"Yeah," the word came panted, breathless and a little desperately as their mouths found each other again, "yeah, please, Buck." Steve wasn't sure what he was agreeing to, to being safe with Bucky, to being touched by him, letting him feel and take everything and know himself safe in his friend's arms, all of it. He couldn't stop this now, could never stop: he wanted to feel Bucky's hands smoothing over his back, taking him in, taking his fill of him. He moved with Bucky, settling into the motions of his body so that they were rocking against one another, hips sliding together, one of his legs sliding between Bucky's knees. Kissing him blindly, kissing him breathless, and the desperation and loneliness he felt from his friend made Steve want to wrap him up and never let him go. He cradled the nape of his neck in one hand, and the other slid up under Bucky's shirt as though to mirror the way his friend touched him, exploring the contours of his abdomen, pushing his shirt up until his fingers slid over the curves of his pecs.

He made some low sound, a soft groan of wanting and surrender, brushing gently over one of Bucky's nipples; then he broke away from his mouth and dragged at his shirt until he could pull it up over Bucky's head. He quickly got rid of his own, too, settling back down against him with just bare skin and their jeans between them, touching him with reverent hands as they kissed again. "Bucky..."