[It's funny how sensations have changed, between his original, smaller and more delicate shape, and the one he wears now. Pain changed. Before the serum, there were different colors of pain. Yellow pain was normal, every day aches in his joints and back. Blue was the color of the pain in his chest when his lungs were air-hungry. Green was sick pain, nausea or ulcers flaring up.. Red pain was something broken or threatening to break. Now, all pain is white pain, a flare that's there and gone again and doesn't make much sense to his altered body. Doesn't have to, because whatever causes it heals so quickly.
But pleasure? Pleasure has new, variant textures and colors that he's barely had a chance to record and categorize in his head. He closes his eyes when Bucky's hands slide over his torso, and he can almost envision them leaving a blaze of color across his skin in their wake, gold and violet and searing pink like a sunset, and it radiates from skin to muscle and down to the bone. And even after the caresses stop and Bucky's talking to him again, Steve can still almost feel the prints of his fingers on his chest.
The kissing just layers more sensation on top of sensation. He thinks he might be glowing as they head into the bedroom. Bucky's space is furnished in neutral, dark tones; Steve has a moment, hilariously, where he envisions everything shifting into blazing colors as they sink onto the bed. Like in the Wizard of Oz.
Christ, Bucky's eyes are beautiful.]
You don't have to ask me twice. [He doesn't want to push too far, doesn't want to rush, but the eager insistence with which he flings himself into Bucky's arms again might just knock them both flat onto the sheets.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-05-21 02:04 am (UTC)But pleasure? Pleasure has new, variant textures and colors that he's barely had a chance to record and categorize in his head. He closes his eyes when Bucky's hands slide over his torso, and he can almost envision them leaving a blaze of color across his skin in their wake, gold and violet and searing pink like a sunset, and it radiates from skin to muscle and down to the bone. And even after the caresses stop and Bucky's talking to him again, Steve can still almost feel the prints of his fingers on his chest.
The kissing just layers more sensation on top of sensation. He thinks he might be glowing as they head into the bedroom. Bucky's space is furnished in neutral, dark tones; Steve has a moment, hilariously, where he envisions everything shifting into blazing colors as they sink onto the bed. Like in the Wizard of Oz.
Christ, Bucky's eyes are beautiful.]
You don't have to ask me twice. [He doesn't want to push too far, doesn't want to rush, but the eager insistence with which he flings himself into Bucky's arms again might just knock them both flat onto the sheets.]