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"But you're keeping the uniform, right?"

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[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.]

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[ 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?

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[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.