Send 🎶 to have your muse grab mine’s chin. 8)
( SYMBOL PROMPTS. ) TOUCHY
bucky is far away, the expression on his face clouded. he’s sat in the corner of steve’s office, in the armchair everyone looks at when they enter, hoping they’ll be excused for sitting there instead of the one that’s directly opposite him. blue eyes spare him glances every so often, over the collection of paperwork he’s sorting through. it isn’t uncommon, for him to be like this. he’s had a more traumatic past than any of them, perhaps combined, so steve tries not to hold it against him. but it’s distracting, wedges of concern taking up space in steve’s brain until he’s read through the same sentence four times on the page he’s holding. he sighs, audibly, and presses the paper to his desk, folding his hands over it with finality. he lifts his head to look purposefully at the other figure in the room.
❝ buck. ❞ the syllable is not uttered loudly but it fills the space with authority. no response.
instead of trying again, steve stands and moves around his desk. as he gets closer, bucky shifts, but he still appears stranded in his mind. one of steve’s hands goes to the arm of the chair, boxing him in and making it easier for him to lean down, into bucky’s space. his other hand goes to the other man’s chin, digits curling against stubble, forceful enough to direct bucky’s gaze to his. once it’s there, the touch gentles, nearly a caress.
❝ come back to me. ❞ a whisper. an order. a request. a plea.