“Christ, you’re high maintenance.” It’s a shame they don’t have any pillows. The Soldier’s demonstrated in the past that he can handle pillow fights in character. “Any other demands, Sergeant?”
Rumlow doesn’t expect any more, but Barnes does speak. “You could shine my shoes while you’re at it.” There’s a funny, far off look in his eyes. It isn’t the Soldier’s confused stare. It’s disconcerting.
“Don’t get spoiled.” Rumlow spiders his fingers down the asset’s ribs, and Barnes laughs and squirms away. He flails at Rumlow ineffectually. He’s back in the present.
“You’re a punk,” Barnes gasps, tears in his eyes.
Things I Almost Remember, by Lauralot
достаточно, чтобы стало больно, но не достаточно для чего-либо большего

кстати, новый отдельный тэг, раз уж я там так часто роюсь