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[In London they weren't expected to do more than return at curfew, but the cold air still tugged at him. It reminded him more than once of his time on the line when the temperatures dropped over night and all one could do was sleep as comfortably as possible in their slit trenches with the Moaning Minnies tittering the possibility of death upon them all. Cold nights those... sleepless nights. Always followed with the heat of the day in the Italian scrub lands.

He was keenly aware of Steve's proximity; the big man gave off heat like a fire at times and even now, he could feel the caress of it against his hands and cheeks. It hadn't yet penetrated his uniform and didn't particularly expect it to either. They'd be safe in their bunks soon enough, nestled down among similar men and yet so completely different from them.]

She seems nice enough. [It was a casual remark, the kind in Brooklyn he used to reserve his judgement on if it was worth pursuit. This time it meant he wasn't even considering it given how she fancied Steve. Never would to step on such a good opportunity, and he was perfectly comfortable setting aside their more... intimate time together for his friend to pursue such a welcomed future.

He reached out, catching Steve's uniform tie in his hand and began to lead them into the barracks and out of the direct cold. He knew his way to their bunks by heart, even in the dark, but his thumb rubbed the material like it would sometimes do to Steve's bare skin. He'd felt that skin on their trek back, his hands too cold and Steve's warm sides so plainly available.]

Do you like her, Steve?

I like you. Bucky --

[ Things don't change. Steve still charges blindly forward while Bucky considers all the angles and possibilities, while he reserves judgement and thinks of all the things that Steve doesn't contemplate. He is, after all, the more thoughtful one of them both; the charmer and America's sweetheart (albeit temporarily displaced). Bucky is the man who gets the girls, the one whom Steve has always held a torch for.

He lets himself be led by the tie into the barracks, and in the quiet darkness of the empty, tiny little space they both share (Steve had to do a lot of convincing for the others to let the both of them share an area together; and ultimately he had dug his heels in stubbornly). His hands had brushes over his often on the way here, as if Steve had thought of wanting to take his hand but never quite having the chance to.

What kind of a future does he have without Bucky? He'd caught a glimpse of it, bleak and dark and empty without his best friend's smile, and his heart clenches. He lowers his voice, soft and quiet so no one would overhear. He frowns. ] Peggy's a great lady, beautiful, too. You can't ask me that kind of question.

[Bucky was glad they were in the dark because it would have been obvious he was rolling his eyes otherwise. Of course Steve liked him; the blond had risked life, limb, and new-found rank to run across enemy territory to rescue him from HYDRA. There was never any doubt in his mind that Steve cared very much for him, but the question was not of him (in his mind anyway), but of a future with Agent Carter.

They had a small spot just off to the main barracks, though he had no idea how Steve had gotten it. Perhaps trading in that officer's room for one among the common man had some weight? Either way, the military was convinced and they had their own spot even if it was a hop, skip and a jump to the rest of the men.]

I'm your best friend and that gives me certain rights to ask you anything I want. [Even in the dark, he flipped head back to grin at Steve as he pulled the blond into their small shared space.] It's not even a complicated question, Stevie. You either like her or you don't.

[ He swears he can almost hear that eye-roll, because it's so Bucky that it makes him smile in return despite himself. He's happy to come with him, and he's pressing Bucky up against the wall of the small space; he's done it before when he'd been much smaller and he knew that Bucky was just letting him have his way.

This way feels different. Good, but different. He can see him better now, take him in greedily; the sharpness of those green eyes -- he had never been able to place the color of Bucky's eyes until now; he'd been effectively colorblind before this. He's even more beautiful to him now, this man cast in sharp contrasts that makes his breath catch. ]

I do. Very much. [ He admits quietly. ] But not quite in the way I feel for you. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Edited 2015-12-05 11:33 (UTC)

[It wasn't the first time that Steve had crowded him to a wall, and he doubted that it would ever be the last. Normally it was a small bony sharp-angled body that shouldered him against a wall and he allowed it because he could rest his arms on Steve's narrow shoulders while they worked out whatever it was that made the determined little mite put him there in the first place. Now was plainly different given that Steve was both taller and wider at the shoulders than he was, and he felt like he disappeared behind the blond.

There was a sense that he was going to actually have to stay exactly where he was until Steve deemed it worthwhile to let him slip out. Their bunks were nearby he knew, but in the darkness, it seemed like the room was gaping around them. He instead settled back against the wall, turning his head to peer through the darkness at Steve's face, his fingers still stroking the blond's tie.]

I suppose that depends how you feel about me, Rogers. For one, you have a future with her: marriage, kids, a nice house. You want that, don't you?

Or I could die out in the field. That can happen.

[ Steve points out, ever the punk. Yes, he's wanted marriage, kids, and a nice house; but those things had been abstract concepts, especially now when they're in the middle of war and all he's bent on is bringing Bucky and the others back home safe, ending it with minimal casualties. He's very sure that Bucky's got scars of his own -- already the man isn't the same one who's left him at the expo. He looks older, more haunted, and he can't even begin to imagine the depth of torture he'd been exposed to at the base.

He looks down at him, stepping closer as he makes out his features so clearly in the darkness. He cups his face, shaking his head. He's soft, quiet, leaning to whisper the words in his ear, earnest and honest. All he sees now is Bucky, and going home safe. ] Buck, I just got you back. Are you gonna spend the whole night asking me these things?

No, you're too stubborn to die.

[If all those long winters, all those rough illnesses, all those last rites by the priest hadn't helped Steve to hit the dirt, he had no reason whatsoever that such a big bold body was going to succumb to anything less than a direct hit with a tank shell. Even then, he considered Steve able and willing to just deflect it or throw it back defiantly just to prove that nothing could kill the blond. Steve had fought too hard to enter this bloody war to get taken out.

He curled an arm around Steve's waist, just to once again get a feel for the thickness of it. He could not entirely get over how big Steve was compared to that little bean sprout who he was pulling out of fist fights. Yet, his grip tightened at the whispered words into his ear.]

Someone has to ask the hard questions, Rogers. You never could make a decision about pursuit of a fine dame. I clearly need to point you in the right direction. Unless you've got something to say, punk?

Yeah, I do. [ Steve says quietly, because now is really not the time to talk about Peggy, not when he has Bucky back with him -- he had been so afraid that he'd find a dead body on that examination table; he'd been so willing to throw everything away to rescue his friend. And now he finally has Bucky back with him, did Bucky really think Steve was going to spend it talking about someone else?

Bucky curls his arm around him again, a familiar, beloved gesture in the strictest, most private of their moments, and he shudders at those words, eyes lidding at how Bucky could make him feel like an inadequate teenage boy all over again.

He turns his head a little, so that he can whisper, warm breath tinged with alcohol fanning against his stubbled skin. ] I don't want to talk about anything else. I almost lost you, Buck. This ain't about me tonight.

[He waited in the mostly dark room, aware of the heat which Steve's body produced which seemed like it was worming through his uniform jacket. There was a spiciness to the air that they breathed, both of their natural scents and that of the scotch that he had been drinking and eventually convinced Steve to try. It brushed over his face when Steve spoke, dizzying him with how nice and firm that big body was leaning against his own.

The whisper was as if they were sharing some secret, but he knew Steve's secrets. His friend was like an open book, and regardless of the months that had gone by, it remained the same. Steve hid so little from him, even if he knew that there was no future for Steve with him. There was no happy ending; he'd heard the stories about the military running out men who found comfort with other men. There were the specific stockades and the medical doctors poking them like something was wrong.

Well, there was nothing wrong with caring for a punk like Steve Rogers. If anything, it was wrong that not everyone did.]

Then who is tonight about, hmm? I ain't going to go to pieces discussing the war nor my time in that camp, Steve. What do you want to talk about?

[ He knows what can happen if they get caught -- and Steve isn't certain that they'd be made exceptions if it really did. There are people who still have it out there for him, resentful that there's only one of him, the surviving legacy of Erskine's great work. And more importantly, he would rather suffer than have Bucky punished alongside him too; which would be unfair considering everything that he's been through. It makes him angry to know that such rules exist, barbaric and terrible -- in his opinion, love is love, and whom a man loves has nothing to do with his character.

He cups his face and studies him, heart aching at how he's thinned, the haunted look in his eyes. Bucky was the golden boy in Brooklyn, charming and silver-tongued and a hit with the ladies. Right here, like this, with shadows of war in his eyes, their days in Brooklyn seem like years away. He leans in to kiss his mouth, searching but tender, as if he's been starved of him for days as he keeps him pinned against the wall. ]

Just kiss me, Buck.

[His eyebrows hitched towards his hairline at the demand, so like Steve that he huffed noisily in the dark of their barracks. There had always been something between them, young and fresh but brotherly enough that he could never quite tell if any advance on his part would be accepted. A shiver ran down the length of his spine, and he slowly lifted his hands to set them down on Steve's broad shoulders.]

Sir yes sir.

[It was a tease, a ruse to cover over how much he actually wanted to do this. So long on the front lines, so long in that camp with little hope save to protect the men around him. Now, just here in the dark, he could be selfish. He could let go some of the ramrod front that he put up to show his confidence even when he wasn't emotionally into doing so.

Instead, like a selfish jerk, he leaned across the distance between them tried to kiss Steve's lips. He missed, somehow not yet used to the height difference that was opposite to what their lives had been. His lips found to edge of Steve's chin, but James Barnes was not a quitter. No way, no how. He had facial navigational skills like every good fella, and he kissed his way up to Steve's lips like there hadn't originally been an error in his aim before. He made certain to make the kiss worth Steve's while, and aimed to steal more than lips even on the first time.]

[ They could both be selfish together. Steve smiles when he misses, wry and fond because of the difference in their heights, the way Bucky has to get used to him. But his own insecurity is allayed; that Bucky still wants to kiss him even when he's bigger now, broader. His own touch is clumsy when his hands come to smooth over his back; Steve's always been used to a different angle, and this is new.

This is also nice. Here like this, they don't have to pretend to the world, and here, he can protect Bucky, too. Things between them are changing and it's frightening, but he'd be damned if he'd let that come between them. He smiles and gives Bucky what he seeks, passionate and heated, his mouth parting to invite him in as fingers tangle in his dark hair. ]

You mean too much to me. [ He murmurs quietly against his mouth, pressing flush against his body, wanting to feel Bucky's against him. See how they're different now, but still the same. Steve still wants him the same way, gets hard the same way, too. ]

[He almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they are, clumsy kisses and hands on each other like they are back in Brooklyn hiding behind the school yard tree with bloody knuckles and split lips. There was almost the same urge to grin or laugh too, even if the circumstances were vastly different.

Bucky took the invitation without hesitation, his tongue first rasping against Steve's teeth and then delving in to flick against the warm slick tongue that awaited him. His fingers bunched up Steve's uniform jacket at the shoulders, and he found it just as humorous that he had to push himself to his toes in order to kiss Steve like any gentleman should.]

I won't be leaving the war to be waiting for you in Brooklyn. [In his mind, meaning too much meant that he should sit on his hands, and he wouldn't. He pressed back against Steve to feel the subtle strength of the pressure on his body to remain against the wall.]

[ Bucky can crumple his uniform all he wants -- at this point he wants it off him. He wants to touch him, to run his fingers over his body to make sure that it's really him. His fingers fumble with Bucky's buttons, but he manages, hands (larger than before) coming to smooth over his best friend's chest, that warm skin that spans under his own.

Steve thinks, still, that his Bucky is perfect; the golden boy of Brooklyn, the charmer, the one thing that is most important to him. He feels him push back, and he smiles at that comment, exploring his mouth, tasting the beer on his tongue.

He pushes Bucky's shirt and jacket off his shoulders. In between breathless kisses, he murmurs.] You said you'd come with me. I want you by my side, Buck. [ His lips ease downwards, tracking over his neck. ] What would I do without you?

[Only when Steve's fingers begin on his buttons that he was assured of just where this was going to go. All the tensions since Austria, walking to the Allied Italian line, transferred back to England and then the awareness he was going back to combat all faded to an almost desperate need on his part. His hands slid down the front of Steve's chest, far more confident as he worked open the blond's jacket and button-down shirt. He pushed his hands up under the white t-shirt, scraping his nails over the ridges of Steve's abs.

Yet, he shifted his shoulders to allow his own uniform to be pushed from him, dropping his hands so that the material could slide down his muscled arms and hit the floor with a soft sound as he caught it on his thighs and lowered it slowly, like he had plenty of practice seeking intimacy in situations where quiet was necessary.]

Like I could leave you to get into fights on your own. I still need to wade in and save your bacon, Rogers. [His hands returned to Steve, shoving off the uniform jacket and then dragging off that t-shirt. His fingers - gentle, curious and confident - roam over that impressive chest, stroking nipples with his thumbs before he shifted his hips to pressed his thigh right into Steve's groin.] You'd be lost without me. We follow each other everywhere.