[There are so many things they'll need to talk about, to figure out with each other. So many things they haven't talked about because they haven't needed to, because things between them have just worked. They fit together like gears or puzzle pieces, a little jagged and roughed up around the edges but still slotting against each other like they were always meant to be there.
When he can hold Steve like this, kiss him like this, he thinks that maybe they were.]
Maybe no one else sees you quite the way I do. And I'm completely okay with that. [Maybe it's something that's always been true. But even back in the war Steve had been Cap to everyone else, and Steve to Bucky. He's always been Steve, and Bucky thinks he always will. Cap belongs too much to the country, too much to the world. But Steve? He belongs to lazy mornings and magnetic poetry and bad limericks and pancakes and kisses on the couch. Steve is those kisses falling apart into shared laughter because they really are too big for the couch and sooner or later something's going to give with the mess they're making of the cushions and themselves.
It's the best morning Bucky's had in a while. And that's before Steve starts taking off his shirt. Bucky's attentions instantly zoom in on the action, heat curling into the pit of his stomach and mouth going a little dry at the sight.]
It's getting a hell of a lot bigger now. [It's part innuendo and part not, truly. Hands trace up Steve's torso, chasing the hem of his shirt and it's pulled off and he's seen Steve shirtless before, both before and after the serum. But there's something about it now, something that's tied up in the way Steve kisses him, the way he presses close, the way their bodies are tangling more with every moment. It's like a magnetic pull, as silly as that sounds; Bucky is drawn to Steve in the most natural, most irresistible way.
And he wants it.
Wants to trace his hands, metal and flesh, down Steve's torso, smooth skin contoured over solid muscle. Wants to linger where Steve seems to like it best, wants to pull him closer to feel the weight of Steve's body atop his own. Wants to pull Steve into another kiss, one that's tinted with an edge of hunger because hello libido, you're definitely awake now.]
You know, I really do like this couch. I do. But I really really like the idea of being in your bed even more. [Even if they're not intimate, there's something intimate about it, a space that's mostly private. Bucky thinks he'd like to share that privacy with Steve; he knows he'd like to see what it feels like to be so entangled and not have to worry about knocking any more couch cushions askew or falling into the gap at the back of the couch.] Or having you in mine.
[A beat.] Though maybe we can build that fort this afternoon.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-05-07 06:09 am (UTC)When he can hold Steve like this, kiss him like this, he thinks that maybe they were.]
Maybe no one else sees you quite the way I do. And I'm completely okay with that. [Maybe it's something that's always been true. But even back in the war Steve had been Cap to everyone else, and Steve to Bucky. He's always been Steve, and Bucky thinks he always will. Cap belongs too much to the country, too much to the world. But Steve? He belongs to lazy mornings and magnetic poetry and bad limericks and pancakes and kisses on the couch. Steve is those kisses falling apart into shared laughter because they really are too big for the couch and sooner or later something's going to give with the mess they're making of the cushions and themselves.
It's the best morning Bucky's had in a while. And that's before Steve starts taking off his shirt. Bucky's attentions instantly zoom in on the action, heat curling into the pit of his stomach and mouth going a little dry at the sight.]
It's getting a hell of a lot bigger now. [It's part innuendo and part not, truly. Hands trace up Steve's torso, chasing the hem of his shirt and it's pulled off and he's seen Steve shirtless before, both before and after the serum. But there's something about it now, something that's tied up in the way Steve kisses him, the way he presses close, the way their bodies are tangling more with every moment. It's like a magnetic pull, as silly as that sounds; Bucky is drawn to Steve in the most natural, most irresistible way.
And he wants it.
Wants to trace his hands, metal and flesh, down Steve's torso, smooth skin contoured over solid muscle. Wants to linger where Steve seems to like it best, wants to pull him closer to feel the weight of Steve's body atop his own. Wants to pull Steve into another kiss, one that's tinted with an edge of hunger because hello libido, you're definitely awake now.]
You know, I really do like this couch. I do. But I really really like the idea of being in your bed even more. [Even if they're not intimate, there's something intimate about it, a space that's mostly private. Bucky thinks he'd like to share that privacy with Steve; he knows he'd like to see what it feels like to be so entangled and not have to worry about knocking any more couch cushions askew or falling into the gap at the back of the couch.] Or having you in mine.
[A beat.] Though maybe we can build that fort this afternoon.