Sam's laughter sparks between them, warm and unhampered by Bucky settling more on top of him - for all that he makes some exaggerated noises like the air's being knocked out of him. It's definitely a good thing they commandeered these quarters for themselves, because he's pretty sure it would echo in the small pods of the standard living quarters.

Light blooms across their minds, streaming through the feathers that surround them both, glinting off wisps of snow that still linger.

( Nah. That's you, sunshine. )

But if Sam's so light, then obviously Bucky won't mind him rolling closer, sprawling himself over Bucky. He doesn't remember what it feels like not to be in damn near constant physical contact with Bucky. Years ago, he'd done it for more than just because he liked it, because he knew that Bucky hadn't had a whole lot of physical contact like that, the kind that was gentle - or at least affectionate. He'd wanted to give Bucky as much of it as Bucky would let him.

Now it just doesn't feel right, to be in the same room as Bucky and not be in contact with him. Even among the new Hosts - he shield his thoughts from them, shield the strength of his connection with Bucky, but he never hides the way he gravitates towards Bucky.

His palm rests on Bucky's chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.