Bucky blushes again. The tournament Sam speaks of feels like it was so long ago, an entire lifetime past. It's sad perhaps, or maybe not, the way his life can be carved out into distinct events. Before the war, and after.

Before tonight, and after that as well?

Seems likely.

Sam kisses him, offers forgiveness for how it may hurt. The magic in his arm tells him just how wet the prince has become, and he introduces another finger to that sweet hole.

"Breathe," he tells Sam. "And when you feel too full? Squeeze, as tight and as strong as you can." He moves his fingers together and then individually, trying to prepare Sam as best he can. "I will like it; but more to the point, you can milk a knot that way. Help it end faster, hm?"