To Sam's credit, he doesn't fidget. Close call on that - he can feels nerves wanting to nip at his heels. It's not that he feels uncomfortable, shy or awkward in any way. he's been to enough play parties that he's long past that, and he's comfortable enough in his own skin not to harbor a crippling amount of self-doubt in this space. It's just been a while since he needed to come to one, since things fell apart with the person who was supposed to make these parties no longer a necessary haunt. Sam's all for them, it's just that he doesn't exactly fall into the type of person who enjoys cruising for a hook up. He's an introverted people person if there ever was one - more than comfortable in a group setting, but prefers smaller, cozier things.
On that note, Natasha's persistence, her way of pretending like him coming was a sure thing that he just didn't know about yet, weirdly helped. It also helped that this isn't exactly the kind of scene Tony would frequent, or where Tony's tastes are much more prevalent.
Sam tries not to let that whole thing get to him, he really does. But who likes to feel undesirable and like they simply aged out of getting their needs met? Sam's far from a sweet twink, a doe-eyes sugar baby. He has his hard no's he won't budge on, and while Tony seemed to appreciate an adventurous spirit in theory, in practice Sam suspects he wanted someone a lot less settled in themselves. More malleable, and the thought feels like nails on chalkboard. Sam's not ashamed of himself or his age in any way, shape or form - but he dislikes how Tony's words and reasons have settled under his skin, make him doubt whether coming here is a good idea when he's not sure, exactly, that he won't stand out for the wrong reasons.
But Natasha just keeps telling him to wear something nice, that she wants to make an introduction. And it's been ages by now, and Sam knows his needs well enough that he's aware he owes himself an attempt at getting them met. At worst it's gonna be a hopefully fun one-time hookup. Not Sam's preferred speed. But who knows.
So, he takes the leap. He goes.
Natasha moves in pretty damn exclusive circles. The play party is on invitation only, and Sam's mostly able to attend because Natasha vouches for him. Everyone here tonight has to submit a squeaky clean bill of health. Sam thinks everyone here has had background checks run on them, too. The party takes place at someone's house just on the outskirts of town, a surprisingly large and lavish space, but not gaudy. A mark of wealth: actual taste. And frankly, Sam's relieved to note that the clientele runs a breath older than the more casual play parties he's been to in the past.
Natasha's told him bits and pieces about the people here tonight, and Sam's grateful to her. Sometimes regrets that they click well on so many levels except the all important one - but Natasha goes a lot harder than Sam is comfortable with, and he requires more care than she wishes to give, so they're better off as friends who talk about much more intimate things than most friends do. He knows her through Clint, whom he knows throug the VA. The world is a village and all that. Sam has a suspicion Natasha sees in him her next project. She likes playing Cupid for people in the kink community - apparently she has gotten quite a few people squared away with those they're a good fit with. And while Sam has his doubts, he's at least open to giving her credit for a good time, if a good time is had.
His clothes aren't flashy - pants that hug his thighs and ass just so. A shirt made from material thin enough it leaves any wandering eyes wondering if they're seeing a trick of the light, or a hint of skin. Is that just the subtle shine of the fabric, or are you spotting the piercings in his nipples? A mystery until Sam's undressed.
Natasha leads him through the public space to a man reclining on a leather sofa.
"Barnes," Natasha all but croons on approach.
The man in question looks good. Younger than Sam, with the sort of jawline, pouty lips and baby blue eyes that could do a lot for Sam if he let it. Sam knows he has a highly advanced prosthetic. That he's a vet, that he's a professional dom with a highly exclusive and limited client list. Far as Sam understand, Bucky Barnes isn't here on business exactly. Can imagine the dizzying high of those piercing eyes focused solely on oneself. Perhaps Natasha knows his taste better than he gave her credit for, at least on a surface level. As she tells it, Bucky Barnes is firm but sweet - and can hold his drink, a miracle unto itself when the assessment comes from Natasha. The fact that he knows Tony professionally does little to make Sam feel fully at easte, but it's not like the community is so huge that it's unreasonable for overlap. See also Sam's link to Natasha via Clint.
Natasha gestures to Sam, raising an eyebrow. "I hope you didn't forget I wanted to introduce you to a treat."
Bucky smiles and rises to his feet, setting the drink in his hand aside; something non-alcoholic. Most parties like this don't serve booze unless it's more 'private gathering in which people are going to fuck each other' and less 'party with a guest list where people are going to fuck each other'. It's a weird sort of delineation, but there it is.
For his part, Bucky is wearing a dark blue waffle shirt and slacks. The watch he has on is nice, none too flashy but still a bit on the pricey side. It's worn on his flesh and blood wrist, which is the hand he offers Sam to shake. "Hello, I'm James. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Natasha has had nothing but great things to say about you."
It's almost casual, the way he defers like that. Sam doesn't know if Bucky has any expectations for his own subs to call him anything specific, though sir tends to be a safe bet. And Sam isn't his sub - but they'e at a play party, and slipping Bucky some easy, casual deference is almost second nature. Sam doesn't have to think about it. He's here because he wants to submit, after all.
Just as casually easy is the way in which Sam's eyes stay on Bucky's, like the thought doesn't even occur to him for his gaze to stray away from captivating blue . Why look away when he can keep his attention where it deserves to be held, after all?
Taking the offered hand, though, Sam can't help but grin, and offers a light tease: "I'd say I'm sure Natasha's been upselling me, but that would imply her assessment of you wasn't modest enough. Can't have that."
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templeofthought2022-12-09 07:09 pm
no subject
On that note, Natasha's persistence, her way of pretending like him coming was a sure thing that he just didn't know about yet, weirdly helped. It also helped that this isn't exactly the kind of scene Tony would frequent, or where Tony's tastes are much more prevalent.
Sam tries not to let that whole thing get to him, he really does. But who likes to feel undesirable and like they simply aged out of getting their needs met? Sam's far from a sweet twink, a doe-eyes sugar baby. He has his hard no's he won't budge on, and while Tony seemed to appreciate an adventurous spirit in theory, in practice Sam suspects he wanted someone a lot less settled in themselves. More malleable, and the thought feels like nails on chalkboard. Sam's not ashamed of himself or his age in any way, shape or form - but he dislikes how Tony's words and reasons have settled under his skin, make him doubt whether coming here is a good idea when he's not sure, exactly, that he won't stand out for the wrong reasons.
But Natasha just keeps telling him to wear something nice, that she wants to make an introduction. And it's been ages by now, and Sam knows his needs well enough that he's aware he owes himself an attempt at getting them met. At worst it's gonna be a hopefully fun one-time hookup. Not Sam's preferred speed. But who knows.
So, he takes the leap. He goes.
Natasha moves in pretty damn exclusive circles. The play party is on invitation only, and Sam's mostly able to attend because Natasha vouches for him. Everyone here tonight has to submit a squeaky clean bill of health. Sam thinks everyone here has had background checks run on them, too. The party takes place at someone's house just on the outskirts of town, a surprisingly large and lavish space, but not gaudy. A mark of wealth: actual taste. And frankly, Sam's relieved to note that the clientele runs a breath older than the more casual play parties he's been to in the past.
Natasha's told him bits and pieces about the people here tonight, and Sam's grateful to her. Sometimes regrets that they click well on so many levels except the all important one - but Natasha goes a lot harder than Sam is comfortable with, and he requires more care than she wishes to give, so they're better off as friends who talk about much more intimate things than most friends do. He knows her through Clint, whom he knows throug the VA. The world is a village and all that. Sam has a suspicion Natasha sees in him her next project. She likes playing Cupid for people in the kink community - apparently she has gotten quite a few people squared away with those they're a good fit with. And while Sam has his doubts, he's at least open to giving her credit for a good time, if a good time is had.
His clothes aren't flashy - pants that hug his thighs and ass just so. A shirt made from material thin enough it leaves any wandering eyes wondering if they're seeing a trick of the light, or a hint of skin. Is that just the subtle shine of the fabric, or are you spotting the piercings in his nipples? A mystery until Sam's undressed.
Natasha leads him through the public space to a man reclining on a leather sofa.
"Barnes," Natasha all but croons on approach.
The man in question looks good. Younger than Sam, with the sort of jawline, pouty lips and baby blue eyes that could do a lot for Sam if he let it. Sam knows he has a highly advanced prosthetic. That he's a vet, that he's a professional dom with a highly exclusive and limited client list. Far as Sam understand, Bucky Barnes isn't here on business exactly. Can imagine the dizzying high of those piercing eyes focused solely on oneself. Perhaps Natasha knows his taste better than he gave her credit for, at least on a surface level. As she tells it, Bucky Barnes is firm but sweet - and can hold his drink, a miracle unto itself when the assessment comes from Natasha. The fact that he knows Tony professionally does little to make Sam feel fully at easte, but it's not like the community is so huge that it's unreasonable for overlap. See also Sam's link to Natasha via Clint.
Natasha gestures to Sam, raising an eyebrow. "I hope you didn't forget I wanted to introduce you to a treat."
no subject
Bucky smiles and rises to his feet, setting the drink in his hand aside; something non-alcoholic. Most parties like this don't serve booze unless it's more 'private gathering in which people are going to fuck each other' and less 'party with a guest list where people are going to fuck each other'. It's a weird sort of delineation, but there it is.
For his part, Bucky is wearing a dark blue waffle shirt and slacks. The watch he has on is nice, none too flashy but still a bit on the pricey side. It's worn on his flesh and blood wrist, which is the hand he offers Sam to shake. "Hello, I'm James. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Natasha has had nothing but great things to say about you."
no subject
It's almost casual, the way he defers like that. Sam doesn't know if Bucky has any expectations for his own subs to call him anything specific, though sir tends to be a safe bet. And Sam isn't his sub - but they'e at a play party, and slipping Bucky some easy, casual deference is almost second nature. Sam doesn't have to think about it. He's here because he wants to submit, after all.
Just as casually easy is the way in which Sam's eyes stay on Bucky's, like the thought doesn't even occur to him for his gaze to stray away from captivating blue . Why look away when he can keep his attention where it deserves to be held, after all?
Taking the offered hand, though, Sam can't help but grin, and offers a light tease: "I'd say I'm sure Natasha's been upselling me, but that would imply her assessment of you wasn't modest enough. Can't have that."