Language! [It’s a tease only, and one he barely manages to get out with a straight face. After all, Bucky’s always had slightly more of a foul mouth than Steve and really, he’s the last person who should be talking. But talk he will, because he can and because he likes seeing how it makes Steve squirm — especially since that squirming is happening right up against him.] Maybe I need to show you how sweet my tongue can be.
[Bucky, no. Slow is supposed to be a thing. But Steve had said it, had summed it up nicely: just letting this happen, whatever this turns out to be. Bucky is all for it, all for the exploration of this growing attraction. And with Steve leaning into him, murmuring against his skin so sweetly, Bucky knows he’s in trouble.
Fortunate then that he wins their little wrestling match. Fortunate that he lands on top of Steve and he’d crow about the victory if not for that warm embrace around his shoulders and what it does for him. He pulls back for just a moment, just because he needs to take in this sight: Steve in his bed, relaxed and happy, shirtless and laid out for him and it’s perfect. And Steve arches into his touch, arches and sighs and it’s so damn compelling and Bucky knows he’s lost. He’s gone, lost to Steve and this thing between them and he doesn’t care about going slow anymore, doesn’t care about putting on the brakes. All he cares about is doing anything, everything he can to make Steve sigh like that again.
Everything includes settling atop Steve, knees on either side of his hips and it’s suggestive, as much as their trip to the couch had been. Everything includes his hands running from shoulders to hips, a slow, reverent tracing of Steve’s form. Everything includes that smile, warm and affectionate, when Steve says his name.]
I’m here, Steve. [It’s a little breathless, and Bucky’s hands leave Steve’s skin only long enough to pull his own shirt off, tossing it — he’s not even sure where it lands, not paying attention because it’s not as important as leaning back in, skin to skin and kissing Steve again.] I’m here, I’m gonna give you everything you want, promise—
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[Bucky, no. Slow is supposed to be a thing. But Steve had said it, had summed it up nicely: just letting this happen, whatever this turns out to be. Bucky is all for it, all for the exploration of this growing attraction. And with Steve leaning into him, murmuring against his skin so sweetly, Bucky knows he’s in trouble.
Fortunate then that he wins their little wrestling match. Fortunate that he lands on top of Steve and he’d crow about the victory if not for that warm embrace around his shoulders and what it does for him. He pulls back for just a moment, just because he needs to take in this sight: Steve in his bed, relaxed and happy, shirtless and laid out for him and it’s perfect. And Steve arches into his touch, arches and sighs and it’s so damn compelling and Bucky knows he’s lost. He’s gone, lost to Steve and this thing between them and he doesn’t care about going slow anymore, doesn’t care about putting on the brakes. All he cares about is doing anything, everything he can to make Steve sigh like that again.
Everything includes settling atop Steve, knees on either side of his hips and it’s suggestive, as much as their trip to the couch had been. Everything includes his hands running from shoulders to hips, a slow, reverent tracing of Steve’s form. Everything includes that smile, warm and affectionate, when Steve says his name.]
I’m here, Steve. [It’s a little breathless, and Bucky’s hands leave Steve’s skin only long enough to pull his own shirt off, tossing it — he’s not even sure where it lands, not paying attention because it’s not as important as leaning back in, skin to skin and kissing Steve again.] I’m here, I’m gonna give you everything you want, promise—