he’ll kiss yancy until he has inferno lungs blazing last bright embers to work the wintry weather to a thaw. ice melts on his tongue; he stretches out, yearning to find more. parched lips never knew water before this thirsty moment ; his palms smooth over a war’s body with blister fists he has beaten himself. replacing scars with healing has never been so sweet
broken dam exploration snowballs on without him.
( he doesn’t want to stop ; control is a foreign substance. )
rustling bed sheets && sliding, hard muscle under fever skin consume his nerve endings, every sensory SPARK short-circuits only to reboot with the touch of padded fingertips over his old, crescent wounds.
dim, bedroom blue spills into yancy’s cheekbones in the hollows like a shared secret. it’s navy darkening his gaze, glancing off the bridge of his nose. bucky’s palms fill themselves with the ginger scruff stubbling his strong jaw, lashes batting shut because he doesn’t want to pull away from this, not yet.
RESPONSE flickers beneath his flesh like an electric current.
it arcs over his flanks && flinches the sketched grid of his abdomen, rolling under the curving insistence of his spine. the round of his bicep builds only to shift their structure so that he can cover the other man with the breadth of his chest, to turn their failings around into something constructive
breath heaves in the empty caverns crushing between slotted ribs.
he pulls apart only to see the constellations fluttering back at him.
❛ what are we doing? ❜ he asks, doesn’t know if he wants an answer, doesn’t want to stop.
they’re on FIRE-----------------
yancy’s bones feel the first trickles of warmth as bucky covers them with broad hands, rough hands, a s o l d i e r ’ s hands drawing life from death. what fumblings they have find balance, the two of them tumbling together in strange symmetry that leaves him breathless. they’re solid planes && yearning muscle, finding new ways to fit together with endless possibilities. after what feels like decades of guiding, instead, he follows, letting bucky lay him back and ground him.
he’s lost track of the last time he felt alive; he scarcely remembers what it feels like, every moment dulled by the numb burn of frost.
he grabs without meaning to, clutches with intent borne on base need, fingers digging blunt nails to tanned skin, bracing as though the sky might fall down on them at any moment-------------
and when buck asks that, it feels like the first clouds have begun their thunderous
parting to warn of doom. breath burns; chill insidiously slides back to the edges of him.
in the darkness the rolls like wake, he feels like some dashed starlight, laid across the sheets beneath the blanket of bucky barnes, staring open-mouthed ( kiss-bruised, battle scarred ) in the potential aftermath of that question.
it’s a plea and a warning, and he doesn’t give them time to fall into doubt. one hand slides into hair he’s ruffled, tugged, patted-- and he pulls, dragging bucky’s mouth back to his. copper spills over the fire as his teeth nip, clashing against soft flesh, and he presses still, undeterred----
