Fandom Stocking gift ficlets
Jan. 13th, 2018 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chase_acow
I wrote two 1000 word bits of fic:
A Civil Answer
Captain America: Civil War fix-it
Tony/Bucky
Tony had never looked away from a hard thing. He fixed them, but he had to know what was wrong first. The picture was grainy, black and white, one of those hackney affairs a county deputy put up for a speed trap. He’d seen the accident a hundred times, technicolor in his dreams, loud enough to drown out his sobs, and painful enough that he’d lived with and ache in his chest long before the arc reactor.
Reality was slightly anticlimactic.
Guilt at that thought rushed up instantly, choking him, and it was a good thing he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten because it wouldn’t stay down.
“Tony, don’t do anything rash. Tony? Are you listening to me?”
“I’m listening, Cap,” Tony said, dragging his eyes away as the video looped. In his helmet, he pulled his HUD up, tracking both men. Steve stood, defensive, but Barnes kept his rifle low, looking like he’d sooner eat it than spend another moment avoiding Tony. “Do you consider murder rash?”
Before either of them could react, Tony stepped forward and out of the suit. He wasn’t going to hide from this.
“Tony-”
“Hey buddy, keep Cap busy, would you?” Tony commanded with a gesture over his shoulder. He walked toward Barnes who matched him with backward steps while his suit took aim at Steve, keeping him from getting in the way. Eventually, Barnes hit one of the tanks and stopped, an abused dog ready to take his next beating.
“You killed them,” Tony said, proud his voice could still sound so unaffected. He’d spent so long perfecting it, making sure no one would ever know if they managed to land a lucky. “He was your friend.”
Barnes flinched as the suit picked Steve up and smashed through a wall. “I did,” he said, barely audible over the racket of Steve fighting back. “He was.”
The suit wouldn’t do any lasting damage, set to nonlethal, but it would take time for Steve to bypass. Tony took a deep breath, setting an ache bouncing between his ribs every other bruise. His anger drained away; it happened so long ago while so fresh in his mind, but the man in front of him wasn’t the same man in the video. He needed to make sure Barnes didn’t want to be the man in the video.
“You’re a murderer.”
Finally Barnes looked up, looked Tony in the eye, and answered, “I am.”
He was so tired, couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than three hours without a nightmare waking him with all the subtlety of a hulk rampage. “Then do it again,” Tony said, using the surprise of his words to knock away the rifle barrel. He pressed his advantage and grabbed the metal arm, bringing the hand up to his throat. “Go ahead.”
“Wh-what?” Barnes stuttered, dropping the weapon as he tried to take his hand back without jerking Tony too.
“Kill me,” Tony said pressing forward until he could feel each finger joint. “This solves your problems. Zemo takes the blame for my death, Steve does his boy scout routine and the accords go away. You’re the hero, you’re free. No more pesky relatives of your most famous wet work running around making things difficult.”
Repulsor blasts echoed, mixing with Steve’s grunts and the unmistakable sounds of that damn shield ricocheting. Barnes flexed his fingers once, and Tony closed his eyes, a brief wish Barnes might take him up on the offer. He’d done enough, more than enough. Between them, he and Steve had destroyed any chance for the Avengers initiative to survive. What else did he have, if not that team?
“No, I won’t,” Barnes said, letting his arm go limp in Tony’s grasp. Tony struggled with the weight for only a moment before he gave up. “You look like him, you know. Like Howard. I thought he must be the smartest man alive. He turned so many ideas into reality, knew so many people, did amazing things. He was my friend, and he wasn’t the only one I killed. You do what you need to do.”
Tony opened his eyes at the gentle touch to his cheek. Barnes was close to him, looking at him for the first time since he fired his weapon at point blank range to Tony’s face. Now his fingers, warm despite the cold gloom, pressed gently tracing Tony’s bruises and the lines worn into his face by time, stress, and alcohol.
“The first thing I need to do, is figure out how to deprogram you,” Tony said, resisting the urge to lean into the touch. It didn’t mean anything, only a simple human condition that begged for regular skin to skin contact. It didn’t mean that Barnes’ big blue eyes were getting to him.
Those eyes crinkled as the words sunk in, and the widen abruptly as he grabbed Tony and twisted them around. A second later, Steve went skidding by on his face.
“I- What? What is happening right now?” Steve asked, sitting up to stare at them with his shield clutched to his chest.
Barnes let Tony go, his hand lingering. “I think we’re making friends, Stevie,” he said, helping Steve up.
“Jesus, Rogers! What the hell did you do to my suit?” Tony started poking at the exposed wiring as it limped near. It was a total loss. “Stand down, buddy.”
Steve grinned, looking more like his old self than he had since Sokovia, even with the blood drying down his chin. “Let’s get out of here, I’m starving,” he said, clapping Barnes on the shoulder like the oxman he was and then much lighter on Tony’s back.
“You’re a bottomless trash compactor,” Barnes said, waiting for Tony before he took up a position guarding their backs.
“Sorry, Cap,” Tony said, wincing as he knew he would get an earful, and probably a second black eye from Barton. He owed them all apologies. “We’re going to have to make a stop first.”
A Baggins Promise
The Hobbit - the night at the master's house
Thorin/Bilbo
Bilbo was still in that wretched forest. His heart beat fast, loud in his ears, drowning out the din of dwarves eating well. Each heartbeat a pulse strong enough to set his knees knocking, his fingers flexing. Heat blossomed up his chest, flush and suffocating. He would have panted with it, would have, had his mouth not otherwise been occupied.
“Burglar, my burglar,” Thorin said once he pulled his mouth from Bilbo’s. Their foreheads pressed tight together as if the dwarf could not bear the separation. The words were quiet, a promise barely heard where they’d collided in a blind corner of the master’s house.
“Am I?” Bilbo asked, still hungry for acknowledgement, the friendship that had started with a hug, continued with trust, and led him here.
His fingers curled in their borrowed finery. The coat was too big and hastily cut down, but the cloth was fine, the fur soft, and it did Bilbo good to see Thorin looking kingly again. He would follow the dwarf no matter what he wore, but it meant much to Thorin. Bilbo had the sneaking suspicion his own coat started its life as a child’s garment, thrown away after a spill discolored the collar, but it was warm and he was thankful.
“You are mine,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo’s jaw and down his neck. His big hands settled firmly, one spanned Bilbo’s shoulder blades while the other stroked down, and down further, rubbing Bilbo’s tailbone and bringing them fully together. “And will you have me? All of me?”
Hardness rubbed against his stomach, a separate promise if he was brave enough to claim it. The heat from mere moments before pooled low, and he realized that if this truly was to be his last night, if Smaug’s fire did end him, then he should take everything offered. He took a breath, gasping at the end when Thorin’s hand dipped lower, taking a handful of Bilbo’s rear in a tight grip.
“I will have you,” Bilbo answered, winding his arms up and around Thorin’s neck. His hair was still damp, wet from the snow, from the revelry around the hearth fire, and heavy enough to settle the shakes in Bilbo’s arms. “Though if you can find any privacy among this ridiculous mob, I will be properly amazed.”
“Allow me to properly amaze you,” Thorin said, one of his rare grins twisting his mouth. Quicker than a blink, he had the hobbit up and Bilbo could only wrap his legs around the thick waist and hold on.
Hiding his face in Thorin’s hair, Bilbo waited for the knowing catcalls and whistles, but none came. He glanced up and realized Thorin had whisked them up a servant’s stairway, avoiding the main hall. The music and laughter dulled to low mumble and Thorin pushed open a door, setting Bilbo down to survey their new kingdom.
“How did you manage this?” Bilbo asked. It was small but lavishly decorated while still appearing soft and comfortable.
Thorin stalked Bilbo across the small room, moving them both until Bilbo hit the wardrobe and swallowed as Thorin continued flush against him. “I told that cretin Alfrid that I required his room,” Thorin said, his nose in Bilbo’s hair breathing the perfumed soap the lake men managed to produce when Bilbo asked for it.
His arms went around Thorin’s midsection, barely, but he managed it, and he squeezed as tightly as possible, enjoying both the hard muscles and slight softness developing as Thorin’s belly. “And he simply said yes?” Bilbo teased, knowing full well just from the brief time he’d endured Alfrid’s company that that couldn’t be it.
“And then I asked Bofur nicely to keep him occupied. Last I saw they were teaching him dwarvish drinking games,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo again and smiling so fiercely that Bilbo couldn’t help the trembles of happiness that racked his body. “My burglar, are you cold? I have a remedy.”
Again, Thorin swept him up and this time deposited him atop the bed of fur and blankets. He followed Bilbo down, working the buttons to shrug off his jacket and shirt. Bare skin met Bilbo’s hands as he urged the dwarf down into another kiss. “I’m not cold, just happy. There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, right now. With you,” he said, wiggling until he’d adjusted their legs to a more comfortable position.
“My Bilbo,” Thorin said, rolling slightly to work open Bilbo’s clothing. “Must you always make me feel so small next to you?”
“I-I don’t mean to,” Bilbo stuttered, worried he’d managed to mess up before they’d begun.
“No, sweetling. It’s not you, not really,” Thorin said, pausing to lie with his forehead pushed to Bilbo’s temple. His whiskers tickled his sensitive ear, but Bilbo struggled to stay still while Thorin found his words. “I have been angry a long time, most my life. I have lovingly stoked the fuel of that fire despite those that made living better beyond my deserving.”
Bilbo shrugged out of his own clothing, brave enough to unbutton his trousers, but no further. He stoked down Thorin’s back and said, “You did what you had to, no one can blame you for that.”
“Sometimes I wonder, but you are so sure of yourself and I envy you,” Thorin eyes darkened as he palmed down Bilbo’s chest, over his belly and down to his hips. He smiled again, but not happily, more a wry twist to the lips. “I must feed that fire once again, and I wonder if you will still choose right here, right now, with me.”
“Of course I will,” Bilbo cupped Thorin’s chin and lifted him to meet Bilbo’s eyes. “When you feel small, know that I will be there to protect you. That’s a Baggins promise, so you know you can count on it.”
Thorin smiled, a real one, and they spoke no more until roused before dawn, ready to follow their quest to whatever end may be.
A Civil Answer
Captain America: Civil War fix-it
Tony/Bucky
Tony had never looked away from a hard thing. He fixed them, but he had to know what was wrong first. The picture was grainy, black and white, one of those hackney affairs a county deputy put up for a speed trap. He’d seen the accident a hundred times, technicolor in his dreams, loud enough to drown out his sobs, and painful enough that he’d lived with and ache in his chest long before the arc reactor.
Reality was slightly anticlimactic.
Guilt at that thought rushed up instantly, choking him, and it was a good thing he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten because it wouldn’t stay down.
“Tony, don’t do anything rash. Tony? Are you listening to me?”
“I’m listening, Cap,” Tony said, dragging his eyes away as the video looped. In his helmet, he pulled his HUD up, tracking both men. Steve stood, defensive, but Barnes kept his rifle low, looking like he’d sooner eat it than spend another moment avoiding Tony. “Do you consider murder rash?”
Before either of them could react, Tony stepped forward and out of the suit. He wasn’t going to hide from this.
“Tony-”
“Hey buddy, keep Cap busy, would you?” Tony commanded with a gesture over his shoulder. He walked toward Barnes who matched him with backward steps while his suit took aim at Steve, keeping him from getting in the way. Eventually, Barnes hit one of the tanks and stopped, an abused dog ready to take his next beating.
“You killed them,” Tony said, proud his voice could still sound so unaffected. He’d spent so long perfecting it, making sure no one would ever know if they managed to land a lucky. “He was your friend.”
Barnes flinched as the suit picked Steve up and smashed through a wall. “I did,” he said, barely audible over the racket of Steve fighting back. “He was.”
The suit wouldn’t do any lasting damage, set to nonlethal, but it would take time for Steve to bypass. Tony took a deep breath, setting an ache bouncing between his ribs every other bruise. His anger drained away; it happened so long ago while so fresh in his mind, but the man in front of him wasn’t the same man in the video. He needed to make sure Barnes didn’t want to be the man in the video.
“You’re a murderer.”
Finally Barnes looked up, looked Tony in the eye, and answered, “I am.”
He was so tired, couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than three hours without a nightmare waking him with all the subtlety of a hulk rampage. “Then do it again,” Tony said, using the surprise of his words to knock away the rifle barrel. He pressed his advantage and grabbed the metal arm, bringing the hand up to his throat. “Go ahead.”
“Wh-what?” Barnes stuttered, dropping the weapon as he tried to take his hand back without jerking Tony too.
“Kill me,” Tony said pressing forward until he could feel each finger joint. “This solves your problems. Zemo takes the blame for my death, Steve does his boy scout routine and the accords go away. You’re the hero, you’re free. No more pesky relatives of your most famous wet work running around making things difficult.”
Repulsor blasts echoed, mixing with Steve’s grunts and the unmistakable sounds of that damn shield ricocheting. Barnes flexed his fingers once, and Tony closed his eyes, a brief wish Barnes might take him up on the offer. He’d done enough, more than enough. Between them, he and Steve had destroyed any chance for the Avengers initiative to survive. What else did he have, if not that team?
“No, I won’t,” Barnes said, letting his arm go limp in Tony’s grasp. Tony struggled with the weight for only a moment before he gave up. “You look like him, you know. Like Howard. I thought he must be the smartest man alive. He turned so many ideas into reality, knew so many people, did amazing things. He was my friend, and he wasn’t the only one I killed. You do what you need to do.”
Tony opened his eyes at the gentle touch to his cheek. Barnes was close to him, looking at him for the first time since he fired his weapon at point blank range to Tony’s face. Now his fingers, warm despite the cold gloom, pressed gently tracing Tony’s bruises and the lines worn into his face by time, stress, and alcohol.
“The first thing I need to do, is figure out how to deprogram you,” Tony said, resisting the urge to lean into the touch. It didn’t mean anything, only a simple human condition that begged for regular skin to skin contact. It didn’t mean that Barnes’ big blue eyes were getting to him.
Those eyes crinkled as the words sunk in, and the widen abruptly as he grabbed Tony and twisted them around. A second later, Steve went skidding by on his face.
“I- What? What is happening right now?” Steve asked, sitting up to stare at them with his shield clutched to his chest.
Barnes let Tony go, his hand lingering. “I think we’re making friends, Stevie,” he said, helping Steve up.
“Jesus, Rogers! What the hell did you do to my suit?” Tony started poking at the exposed wiring as it limped near. It was a total loss. “Stand down, buddy.”
Steve grinned, looking more like his old self than he had since Sokovia, even with the blood drying down his chin. “Let’s get out of here, I’m starving,” he said, clapping Barnes on the shoulder like the oxman he was and then much lighter on Tony’s back.
“You’re a bottomless trash compactor,” Barnes said, waiting for Tony before he took up a position guarding their backs.
“Sorry, Cap,” Tony said, wincing as he knew he would get an earful, and probably a second black eye from Barton. He owed them all apologies. “We’re going to have to make a stop first.”
A Baggins Promise
The Hobbit - the night at the master's house
Thorin/Bilbo
Bilbo was still in that wretched forest. His heart beat fast, loud in his ears, drowning out the din of dwarves eating well. Each heartbeat a pulse strong enough to set his knees knocking, his fingers flexing. Heat blossomed up his chest, flush and suffocating. He would have panted with it, would have, had his mouth not otherwise been occupied.
“Burglar, my burglar,” Thorin said once he pulled his mouth from Bilbo’s. Their foreheads pressed tight together as if the dwarf could not bear the separation. The words were quiet, a promise barely heard where they’d collided in a blind corner of the master’s house.
“Am I?” Bilbo asked, still hungry for acknowledgement, the friendship that had started with a hug, continued with trust, and led him here.
His fingers curled in their borrowed finery. The coat was too big and hastily cut down, but the cloth was fine, the fur soft, and it did Bilbo good to see Thorin looking kingly again. He would follow the dwarf no matter what he wore, but it meant much to Thorin. Bilbo had the sneaking suspicion his own coat started its life as a child’s garment, thrown away after a spill discolored the collar, but it was warm and he was thankful.
“You are mine,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo’s jaw and down his neck. His big hands settled firmly, one spanned Bilbo’s shoulder blades while the other stroked down, and down further, rubbing Bilbo’s tailbone and bringing them fully together. “And will you have me? All of me?”
Hardness rubbed against his stomach, a separate promise if he was brave enough to claim it. The heat from mere moments before pooled low, and he realized that if this truly was to be his last night, if Smaug’s fire did end him, then he should take everything offered. He took a breath, gasping at the end when Thorin’s hand dipped lower, taking a handful of Bilbo’s rear in a tight grip.
“I will have you,” Bilbo answered, winding his arms up and around Thorin’s neck. His hair was still damp, wet from the snow, from the revelry around the hearth fire, and heavy enough to settle the shakes in Bilbo’s arms. “Though if you can find any privacy among this ridiculous mob, I will be properly amazed.”
“Allow me to properly amaze you,” Thorin said, one of his rare grins twisting his mouth. Quicker than a blink, he had the hobbit up and Bilbo could only wrap his legs around the thick waist and hold on.
Hiding his face in Thorin’s hair, Bilbo waited for the knowing catcalls and whistles, but none came. He glanced up and realized Thorin had whisked them up a servant’s stairway, avoiding the main hall. The music and laughter dulled to low mumble and Thorin pushed open a door, setting Bilbo down to survey their new kingdom.
“How did you manage this?” Bilbo asked. It was small but lavishly decorated while still appearing soft and comfortable.
Thorin stalked Bilbo across the small room, moving them both until Bilbo hit the wardrobe and swallowed as Thorin continued flush against him. “I told that cretin Alfrid that I required his room,” Thorin said, his nose in Bilbo’s hair breathing the perfumed soap the lake men managed to produce when Bilbo asked for it.
His arms went around Thorin’s midsection, barely, but he managed it, and he squeezed as tightly as possible, enjoying both the hard muscles and slight softness developing as Thorin’s belly. “And he simply said yes?” Bilbo teased, knowing full well just from the brief time he’d endured Alfrid’s company that that couldn’t be it.
“And then I asked Bofur nicely to keep him occupied. Last I saw they were teaching him dwarvish drinking games,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo again and smiling so fiercely that Bilbo couldn’t help the trembles of happiness that racked his body. “My burglar, are you cold? I have a remedy.”
Again, Thorin swept him up and this time deposited him atop the bed of fur and blankets. He followed Bilbo down, working the buttons to shrug off his jacket and shirt. Bare skin met Bilbo’s hands as he urged the dwarf down into another kiss. “I’m not cold, just happy. There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, right now. With you,” he said, wiggling until he’d adjusted their legs to a more comfortable position.
“My Bilbo,” Thorin said, rolling slightly to work open Bilbo’s clothing. “Must you always make me feel so small next to you?”
“I-I don’t mean to,” Bilbo stuttered, worried he’d managed to mess up before they’d begun.
“No, sweetling. It’s not you, not really,” Thorin said, pausing to lie with his forehead pushed to Bilbo’s temple. His whiskers tickled his sensitive ear, but Bilbo struggled to stay still while Thorin found his words. “I have been angry a long time, most my life. I have lovingly stoked the fuel of that fire despite those that made living better beyond my deserving.”
Bilbo shrugged out of his own clothing, brave enough to unbutton his trousers, but no further. He stoked down Thorin’s back and said, “You did what you had to, no one can blame you for that.”
“Sometimes I wonder, but you are so sure of yourself and I envy you,” Thorin eyes darkened as he palmed down Bilbo’s chest, over his belly and down to his hips. He smiled again, but not happily, more a wry twist to the lips. “I must feed that fire once again, and I wonder if you will still choose right here, right now, with me.”
“Of course I will,” Bilbo cupped Thorin’s chin and lifted him to meet Bilbo’s eyes. “When you feel small, know that I will be there to protect you. That’s a Baggins promise, so you know you can count on it.”
Thorin smiled, a real one, and they spoke no more until roused before dawn, ready to follow their quest to whatever end may be.
