It started as a prickly heat at the back of Steve's neck, but it quickly spread to the tips of his ears and down to his cheeks. Of course that was what Bucky had meant, of course, and Steve had just gone and invited him to join, foolish and oblivious as always. Steve opened his mouth, fully intending to say something, but no words made it out. For the moment, apparently all he could do was stare.
It wasn't as if he and Peggy hadn't shared any intimate moments together - they most certainly had. But neither of them had been interested in rushing, and as a result, well, they'd waited. Now they were out of time, and Steve didn't want to push, didn't want to cheapen what was between them, didn't want to be the dead man walking who pushed for a last night of passion because he felt it was owed to him. Didn't want to have a night together be a miserable experience because they knew what awaited him on the other side.
Steve made a quiet, strangled noise as Bucky pushed the flask on him, grabbing his phone as he did so, and somehow it felt like a dismissal. Or maybe just a way to halt Steve's protests before they could really start. And oh, he wanted to protest, because nothing about this was what he'd hoped for, nothing about it was what he'd dreamed about.
His hand curled securely around the flask, and even though Bucky was trying to pull away from him by small degrees, he settled more firmly against his shoulder, stubborn to the end.
"Did you ever," he began, voice halting. "I mean - I know you had to, for - for Stane, but - before. Did you get the chance to be with someone?" To be with someone you wanted was what Steve meant, but couldn't quite bring himself to say. Because it threw into such sharp relief the fact that Bucky had been forced to go home with people he didn't want, and oh, that was still more than Steve thought he could bear. And it was probably complicated by the fact that, apparently, Bucky had always wanted Steve.