You're still a silver-tongued sonovabitch. [Steve tells him breathlessly. Bucky was always good with words, really, a master of the art of flirting. Steve used to watch him with his dates, and daydream later about being the object of that kind of attention himself. It's a good thing they're already on the bed, because getting it now--not just the cocky little smile and the heavy-lidded eyes, but the sweet talk and the hands on his skin--makes him weak in the knees.
If he's honest with himself, Bucky can pretty much ask him to say anything right now, and he'd do it.]
Why haven't we been doing this for weeks? [He asks, burying his face against the crook of Bucky's neck, breath warm against his skin, and mouthing along as much of the line of his collarbone as he can reach with the fabric of his shirt still in the way.
He knows the answer. It's a rhetorical question, and even if he was expecting talk, the sudden friendly tussle puts it out of his mind. He starts laughing, very nearly giggling as he tries to find leverage without kneeing his pal in the upper thigh. But he isn't trying very hard, because a twist of Bucky's hips and a swing of his leg, and Steve's on his back. Once he's there he gives up on the game, one arm circling around the other man's shoulders in a softer embrace. He stretches his other arm over his head and just lets it rest against the headboard, fingers finding a loose grip on the pillow.
He's got a starry-eyed expression when Bucky starts touching him again, exploring, and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but fails to conjure up any words. There's a sigh, instead, deep and soulful, and he arches his back a little to encourage the attention.]
Please. [Is all he manages to come up with, and that seems to take a fair bit of effort.] Please? Bucky...
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If he's honest with himself, Bucky can pretty much ask him to say anything right now, and he'd do it.]
Why haven't we been doing this for weeks? [He asks, burying his face against the crook of Bucky's neck, breath warm against his skin, and mouthing along as much of the line of his collarbone as he can reach with the fabric of his shirt still in the way.
He knows the answer. It's a rhetorical question, and even if he was expecting talk, the sudden friendly tussle puts it out of his mind. He starts laughing, very nearly giggling as he tries to find leverage without kneeing his pal in the upper thigh. But he isn't trying very hard, because a twist of Bucky's hips and a swing of his leg, and Steve's on his back. Once he's there he gives up on the game, one arm circling around the other man's shoulders in a softer embrace. He stretches his other arm over his head and just lets it rest against the headboard, fingers finding a loose grip on the pillow.
He's got a starry-eyed expression when Bucky starts touching him again, exploring, and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but fails to conjure up any words. There's a sigh, instead, deep and soulful, and he arches his back a little to encourage the attention.]
Please. [Is all he manages to come up with, and that seems to take a fair bit of effort.] Please? Bucky...