[ Hydra destroyed his life and brainwashed his brother. That's what had brought Kobra Kid into existence and given him direction in the days after SHIELD fell. Everything he'd been as a SHIELD agent is gone now, even his name, but he has a fight worth fighting.
Of course it's hard to fight a fight worth fighting by yourself and after months of small victories and losses and one perilous week of capture immediately followed by a pretty dashing right-time-right-place rescue by one Captain America, Kobra's got himself a new leader, whether that leader wants him or not.
So here he finds himself, grown-ass adult following the Captain around like a lost duckling. ]
Don't know how you manage all this laying low shit.
[ His hand twitches and he starts fiddling with his riding gloves. ]
[ There's something about Kobra that reminds him a lot of himself. Pinpointing exactly what hasn't been a priority considering their current state of affairs, but being here like this isn't Steve's first time being on the run. It's not his first time trying to secure a place that's relatively safe for a given period either - hopefully a day, two at most - and a quick glance at the other from where Steve's sitting on one of the only two pieces of furniture in the room confirms how little space there is in this place. Aside from the bed, which has sunk beneath his weight, there's a rickety chair in the corner and a window that's covered over to block any curious eyes from seeing inside. ]
You get used to it. [ Sort of. It's not as if he's a Wait Around And See What Happens kind of guy either, but this is necessary. ] And we can't do much until we leave. Try to get some rest.
[ If that's even going to help him at all. With the way he seems so restless, he doubts it, but it's the effort in trying that should count for something. He even stands, a silent invitation For Kobra to take the bed. ]
[ Kobra shakes his head, resisting the urge to look out the window. Usually when he's not doing something, he's working up to do something, but having nothing to focus his nervous energy on is driving him a little batty. ]
Doubt I can sleep like this. You sure I can't go out? I ain't the famous one here.
[ He grins a little, because he already knows the answer to that. Enough people had seen them together that no doubt they won't just be looking for Captain Rogers, but also his skinny blond sidekick. Normally, Kobra doesn't let little things like good judgment stop him, but the last time he'd let his guard down, he'd been captured, so he's maybe a little more interested in playing this safe for now. ]
Could pick someone up at a bar and be back before you even noticed I was gone.
[ Some things are better left unquestioned, unspoken, unnoticed.
Steve does what he can to make all three of those as easy as possible, careful to keep his world from gravitating too much into Andyr's more than it already has, but with several obvious variables hovering between them, it's insanely difficult. Maybe that's how they wind up cornered together after training in the VR room, adrenaline spiked high and Steve's fingers curling into the mess that is Andyr's hair so he can look at his face. Make sure he'd pulled that last punch enough not to leave any visible bruises. They're breathing kind of hard too, his eyes sharp on the person he sees more for what he looks like than he had originally when they'd first met, and Steve lets his thumb sweep over his cheek in an absent motion. ]
I think you're gonna make it. [ A quirk of his mouth, partially teasing, and the rest of the words sort of fall away into silence, the pound of his heart loud in his ears as his gaze drifts to Andyr's eyes and down to his lips. It's a pause, something short, and he leans to kiss the edge of his cheek, tasting sweat and skin like it's the only real thing to consider. His fingers press against the back of his head as if wanting to hold him still and do it again too, but the nerves are visible in the deep breath he draws in. ] Did I get you anywhere else? [ Is he hurt? Is he okay? There are so many questions to ask, better than that one, but Steve still hovers hesitantly, finally braving another kiss that's even softer than the one before it. At the corner of Andyr's mouth. ]
[ Steve's a more noble man that Andyr will ever be, and he knows that. For as quiet and calm and stalwartly soothing as Rogers is, Andyr is nails on chalkboards and shattering glass and sledgehammers against concrete. He carries his world with him on his back, doesn't know how to keep it from infecting what's around him with it, and yet, here's Steve Rogers, untouched and unmoving, touching at his cheek and checking for booboos like Andyr's some kind of precious. He's not blind, he knows why that is, who it's because of, and still can't find it in himself to care. The hint of over-protection here and there, odd bits of affection, barely there, but there. The passes Andyr gets when he runs his mouth. After he'd run into Barnes, that started to make a lot more sense.
It's difficult to blame him. How many times had he imposed his memories of his young sister onto Jehanne, knowing there was nothing left of her there? How many iterations of Posie that didn't remember him had he chatted at like their conversations in the labs had been yesterday? Some things you do, because bending is the safer alternative to breaking.
Andyr'd had his lips parted, half to heave labored breathes from the scrapping they'd just been at, and the other to tell Steve something along the lines of "I've walked away from a lot worse than your half-assed swats, Rogers", but that's before there's a press of soft, warm lips against the lightly bruised rise of his cheek. Oh.
As if he wasn't reminded of Alva enough every second he looked at Steve, he had to go and be the same kind of doofy, over-caring kind of fretting, and then, this. For a moment, he's frozen up, gone all rigid, teetering somewhere between sinking into the feeling of simple, sweet and genuine affection, and bolting for the door. He'd been taken in by Hapsburg at 17, and the years between teenage fooling around and now hadn't really been filled with much in the way of sexual experience. Not really. Combine that with the constant, knee-jerk reaction of wanting to break something any time he's touched, and this is a little conflicting for him. What has him staying, is the fact it's just good. Even something as chaste and innocent as soft, nervous kisses against the corner of his lips - he forgets what feeling human is sometimes, and god, he'd forgotten how good it is just to feel like you matter. Even if it's someone else Steve's projecting onto identical features, even if it's nothing beyond a need. That alone, like having all the lights in an abandoned building suddenly powered up, is worth it. ]
Nowhere I'm still feeling. [ He mutters the answer, finally, and it's true - he heals quickly, and his natural durability and pain tolerance was one of the main reasons for making him a template. But it's breathed out between them just before he tilts his head enough to sweep lips against Steve's, something uncharacteristically careful in the motion, just for a moment. Then, it's hands bunching in the front of his shirt, and Andyr tugging them around to push him up against a wall, fingers curling and releasing in the fabric, like he's trying to insure he isn't gripping too hard.
There's some things you just need, and maybe this is one of them. Better left unquestioned. The second kiss is accepting that, and Andyr more melts against his mouth than one of the other extremes - too fleeting to be real, or too hard to be called affection. An easy, slow exploration, taking in the feel of Steve's lips, the scent of him so close, the hands in his hair. Recording it away in memory somewhere. ]
The video function probably hadn't been necessary, not when Steve is already moving across the ship to find him, and it had been a low-key sort of anxiety settling in his stomach the entire way that he doesn't ignore, that feels amplified the second Andyr's hands are on him when he steps through the door. His room is thankfully empty, Steve's fingers sliding under Andyr's uniform and pressing into skin as he backs him in the direction of the bed. Stripping is impossible in a hurry, though they fumble with the thermals, and Steve might have torn it just a little tugging it over Andyr's head before deciding that halfway across the room is good enough for now. He pulls him to the floor, pulls him atop him so that his own back is pressing to the cool of the ground.
Steve thinks he likes this position better than most others too, able to see Andyr's face and give him the control that he wants without compromising too much. He's careful when he pushes his hands up his back, getting them into his hair so he can drag his mouth to his for a sharp kiss. It's starts just like that, something deep that shifts into the soft dig of his teeth into Andyr's lower lip. Then, it's another soft scrape down his chin before mouthing at his Adam's apple and lower. Even the ferocity is tempered by wanting to explore, to touch and taste and push into him as much as he can as quickly as he can. Steve tenderly scratches at his scalp, encouraging Andyr to take as he breathes his name and sucks in a breath all at once. Whatever he can do to help, whatever he can do to comfort him—he'd do it without question. And if he lifts his hips, it's just to get the leverage to bodily rock against him in an attempt to calm the heat burning through him. ]
[ he has these nights, sometimes. when the peace is too peaceful, and the doors are too open, and beds are too soft. too much energy pulsing under his skin, fingers twitching at his sides with a want to just wreck something. the text sent to steve had been some odd joke to distract himself, that turned into something less innocent, and ended up with Andyr gripping the front of Steve's shirt through the doorway in a fist, and dragging the man into him.
it's all hurried motion and heated skin and Andyr can't get Steve out of his clothes fast enough. there's the telltale rip of cloth somewhere in there, and Andyr knows he'll have to go by the medbay and ask for a new shirt tomorrow, but hell if he cares right now. if anything, the sound spikes something in him that has him gripping at steve's shoulders and dragging dull nails over the muscle to leave angry red lines in his wake. he has this problem sometimes. there's moments he digs his fingers into skin too hard, meets Steve with too much force, grips like he could break bone, because there's a want in him so strong, he can't find another way to purge it but all the usual ones. they meet the ground with a heavy thud, and steve hardly needs to pull on andyr to get him pressing down on top of him, clothes all discarded and a shuddered sigh that drags from him as they meet, skin on skin, hips rolling against each other, touches both adoring and demanding.
andyr has fingers curled against steve's biceps where they're pressed to the floor, loving the feel of muscle and power in his arms, the solidity of him, and there's a 'fuck, steve' lost somewhere between his teeth against his chin and his lips dragging lower along his throat. sensation and stimulus in a whirlwind, and he just can't feel him enough. not close enough, not hard enough, not deep enough. it's when his hands are dragging over his chest and sides, and he's split his thighs to either side of steve's hips to get closer, to get a better angle to grind against him, and he's leaving a path of open mouthed kisses along his shoulder, sucking up red marks here and there, scraping with teeth dully - and without really thinking of it, andyr bites down. not gently, hard. enough that the slightly sharpened canines, and few other teeth on either side, pierce, and the metallic, coppery taste that touches his tongue is registered as very familiar. blood. ]
Shit. I'm sorry. [ his head snaps up immediately, and Andyr's cursing himself, looking down at the small wound and pressing a hand over it to stifle the bleeding. fuck, he should've known he's too far out of his head right now. ]
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@Steve (duh, b/c who else)
Steve <3
Of course it's hard to fight a fight worth fighting by yourself and after months of small victories and losses and one perilous week of capture immediately followed by a pretty dashing right-time-right-place rescue by one Captain America, Kobra's got himself a new leader, whether that leader wants him or not.
So here he finds himself, grown-ass adult following the Captain around like a lost duckling. ]
Don't know how you manage all this laying low shit.
[ His hand twitches and he starts fiddling with his riding gloves. ]
Gotta do something or I'm gonna go crazy.
no subject
You get used to it. [ Sort of. It's not as if he's a Wait Around And See What Happens kind of guy either, but this is necessary. ] And we can't do much until we leave. Try to get some rest.
[ If that's even going to help him at all. With the way he seems so restless, he doubts it, but it's the effort in trying that should count for something. He even stands, a silent invitation For Kobra to take the bed. ]
no subject
Doubt I can sleep like this. You sure I can't go out? I ain't the famous one here.
[ He grins a little, because he already knows the answer to that. Enough people had seen them together that no doubt they won't just be looking for Captain Rogers, but also his skinny blond sidekick. Normally, Kobra doesn't let little things like good judgment stop him, but the last time he'd let his guard down, he'd been captured, so he's maybe a little more interested in playing this safe for now. ]
Could pick someone up at a bar and be back before you even noticed I was gone.
steeeeb and idk i suck at pic prompts 8(
no subject
Steve does what he can to make all three of those as easy as possible, careful to keep his world from gravitating too much into Andyr's more than it already has, but with several obvious variables hovering between them, it's insanely difficult. Maybe that's how they wind up cornered together after training in the VR room, adrenaline spiked high and Steve's fingers curling into the mess that is Andyr's hair so he can look at his face. Make sure he'd pulled that last punch enough not to leave any visible bruises. They're breathing kind of hard too, his eyes sharp on the person he sees more for what he looks like than he had originally when they'd first met, and Steve lets his thumb sweep over his cheek in an absent motion. ]
I think you're gonna make it. [ A quirk of his mouth, partially teasing, and the rest of the words sort of fall away into silence, the pound of his heart loud in his ears as his gaze drifts to Andyr's eyes and down to his lips. It's a pause, something short, and he leans to kiss the edge of his cheek, tasting sweat and skin like it's the only real thing to consider. His fingers press against the back of his head as if wanting to hold him still and do it again too, but the nerves are visible in the deep breath he draws in. ] Did I get you anywhere else? [ Is he hurt? Is he okay? There are so many questions to ask, better than that one, but Steve still hovers hesitantly, finally braving another kiss that's even softer than the one before it. At the corner of Andyr's mouth. ]
no subject
It's difficult to blame him. How many times had he imposed his memories of his young sister onto Jehanne, knowing there was nothing left of her there? How many iterations of Posie that didn't remember him had he chatted at like their conversations in the labs had been yesterday? Some things you do, because bending is the safer alternative to breaking.
Andyr'd had his lips parted, half to heave labored breathes from the scrapping they'd just been at, and the other to tell Steve something along the lines of "I've walked away from a lot worse than your half-assed swats, Rogers", but that's before there's a press of soft, warm lips against the lightly bruised rise of his cheek. Oh.
As if he wasn't reminded of Alva enough every second he looked at Steve, he had to go and be the same kind of doofy, over-caring kind of fretting, and then, this. For a moment, he's frozen up, gone all rigid, teetering somewhere between sinking into the feeling of simple, sweet and genuine affection, and bolting for the door. He'd been taken in by Hapsburg at 17, and the years between teenage fooling around and now hadn't really been filled with much in the way of sexual experience. Not really. Combine that with the constant, knee-jerk reaction of wanting to break something any time he's touched, and this is a little conflicting for him. What has him staying, is the fact it's just good. Even something as chaste and innocent as soft, nervous kisses against the corner of his lips - he forgets what feeling human is sometimes, and god, he'd forgotten how good it is just to feel like you matter. Even if it's someone else Steve's projecting onto identical features, even if it's nothing beyond a need. That alone, like having all the lights in an abandoned building suddenly powered up, is worth it. ]
Nowhere I'm still feeling. [ He mutters the answer, finally, and it's true - he heals quickly, and his natural durability and pain tolerance was one of the main reasons for making him a template. But it's breathed out between them just before he tilts his head enough to sweep lips against Steve's, something uncharacteristically careful in the motion, just for a moment. Then, it's hands bunching in the front of his shirt, and Andyr tugging them around to push him up against a wall, fingers curling and releasing in the fabric, like he's trying to insure he isn't gripping too hard.
There's some things you just need, and maybe this is one of them. Better left unquestioned. The second kiss is accepting that, and Andyr more melts against his mouth than one of the other extremes - too fleeting to be real, or too hard to be called affection. An easy, slow exploration, taking in the feel of Steve's lips, the scent of him so close, the hands in his hair. Recording it away in memory somewhere. ]
(*´∀｀*)ﾉ[☆ﾟ･*F i g h t*･ﾟ☆]ヽ(*´∀｀*)
no subject
The video function probably hadn't been necessary, not when Steve is already moving across the ship to find him, and it had been a low-key sort of anxiety settling in his stomach the entire way that he doesn't ignore, that feels amplified the second Andyr's hands are on him when he steps through the door. His room is thankfully empty, Steve's fingers sliding under Andyr's uniform and pressing into skin as he backs him in the direction of the bed. Stripping is impossible in a hurry, though they fumble with the thermals, and Steve might have torn it just a little tugging it over Andyr's head before deciding that halfway across the room is good enough for now. He pulls him to the floor, pulls him atop him so that his own back is pressing to the cool of the ground.
Steve thinks he likes this position better than most others too, able to see Andyr's face and give him the control that he wants without compromising too much. He's careful when he pushes his hands up his back, getting them into his hair so he can drag his mouth to his for a sharp kiss. It's starts just like that, something deep that shifts into the soft dig of his teeth into Andyr's lower lip. Then, it's another soft scrape down his chin before mouthing at his Adam's apple and lower. Even the ferocity is tempered by wanting to explore, to touch and taste and push into him as much as he can as quickly as he can. Steve tenderly scratches at his scalp, encouraging Andyr to take as he breathes his name and sucks in a breath all at once. Whatever he can do to help, whatever he can do to comfort him—he'd do it without question. And if he lifts his hips, it's just to get the leverage to bodily rock against him in an attempt to calm the heat burning through him. ]
no subject
it's all hurried motion and heated skin and Andyr can't get Steve out of his clothes fast enough. there's the telltale rip of cloth somewhere in there, and Andyr knows he'll have to go by the medbay and ask for a new shirt tomorrow, but hell if he cares right now. if anything, the sound spikes something in him that has him gripping at steve's shoulders and dragging dull nails over the muscle to leave angry red lines in his wake. he has this problem sometimes. there's moments he digs his fingers into skin too hard, meets Steve with too much force, grips like he could break bone, because there's a want in him so strong, he can't find another way to purge it but all the usual ones. they meet the ground with a heavy thud, and steve hardly needs to pull on andyr to get him pressing down on top of him, clothes all discarded and a shuddered sigh that drags from him as they meet, skin on skin, hips rolling against each other, touches both adoring and demanding.
andyr has fingers curled against steve's biceps where they're pressed to the floor, loving the feel of muscle and power in his arms, the solidity of him, and there's a 'fuck, steve' lost somewhere between his teeth against his chin and his lips dragging lower along his throat. sensation and stimulus in a whirlwind, and he just can't feel him enough. not close enough, not hard enough, not deep enough. it's when his hands are dragging over his chest and sides, and he's split his thighs to either side of steve's hips to get closer, to get a better angle to grind against him, and he's leaving a path of open mouthed kisses along his shoulder, sucking up red marks here and there, scraping with teeth dully - and without really thinking of it, andyr bites down. not gently, hard. enough that the slightly sharpened canines, and few other teeth on either side, pierce, and the metallic, coppery taste that touches his tongue is registered as very familiar. blood. ]
Shit. I'm sorry. [ his head snaps up immediately, and Andyr's cursing himself, looking down at the small wound and pressing a hand over it to stifle the bleeding. fuck, he should've known he's too far out of his head right now. ]