All the times they'd sat like this, Bucky would pull Steve in when he was stiff-backed and bitching about something, or let Steve sink against him when he wasn't in a mood to need the yank. Now Steve was bigger than Bucky, and it wouldn't have worked the same way. But Bucky remembered being shoulder to shoulder on his couch with Steve and Clint, too. It was still Steve. Steve still fit right against Bucky in a way no one else really ever had. It only bothered him because it was finite - soon to be over, and he'd wasted all the time while Steve was growing in to this, even if Bucky hadn't been in any shape to be close to anyone back then.
Bucky watched Steve, and he didn't mind the touch, the closeness. But he couldn't help the little flinch away when Steve curled his fingers around the metal of his arm. People didn't really touch it unless they were gawking at him, and Bucky ... didn't like Steve doing it. Not because it bothered him, exactly, but because Steve shouldn't have to. He never had liked making Steve see things that were ugly, no matter how much Steve had hated Bucky trying to shield him from anything.
He didn't pull away though, outside of that initial flinch. Bucky could feel it, in a sense. He felt it as pressure, as presence, as heat. But he didn't feel it as touch the way he did on real skin. But he'd know it was there, even if he wasn't looking at it.
Bucky blinked at Steve, head turning to look at him, leaning away a little as he did so he wasn't face-to-face when he stared at Steve.
Fuck, sometimes Steve was unbelievable.
Bucky blew out a breath that was half a laugh. If it were anyone but Steve, if he even thought too hard about what Peggy had said, that first time they texted, Bucky might have thought that meant something it didn't. But he knew Steve. The asshole didn't even know what he was offering because he didn't know what Bucky had told him to do.
"Steve," Bucky said, and he hated himself a little, because he knew that he sounded the way he felt - exasperated and too-fond. Fuck him, how could one relatively smart guy be so damned thick headed? "You're going in to the Arena. You got a girl who loves you and is there with you until they send you in. Take the stuff, feel better for a night, and take her to bed," Bucky said, over-enunciating. "There's ... you don't have time to wait, and I know you, Rogers. I know you want things to be right but you're not gonna get that. This is what you get. So feel as good as you can and let Peg do the same thing." Bucky gave Steve a wry smile. "So closed party list for two."
Bucky settled back against Steve, pushing the flask into Steve's hand and looking away again. He twisted his metal arm gently from beneath Steve's other hand, reaching for his phone as it buzzed again, scanning it. Loki's address. Bucky glanced out the window, judging how long they had left, then texted back when he thought he'd get there before pocketing the phone again. "I'll be there every other night, Steve," Bucky told him. "You should get one night with your girl before."