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[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.