[ God, and he’d only just gotten a good grip on himself, too.
You remembered me, he’d said earlier, and he’d meant it — there wasn’t any dubiety there, not with the clarity of Bucky's gaze, the way he'd spoken and walked and held himself. But ever since the Potomac, something had riddled its way into Steve’s head and stayed there during those sleepless nights of searching. Sunless, empty days where the growing doubt and fear trickled into his ears until it was the only thing he could hear and believe.
All of it translates into a jumble of lost hurt, runs headlong and bewildered into the reassurance still emanating from Bucky, and.
Steve’s eyes burn and he comes back to himself from wherever he’d gone during those seconds, overwhelmed by this. It’s almost too much, an exposed nerve touched lightly over and over again, and he wouldn’t blame Bucky if he pulled back.
But Bucky’s fingers only tighten on his own, gentle, a tacit approval and agreement both. You and me, he says, and Steve starts to shake his head before quickly following it up with a jerky nod. He understands, even if he can't trust himself to speak just yet.
Breaks eye contact, too, but with the bottle in his other hand, he can’t cover his gaze — so he ducks his head instead, lowers it to the bar until he’s hunched over, almost all of his face hidden behind the ball of his shoulder, his arm still held out toward Bucky.
In counterpoint, his hand tightens around Bucky’s, the last of this particular pain washing out until his emotions finally run clear. He’s not letting go now until he’s made to, and it's ... incredible to know that he convey that through touch alone. Yearning. Quiet, overwhelming joy. ]
You win.
[ Meant to be said with some sort of humour, a callback to their game, but only comes out broken instead. A pause, and then one eye peers over at Bucky. ]
Cheater. [ It sounds like I missed you, and Steve pulses that at him, soft and warm, aching in a good way. ]
no subject
You remembered me, he’d said earlier, and he’d meant it — there wasn’t any dubiety there, not with the clarity of Bucky's gaze, the way he'd spoken and walked and held himself. But ever since the Potomac, something had riddled its way into Steve’s head and stayed there during those sleepless nights of searching. Sunless, empty days where the growing doubt and fear trickled into his ears until it was the only thing he could hear and believe.
All of it translates into a jumble of lost hurt, runs headlong and bewildered into the reassurance still emanating from Bucky, and.
Steve’s eyes burn and he comes back to himself from wherever he’d gone during those seconds, overwhelmed by this. It’s almost too much, an exposed nerve touched lightly over and over again, and he wouldn’t blame Bucky if he pulled back.
But Bucky’s fingers only tighten on his own, gentle, a tacit approval and agreement both. You and me, he says, and Steve starts to shake his head before quickly following it up with a jerky nod. He understands, even if he can't trust himself to speak just yet.
Breaks eye contact, too, but with the bottle in his other hand, he can’t cover his gaze — so he ducks his head instead, lowers it to the bar until he’s hunched over, almost all of his face hidden behind the ball of his shoulder, his arm still held out toward Bucky.
In counterpoint, his hand tightens around Bucky’s, the last of this particular pain washing out until his emotions finally run clear. He’s not letting go now until he’s made to, and it's ... incredible to know that he convey that through touch alone. Yearning. Quiet, overwhelming joy. ]
You win.
[ Meant to be said with some sort of humour, a callback to their game, but only comes out broken instead. A pause, and then one eye peers over at Bucky. ]
Cheater. [ It sounds like I missed you, and Steve pulses that at him, soft and warm, aching in a good way. ]