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The thing is, they never used to have enough time, and now that they’ve got it, Steve’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. He’s been dancing around it well enough; back then, Natasha didn’t exist and neither did Sharon (even if Peggy most certainly did) and besides that, he has no way of knowing for sure (until he actually asks) if Bucky’s even still interested. He doesn’t want to be an active pursuer because that’s never been his nature in relationships, not really, and he doesn’t want to pressure Bucky, but.
There’s a long curve of a bare back facing him while Bucky cleans his guns and Steve isn’t going to lie and say he doesn’t want it. It doesn’t matter if Natasha and Sam have both told him in different ways to say something (“Jesus, Steve, anything at this point,”), because every single time he thinks about doing it, there’s something else or someone’s busy or his voice gets caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
“If you’re going to keep staring at me, at least try to make nice conversation, Rogers.” Bucky doesn’t turn his head to look at him when he talks, too busy with gun lubricant and tiny pipettes to reach small nooks, but Steve can still sort of imagine his expression—maybe a little more lined, but ultimately the same look of mild irritation and affection that Bucky always had when he barked at Steve. (Natasha would probably have called it “yipping,” but that was besides the point.)
“I’m thinking,” he answers, but he sits down at the table like a civilized human being and he stares at Bucky’s face instead of his back. There’s a line of dark grease on his cheek, smudged there from a moment of carelessness. His hair’s been cut back from the matted mess that it was, but he’s in need of another haircut soon by the way his bangs are just starting to reach his eyebrows, and he even has a little bit of stubble that probably took too long to grow for him to just want to shave it off already.
“You’re always thinking,” Bucky says, and his tongue comes out to press against his upper lip in a moment of concentration. “Can’t have anything to do with my back, could it?”
He stops then and looks at Steve before waggling his eyes, and for a second, Steve feels like it’s wartime again, that it’s just the two of them in the tent doing this exact same thing. It probably happened more than once—hard imagining it not—but it’s jarring for a second until Steve gets his bearings again. However similar it might be, it’s different now. They’ve already talked about differences enough.
“Might have,” he says, and he swallows afterwards. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, Bucky puts down the rag he’s been using and stares back at him.
“Spit it out.”
“I’ve been thinking about things.”
“Good, because so have I.” Bucky stands up now and walks over to Steve’s chair, tugs it so that they’re facing each other and he can stand in front of him. “We’ve been living together for five months and you haven’t tried touching me goddamn once, and what am I supposed to think about that?”
Steve figures he shouldn’t be as surprised as it turns out he is, and he sighs. “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything,” he says, but it sounds weak coming from his mouth. “I’m not an instigator,” he tries again, and Bucky snorts at that.
“Yeah, right, okay. Tell the truth.”
“I didn’t think you still liked me.”
Bucky stands still for a second before leaning down and planting one on Steve’s mouth. It isn’t much of a kiss—not for them, anyways—but it does its job by the time Bucky pulls away and stands back up. “I’m going to put my guns away,” he says. “You really thought I didn’t like you anymore? Jesus Christ, what do you think I am?”
“People change,” Steve says, and he stands up as soon as Bucky is out of his personal space bubble and back to cleaning up his weapons. “It’s been 70 years.”
“70 years too long if you ask me.” He’s quick and efficient in cleanup, the same way he is about everything, and maybe if Steve hadn’t known Bucky before he became the Winter Soldier, he might have thought it had more to do with that than Bucky’s upbringing. As it stands, he knows Bucky—maybe not as well as he used to, apparently, but probably better than most other people on the face of the earth. The regimented way in which Bucky lives is a holdover from his army father and military upbringing rather than any Soviet brainwashing, and for some reason, watching him do these things makes Steve smile. Bucky catches him and frowns before leaving to put everything in his safe.
When he comes back, he’s changed his clothes, too, to a pair of sweats (Steve’s, probably, given that they’re a little too long in the leg) and a tank top (that clings far too tightly to him for Steve’s comfort). He runs a hand through his hair before bring his arms akimbo and staring at Steve.
“Boy, Steve. I thought I was being obvious.”
“Maybe I was being willfully ignorant,” he says, and his mouth feels a little dry. Bucky’s closing in on him again, making him move backwards into their living room and towards the couch.
He backs up until his calves hit the edge of the couch, and then he sits down and is unsurprised when Bucky follows him there, too, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. “I even told Nat to make sure you’d get the message.”
“I did disregard that,” he says, and Bucky frowns. “Any lasting damage?”
“Other than a case of blue balls and the feeling of slight rejection?” Bucky’s face is close to Steve’s now, close enough that Steve could reasonably wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Instead, he settles his hands on Bucky’s ass.
“Yeah, sure. Aside from that.”
Bucky looks sad for a second, almost too quick for Steve to catch. “No,” he says, then. “As long as you plan on doing something about it now.”
“I think I have an idea on how I can rectify the situation.”
“Good.”
Bucky kisses him first, again, but he grabs and tugs Bucky closer into his lap and can feel a stirring of interest in one direction. This is a kiss like he can remember: greedy and eager and messy, and he has to bring one hand up to hold onto the side of Bucky’s face so he can pull back for a second.
“Not on the couch,” he says, and Bucky starts to argue. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to have sex in an actual bed?” He doesn’t answer. “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.” Steve picks him up and Bucky lets out a shout at first before wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and his arms tighter around his shoulders.
“Keep talking dirty, Steve,” Bucky says into his ear as he’s carried to Steve’s bedroom.
“That isn’t dirty talk,” Steve mutters, almost irritable but more with himself than anything else. He should have said something sooner, and he’s going to kick himself over it for the next year, probably, if not longer.
He doesn’t necessarily drop Bucky on the bed, but he does leave him there in a rush so he can get his own clothes off (too many, with too many buttons, and he should have thought to just put on a t-shirt instead that morning instead of spending the effort, but then, how should he have known?). He’s back on Bucky in a second, pressing him into the mattress and grinding against him. The sweatpants and the tank top are in the way now, and he pulls at them without letting Bucky help, grunting and swatting away hands when they come down to his own. “I’m going to get you naked,” he says, and Bucky groans up to the ceiling.
“When you say shit, it’s always dirty talk,” he says, and Steve stops for a second to kiss him hard. Maybe he’s in too much of a hurry now, reverting back to the days of having to do so, and he’s thrown off guard when Bucky rolls them over and sits on top of him. “Hey,” he says. “Take a second to enjoy it. We’ve got nice lights and I think I look pretty good.”
“You always look pretty good,” Steve answers, and he squeezes Bucky’s hips and rocks up against him. “I—I’ve been waiting.”
“So have I, which is why I’m telling you you’re going to regret it if you go too fast.”
Bucky’s right, and Steve groans and lets his head fall back against the pillows. “Alright. I’m a little impatient. How do you want it?” Bucky grinds down against him and that makes him groan in a different way. “Please don’t tease me.”
“Not teasing. You should know what me teasing is.” He leans down to kiss him and Steve takes the chance to roll them over again. “Steve—”
“I know, I know. Go slow. I can listen to other people sometimes.”
“You and me both have the problem of not doing so a lot of the time,” Bucky answers. Steve kisses him and fits himself between Bucky’s legs.
“This is alright?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Bucky answers.
He takes a deep breath and tries to think about where to begin.