Steve’s eyes travel slowly down Bucky’s covered arm to the hand resting on his leg. Bare skin to bare skin. It’s not enough kindling to really start the fire again, but the spark is happy for a little company. Steve’s fingers lift as if to play over his knuckles but he drops his hand to his own knee instead, fingers clutching the tattered fabric.

He almost manages to control his breathing but the muscle under his skin twitches. Thankfully, in Frigga’s garden, he’s able to retain a little more control over himself.

And he’s finding it hard to keep all of his secrets to himself.

A small whine rolls in the back of his throat as his eyes turn to gaze out towards the palace wall, covered in crawling ivy. “I want to keep living,” he says. “And I want to make sure I’m not going to do anything else dumb to hurt you. I—uh... This is going to sound weird but you smell really good. Not like I want to know what after shave or deodorant you’re using.” Heat rises up his neck and into his cheeks. “Shit, Buck. Please don’t take this for anything more than it is but you smell like something I want to roll in.”

Yeah. So that came out really wrong.