Sam was about as thankful for Steve's presence as he is chafing against it because it served as a damn good reminder of who he was, who Rumlow was and where they where. Three key points that scattered, just dissolved at touch of Rumlow's tongue to his wrist. He was glad because there was something preventing him from just losing it after months of keeping it together under a strain he had never truly recognized until now, shoving Rumlow with all his allure and the scent of him he needed against the wall and having him there. No one had taken care of him through his heat and not even in the sense of relieving it. He hadn't been there to deal with it and part of himself paced angry, incensed by that knowledge.

It wasn't who he wanted to be and he didn't know if he liked it at all, despite how right it'd felt a few moments ago.

Steve was looking between them, already having done his double-take at Rumlow's appearance and now Sam felt the weight of both of their eyes (Rumlow's flicking away too often) on him. Steve's more questioning, checking and to that he could only shake his head, reaching up and turning back on his comm link.

"West ward clear. Only one recovered. Heading back to the drop off with them."

Then wordlessly he snagged the zipper to his jacket and pulled it down, shrugging out of it to hand to Rumlow without another word. The need was bleeding through and since they couldn't do anything about that he could at least offer that for the both of their sanities.

Besides, desert nights were cold and that uniform was threadbare at best.