[ Steve wraps both hands around the arm Bucky's got curled around his waist, holding him steady, because he has to feel that, he has to feel that Bucky's got him, he's not letting him go. ] Not crying. [ There's a little hitch in his voice, his breath, and the parade floats are blurring in front of his eyes but he'll never admit it, too stubborn to admit it, and he couldn't stand it if Bucky stopped. The way he pushes into him again has Steve arching to his toes, his whole body lighting up with sensation, struggling to take his lover's thick, ridged cock. So much of Bucky, buried deep inside him--the people pressing in everywhere, the floats and confetti, bursts of color and swells of music--all of it is so much, too much, and he wants that, he wants to be lost to this, completely overwhelmed.
He trembles, holding tight to Bucky, pulling his hand to his lips and kissing his palm. ] Think I'd--think I'd cry over a punk like you? [ He pulls Bucky's arm around him again. Wraps himself in his lover like a favorite blanket, surrounding him, enveloping him. ] Not a chance.
[ He loves Bucky. He loves him so fiercely he'd die for him, give up anything for him, anywhere he wanted. ]
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He trembles, holding tight to Bucky, pulling his hand to his lips and kissing his palm. ] Think I'd--think I'd cry over a punk like you? [ He pulls Bucky's arm around him again. Wraps himself in his lover like a favorite blanket, surrounding him, enveloping him. ] Not a chance.
[ He loves Bucky. He loves him so fiercely he'd die for him, give up anything for him, anywhere he wanted. ]