#mostlylows

             𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒,  𝐓.𝐉 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑.     but when he's hungover,  this problem is only heightened.     he's not sure what time it is when he finally comes out of his alcohol-induced coma in the hotel room,  but it's after a few lazy noises and stretches that he begins to come to terms with the waking world;   much to his chagrin.     there's a dull pounding in his temple and the usual aches and grogginess that tend to come with a night of drinking a few too many,  but that's nothing NOVEL in the former first son’s wild lifestyle.     then flashbacks from the night before begin to kick in,  and his sleepy state is quickly forgotten,  blues flying open.     he remembers laughter.     vodka.     silver haired guy.     and one of those novelty chapels;   like the kind in vegas.    ❝   HOLY SHIT...   ❞  he mutters as it all slowly dawns on him.     they got married last night.    t.j sits up in the bed,  disregarding the hangover in lieu of a more 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 matter.     is the guy still here somewhere?     ❝   hello...?   ❞

     usually, he’s awake by now. but as it turns out? pietro can in fact outdrink his own metabolism. the price, it seems, was being out for what probably constituted a normal amount of time ( and then some ) and he doesn’t stir until there’s noise in the room. beside him. WAIT. beside him? he drank much more last night than he had realised.

   𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆,  and simply shrugs and smirks mischievously at the blond.     ❝   is that right?     and what’re you gonna do,  rogers?     arrest me?     PUNISH ME?   ❞     t.j mitigates the words by shuffling closer and sliding an arm around steve’s neck,  brushing their lips gently.     ❝   i happen to have some 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐂𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐒 under the bed…..   ❞

                Eyes watch T.J. closely as fingers gently dance across the bruises on his face. How one man can get into so much trouble is beyond Ashley ; it seemed like every other week, Ashley was cleaning up T.J.’s messes. Not that he minded, really. He may act like he does, but he likes to fight, relishes in the violence like a savage boar. Less than human, less than human, he was. Weapon, tool, shield. Thing.

                 As his brain snaps out of it, he realizes his hand was cupping T.J.’s cheek a tad more firm than he had intended. Clearing his throat, his touch turned tender, a quiet “ I’m sorry, ” passing through his lips. 

                 In silence, he cleans and bandages the scrapes and cuts. As per usual, he leans in and places a gentle kiss to the most painful one ; his sister had told him kisses healed wounds faster. Words he’s clung to for a long time. There was no sentiment to the action besides the hopes that T.J.’s wounds healed soon. 

A familiar face plopped down at the bar across from Steve and he couldn’t help but grin. Holding up a finger, telling the brunet just a second, Steve poured the couple beers the couple at the end had ordered before turning to get T.J.’s usual. A moment later he slid it across to the younger man, before leaning across the bar to chat.

    “You look kinda glum- everythin’ alright?”

Since pulling T.J. out of that apartment fire months ago, the brunet had become a regular at Steve’s place of work, entertaining him while on shift. They’d become real close friends, even having their own inside jokes and plenty of late-night texting conversations. It was unusual- Steve wasn’t a firefighter for the praise or the gratitude, he merely wanted to help people any way he could. T.J. seeking him out after to personally thank him and invite him to his nightclub had been unexpected, but Steve didn’t regret accepting the offer.

As always, TJ’s fingers are warm. In that TOUCH, he conveys so much more than the quiet THANKS that follows. And yet? It’s gone in the next FLEETING moment. Bucky memorizes the slip of TJ’s fingers through his own, the bit of PRESSURE, and then the slow drag back. In response, he hums a bit. The soldier’s gaze falls down to the floor, tracking the SCUFFS in the toes of his boots. 

❝ Yeah? ❞ he follows, and the SMIRK that shatters is cool demeanor is inevitable. ❝ Good thing I didn’t intend on goin’ anywhere, ain’t it? ❞ Bucky drawls, eyes flicking up TJ’s body before SETTLING on the softness, on the  V U L N E R A B I L I T Y  in his expression. Reaching up, Bucky barely ghosts the tips of his metal fingers against TJ’s arm before deciding BETTER of it, and his hand falls. 

❝ And I don’t think I want to. ❞

                  Nightclubs weren’t especially his scene, but the Dome had a nice feel to it. A pleasant owner, too, it seemed. It seemed as though he was eager to have him perform. The night went smoothly, the crowd mingling and dancing enjoyed the performance ( a mix of covers and original songs , and a painful throwback to Peach Soda which everyone but Charlie seemed to enjoy ) and Charlie considered it a job well done. 

                       A VISIT FROM THE ARCHAEOLOGIST IS UNEXPECTED   ;  but welcome nonetheless.   t.j had been in the middle of guiding two delivery guys to where he wanted the new set of couches in the dome’s main celebration room.   t.j is admiring his awesome taste in furniture when the offer comes,  turning his attention to indiana.   ❝   yeah,  sure   —   i can duck out for a half-hour.   ❞   one of the many upsides to being the boss.  ❝   there’s a new place down the street i haven’t tried out yet.   how do you feel about tacos  ??  ❞

*·☆ﾟ. *·   various prompts.   /   accepting.   (   @indyflanery​.   )