Bucky stares, breathing heavy and saliva thick in his mouth as you lovingly run your fingers over his scars.

Nobody ever did this. Not to him.

He doesn't know what to say; his mind a mess of thoughts. They're all too loud, and he can't pick just one to share.

You're laying in bed together, curled up and naked, and sure, that's definitely way more than casual, (especially for him) and sure, the two of you just had sex, but this adds a whole new layer to the intimacy.

You don't ask where the scars are from; you know where they're from.

Winter Soldier business.

Fighting.

Killing.

You just touch, humming a soft song under your breath.

Bucky swallows harshly, Adam's Apple bobbing.

He feels overwhelmed.

He's never felt affection like this. He's certain of it.

So tender, so soft. Like he isn't some weapon, some monster.

Someone to be feared.

His fingers clench into a loose fist at his side as he tries to relax; his body rigid and muscles coiled tight.

It's hard.

Every nerve in his body is screaming move—to get up, to run, to put clothes back on—something. To run away from this tender moment.

He can't seem to make that move, though.