Steve wraps his other arm around Sam, still from behind, and loosely wraps his fingers around the opposite wrist. The whole thing is a pretty loose, careful, hold. Not tight, not clinging, not holding on too hard, but a careful one.
"You don't need to be sorry. It would have taken five years for us to get enough of a break to do anything about it, anyway." That's softly spoken, somewhere near Sam's ear.
Steve should probably turn Sam around, or encourage him to turn around, but in truth? He's pretty content to stare out ... a sliver of lackluster view, through a set of shotty blinds. He's paying more attention to Sam and his other senses, anyway, and facing the same direction... there's some privacy there, and somehow an extra layer of intimacy.
But - "I don't have a plan for this." Or much past the immediate future. Which is saying... a lot. Man with a plan, right? "Pretty sure we can figure this one out as we go, though." Improvisation. "Think you can work with that?"
"I enjoy flying," is Sam's perhaps nonsensical sounding answer, "but what I really love is free-falling. Keep the wings tucked in. Let myself drop for as long as I can before I open them to catch myself."
Figure it out as they go? Improvisation, free-fall?
Yeah, Sam can work with that. Sam can enjoy that. He leans back a little, more fully into Steve's arms, soaking up that oh so careful hold, the intimacy of the moment. They could stay like this, Sam thinks, and he'd be content, if not for the fact that should this go where it feels like it's going, he'd like to be able to look into Steve's eyes, too.
He turns his head slightly, tips it back enough to offer his lips. The position would be uncomfortable if he didn't feel oh so secure in leaning into Steve, knowing his weight in the man's arms is next to nothing.
The motion makes his shirt ride up a little, gives the hands loosely wrapped around him a sliver of warm skin to enjoy if they'd like.
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"You don't need to be sorry. It would have taken five years for us to get enough of a break to do anything about it, anyway." That's softly spoken, somewhere near Sam's ear.
Steve should probably turn Sam around, or encourage him to turn around, but in truth? He's pretty content to stare out ... a sliver of lackluster view, through a set of shotty blinds. He's paying more attention to Sam and his other senses, anyway, and facing the same direction... there's some privacy there, and somehow an extra layer of intimacy.
But - "I don't have a plan for this." Or much past the immediate future. Which is saying... a lot. Man with a plan, right? "Pretty sure we can figure this one out as we go, though." Improvisation. "Think you can work with that?"
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Figure it out as they go? Improvisation, free-fall?
Yeah, Sam can work with that. Sam can enjoy that. He leans back a little, more fully into Steve's arms, soaking up that oh so careful hold, the intimacy of the moment. They could stay like this, Sam thinks, and he'd be content, if not for the fact that should this go where it feels like it's going, he'd like to be able to look into Steve's eyes, too.
He turns his head slightly, tips it back enough to offer his lips. The position would be uncomfortable if he didn't feel oh so secure in leaning into Steve, knowing his weight in the man's arms is next to nothing.
The motion makes his shirt ride up a little, gives the hands loosely wrapped around him a sliver of warm skin to enjoy if they'd like.