[ He doesn't know if he should expect anything else from Sam. Always yes, always going. They're alike in so many ways that it creates a magnetism between them that's both repelling and attractive, a staggering connection that continues to drag them together. And maybe, after all of that, after everything he's asked of Sam, he shouldn't be asking him for this. He shouldn't be placing his guilt or his grief on anyone; if anything, in those few years since the world had turned abysmally dark, Steve had learned that lesson the hard way.
He can lean on his friends, but they should be able to lean on him too. He can't expect it to be good all the time. They're people, not tools. That's not how you show someone you love them.
It's the thought he holds onto when Sam meets him, rocking into him with the same fervor as Sam arching forward, and they work well together—even in this. They always have. Maybe they always would, something that sticks with Steve as he takes a step towards the bed and tries to navigate them both without tripping over either of them in the process. This part isn't smooth, but he's sure, regardless of whatever's happening here, that he wants to feel Sam. He wants to touch him, to have those hands on him and holding him close, and it's that very idea that he leans on as he kisses him harder, teeth grazing lightly at his bottom lip when he pulls away to breathe. ]
Here. [ There's a pause, needing to press his hands against skin but also finding that they're both very overdressed suddenly. ] Let me –
[ Even as messy as this is going to be, Steve still takes his time to help Sam get out of his clothes. His shirt, at least, because Steve is seconds behind in doing that with his own, and by then, it's easier to get them both onto the bed, to push Sam down against the mattress and straddle him so he can see his face when he looks at him. Steve puts all of it to memory: the heat of Sam's skin, the line of muscle in his arms and chest. He looks good, looks like someone he never thought he would see again, and Steve is aware that it must read easily on his face, never one to hide much at all, even when he tries.
Whatever words he can think of will never be enough. Not right now, maybe not ever. So, he speaks with his body instead, leaning down to kiss Sam again until they both need to breathe and trailing his mouth along his throat, over his collarbone. He tastes him, touches his chest and belly with a firm gentleness that screams how much he's needed him and how much he's wished he'd been there to stand at his side like he's always done from the very beginning. It's like reconnecting with a missing part of himself, and Steve sighs with it, murmuring Sam's name quietly before finding his mouth again. ]
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He can lean on his friends, but they should be able to lean on him too. He can't expect it to be good all the time. They're people, not tools. That's not how you show someone you love them.
It's the thought he holds onto when Sam meets him, rocking into him with the same fervor as Sam arching forward, and they work well together—even in this. They always have. Maybe they always would, something that sticks with Steve as he takes a step towards the bed and tries to navigate them both without tripping over either of them in the process. This part isn't smooth, but he's sure, regardless of whatever's happening here, that he wants to feel Sam. He wants to touch him, to have those hands on him and holding him close, and it's that very idea that he leans on as he kisses him harder, teeth grazing lightly at his bottom lip when he pulls away to breathe. ]
Here. [ There's a pause, needing to press his hands against skin but also finding that they're both very overdressed suddenly. ] Let me –
[ Even as messy as this is going to be, Steve still takes his time to help Sam get out of his clothes. His shirt, at least, because Steve is seconds behind in doing that with his own, and by then, it's easier to get them both onto the bed, to push Sam down against the mattress and straddle him so he can see his face when he looks at him. Steve puts all of it to memory: the heat of Sam's skin, the line of muscle in his arms and chest. He looks good, looks like someone he never thought he would see again, and Steve is aware that it must read easily on his face, never one to hide much at all, even when he tries.
Whatever words he can think of will never be enough. Not right now, maybe not ever. So, he speaks with his body instead, leaning down to kiss Sam again until they both need to breathe and trailing his mouth along his throat, over his collarbone. He tastes him, touches his chest and belly with a firm gentleness that screams how much he's needed him and how much he's wished he'd been there to stand at his side like he's always done from the very beginning. It's like reconnecting with a missing part of himself, and Steve sighs with it, murmuring Sam's name quietly before finding his mouth again. ]