[Steve’s face has always been unique in Bucky’s memory: the smile, the light in his eyes, the slight twist of his mouth when there’s mischief to be planned. So many of the positives that he can remember are tied up in Steve’s companionship, in Steve’s place in his life. If Bucky can hold onto that by holding onto this, by curving his hand along Steve’s cheek and welcoming him close, welcoming his weight atop Bucky’s own body, then he’ll take it all and greedily.
The fact that Steve doesn’t seem to mind pressing even closer? That’s so good, warm in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He welcomes the tangling of their legs even further, would hook his own higher on Steve’s hip if their positioning on the couch was suited to it. But it’s not and there’s no sense in moving just for that, not when he can trade kisses back and forth just like this until they need to break away to catch their breath.
Those words surprise him though. He knows Steve’s not completely innocent, but he still hadn’t expected it. He’s still getting used to the idea that Steve could, that Steve does want him.]
I don’t know if I’m ready for it. [It’s not just sex; it’s Steve. That makes all the difference.] I want to be, you have no idea how much I want you, but... We need to figure it out.
[For right now though? Kissing. Kissing is fine; kissing is more than fine. Kissing is definitely a thing that Bucky wants more of, drawing Steve in again, parting his lips to welcome the other man to explore. Faintly he wonders when Steve got so damn good at this but decides a moment later that it doesn’t matter, that it’s Steve and right now the only one he seems to want to kiss is Bucky, and Bucky wants to show him exactly how he likes to be kissed.]
[Steve always had a bit of a thing about Bucky's hands--hands in general, to be honest, but particularly with Bucky because his hands were so often taken up in the work of punching out the bullies that Steve got himself tangled up with, or pressing a cool cloth over one of Steve's bumps as he told him off for getting himself in over his head. There was a point, when Bucky first started dating, that Steve actually courted more trouble than he normally would just to make sure he still had a reasonable chunk of Bucky's attention. And touch.
It's strange and a little sad to feel the smooth metal plates stroking his cheekbone, but it's still Bucky. And on the other side, there's that familiar callused thumb and warm palm.]
We have all the time in the world, Buck. You don't have to be ready, there's no rush. [Steve isn't sure how ready he is. Upstairs brain isn't sure, that is. Downstairs brain doesn't require nearly so much nuanced thought to make a decision.] It's just good to be like this...
[He trails off and sinks into another kiss gladly. It feels like they're moving slow, underwater, but it's warm, comforting water, not like plunging into chilly rivers together. And they can breathe, against one another's skin.]
"upstairs brain" and "downstairs brain" is the greatest thing i have read all day
[He's unaware of the trail of Steve's thoughts, and that might be for the best. Too distracting to think about his arm, his hand; it's much easier to just touch Steve as if it's the most normal, the most natural thing in the world.
Really, his body is screaming at him to touch a lot more, to explore more in the way their legs tangle so easily, more of what Steve pressed against him could mean.
Time. They have time.]
Just don't stop kissing me.
[Because he might, just a little bit, be somewhat addicted to the way Steve tastes, to the way he kisses, to the warm, solid weight pressing him down into the couch cushions. He lets his hands wander, finally, one sliding up to sink into Steve's hair and the other tracing down the side of his jaw, his throat, to linger at his collarbone and finally slip to his chest. He could feel the warmth of the other man through his shirt and it was something so very alluring.]
[It's so quiet at this hour of the morning. He can hear a few birds outside, and the occasional whoosh of wind in the trees, the hum of the electronics in the kitchen, and not much else external. That gives him the blessed freedom to focus on the sound of Bucky's breath and the soft, barely-there noises they're both making--not quite moans, but little sighs between kisses.
Except then Steve does give a muffled moan, tilting his head to allow the touch down the side of his neck. He's got goosebumps from it. And for all that they're both protesting they're not ready, they don't seem to be putting the brakes on yet, either.
He nips at Bucky's lower lip, runs his tongue along the curve gently, and then nuzzles into the crook of his neck like he just wants to hold and be held for a moment.]
I just wanna be close to you. [He murmurs, breathless.] Doesn't matter if we're making out or what, I just need this. Okay? You can touch me wherever you want.
[He's having a hard time thinking of a better way to spend his day, now that the option of just snuggling and kissing Bucky for the next few hours appears to have arisen.]
[It's the perfect kind of morning, quiet and serene — the kind that usually sees them out for a run, putting some miles down before the sun's truly up and the city truly awake. Of course Steve had to get all smart with magnetic poetry and Bucky had to prove he could stalk him. And then pancakes and kisses and here they are, in each other's arms and sharing soft little affections and quiet sighs. It's a wonder, truly, the idea that they could have come so far already in such a short time.
Then again they've been dancing around this forever, haven't they? Gay chicken or something like it; maybe they're just so used to leaning against those barriers that it's natural to do so even laying together on the couch with their legs tangled. But that little nip at his lip delights him, earns Steve a bright shock of laughter and Bucky tilts his head so that Steve has more room to burrow against his neck.
He likes that. He really likes that.]
I'll stay as close as you want. [It's an easy promise to make, as easy as breathing, as easy as this thing between them. His hand shifts around to Steve's back, carefully traces his shape from shoulder blade to waist.] That is a hell of an offer to drop in my lap you know. Gonna be honest with you Steve, I could touch you all over.
[Because with Steve pressed against and tangled with him like this, with the temptation of him being so close, with permission freely given? With the fact that they haven't really put the brakes on since they shared that first kiss? It'd be so easy to drive things further. And that might not be off the table, for all that they've said it is. But it also doesn't need to happen right now, not when he's more than content to spend the bulk of the morning in the pursuit of molding the couch cushions to their shape.]
[Steve is inordinately fond of a morning run. Anyone who'll take him up on it, he's happy to go with, but Bucky is ideal because they can keep pace and even exchange jokes on the journey. Turns out magnetic-poetry-induced tag works just as well. Maybe better, given how they're now nestled into one another's arms rather than snarking cheerfully across the table as they sip coffee (not that there's anything wrong with that, either).
Steve is going to take this as a challenge, then. He'll come up with some other game to wake Bucky up with, tomorrow or the next day. Nerf guns or water balloons, out of season Easter Egg hunts, whatever it takes to get a laugh or a kiss or both. This is his new project.
Meanwhile, he's taking Bucky at his word, sliding to the side a little so he's not squashing his chest, but without allowing much more space between them. They're a pile of long, overly-muscled limbs and they're pushing some of the cushions aside by this point. It's great.]
Yeah? Anything in particular you want a closer look at? [Steve laughs; he can't help pushing his luck this way, but he's also very comfortable in the chaos they've made of the sofa.]
Might be safer to keep it above the waist, if we're taking it slow. I guess I could let you up...
[Bucky is blissfully unaware of Steve's plans for their mornings, but that's okay. He enjoyed the surprise that was waking up to magnets on his arm, and for several reasons. The first is that it really was amusing! And the second, more important reason, is that he'd been sleeping soundly enough for Steve to sneak up on him. That's huge because it means that Bucky's finally comfortable enough, in his own skin and in Steve's presence, to sleep soundly.
For someone who still has nightmares on the regular, it's no small matter.
But right now is for shifting around on the poor, abused couch, cushions and pillows knocked askew by two men who are really probably a bit too big to be doing this. That kind of makes it perfect though, because it's a little bit silly and a lot bit fun.]
Uh, all of you? [Well, duh is what his tone of voice says, but Bucky's smile is gentle.] Steve, I don't know if you know this, but you're gorgeous.
[Keeping it above the waist is definitely a smart idea though; as it is Bucky's already very tempted just by how they're currently laying close. But he does slide a hand back to Steve's waist, gives a gentle squeeze.]
Or we could just wiggle around here together. I don't think I want to get up.
[Steve has been aware of the nightmares. He himself has become quite the insomniac since the serum. Even on the USO tour, before he had quite so much nightmare fuel filed away in his brain (although watching Dr. Erskine die more or less in his arms was probably plenty), he found himself up at all hours. Walking halls at 3 AM. Jogging up and down stairs trying to get himself tired enough to rest. More than five hours a night just doesn't happen often. These days, he's pleased if he manages to sleep for three a night. He's pretty sure what he's been through is a drop in the bucket to what Bucky has suffered, but even at that rate he's seen plenty of horror.
But now it's an advantage to need and want less sleep. It means he can keep an eye on Bucky (from a distance; no one wants to wake up from a bad dream and find their friend staring at them from the doorway), and Steve finds the knowledge that Bucky is safe in the next room, even if he's twitchy and wakeful, deeply reassuring. It's almost too bad he doesn't snore. Steve would happily doze to that sound.]
Thanks. [He blushes a little, grinning.] I'd pass along the compliment to Erskine if I could.
[That could sound bitter, but it most comes out matter-of-fact. The serum didn't change his face much, but it sure reshaped the rest of him.
He laughs.] Pal, if you do too much wiggling around here, taking things slow is going to fly right out the window. I'm just letting you know.
[Because they're all tangled together, and Steve's groin is about at the level of Bucky's hip, and there's a distinct possibility of having to break for a cold shower if they keep at this for long enough.] But I don't want to get up, either.
[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.
[Steve trusts Bucky's intentions absolutely. He's been through Hell, and there are dark places that linger within him from that, and no man can help but be shaped by the things that have happened to him. Steve knows that from his own experience. He's not the same man he was before the war or the ice, and neither is Bucky. But there's a soul beneath the nightmares, some kind of essence of the person he is. Steve doesn't think that's changed much, for either of them.
He trusts that. And maybe sooner or later, so will Bucky himself.
The hands cradling his face make him blink and focus in dreamily on Bucky's face. It's a little slice of Heaven to be safe and warm against him, to be handled with affection and given lingering, sweet kisses. Some of his higher brain functions might be shutting down, as much with the feeling of comfort and satisfaction as libido.]
Bucky...that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time. [Deep down, he's still that cranky, reckless little guy whose lungs betrayed him every winter and who couldn't step away from a fight to save his life. It's just that there are a few layers on top of that now, too; layers of muscle, responsibility, and issues. No one in the world except the guy in his arms right now has the capacity to see all of it at once.
He kisses him back, slow and deep as if he's trying to express his emotions that way, but a moment later he's chuckling again, because the cushions are sliding out from under him, and he's sinking into the space between them and the back of the sofa, and it reminds him of pillow and blanket forts he and Bucky built when they were boys.
He props himself up a little, flushed and smiling, and starts to squirm out of his shirt.] Yeah? How big is this part of yours?
[He's playing with fire, maybe, but it's not like Bucky hasn't seen him shirtless before. He lets the discarded fabric hang over the arm of the sofa and sinks back into the other man with a sigh, half lust, half contentment.]
Anyway, do you want bed, or should we be building a blanket fort to make out in? We're getting the cushions all over the place, anyway.
[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.
[They were. Soulmates is probably an over-romanticized concept, but the idea has occurred to Steve more than once. Maybe it's Bucky's patient loyalty that won Steve over when they were children, the ridiculously longsuffering tolerance with which he put up with his scrawny friend's escapades. Maybe 'till the end of the line' wouldn't be a thing to them if they'd met or been raised under other circumstances. If the timing had been off. If Steve had been a little more stroppy, or Bucky had been a little less good-natured.
The thing is, Steve doesn't think so. He thinks they belong, always have, always will. He couldn't imagine life without Bucky. Oh, he could trudge through it and get things done, could even smile and laugh and make friends he would give his life for, but there was always going to be a piece subtly lacking. Like a color suddenly went missing from the rainbow.
His heart and soul hunger for Bucky. There are things about himself Steve can't change, serum or no, and that's the biggest one of them.
He blushes a little at the look on Bucky's face when he discards his shirt, and honestly, Steve is anything but vain, even now, but he almost wants to preen under that gaze. It wouldn't work with anyone else; it wouldn't feel like they were looking at him. Bucky is different. He sees right through him.]
Oh, god, Buck... [He's breathless, and now that the suggestion has been made he's not going to be able to get it out of his head.] I...your bed? Can we?
[It shouldn't matter. They both have the same goddamn bed. The only difference is the color of the sheets (Steve's are blue, and some smartass got him a faux-patchwork quilt with an Americana theme to it). But Bucky's bed is, well, Bucky's bed and even after seven decades there are some fantasies that are hard to shake, and impossible to turn down when they're offered.]
Fuck it. Whatever happens...let's just let it happen. [He pulls himself up and offers Bucky his hands, as if he needed the help to rise.]
[Maybe it's just something so simple that it's never occurred to them: they just fit. No labels, nothing fancy needed to define or describe it. Labels over complicate things anyway and that's something they definitely don't need. No, they just fit like a morning run turned game of tag, like magnetic poetry answered with ninja stalking, like chocolate chip pancakes and coffee.
They fit like Bucky's hands curving to trace Steve's shape, gliding over smooth warm skin and exploring the contours of muscle. And it's not just about how the serum changed his friend, not just about the physical shape he now takes. It's about the intimacy of exploring that shape, about learning how he fits against Bucky's own body, about discovering each other through the rapidly diminishing space between them. It's about breaking the last of their barriers, about showing each other those indelible marks that life has made on them and the harder to see marks that they're renewing on each other's souls.
It might be an overly romantic notion, but he kind of likes it.
And Bucky really, really likes the way Steve's voice has gone a little thready with desire — a feeling that matches what's growing in Bucky himself.]
Yeah. Yeah, we can. [His smile curls slow and lazy and genuine as the idea fully takes hold. Steve in his bed? It's more attractive than it has a right to be. And Bucky wonders if it's a place he should've allowed Steve from the very start.
The hands held out though, that's special and Bucky slips his own hands into Steve's, lets his friend pull him up off the couch. Sure, he doesn't strictly need the help (despite the best efforts of the couch cushions to swallow him whole!), but he wants it, just as much as he wants his hands to always be in Steve's. Plus, it gives him the chance to tuck in close and kiss Steve until they're both smiling like fools again.
Letting whatever happens just happen? That sounds like the best idea in the world to him right now. It's what has Bucky tugging at Steve's hands, pulling him in the direction of his bedroom — which is not that different from Steve's, truth be told: nearly identical furniture, a muted color palette of greys and black (and absent the Americana quilt that a certain smartass still snickers about). But it's a space in which he's become comfortable, a space into which he wants to invite Steve.
Unless Steve has other intentions Bucky's planning on tugging him right up to the side of the bed, planning on sitting down and looking up at his friend with affection and a smile shining in his eyes.] Join me?
[It's funny how sensations have changed, between his original, smaller and more delicate shape, and the one he wears now. Pain changed. Before the serum, there were different colors of pain. Yellow pain was normal, every day aches in his joints and back. Blue was the color of the pain in his chest when his lungs were air-hungry. Green was sick pain, nausea or ulcers flaring up.. Red pain was something broken or threatening to break. Now, all pain is white pain, a flare that's there and gone again and doesn't make much sense to his altered body. Doesn't have to, because whatever causes it heals so quickly.
But pleasure? Pleasure has new, variant textures and colors that he's barely had a chance to record and categorize in his head. He closes his eyes when Bucky's hands slide over his torso, and he can almost envision them leaving a blaze of color across his skin in their wake, gold and violet and searing pink like a sunset, and it radiates from skin to muscle and down to the bone. And even after the caresses stop and Bucky's talking to him again, Steve can still almost feel the prints of his fingers on his chest.
The kissing just layers more sensation on top of sensation. He thinks he might be glowing as they head into the bedroom. Bucky's space is furnished in neutral, dark tones; Steve has a moment, hilariously, where he envisions everything shifting into blazing colors as they sink onto the bed. Like in the Wizard of Oz.
Christ, Bucky's eyes are beautiful.]
You don't have to ask me twice. [He doesn't want to push too far, doesn't want to rush, but the eager insistence with which he flings himself into Bucky's arms again might just knock them both flat onto the sheets.]
[Inviting Steve into his bed seems as natural as breathing. And certainly Steve's never been forbidden from Bucky's bedroom or anything silly like that, but neither of them have really infringed on the other's space. Maybe they both know too much of what it is to have no privacy, to have their lives on display. Or maybe it's just old fashioned respect, manners leftover from their upbringing that still have a place in their lives today.
Whatever it is, it's a gross oversight now corrected because the smile that Steve gets when he asks him to join Bucky? That smile is amazing.]
I'm gonna ask you a hundred times, just to hear you say yes again.
[Bucky is most certainly strong enough to have kept his seat, but why could he possibly want to? When he has Steve all but pouncing him the only course of action is to fall back, pulling his partner close and laughing freely, happily. He wants this, in whatever shape it takes, wherever they decide to go with each other. And knowing that Steve seems to feel the same is so freeing.
Taking it slow doesn't seem quite as appealing as when they'd started, especially not with a shirtless Steve in his bed. It seems like an excellent time for some good-natured wrestling, an attempt to put Steve on his back so that Bucky can explore that beautifully bared torso in earnest.]
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...
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—
[When they were boys, the cursed happily away at one another and cleaned it up in the presence of their families. Steve might have edged Bucky out for foulest mouth briefly, in the period after his mother died and he had no one to try to be civil for (except for Bucky himself, who didn't need the protection). After getting into the army, he felt compelled to be an officer and a gentleman. That's when the admonishments began. The rest of the Howlies may have assumed it was just Steve's personality. Bucky would have known better.
His eyes light up at the tease, and he catches his breath quietly at the flirt--or is it a promise? He hopes so. And he hopes it isn't possible to die of sheer joy, because if it is, he's not going to last out the day. That first sigh is followed by another hitching gulp of air, and Steve's eyelashes flutter closed, only to open again as Bucky pulls off his shirt. He makes a quiet, hungry sound in the back of his throat, and if Bucky wasn't sinking down against him again you can bet Steve would be pulling him close. Both arms go around his back, blunt nails pressing and scratching gently against his skin, and he kisses him like he's starved for it.]
You are everything I want. [He gasps against his cheek. Seventy years ago he would have shied away from that kind of sweet-talk, that blatantly tender reassurance. It would have sounded too much like being coddled and looked after, which was always something Steve fought in his scrawny, sickly days. Not today, though. Not when it's coming from Bucky's lips.] You're here. How'd I get so goddamn lucky?
[There's something he definitely likes about putting Steve on his back like this. It's only a small part the power of the position, real or perceived, and mostly for the vantage point it gives him: Steve sprawled out against his bed, long limbs and broad muscle and a gaze that seems locked on Bucky. He could get lost in those blue eyes, easily so. Maybe he already has.
If so, he doesn't mind it, not one bit.
Hands linger against skin, noting how warm, how smooth. How Steve responds to his touch. How Bucky just wants to touch him even more, wants to spend a whole lot of time touching him. They have all morning; they have all day. And hopefully they have the next day and the one after that and the one after that one as well, because Bucky doesn't think he'll be done with this any time soon.
He can't lean in fast enough, can't let Steve pull him close fast enough. One kiss, two kisses, three, four— Bucky loses track of how many times their lips part for quickly-caught breaths only to come back together again. Kissing Steve is just so damn addictive, especially when it comes with all that warm skin against his own, those hands pressing against his back to encourage him closer. Bucky wants to be very close indeed, wants to explore everything of Steve's shape in every way they can.]
As I recall— [there's a smirk crawling its way across his lips, that's always a sign of mischief] —it had something to do with some punk who thought it'd be funny to put magnets all over my arm.
[Bucky of course is going to treasure those magnets for a long, long time.]
[He's not a virgin, Steve, but it's been a long time, and his encounters have been few and far between. Small wonder that he's a bit overwhelmed, then, and the idea of just putting himself in Bucky's hands--just letting things happen--is a compelling idea. He'd like to talk, to tell Bucky how sweet and safe and good it feels, and how he's daydreamed about this, without ever really seriously considering the possibility. The words don't seem to want to form, though, between kisses and gentle touches, and Steve is reduced to soft 'ahh's and 'ohh's and trying to convey what he'd feeling with body language.
His body is pretty expressive, though, so maybe that's not so bad. He arches and shivers, and his hands explore Bucky's back and chest in return, fingers kneading gently at knotted muscle.]
Mmnh. [He grins up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure, and curls one leg around his, at knee level.] I wasn't sure they'd stick, y'know. I gotta bunch of unicorn stickers in my desk drawer, as backup.
[He kisses under his chin, nuzzles, and murmurs:] With glitter.
[Steve doesn't need to talk, not really. His sighs speak entire sentences; there are paragraphs in the shifting of his body. Bucky lets his touch linger wherever it seems to feel the best, exploring Steve's form with no small amount of interest. He hadn't been joking earlier; Steve is gorgeous. And like this, when he's all soft sighs and quiet little shivers, he's entirely out of this world.
The fact that he's responding with his own touches, with the wandering of his hands, does so many things for Bucky. And with how close they are, with the fact that Steve's already moving to tangle their legs? Steve can probably tell what kind of things it's doing for Bucky.
Still, that teasing challenge cannot go unanswered.]
If I wake up covered in glitter unicorns, you'd best be sure that you hide that shield of yours. And that uniform. There's a thing called a bedazzler.
[The threat is probably ruined by the way he breaks into a grin afterwards, by how Bucky pulls Steve into another kiss because there's no such thing as too many kisses. There's also no such thing as too much contact between them, or too much touching, or too much of anything, really. Bucky just wants more: more of Steve, and more of exploring the shape of this thing between them.]
[How is this really happening, after so many years of wanting and denying and losing? It's almost surreal. Maybe Steve's just snapped, finally, and he's hallucinating this. Maybe he's died and gone to Heaven. Maybe Bucky's some kind of angel, the guardian he never asked for and probably doesn't deserve.
He cradles Bucky's cheek in one palm, thumb stroking the line of his jaw, feeling the brush of stubble growing out there, pressing softly against the throb of his pulse along the side of his neck.]
Shut your gob, Barnes. Unicorns are amazing. You'd be lucky to have glitter unicorns as your mascot. [It's delivered with pauses for breath, a couple soft whines, and an utter lack of bite to the teasing. Steve's higher brain function is fading out already; all he wants is to touch and be touched and never let go, and fails to recognize the threat to his shield.]
The hell's a bedazzler? [He asks because he feels he should. He does not care about the answer, as evidenced by the fact that his fingertips move to caress across Bucky's lower lip, lingering like he can't take his eyes off of his mouth.]
Bucky...oh, god, Buck, d'you even know how beautiful you are?
You’re really passionate about glitter unicorns you know.
[Because even in the midst of whatever this is that they’re starting, there’s room for affectionate teasing. Sure it’s a little breathless and sure even Bucky is starting to sigh softly with every touch they trade, but he’s also not going to miss an opportunity to dig at Steve a little. What kind of a friend would he be if he just let these opportunities pass by?
He does make a mental note however to introduce Steve to the bedazzler. Later. Maybe. If he remembers.
He leans into Steve’s touch, the warmth at his cheek. The affection in the gesture. The desire he sees in every look, feels in every touch. Why have they waited so long for this? Bucky’s not sure but he does know it’s a mistake he means to correct right now.
The world better not need Captain America today, because Bucky means to be very, very selfish.
Hands firm at Steve’s sides he drags his fingers up, pressing enough to feel the bump of each rib. Then his touch curves over Steve’s pectorals, palms flattening to really enjoy the breadth of his chest. Gorgeous doesn’t even really begin to describe him.
And of course, he can’t help the quiet laugh when Steve voices the same. His smile curls against Steve’s fingertips.] I only got eyes for you, pal.
[And because he’s not only a tease but also starting to really want, Bucky’s tongue flicks out, curling against Steve’s fingers, a precursor to his lips closing around the digits. His eyes are glued to Steve’s, watching his reactions to see if this is something that’s welcome and wanted and good.]
I'm passionate about everything, [Steve says in a momentary burst of honest self-analysis. He is, he really is. Everything he feels, he feels with such a deep and dire importance it's a wonder his pre-serum body could contain it all. It's also what gets him into trouble, nine times out of ten. Before Project Rebirth, he was held together with passion and stubbornness. Now, it's a fuel that continues to fire his quadruple-speed metabolism.]
Y'wanna see how passionate I am? Oh-hh! [His eyes widen at that lick, then flutter closed when Bucky sucks on his fingertip, utterly lost with just that little gesture. His free hand drops to clutch at Bucky's thigh, hips arching up toward him out of pure instinct.]
...oh god. You sure--is this okay? I wanna--I really like that, Bucky.
no worries at all, seriously! I don't mind waiting for you
I know. [And Bucky's smile says that he clearly enjoys that passion. It's what had dragged them into many an alleyway fight, what had bolstered them through hard times on the front in Europe. It's what had fueled their morning fun, from magnets and poetry to pancakes and doing their best to make a mess of the couch. And it's what fuels the way Steve looks at him now, eyes deep and mesmerizing like he's trying to draw Bucky right in.
Bucky has no problem falling into that gaze, falling into Steve.]
Yeah, I do. I definitely do. [Bucky keeps his gaze locked on Steve, because he's instigating and he knows he's instigating and he's really, really hoping that Steve's on board with escalating. Judging from the movement of his friend's hips? He's guessed right. He rolls his own hips with the motion and it's nice, it's good, he could really get used to moving like this together and he lets his tongue swirl around Steve's fingers, sucking hard before pulling off with a wet pop.]
Steve. [His voice is quiet but intense, reflecting the earnestness in his expression. There's almost nothing left of hesitation, because this is Steve and sure it's been a while, but what better way to figure things out than together?] Stop holding back. I want this. I want you.
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The fact that Steve doesn’t seem to mind pressing even closer? That’s so good, warm in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He welcomes the tangling of their legs even further, would hook his own higher on Steve’s hip if their positioning on the couch was suited to it. But it’s not and there’s no sense in moving just for that, not when he can trade kisses back and forth just like this until they need to break away to catch their breath.
Those words surprise him though. He knows Steve’s not completely innocent, but he still hadn’t expected it. He’s still getting used to the idea that Steve could, that Steve does want him.]
I don’t know if I’m ready for it. [It’s not just sex; it’s Steve. That makes all the difference.] I want to be, you have no idea how much I want you, but... We need to figure it out.
[For right now though? Kissing. Kissing is fine; kissing is more than fine. Kissing is definitely a thing that Bucky wants more of, drawing Steve in again, parting his lips to welcome the other man to explore. Faintly he wonders when Steve got so damn good at this but decides a moment later that it doesn’t matter, that it’s Steve and right now the only one he seems to want to kiss is Bucky, and Bucky wants to show him exactly how he likes to be kissed.]
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It's strange and a little sad to feel the smooth metal plates stroking his cheekbone, but it's still Bucky. And on the other side, there's that familiar callused thumb and warm palm.]
We have all the time in the world, Buck. You don't have to be ready, there's no rush. [Steve isn't sure how ready he is. Upstairs brain isn't sure, that is. Downstairs brain doesn't require nearly so much nuanced thought to make a decision.] It's just good to be like this...
[He trails off and sinks into another kiss gladly. It feels like they're moving slow, underwater, but it's warm, comforting water, not like plunging into chilly rivers together. And they can breathe, against one another's skin.]
"upstairs brain" and "downstairs brain" is the greatest thing i have read all day
Really, his body is screaming at him to touch a lot more, to explore more in the way their legs tangle so easily, more of what Steve pressed against him could mean.
Time. They have time.]
Just don't stop kissing me.
[Because he might, just a little bit, be somewhat addicted to the way Steve tastes, to the way he kisses, to the warm, solid weight pressing him down into the couch cushions. He lets his hands wander, finally, one sliding up to sink into Steve's hair and the other tracing down the side of his jaw, his throat, to linger at his collarbone and finally slip to his chest. He could feel the warmth of the other man through his shirt and it was something so very alluring.]
haha, thank you!
Except then Steve does give a muffled moan, tilting his head to allow the touch down the side of his neck. He's got goosebumps from it. And for all that they're both protesting they're not ready, they don't seem to be putting the brakes on yet, either.
He nips at Bucky's lower lip, runs his tongue along the curve gently, and then nuzzles into the crook of his neck like he just wants to hold and be held for a moment.]
I just wanna be close to you. [He murmurs, breathless.] Doesn't matter if we're making out or what, I just need this. Okay? You can touch me wherever you want.
[He's having a hard time thinking of a better way to spend his day, now that the option of just snuggling and kissing Bucky for the next few hours appears to have arisen.]
♥!
Then again they've been dancing around this forever, haven't they? Gay chicken or something like it; maybe they're just so used to leaning against those barriers that it's natural to do so even laying together on the couch with their legs tangled. But that little nip at his lip delights him, earns Steve a bright shock of laughter and Bucky tilts his head so that Steve has more room to burrow against his neck.
He likes that. He really likes that.]
I'll stay as close as you want. [It's an easy promise to make, as easy as breathing, as easy as this thing between them. His hand shifts around to Steve's back, carefully traces his shape from shoulder blade to waist.] That is a hell of an offer to drop in my lap you know. Gonna be honest with you Steve, I could touch you all over.
[Because with Steve pressed against and tangled with him like this, with the temptation of him being so close, with permission freely given? With the fact that they haven't really put the brakes on since they shared that first kiss? It'd be so easy to drive things further. And that might not be off the table, for all that they've said it is. But it also doesn't need to happen right now, not when he's more than content to spend the bulk of the morning in the pursuit of molding the couch cushions to their shape.]
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Steve is going to take this as a challenge, then. He'll come up with some other game to wake Bucky up with, tomorrow or the next day. Nerf guns or water balloons, out of season Easter Egg hunts, whatever it takes to get a laugh or a kiss or both. This is his new project.
Meanwhile, he's taking Bucky at his word, sliding to the side a little so he's not squashing his chest, but without allowing much more space between them. They're a pile of long, overly-muscled limbs and they're pushing some of the cushions aside by this point. It's great.]
Yeah? Anything in particular you want a closer look at? [Steve laughs; he can't help pushing his luck this way, but he's also very comfortable in the chaos they've made of the sofa.]
Might be safer to keep it above the waist, if we're taking it slow. I guess I could let you up...
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For someone who still has nightmares on the regular, it's no small matter.
But right now is for shifting around on the poor, abused couch, cushions and pillows knocked askew by two men who are really probably a bit too big to be doing this. That kind of makes it perfect though, because it's a little bit silly and a lot bit fun.]
Uh, all of you? [Well, duh is what his tone of voice says, but Bucky's smile is gentle.] Steve, I don't know if you know this, but you're gorgeous.
[Keeping it above the waist is definitely a smart idea though; as it is Bucky's already very tempted just by how they're currently laying close. But he does slide a hand back to Steve's waist, gives a gentle squeeze.]
Or we could just wiggle around here together. I don't think I want to get up.
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But now it's an advantage to need and want less sleep. It means he can keep an eye on Bucky (from a distance; no one wants to wake up from a bad dream and find their friend staring at them from the doorway), and Steve finds the knowledge that Bucky is safe in the next room, even if he's twitchy and wakeful, deeply reassuring. It's almost too bad he doesn't snore. Steve would happily doze to that sound.]
Thanks. [He blushes a little, grinning.] I'd pass along the compliment to Erskine if I could.
[That could sound bitter, but it most comes out matter-of-fact. The serum didn't change his face much, but it sure reshaped the rest of him.
He laughs.] Pal, if you do too much wiggling around here, taking things slow is going to fly right out the window. I'm just letting you know.
[Because they're all tangled together, and Steve's groin is about at the level of Bucky's hip, and there's a distinct possibility of having to break for a cold shower if they keep at this for long enough.] But I don't want to get up, either.
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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.
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He trusts that. And maybe sooner or later, so will Bucky himself.
The hands cradling his face make him blink and focus in dreamily on Bucky's face. It's a little slice of Heaven to be safe and warm against him, to be handled with affection and given lingering, sweet kisses. Some of his higher brain functions might be shutting down, as much with the feeling of comfort and satisfaction as libido.]
Bucky...that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time. [Deep down, he's still that cranky, reckless little guy whose lungs betrayed him every winter and who couldn't step away from a fight to save his life. It's just that there are a few layers on top of that now, too; layers of muscle, responsibility, and issues. No one in the world except the guy in his arms right now has the capacity to see all of it at once.
He kisses him back, slow and deep as if he's trying to express his emotions that way, but a moment later he's chuckling again, because the cushions are sliding out from under him, and he's sinking into the space between them and the back of the sofa, and it reminds him of pillow and blanket forts he and Bucky built when they were boys.
He props himself up a little, flushed and smiling, and starts to squirm out of his shirt.] Yeah? How big is this part of yours?
[He's playing with fire, maybe, but it's not like Bucky hasn't seen him shirtless before. He lets the discarded fabric hang over the arm of the sofa and sinks back into the other man with a sigh, half lust, half contentment.]
Anyway, do you want bed, or should we be building a blanket fort to make out in? We're getting the cushions all over the place, anyway.
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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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The thing is, Steve doesn't think so. He thinks they belong, always have, always will. He couldn't imagine life without Bucky. Oh, he could trudge through it and get things done, could even smile and laugh and make friends he would give his life for, but there was always going to be a piece subtly lacking. Like a color suddenly went missing from the rainbow.
His heart and soul hunger for Bucky. There are things about himself Steve can't change, serum or no, and that's the biggest one of them.
He blushes a little at the look on Bucky's face when he discards his shirt, and honestly, Steve is anything but vain, even now, but he almost wants to preen under that gaze. It wouldn't work with anyone else; it wouldn't feel like they were looking at him. Bucky is different. He sees right through him.]
Oh, god, Buck... [He's breathless, and now that the suggestion has been made he's not going to be able to get it out of his head.] I...your bed? Can we?
[It shouldn't matter. They both have the same goddamn bed. The only difference is the color of the sheets (Steve's are blue, and some smartass got him a faux-patchwork quilt with an Americana theme to it). But Bucky's bed is, well, Bucky's bed and even after seven decades there are some fantasies that are hard to shake, and impossible to turn down when they're offered.]
Fuck it. Whatever happens...let's just let it happen. [He pulls himself up and offers Bucky his hands, as if he needed the help to rise.]
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They fit like Bucky's hands curving to trace Steve's shape, gliding over smooth warm skin and exploring the contours of muscle. And it's not just about how the serum changed his friend, not just about the physical shape he now takes. It's about the intimacy of exploring that shape, about learning how he fits against Bucky's own body, about discovering each other through the rapidly diminishing space between them. It's about breaking the last of their barriers, about showing each other those indelible marks that life has made on them and the harder to see marks that they're renewing on each other's souls.
It might be an overly romantic notion, but he kind of likes it.
And Bucky really, really likes the way Steve's voice has gone a little thready with desire — a feeling that matches what's growing in Bucky himself.]
Yeah. Yeah, we can. [His smile curls slow and lazy and genuine as the idea fully takes hold. Steve in his bed? It's more attractive than it has a right to be. And Bucky wonders if it's a place he should've allowed Steve from the very start.
The hands held out though, that's special and Bucky slips his own hands into Steve's, lets his friend pull him up off the couch. Sure, he doesn't strictly need the help (despite the best efforts of the couch cushions to swallow him whole!), but he wants it, just as much as he wants his hands to always be in Steve's. Plus, it gives him the chance to tuck in close and kiss Steve until they're both smiling like fools again.
Letting whatever happens just happen? That sounds like the best idea in the world to him right now. It's what has Bucky tugging at Steve's hands, pulling him in the direction of his bedroom — which is not that different from Steve's, truth be told: nearly identical furniture, a muted color palette of greys and black (and absent the Americana quilt that a certain smartass still snickers about). But it's a space in which he's become comfortable, a space into which he wants to invite Steve.
Unless Steve has other intentions Bucky's planning on tugging him right up to the side of the bed, planning on sitting down and looking up at his friend with affection and a smile shining in his eyes.] Join me?
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But pleasure? Pleasure has new, variant textures and colors that he's barely had a chance to record and categorize in his head. He closes his eyes when Bucky's hands slide over his torso, and he can almost envision them leaving a blaze of color across his skin in their wake, gold and violet and searing pink like a sunset, and it radiates from skin to muscle and down to the bone. And even after the caresses stop and Bucky's talking to him again, Steve can still almost feel the prints of his fingers on his chest.
The kissing just layers more sensation on top of sensation. He thinks he might be glowing as they head into the bedroom. Bucky's space is furnished in neutral, dark tones; Steve has a moment, hilariously, where he envisions everything shifting into blazing colors as they sink onto the bed. Like in the Wizard of Oz.
Christ, Bucky's eyes are beautiful.]
You don't have to ask me twice. [He doesn't want to push too far, doesn't want to rush, but the eager insistence with which he flings himself into Bucky's arms again might just knock them both flat onto the sheets.]
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Whatever it is, it's a gross oversight now corrected because the smile that Steve gets when he asks him to join Bucky? That smile is amazing.]
I'm gonna ask you a hundred times, just to hear you say yes again.
[Bucky is most certainly strong enough to have kept his seat, but why could he possibly want to? When he has Steve all but pouncing him the only course of action is to fall back, pulling his partner close and laughing freely, happily. He wants this, in whatever shape it takes, wherever they decide to go with each other. And knowing that Steve seems to feel the same is so freeing.
Taking it slow doesn't seem quite as appealing as when they'd started, especially not with a shirtless Steve in his bed. It seems like an excellent time for some good-natured wrestling, an attempt to put Steve on his back so that Bucky can explore that beautifully bared torso in earnest.]
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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...
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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—
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His eyes light up at the tease, and he catches his breath quietly at the flirt--or is it a promise? He hopes so. And he hopes it isn't possible to die of sheer joy, because if it is, he's not going to last out the day. That first sigh is followed by another hitching gulp of air, and Steve's eyelashes flutter closed, only to open again as Bucky pulls off his shirt. He makes a quiet, hungry sound in the back of his throat, and if Bucky wasn't sinking down against him again you can bet Steve would be pulling him close. Both arms go around his back, blunt nails pressing and scratching gently against his skin, and he kisses him like he's starved for it.]
You are everything I want. [He gasps against his cheek. Seventy years ago he would have shied away from that kind of sweet-talk, that blatantly tender reassurance.
It would have sounded too much like being coddled and looked after, which was always something Steve fought in his scrawny, sickly days. Not today, though. Not when it's coming from Bucky's lips.] You're here. How'd I get so goddamn lucky?
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If so, he doesn't mind it, not one bit.
Hands linger against skin, noting how warm, how smooth. How Steve responds to his touch. How Bucky just wants to touch him even more, wants to spend a whole lot of time touching him. They have all morning; they have all day. And hopefully they have the next day and the one after that and the one after that one as well, because Bucky doesn't think he'll be done with this any time soon.
He can't lean in fast enough, can't let Steve pull him close fast enough. One kiss, two kisses, three, four— Bucky loses track of how many times their lips part for quickly-caught breaths only to come back together again. Kissing Steve is just so damn addictive, especially when it comes with all that warm skin against his own, those hands pressing against his back to encourage him closer. Bucky wants to be very close indeed, wants to explore everything of Steve's shape in every way they can.]
As I recall— [there's a smirk crawling its way across his lips, that's always a sign of mischief] —it had something to do with some punk who thought it'd be funny to put magnets all over my arm.
[Bucky of course is going to treasure those magnets for a long, long time.]
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His body is pretty expressive, though, so maybe that's not so bad. He arches and shivers, and his hands explore Bucky's back and chest in return, fingers kneading gently at knotted muscle.]
Mmnh. [He grins up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure, and curls one leg around his, at knee level.] I wasn't sure they'd stick, y'know. I gotta bunch of unicorn stickers in my desk drawer, as backup.
[He kisses under his chin, nuzzles, and murmurs:] With glitter.
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The fact that he's responding with his own touches, with the wandering of his hands, does so many things for Bucky. And with how close they are, with the fact that Steve's already moving to tangle their legs? Steve can probably tell what kind of things it's doing for Bucky.
Still, that teasing challenge cannot go unanswered.]
If I wake up covered in glitter unicorns, you'd best be sure that you hide that shield of yours. And that uniform. There's a thing called a bedazzler.
[The threat is probably ruined by the way he breaks into a grin afterwards, by how Bucky pulls Steve into another kiss because there's no such thing as too many kisses. There's also no such thing as too much contact between them, or too much touching, or too much of anything, really. Bucky just wants more: more of Steve, and more of exploring the shape of this thing between them.]
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He cradles Bucky's cheek in one palm, thumb stroking the line of his jaw, feeling the brush of stubble growing out there, pressing softly against the throb of his pulse along the side of his neck.]
Shut your gob, Barnes. Unicorns are amazing. You'd be lucky to have glitter unicorns as your mascot. [It's delivered with pauses for breath, a couple soft whines, and an utter lack of bite to the teasing. Steve's higher brain function is fading out already; all he wants is to touch and be touched and never let go, and fails to recognize the threat to his shield.]
The hell's a bedazzler? [He asks because he feels he should. He does not care about the answer, as evidenced by the fact that his fingertips move to caress across Bucky's lower lip, lingering like he can't take his eyes off of his mouth.]
Bucky...oh, god, Buck, d'you even know how beautiful you are?
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[Because even in the midst of whatever this is that they’re starting, there’s room for affectionate teasing. Sure it’s a little breathless and sure even Bucky is starting to sigh softly with every touch they trade, but he’s also not going to miss an opportunity to dig at Steve a little. What kind of a friend would he be if he just let these opportunities pass by?
He does make a mental note however to introduce Steve to the bedazzler. Later. Maybe. If he remembers.
He leans into Steve’s touch, the warmth at his cheek. The affection in the gesture. The desire he sees in every look, feels in every touch. Why have they waited so long for this? Bucky’s not sure but he does know it’s a mistake he means to correct right now.
The world better not need Captain America today, because Bucky means to be very, very selfish.
Hands firm at Steve’s sides he drags his fingers up, pressing enough to feel the bump of each rib. Then his touch curves over Steve’s pectorals, palms flattening to really enjoy the breadth of his chest. Gorgeous doesn’t even really begin to describe him.
And of course, he can’t help the quiet laugh when Steve voices the same. His smile curls against Steve’s fingertips.] I only got eyes for you, pal.
[And because he’s not only a tease but also starting to really want, Bucky’s tongue flicks out, curling against Steve’s fingers, a precursor to his lips closing around the digits. His eyes are glued to Steve’s, watching his reactions to see if this is something that’s welcome and wanted and good.]
again with the lag; I apologize
Y'wanna see how passionate I am? Oh-hh! [His eyes widen at that lick, then flutter closed when Bucky sucks on his fingertip, utterly lost with just that little gesture. His free hand drops to clutch at Bucky's thigh, hips arching up toward him out of pure instinct.]
...oh god. You sure--is this okay? I wanna--I really like that, Bucky.
no worries at all, seriously! I don't mind waiting for you
Bucky has no problem falling into that gaze, falling into Steve.]
Yeah, I do. I definitely do. [Bucky keeps his gaze locked on Steve, because he's instigating and he knows he's instigating and he's really, really hoping that Steve's on board with escalating. Judging from the movement of his friend's hips? He's guessed right. He rolls his own hips with the motion and it's nice, it's good, he could really get used to moving like this together and he lets his tongue swirl around Steve's fingers, sucking hard before pulling off with a wet pop.]
Steve. [His voice is quiet but intense, reflecting the earnestness in his expression. There's almost nothing left of hesitation, because this is Steve and sure it's been a while, but what better way to figure things out than together?] Stop holding back. I want this. I want you.
you're lovely
♥!
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