worldwar: (22)
Steve Rogers ([personal profile] worldwar) wrote in [community profile] allmymuscles 2015-02-15 03:24 am (UTC)

[ Bucky's fingers curve over his cheek and Steve's heart gives a little thump beneath his ribs, painful and loving. For a moment he just covers Bucky's hand with his, those heavy metal fingers with his long, slender ones, holding them cupped against the side of his face as they gaze at one another, and Steve is so sorry, he wishes Bucky knew how sorry he is for scaring him. There's nothing more in the world he wants than to be the source of Bucky's joy and pleasure, to make every day that comes so much sweeter than the ones they left behind them.

Then at last he lets go, shifting on the mattress to get his knees under him; he strips his shirt up over his head, first, and now Bucky can see that the flush of arousal in his skin goes down his throat and his collar and his chest, that he's breathing harder just because Bucky's near him. He opens his belt and drops his pants, his color deepening when it exposes him already starting to get hard, already wanting.

He kicks his clothes off the side of his bed and shuffles a little closer to the edge of the mattress, closer to Bucky, gazing up at him. Steve's eyes are steady. He wants to reach for his friend again, wants to pull him near, hold onto him tight. ]
Gonna punish me now, Buck?

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