Tabula Rasa; Chapter 1: Entry Point
Story Info
Title: Tabula Rasa
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier & Iron Man (MCU)
Genre: Drama, erotica
Rating: MA / FRAO
Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes (Winter Soldier), J.A.R.V.I.S., Tony Stark (Iron Man). Mentioned: Steve Rogers (Captain America)
Pairing: Bucky/Tony
Summary: The Winter Soldier is en-route to figuring out who he is and makes a pit stop at the Avengers Tower, looking for a safe place to get a good night’s sleep. His host’s initial lack of trust is, surprisingly, mollified by the metal arm HYDRA gave him, and the Winter Soldier finds himself at a newfound realization that he’s a free man and as such he can do what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants. Tony Stark’s presence is simply convenient - or so he tells himself.
Complete.
Written for: Marvel Bang 2014. (marvel-bang)
Also fills a square on my card on Kink Bingo’s round 6 (square: “mechanical / technological”)
Artist: Suku (sukuiddo @ Tumblr / allyoucaneater) [ART @ AO3 ♥]
Warnings: Sexual content (M/M, sexual technophilia, hand jobs, oral sex, anal fingering & anal sex), language. Implied: canonical violence, mind control & brainwashing.
Disclaimer: Iron Man, Avengers and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Jon Favreau, Joss Whedon, Shane Black, Kenneth Branagh, Joe Johnston, Louis Leterrier, Alan Taylor, Anthony & Joe Russo, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures and Universal Pictures. In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction created to entertain likeminded fans for no profit whatsoever.
Beta: Mythra (mythras-fire)
About Tabula Rasa: This fic exists because I couldn’t help myself.
Since the trailers of Captain America: The Winter Soldier first came online, I’ve been planning a story/series featuring Bucky/Steve/Tony threesome. Because I’m planning on writing other things first, that threesome has to wait.
However, after seeing CA:TWS twice, the urge to do something with it now became overwhelming.
So, here! Have this story while I sort out my writing queue and find the time to work on bigger projects inspired by the movie.
Chapters and statuses: Below you see the writing process of the story’s chapters. If there is no text after the chapter’s title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
Chapter 1: Entry Point
Chapter 2: Nightcap
Chapter 3: Exchange
Chapter 4: Thread Count
Chapter 5: Breakfast in 10
Chapter 6: Routine Maintenance
Chapter 7: Stalling
Chapter 8: Decamp
~ ~ ~
Chapter 1: Entry Point
There was an exhibition at the Smithsonian about Captain America and the Howling Commandos.
Gazing upon a stand dedicated to a man with a familiar face and a name he’d been told to recognize, he felt something tugging at that fragile thread that kept fraying in his grasp yet simultaneously tearing open a carefully sown seam in his mind.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Died in 1944 in service to his country.
It was the third time he’d stood there, looking at his own face, not recognizing anything but trying to remember nonetheless. After all, that man on the roof, the bridge, and the Helicarrier had been so certain…
Steve Rogers aka Captain America, allegedly his best friend - a man who had been his mission, his target, yet whom he had saved from drowning and whose bloodied face now haunted his dreams.
There were more names and faces in the exhibit, their lives as much a mystery to the passing crowd as they were to him. Rogers was the only one still alive, he thought - until another name caught his attention; he had seen it on the cover of the morning’s newspaper and now again as a member of S.S.R. - the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Not the same man, he realized, yet after a quick trip to a cyber café and a search on the internet he could tell both men of the same name were involved in Rogers’ life.
He took a Greyhound to New York City that evening, lightly dozing on the way, getting some rest but knowing better than to let his guard down.
Once in Manhattan, he watched the building for two days, keeping an eye on patterns and weak points, gathering intel in his head. He was getting tired without adequate rest but could not make his move before he was certain he could control the situation once he did.
On the third day he caught a ride inside on a service truck, hanging onto its chassis and dropping down once inside, rolling into the shadows. For hours he avoided other people in the parking garage, checked the exits and got familiar with the vague floor plan bolted to the wall by the elevators. In each layout the top floors seemed almost blank, being private areas restricted from the common visitors of the building.
Nine hours into his vigilant waiting, a gleaming sports car drove through the garage, headed for the private section. He followed it, slipping through the closing gates that separated that part of the garage from the rest. He lingered in the shadows as the car’s engine stopped and the door opened; his eyes followed as the single passenger of the vehicle - his mark - got out and began heading for the elevator.
For all of his stealth, the other must have sensed his presence because he turned around swiftly just after calling the elevator, brown eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “Who are you?” the mark asked instead of the more curious ‘how did you get in?’.
He knew he had to play his cards right at this point. “A friend of Steve Rogers’,” he replied.
The other man studied him carefully; clearly dropping the name of a renowned Avenger didn’t mean as much to this guy as he had thought. “What do you want?” he mark asked next, still not inquiring how he had gotten access to the garage.
“A warm shower and a place to crash,” he replied.
“Then go to a hotel,” came a flippant retort just as the doors of the elevator opened.
“I can’t,” he said simply, knowing he was running out of time.
A small sigh reached his ears as the mark stepped into the elevator then turned to look at him again, arms crossed over his chest. “A friend of Steve Rogers’, huh?” He spoke the words as if they tasted funny.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“Got a name?”
He hesitated longer than a person normally would have. Too long, apparently, because the doors of the elevator began to close and the mark didn’t do anything to stop it. So, he stepped forward, his left hand shooting forward to prevent the doors from closing completely, the mark’s stance instantly shifting from reserved to alert. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he answered the question, seeing as Rogers had claimed that was his name and the man who had been known by that name - a man who should have died sixty-nine years ago - wore his face.
Or, he wore the face of a dead man. Didn’t matter.
Clearly the mark recognized the name, too, but it didn’t change the alert look on his face.
“You can call me Bucky,” he added.
“Bucky Barnes,” the other repeated, his eyes slowly moving to the hand holding the elevator door pinned open; the hand and the minimal flash of metal visible from where his glove ended and the jacket sleeve began. A faint flare of recognition passed over the mark’s eyes and Bucky - he might as well call himself that - smiled and took the last step into the elevator, letting the doors close behind him.
“Sir?” a voice asked. Computerized, coming from the speakers, life-like but missing something to make it completely human. Too perfect, perhaps.
“Why are you here?” the mark asked, pressing a button and ignoring the voice from the speakers, casually moving his body away from Bucky’s.
“I told you why,” he replied, leaning against the opposite wall.
“There are people looking for you,” the mark stated, trying to stand taller than he was, to control the environment.
“Why do you think I came here?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.
“What makes you think I won’t turn you in?”
“A hunch,” he admitted. “Your father would have given me sanctuary.”
“I’m not my father,” the man shot back and snapped his fingers. “Stop,” he called out and the elevator came to a smooth standstill. Stormy eyes met Bucky’s. “You should be half-way across the country by now, in the aftermath of what happened in D.C. If not that then you should be with your BFF Rogers, sharing war-stories over a pint in a 40’s theme bar somewhere. Instead you’re in my Tower, in a restricted area - in my private fucking elevator - assuming that just because my dad used to work with Rogers I’m going to hide you under my roof.”
Bucky shifted, resisting the urge to bash the mark’s head against the elevator wall. He doubted that would end well if even half the things he had read about this guy were true. “You fought aliens with Captain America,” he started, recalling the headlines he had browsed through while searching for information online. “You’re allies. I bet you know from personal experience that sometimes a guy needs a moment to get his act together. If you do this, Rogers will owe you.”
The last part wasn’t entirely true, but the mark accepted it with a small huff and pressed the elevator button again, resuming their journey upwards.
Bucky settled against the wall again, not wanting to antagonize the other man and make him change his mind. He needed a safe place to rest and while this place might not be it… it would do for now. If this guy wasn’t overly friendly with Rogers, he was more likely to keep his stay here a secret.
They arrived at the penthouse a few moments later. Bucky could instantly tell the place had been built with no expenses spared yet it wasn’t tacky or ridiculously opulent.
“Welcome, sir,” the voice from before greeted, the tone still caught somewhere between a machine and a person.
“Prep the shop,” the mark ordered. “Lock everything down and activate with my bio-signature only.” It was clear he didn’t trust his house-guest. Bucky didn’t blame him.
If truth be told, neither of them knew who he was. He didn’t feel like he was James Barnes - or ‘Bucky’ for that matter - but since the events in D.C. he had been forced to consider that what he felt was a myriad of lies laid on top of one another, some of them so completely fused together that it was impossible to pry them apart.
He might be Bucky and just not know it yet.
“This way,” the mark told him and led the way down a hallway, past several doors until they stopped in front of the one at the end of the hallway. He opened the door and stepped inside, and while Bucky had thought it likely that he would be given a broom closet to sleep in, he instead found himself in a fully decorated guest room the size of a small apartment.
He stepped in and looked around: a ready-made bed, an adjoining bathroom, a small sitting area and wide windows with heavy curtains to block the view. “It will do,” he decided.
The mark huffed. “If you need anything, ask J.A.R.V.I.S.” Bucky guessed it was the name of the electronic voice. “I have things to do,” he added then, moving towards the doorway.
“Thank you, Stark,” Bucky threw over his shoulder, watching the other man leave.
“Whatever,” the mark rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him, leaving Bucky standing there alone.
to be continued…
...see all art here!
Title: Tabula Rasa
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: Captain America: The Winter Soldier & Iron Man (MCU)
Genre: Drama, erotica
Rating: MA / FRAO
Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes (Winter Soldier), J.A.R.V.I.S., Tony Stark (Iron Man). Mentioned: Steve Rogers (Captain America)
Pairing: Bucky/Tony
Summary: The Winter Soldier is en-route to figuring out who he is and makes a pit stop at the Avengers Tower, looking for a safe place to get a good night’s sleep. His host’s initial lack of trust is, surprisingly, mollified by the metal arm HYDRA gave him, and the Winter Soldier finds himself at a newfound realization that he’s a free man and as such he can do what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants. Tony Stark’s presence is simply convenient - or so he tells himself.
Complete.
Written for: Marvel Bang 2014. (marvel-bang)
Also fills a square on my card on Kink Bingo’s round 6 (square: “mechanical / technological”)
Artist: Suku (sukuiddo @ Tumblr / allyoucaneater) [ART @ AO3 ♥]
Warnings: Sexual content (M/M, sexual technophilia, hand jobs, oral sex, anal fingering & anal sex), language. Implied: canonical violence, mind control & brainwashing.
Disclaimer: Iron Man, Avengers and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Jon Favreau, Joss Whedon, Shane Black, Kenneth Branagh, Joe Johnston, Louis Leterrier, Alan Taylor, Anthony & Joe Russo, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures and Universal Pictures. In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction created to entertain likeminded fans for no profit whatsoever.
Beta: Mythra (mythras-fire)
About Tabula Rasa: This fic exists because I couldn’t help myself.
Since the trailers of Captain America: The Winter Soldier first came online, I’ve been planning a story/series featuring Bucky/Steve/Tony threesome. Because I’m planning on writing other things first, that threesome has to wait.
However, after seeing CA:TWS twice, the urge to do something with it now became overwhelming.
So, here! Have this story while I sort out my writing queue and find the time to work on bigger projects inspired by the movie.
Chapters and statuses: Below you see the writing process of the story’s chapters. If there is no text after the chapter’s title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
Chapter 1: Entry Point
Chapter 2: Nightcap
Chapter 3: Exchange
Chapter 4: Thread Count
Chapter 5: Breakfast in 10
Chapter 6: Routine Maintenance
Chapter 7: Stalling
Chapter 8: Decamp
~ ~ ~
Chapter 1: Entry Point
There was an exhibition at the Smithsonian about Captain America and the Howling Commandos.
Gazing upon a stand dedicated to a man with a familiar face and a name he’d been told to recognize, he felt something tugging at that fragile thread that kept fraying in his grasp yet simultaneously tearing open a carefully sown seam in his mind.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Died in 1944 in service to his country.
It was the third time he’d stood there, looking at his own face, not recognizing anything but trying to remember nonetheless. After all, that man on the roof, the bridge, and the Helicarrier had been so certain…
Steve Rogers aka Captain America, allegedly his best friend - a man who had been his mission, his target, yet whom he had saved from drowning and whose bloodied face now haunted his dreams.
There were more names and faces in the exhibit, their lives as much a mystery to the passing crowd as they were to him. Rogers was the only one still alive, he thought - until another name caught his attention; he had seen it on the cover of the morning’s newspaper and now again as a member of S.S.R. - the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Not the same man, he realized, yet after a quick trip to a cyber café and a search on the internet he could tell both men of the same name were involved in Rogers’ life.
He took a Greyhound to New York City that evening, lightly dozing on the way, getting some rest but knowing better than to let his guard down.
Once in Manhattan, he watched the building for two days, keeping an eye on patterns and weak points, gathering intel in his head. He was getting tired without adequate rest but could not make his move before he was certain he could control the situation once he did.
On the third day he caught a ride inside on a service truck, hanging onto its chassis and dropping down once inside, rolling into the shadows. For hours he avoided other people in the parking garage, checked the exits and got familiar with the vague floor plan bolted to the wall by the elevators. In each layout the top floors seemed almost blank, being private areas restricted from the common visitors of the building.
Nine hours into his vigilant waiting, a gleaming sports car drove through the garage, headed for the private section. He followed it, slipping through the closing gates that separated that part of the garage from the rest. He lingered in the shadows as the car’s engine stopped and the door opened; his eyes followed as the single passenger of the vehicle - his mark - got out and began heading for the elevator.
For all of his stealth, the other must have sensed his presence because he turned around swiftly just after calling the elevator, brown eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “Who are you?” the mark asked instead of the more curious ‘how did you get in?’.
He knew he had to play his cards right at this point. “A friend of Steve Rogers’,” he replied.
The other man studied him carefully; clearly dropping the name of a renowned Avenger didn’t mean as much to this guy as he had thought. “What do you want?” he mark asked next, still not inquiring how he had gotten access to the garage.
“A warm shower and a place to crash,” he replied.
“Then go to a hotel,” came a flippant retort just as the doors of the elevator opened.
“I can’t,” he said simply, knowing he was running out of time.
A small sigh reached his ears as the mark stepped into the elevator then turned to look at him again, arms crossed over his chest. “A friend of Steve Rogers’, huh?” He spoke the words as if they tasted funny.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“Got a name?”
He hesitated longer than a person normally would have. Too long, apparently, because the doors of the elevator began to close and the mark didn’t do anything to stop it. So, he stepped forward, his left hand shooting forward to prevent the doors from closing completely, the mark’s stance instantly shifting from reserved to alert. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he answered the question, seeing as Rogers had claimed that was his name and the man who had been known by that name - a man who should have died sixty-nine years ago - wore his face.
Or, he wore the face of a dead man. Didn’t matter.
Clearly the mark recognized the name, too, but it didn’t change the alert look on his face.
“You can call me Bucky,” he added.
“Bucky Barnes,” the other repeated, his eyes slowly moving to the hand holding the elevator door pinned open; the hand and the minimal flash of metal visible from where his glove ended and the jacket sleeve began. A faint flare of recognition passed over the mark’s eyes and Bucky - he might as well call himself that - smiled and took the last step into the elevator, letting the doors close behind him.
“Sir?” a voice asked. Computerized, coming from the speakers, life-like but missing something to make it completely human. Too perfect, perhaps.
“Why are you here?” the mark asked, pressing a button and ignoring the voice from the speakers, casually moving his body away from Bucky’s.
“I told you why,” he replied, leaning against the opposite wall.
“There are people looking for you,” the mark stated, trying to stand taller than he was, to control the environment.
“Why do you think I came here?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.
“What makes you think I won’t turn you in?”
“A hunch,” he admitted. “Your father would have given me sanctuary.”
“I’m not my father,” the man shot back and snapped his fingers. “Stop,” he called out and the elevator came to a smooth standstill. Stormy eyes met Bucky’s. “You should be half-way across the country by now, in the aftermath of what happened in D.C. If not that then you should be with your BFF Rogers, sharing war-stories over a pint in a 40’s theme bar somewhere. Instead you’re in my Tower, in a restricted area - in my private fucking elevator - assuming that just because my dad used to work with Rogers I’m going to hide you under my roof.”
Bucky shifted, resisting the urge to bash the mark’s head against the elevator wall. He doubted that would end well if even half the things he had read about this guy were true. “You fought aliens with Captain America,” he started, recalling the headlines he had browsed through while searching for information online. “You’re allies. I bet you know from personal experience that sometimes a guy needs a moment to get his act together. If you do this, Rogers will owe you.”
The last part wasn’t entirely true, but the mark accepted it with a small huff and pressed the elevator button again, resuming their journey upwards.
Bucky settled against the wall again, not wanting to antagonize the other man and make him change his mind. He needed a safe place to rest and while this place might not be it… it would do for now. If this guy wasn’t overly friendly with Rogers, he was more likely to keep his stay here a secret.
They arrived at the penthouse a few moments later. Bucky could instantly tell the place had been built with no expenses spared yet it wasn’t tacky or ridiculously opulent.
“Welcome, sir,” the voice from before greeted, the tone still caught somewhere between a machine and a person.
“Prep the shop,” the mark ordered. “Lock everything down and activate with my bio-signature only.” It was clear he didn’t trust his house-guest. Bucky didn’t blame him.
If truth be told, neither of them knew who he was. He didn’t feel like he was James Barnes - or ‘Bucky’ for that matter - but since the events in D.C. he had been forced to consider that what he felt was a myriad of lies laid on top of one another, some of them so completely fused together that it was impossible to pry them apart.
He might be Bucky and just not know it yet.
“This way,” the mark told him and led the way down a hallway, past several doors until they stopped in front of the one at the end of the hallway. He opened the door and stepped inside, and while Bucky had thought it likely that he would be given a broom closet to sleep in, he instead found himself in a fully decorated guest room the size of a small apartment.
He stepped in and looked around: a ready-made bed, an adjoining bathroom, a small sitting area and wide windows with heavy curtains to block the view. “It will do,” he decided.
The mark huffed. “If you need anything, ask J.A.R.V.I.S.” Bucky guessed it was the name of the electronic voice. “I have things to do,” he added then, moving towards the doorway.
“Thank you, Stark,” Bucky threw over his shoulder, watching the other man leave.
“Whatever,” the mark rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him, leaving Bucky standing there alone.
to be continued…
...see all art here!