[Maybe one day they'll be comfortable enough — Bucky will be comfortable enough in his own skin — to talk about the nightmares. Maybe one day there will be hands on shoulders or arms around waists, a soft voice to pull him out of the dreams. Maybe. Bucky knows it's going to take a lot of trust to get there, and it's not trust in Steve; that's an absolute. It's trusting himself that's the difficult part.

But he doesn't have to think about that right now.]

It's not just the serum. [He frames Steve's face with both hands, leans in to kiss him slow and sweet.] Most of it's just you.

[Because it's not just the physical, though Bucky has a very big appreciation for Steve's shape now. No, it's about the entire way he holds himself, confident in his strength but not needing to prove anything. And it's the parts of the old Steve still lingering, the ferocity and the mischief, the glint that he gets in his eye that tells Bucky that they're in for a wild adventure of some sort.]

You're not the only one with that problem, trust me. [Because Steve's weight on top of him is addictive, and Bucky kind of really wants to wiggle around under him (and over him and next to him and against him and oh) to see what kinds of reactions he can pull out of the other man.] A part of me, a real big part, just wants to say the hell with it and tell you to take me to bed.