

"Steve, I want-- god, I want you. All of you. I don't want to stop."

He was kind of scared that if he left it at this, that somehow his old neuroses would come back and the next time they did this then he wouldn't be able to go any further. He wanted everything, wanted to give himself to Steve completely, to prove that it would feel good.

His hand closed around Steve's cock again, the fake one this time, the metal cool against heated skin as he began to stroke as if in encouragement for agreeing to what he asked for.

Steve had been enjoying his first trip over Bucky's body with his mouth, having gotten as far as a nipple, when he suddenly found himself in flabbergasted shock. Lips left contact with flesh and he tilted his head up to gaze at Bucky in momentary confusion. "Wha--- uuuhhhh, jeez, Buck--" There was something delicious about having that cool metal wrapped around the heat of his skin. He dropped his head again for a moment to return to enjoying the way that nipple hardened against his tongue when Bucky's request caught up to him and a lightbulb all but flashed over his head.

Steve scrambled back onto his knees and sat on his heels.

"One second. Don't... Uh... You stay there," he said, leaping from bed towards the tiny bathroom. He'd suffered enough of Tony's unsolicited advice to know that lubrication was in need and was singularly glad that he hadn't thrown out the small tube that the inventor had handed him on the sly during his wedding celebration.

He'd felt embarrassed by it at first, but right now he could kiss Tony as he stumbled back to Bucky with it clutched between one hand. His eyes were a wild, lustful, adventurous blue. He had the same look on his face that he had when he taunted Bucky about going for a swim off of the boardwalk at Coney Island.

Steve wasn't afraid.

He was never afraid save for when he thought he was losing Bucky.

"You sure? Real sure? I can stop at any time. You just tell me, pal."

If this wasn't such a big deal for him, Bucky might have laughed at how much like an adorable puppy Steve seemed as he all but bounced off the bed and fled into the bathroom to grab the lubrication. The people that seemed to think that Captain America was sexless because of what he represented ought to see him now, so desperate that his cock was leaking precome and his eyes were a deeper blue than they had ever been.

"Quit stalling, punk, or I might think you're the one who doesn't want to."

Of course he was scared.

Merging with his other selves didn't change what had happened to him, it didn't erase that kind of trauma, but it gave him a glimpse into a thousand lives and a thousand futures, and in every single one there had always been one constant - Steve would never hurt him. He wanted this more than he was scared of it, he didn't want to die again with regrets.

A breathy sort of laugh left Steve's mouth as he leaned in to kiss Bucky with a sweet, if heady, tenderness. "No, trust me, I want to."

As far as Steve was concerned, this was their first time, their honeymoon night. Bucky might have suffered from abuse designed to break him, or to indoctrinate him, out of a need for power or just the pleasure of his handler. But that was not love making. That was something completely outside of a marital bed.

Steve was careful but moved with a surety in himself and in his ability. He didn't need to know what to do because his body already did. Instead, he pushed back any doubt he'd had and was swift but still kind bringing their bodies together.

The momentary bliss was blinding. He hadn't expected that warm velvet, the tightness, nor the heat of being inside of another living body. Steve shuddered in pleasure and kissed his husband with gentle need.

He knew what to expect.

Or he thought he did.

Bucky thought that the intrusion would be painful, it would be something to be endured because he loved Steve. He had no idea that the person underneath could feel good too, that when this was done with gentleness and care, that it wasn't just agony and violation. It was an entirely different act altogether.

He moaned against Steve's lips and rolled his hips down to meet him, one of the benefits of his bastardised serum meaning that he could actually recover from the slight burn of being penetrated faster and find the pleasure almost immediately. He reached up to smooth his hands over the hard planes of muscle on Steve's chest, rolling one of his nipples between his fingers.

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