The safe thing to do is slip from Steve’s hands. Keeps his own hands to himself. Maybe focus on getting supplies or getting some shut eye: Lord knows GI’s get as much sleep as they do proper coffee. Right now he’s not even sure he can remember how to do any of that. Not when Steve’s here, looking like something out of Bucky’s darkest dreams when his gaze drops and Bucky knows, just knows his friend’s gaze went to his lips.
Once Bucky’s breath catches, it’s like he doesn’t dare draw more than a shallow inhale through parted lips - like anything more’ll ruin the moment like chucking a rock into a lake. The air feels still, so still, when Steve draws Bucky closer, and Bucky? He goes with it, as if Steve’s finally learned how to actually take lead in a dance without crushing his partner’s feet and of course, Bucky will follow. He’s drawn up close, far closer than they ever had when Bucky did try to teach him how to dance.
Really, he’d only tried to save his future date’s feet. That’s all. Really. Bucky never taught him a slow-dance, up close and personal, and that’s almost what this feels like. Like they got a mind of his own, Bucky’s hands slip up along the swell of hard biceps to wind around broad shoulders as he looks up into blue eyes that drown out everything else in this FUBARed mess. Only an inch apart, they could be swaying to the slow, tinny thrum of a record player back home.
“Well, keeping you safe’s practically a full-time job. Serum’s evened the playing field some,” Relief flickers across Bucky’s face. At least something good came from what happened to him. Idly, his fingers comb absently with the strands of Steve’s hair at the nape of neck as if noting the difference from back home; even out in the front, Steve’d never let it grow even a shade too long.
Steve can’t keep him safe for what’s coming. And Bucky’s not gonna make it worse on insisting he can, so he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky’s mouth quirks into a bittersweet smile that flickers into something tinged with the shock of desire that lances through him at the press of Steve’s hand to his lower back. Bucky sucks in a sharp,startled gasp the next moment. Bucky sways on their feet a little, as if to press himself to close the gap, and his nails scrape dully along the nape of Steve’s neck next as Steve drags his fingertips in a tease up and down his spine.
This isn’t something everyday pals did. It’s not something Bucky can explain off later to himself, just as he can’t explain why he’s not stopping himself. Bucky always figured Steve had it bad for Peggy, and yet here they are; Bucky might have done the stupid thing and fooled around with the pretty bartender, but the real thing is so much better.
Bucky’s gaze drifts to Steve’s mouth, at the dark hair framing it, biting his own lower lip: would it feel soft, tinged with the coarse itch from the beard? How would Steve kiss these days?
“Me, some schmoe hanging the stars? Pal, you might as well hung the sun with the way I followed you around,” Bucky whispers, a thumb tracing slow circles along Steve's nape. “You’re one in a million, not me."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-04-22 04:20 am (UTC)Once Bucky’s breath catches, it’s like he doesn’t dare draw more than a shallow inhale through parted lips - like anything more’ll ruin the moment like chucking a rock into a lake. The air feels still, so still, when Steve draws Bucky closer, and Bucky? He goes with it, as if Steve’s finally learned how to actually take lead in a dance without crushing his partner’s feet and of course, Bucky will follow. He’s drawn up close, far closer than they ever had when Bucky did try to teach him how to dance.
Really, he’d only tried to save his future date’s feet. That’s all. Really. Bucky never taught him a slow-dance, up close and personal, and that’s almost what this feels like. Like they got a mind of his own, Bucky’s hands slip up along the swell of hard biceps to wind around broad shoulders as he looks up into blue eyes that drown out everything else in this FUBARed mess. Only an inch apart, they could be swaying to the slow, tinny thrum of a record player back home.
“Well, keeping you safe’s practically a full-time job. Serum’s evened the playing field some,” Relief flickers across Bucky’s face. At least something good came from what happened to him. Idly, his fingers comb absently with the strands of Steve’s hair at the nape of neck as if noting the difference from back home; even out in the front, Steve’d never let it grow even a shade too long.
Steve can’t keep him safe for what’s coming. And Bucky’s not gonna make it worse on insisting he can, so he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky’s mouth quirks into a bittersweet smile that flickers into something tinged with the shock of desire that lances through him at the press of Steve’s hand to his lower back. Bucky sucks in a sharp,startled gasp the next moment. Bucky sways on their feet a little, as if to press himself to close the gap, and his nails scrape dully along the nape of Steve’s neck next as Steve drags his fingertips in a tease up and down his spine.
This isn’t something everyday pals did. It’s not something Bucky can explain off later to himself, just as he can’t explain why he’s not stopping himself. Bucky always figured Steve had it bad for Peggy, and yet here they are; Bucky might have done the stupid thing and fooled around with the pretty bartender, but the real thing is so much better.
Bucky’s gaze drifts to Steve’s mouth, at the dark hair framing it, biting his own lower lip: would it feel soft, tinged with the coarse itch from the beard? How would Steve kiss these days?
“Me, some schmoe hanging the stars? Pal, you might as well hung the sun with the way I followed you around,” Bucky whispers, a thumb tracing slow circles along Steve's nape. “You’re one in a million, not me."