13 Jul 2019
“‘S okay. It don’t have to mean nothing,” Bucky said, trying to convince himself as much as Steve. “‘S just rutting. Just a bit of rutting.”
His lips were so dry, his mouth too, and his throat, but the rest of his body felt like hot languid liquid was flowing through it. Steve swallowed, licked his lips. Maybe Steve’s mouth was dry too?
One hot summer, when Bucky and Steve are fifteen, the line between their friendship and something new that Bucky can’t quite name blurs. It is only years later that the line disappears completely and Bucky can finally put a name to that something.
Bookmarked by ispeakfluentlysarcasm
21 Mar 2019