It was one thing to believe that the kiss would be accepted and another to have Bucky enthusiastically pressing their bodies close and attacking his mouth. Steve moans, muffled, as his back hits the cabinet and lust shoots through him like a gunshot. His hands grip Bucky's hips hard, keeping them flush. From there it's just a turn of his body to push off from the cabinet and rotate toward the opposite wall.

It gives a dangerous groaning noise as Steve uses more strength than is wise to shove Bucky against it. As long as it holds he doesn't care. He barely even notices the plaster that cracks off through the haze of desperate need. All he cares about is the feel of Bucky's lips beneath his own and the hard body that Steve knows as well as his own but somehow still has new and exciting things to discover.

Like how their hips are about the same height, now. How pushing forward lights up Steve's entire body with pleasure. And how, with a man, you can use that contact to gauge progress. Interest. Steve is getting harder himself and it's enough to make him light-headed to not be the only one.

He breaks to breathe but only barely and even then his mouth is biting and kissing against Bucky's throat. Part of Steve is worried if he stops then they both might realize this is a mistake. So stopping just can't happen. Thinking can barely happen. Each time his mind drifts it's to notice the familiar scent of Bucky's wartime pomade or the feel of cheaper uniform fabric.

He crushes their lips back together and scratches at Bucky's shirt to try and get underneath it. If it rips open then so be it.