Steve woke up slowly, the early grey dawn light barely illuminating the tent. Clint slumbered on peacefully, warm by his side, and as Steve woke up fully, he realized that Clint was pressed up against his full blown morning glory.

"Oh God," he thought to himself, as he fought not to press harder into the warm skin that flanked his.
He shifted his body, preparing to slide slowly away, but froze in mid movement as Clint grabbed his wrist. Steve looked over, realizing Clint was wide awake and was grinning at him, a tousle-headed beauty.

"Did you seriously just try to sneak away from a master assassin ?" Clint whispered, his voice quiet from sleep, and not wanting to break the morning silence.
He reached back with one hand, and pulled Steve back into the cuddling position he'd been trying to abandon.

"I like you there,"he whispered, pushing his hips back, causing Steve to inhale deeply and close his eyes, at the unexpected wave of lust that engulfed him. Keeping a hold of Steve, Clint shifted, rolling over so that they were facing each other.
"I like you here too," he whispered, and moved in to kiss Steve.

They kissed gently at first, then more insistently, urgently, tongues delving deep, their hands roaming over exposed skin. Their bodies slide together, their arousal's hard between them, grinding against each other, the sensation causing Steve to gasp, and kiss Clint so hard, their teeth knock together. He rolled himself on top, Clint beneath him, kissing him desperately, when suddenly he stopped, unable to catch his breath. Clint gazed up at him, concerned, his hands holding him tight. Steve tried to breathe deeply, but his air seemed trapped, and he couldn't get a full breath.

Deep inside, he could feel the walls he'd built around his emotions, freezing his ability to feel, slowly starting to crumble, the emotions he'd bottled away threatening to break free, the thaw from his intimacy with Clint threatening to overwhelm him. He tried to pull away from Clint, hoping that the distance would help him, but Clint held tight. Steve shook his head, still unable to catch his breath, tears beginning to well up behind his eyes, and he screwed them shut to hold the tears in.

"Stop it Captain," he ordered himself inside his head, "Pull yourself together man. You can't let yourself be seen like this."
"Like what?" asked a small, quiet voice from the corner of his mind, the voice of a young innocent boy from Brooklyn.

Weak.

Frail.

Timid.

Broken.

Soft.

Alone.

Sad.

Afraid.

Lost.

Forgotten.

Unloved.

The words pounded inside his head, like hammer blows, each one weakening him.
Why wouldn't Clint just let him go.

He opened his eyes,tears spilling free as he became aware that Clint had moved, sitting up so that his forehead was touching Steve's, his arms holding him tightly, and he was urgently whispering to him.
"It's okay," Clint whispered, holding Steve close.
"I'm here. Let go. Trust me."

With those words, the walls around Steve's emotions thawed through completely, and the emotions he'd tried to lock away broke free, crashing his system, releasing all his pent up emotions in a flood.

There, in a small tent, in the middle of a wilderness, in the arms of another man Captain America, Captain Steve Rogers, finally let himself feel again for the first time since he'd been found in the ice. And he wept.

He wept for Bucky.

He wept for Peggy.

He wept for his family.

He wept for the time he had lost.

He wept for himself.

He wept in fear, in anger, in sadness, in hatred.

He wept for the man he knew he loved.

Clint held him close, rocking him gently, pulling him close, gently stroking the nape of his neck, urging him to let it out. He felt the tears in his own eyes, letting them flow free, as he comforted the lost soldier, the brave man, the great Captain, who had never let anyone see him like this.

And he knew in that moment, that he loved him.

Reviews and encouragement would be greatly appreciated ~ we're coming towards the end.