Bucky’s breath catches and holds there when Steve’s hands find and settle on his waist; a strong touch curled there as easy and as thoughtless as blinking, it’s like Steve’s drawn just as much as Bucky’s drawn to Steve. Bucky’s hands spread along thick forearms, as if maybe to steady himself or remind himself it’s not all some dream. Steve runs hotter than Bucky does, even in whatever future this is.
“I don’t want anyone looking at me funny or turning me into some kinda lab rat. Again,” Bucky tacks on, distracted. “So at least I’m not gonna turn into Schmidt.”
Bucky trails off. It’s not the first time Steve’s touched him. Before Steve rolled in as Cap, neither of them were shy about it. A rough hug or shove or sprawled out on a hot afternoon on each other, too bored and hot to do anything else. But this might as well be the first time. This is something closer, something like you would a doll you were sweet on. A kind of careless touch at her shoulders or lower back. Bucky’s gaze slide downwards towards his fingers spread along Steve’s arms, feeling the play of muscle underneath, while his heart thuds a little faster as Steve traces circles against his shirt.
Bucky’s throat bobs, against the dangerous thrill that he’s always tried to stamp down twists downwards. Don’t ruin this, Barnes, Bucky thinks desperately. And then, almost like he can squash the guilt out; Besides, anyone’s gonna get funny after a dry spell. Not like there’s time for anything else but Rosie between missions
Bucky barely had interest in jerking one off these days anyway. Too beat, too anxious, too focused on what came next. But now…
He doesn’t make any move to step away or move Steve’s hands. Instead, he leans into the touch. Bucky, as if testing, slowly runs his hands along the length of Steve’s forearms even when Steve’s grip relaxes, but doesn’t let go; similar and different to the Steve back in his own time, this Steve feels rougher around the edges, more at home in his own body, but so tired and worn behind those baby blues that Bucky wants badly to hold him.
Bucky moistens his lips, grey eyes finding Steve’s. “So I keep you and the guys outta trouble better. Guess it’s good for something.”
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“I don’t want anyone looking at me funny or turning me into some kinda lab rat. Again,” Bucky tacks on, distracted. “So at least I’m not gonna turn into Schmidt.”
Bucky trails off. It’s not the first time Steve’s touched him. Before Steve rolled in as Cap, neither of them were shy about it. A rough hug or shove or sprawled out on a hot afternoon on each other, too bored and hot to do anything else. But this might as well be the first time. This is something closer, something like you would a doll you were sweet on. A kind of careless touch at her shoulders or lower back. Bucky’s gaze slide downwards towards his fingers spread along Steve’s arms, feeling the play of muscle underneath, while his heart thuds a little faster as Steve traces circles against his shirt.
Bucky’s throat bobs, against the dangerous thrill that he’s always tried to stamp down twists downwards. Don’t ruin this, Barnes, Bucky thinks desperately. And then, almost like he can squash the guilt out; Besides, anyone’s gonna get funny after a dry spell. Not like there’s time for anything else but Rosie between missions
Bucky barely had interest in jerking one off these days anyway. Too beat, too anxious, too focused on what came next. But now…
He doesn’t make any move to step away or move Steve’s hands. Instead, he leans into the touch. Bucky, as if testing, slowly runs his hands along the length of Steve’s forearms even when Steve’s grip relaxes, but doesn’t let go; similar and different to the Steve back in his own time, this Steve feels rougher around the edges, more at home in his own body, but so tired and worn behind those baby blues that Bucky wants badly to hold him.
Bucky moistens his lips, grey eyes finding Steve’s. “So I keep you and the guys outta trouble better. Guess it’s good for something.”