[ The sated, happy fog in Steve’s head almost dissipates for a split second as Bucky sits up, the words please don’t go on the tip of his tongue. But Bucky ain’t going anywhere, he’s just — taking off his shirt. Ah. Steve takes in the sight with a hazy appreciation, feeling heat and shame spark briefly in his stomach again at the sight of the mess he's made on Bucky's — on Bucky. He opens his mouth to maybe murmur an apology, but it turns into a surprised, pleased little purr instead, as Bucky uses the clothing to clean Steve up as well.
His heartbeat skips at the soft touches, and Steve follows Bucky's movements with a gaze brimming with trust and affection. It matches the ebb and flow of warmth inside him, like the afterglow of a cup of cider. There’s a tenderness in the way Bucky wipes him down that Steve doesn’t dare examine too closely, even loose-limbed and disoriented as he is. He knows now that he loves Bucky; there’s no reason to expect his feelings to be returned. Swallowing, he turns his attention to Bucky’s face again, trailing down the smooth line of his throat, his bare chest and the wide slope of his shoulders, the hard curves of his arms.
He lifts his gaze, meets Bucky’s without shying away this time. ]
You're so fuckin' beautiful.
[ Slurred and soft, as if he’s drunk on that alone instead of half a bottle of moonshine. Drunk on Bucky. He reaches out to skim shaking fingers across the back of Bucky's hand in a hesitant caress before loosely curling them around his wrist. A careful tug, a silent request for him to come down and cover Steve's body with his own. Steve isn’t even sure what he’ll do when he has Bucky close, what he wants — can’t think past simply needing him nearer, driven by something like instinct. ]
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His heartbeat skips at the soft touches, and Steve follows Bucky's movements with a gaze brimming with trust and affection. It matches the ebb and flow of warmth inside him, like the afterglow of a cup of cider. There’s a tenderness in the way Bucky wipes him down that Steve doesn’t dare examine too closely, even loose-limbed and disoriented as he is. He knows now that he loves Bucky; there’s no reason to expect his feelings to be returned. Swallowing, he turns his attention to Bucky’s face again, trailing down the smooth line of his throat, his bare chest and the wide slope of his shoulders, the hard curves of his arms.
He lifts his gaze, meets Bucky’s without shying away this time. ]
You're so fuckin' beautiful.
[ Slurred and soft, as if he’s drunk on that alone instead of half a bottle of moonshine. Drunk on Bucky. He reaches out to skim shaking fingers across the back of Bucky's hand in a hesitant caress before loosely curling them around his wrist. A careful tug, a silent request for him to come down and cover Steve's body with his own. Steve isn’t even sure what he’ll do when he has Bucky close, what he wants — can’t think past simply needing him nearer, driven by something like instinct. ]