His hands went down the length of Bucky's body and curved at his waist, tugging him closer in a way that felt both familiar and frightening, exhilarating. His friend grabbed at his shirt as though to hold him near and he made some low wordless sound, wanting to reassure him that he wasn't going anywhere and wanting never to be let go. "Good. I...you're safe with me." He said it low and earnestly, wanting so bad for Bucky to believe him. He deserved to be safe. Steve would give anything in the world to protect him: his life, his soul, anything.

He kissed him again with an undeniable urgency, raw and passionate, wanting, wanting Bucky's hands on him and this feeling of giving into him. Giving into something with a greater force than either of them possessed alone--it was gravitational, this pull, and wouldn't be refused. Steve lifted him up, heaved him into his arms almost effortlessly and carried him blindly until he could pin him back against the nearest surface, which was the couch in the living room, go down over him and shelter him like he wanted as they kissed. Bucky was his. Nothing would take him from Steve ever again; nothing would break them apart, unless it broke them both.