Sweetness in the Cold of Winter

by katydidit

Bucky Barnes is not fond of the cold. But he's very fond of you.

As a general rule, Bucky Barnes was not the biggest fan of the snow. He didn't like to spend much time brooding over his past, but there was something about winter that made it hard. Every time he crunched through snow, some small part of him was back on that mountain, lying in an endless drift of while agony and numbness warred in his body. Every time sharp winds cut through his many layers of clothing, he was locked in a cry-chamber, silently screaming from somewhere deep in his own mind. On any given winter's afternoon, when the others in the Tower were exclaiming happily about the beauty of snow or making jokes about how cold it was outside, he was happy to lock himself in his room with his flannels and hoodies and just clean his guns.

But you'd always had a knack for pulling him out of his old-man habits and encouraging him to step out of his comfort zone.

Today, you'd looked at him with those big pleading eyes and asked if he'd be willing to take a walk outside with you. "It's the warmest day in weeks," you'd assured him, and, "We can come back inside just as soon as you're too cold." Then you'd pouted your lips just right, in that way that always made him want to sink his teeth into your lower lip just to hear you whimper, and closed your warm hands around his.

Even when you weren't making it so difficult, he hated disappointing you. So of course he'd tried not to sigh too heavily and then extracted a promise from you that you'd set about warming him up as soon as you got back home. By now, he was mostly accustomed to the fearless way you expressed most of your emotions, but he was still a little surprised when you threw yourself into his arms and thanked him warmly, over and over again. You'd always had a thing about being cooped up inside too long.

So he found himself wearing a multitude of layers beneath his wool peacoat. The gloves he wore on his hands didn't do a whole lot to keep out the cold, so he kept his flesh hand stuffed into his pocket for added protection. That left only his metal arm for you to hold on to as you walked, and he felt a little bad about how cold that surely was for you, but not quite bad enough to suffer the cold on his skin. For Christmas, you had gifted him a black trapper's hat, with earflaps and a fur lining. It looked absolutely ridiculous on him, but he couldn't deny that it was warm. Just before you'd gone out, you'd produced your thickest and softest cashmere scarf, a lovely black that matched his hat, and wound it carefully around his neck. You'd thanked him again and tugged his face down closer to yours so you could kiss the tip of his nose. It was almost—almost—enough to make him forget the walk and spend the afternoon peeling all those layers off of you. With his teeth.

The two of you walked without any real destination in mind. Your conversation was light—mostly observations about the city around you. You knew how he felt about the weather, and it wasn't hard for him to tell that you were doing your best to keep him distracted. The snow was fresh, so it hadn't yet had the opportunity to get dirtied by all the filth of the city. The slush in the streets was wet and grey, of course, but the rest of the snow was still relatively unmarred. New York in the snow had always had a certain amount of charm, he had to admit to himself, a little begrudgingly. You pulled him off to one side of the sidewalk and turned to face him.

"Are you still okay?" Your voice was just this side of demanding. It always made him laugh a little—mostly to himself—how you could beg him to do something for you and then spend the entire time worrying about how he was doing. He nodded and then just stood there, taking you in. Your coat was a bright splash of red amongst the greys and whites that surrounded you. You had a hat very similar to his, but in red plaid to match your coat, and it always gave him the strangest urge to cup your face in his hands and nuzzle his nose against yours. Your eyes were bright and your cheeks were rosy, kissed as they were by the frigid wind. It occurred to him then, and not for the first time, that he would hike the frozen tundra for you.

You gazed back at him for a few moments, your thoughts unfathomable even to him, before you reached up to cup his face in your hands. Gently, you dragged him down closer to your height and pressed your forehead against his. "I love you in this hat," you sighed happily. "You look like a big soft teddy bear."

Rather than laughing at the idea that anyone could find a trained assassin at all soft or cuddly, he growled ferociously at you and moved forward as though to snap at you. You only giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, crushing him in your embrace. He imagined that he could feel the warmth of your body, as impossible as that was with all the layers that the two of you wore, and slid his arms around your back.

"Only for you, sweetheart," he murmured against your ear—er, earflap. "Are you feeling any better now?" He pulled away a bit, but only enough to study your face. The tip of your nose was red from the cold too. Acting on impulse, he leaned in closer to breathe warm air onto it.

You laughed again, the sound tinkling against the ice and snow around you like music. "How could I not? Out here on such a lovely day with such lovely company? You're the one I'm worried about. Are you still warm enough?" You cupped his face again, this time pressing his own earflaps more firmly against his ears. It did make him feel a little warmer, but it was hard to tell whether it was the fur or the warmth of the affection in your eyes that did it. He reached up to close his hands over yours. "Because if I find out you're actually freezing and want to go back home but you're sucking it up for me, I'm going to be upset."

He pressed his forehead back to yours and tried not to laugh as he watched your eyes go a little cross-eyed from trying to look at him at such a close distance. He still fucking hated the cold, and there was a particularly maddening wet spot inside his boot from melted snow, but he'd be hard pressed to give this up. For so much of his life, feeling this soft had been...wrong. Hell, at one point Hydra had done their very best to beat, torture, and electrocute all the softness right out of him. The old Bucky Barnes, the one who had screamed until his throat was bloody and he was buried deep inside the mind of a killer, never would have thought that someone like you could ever look at him the way you did. Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and a sunny smile curled your lips even in the frigid weather.

"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't already thinking about how you might make good on that promise of yours," he said in a low voice, the one that made you shiver every time. True to form, he felt a shiver run the full length of your body, and pulled you closer to him as though he were concerned. "You alright, sweetheart? Feeling about ready to head back inside?"

You laughed and pushed against his chest, wriggling to get free of his grip. "Please, Buck, you know exactly what you do to me when you talk to me like that. I want to keep walking. There's not much sunlight left anyway. Will you join me?" Though you had only just freed yourself, you reached out again for his hand. Between the sweetly hopeful expression on your face and the warmth he knew he'd feel through your mitten, it wasn't like he had any other choice but to agree.

So you continued to stroll together, wandering through the streets and stopping here and there, mostly whenever something caught your attention. Near Central Park, you came upon a pack of children shouting and laughing as they hurled snowballs at each other. You paused, then, to look on in guilty amusement at the spectacle. He stopped to stand right behind you and rest his chin on your shoulder.

"I know I should be annoyed at all this," you mumbled to him. "They're going to hit someone who doesn't want to be hit. But..."

"But you've got a soft spot for kids a mile wide." He slid one arm around your belly and held you tightly. Sometimes, when he was feeling especially free of his haunting past, he let himself imagine you carrying his child, and then the two of you raising it together. With the work you both did, it was foolish and dangerous to entertain the idea of ever starting a family like that, but...he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the idea of it. Watching your body grow and change, taking care of you and keeping you safe as you worked hard to bring new life into the world. You loved kids. Everyone knew that. Sometimes, if he looked at you quickly enough when you weren't expecting it, he would catch a little hint of something in your eyes, especially when you were around little ones. He nosed his way past your scarf, past the collar of your coat, until he felt the warmth of your skin. God, you smelled good: warm and sweet and perfectly you. He exhaled hot breath against your neck and then kissed you. You shivered again.

"Your nose is cold," you said. You sounded a little off-balance, as though you knew what he was thinking about. "Are you still doing okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, and he mostly meant it. "I've got my silly hat and my pretty dame to keep me warm. What more could I need?"

You laughed a little, something that he felt more than heard, but then drew in a deep and delighted gasp before you could answer him. "Coffee!" You pointed towards a cart inside the park, which had a large sign out front advertising Fresh Hot Coffee. Dragging him along behind you, you rushed over to the cart.

There was only one person in line in front of you, just wrapping up their payment. Bucky pulled you backwards against him again to purr against your ear: "I gotta say, I was hoping for a little more than coffee—"

At once, it was your turn. You tried, but not very hard, to shake Bucky off of you as you placed your order with the bundled-up salesman behind the cart. By the time he'd finished pouring two paper cups of coffee, Bucky had already pulled out his wallet to offer up payment. When things were squared away, you thanked the salesman happily and scooped up both cups of coffee.

"I was going to buy it for you," you said just a little bit sulkily. The smile on your face, however, betrayed your true feelings. He accepted his cup from you with a grin and took a sip. "Thank you, Bucky."

"You got it. Out here, it's my job to keep my girl warm and happy." He leaned in and pressed his coffee-warmed lips to your cold cheek. "Once we get home, it's your turn."

You ducked your head to take another sip of coffee, and he took some amount of delight in watching your throat as you swallowed. God, every little thing you did… When you lowered your cup, you flashed him another bright smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

Despite the cold and the snow, the park was still pretty busy. Tourists strolled along, talking, laughing, and tossing pretzels to birds. He slung his arm across your shoulder and drew you in closer as you walked along. This time it was your turn to slide your arm behind his back, tucking your hand around his waist to keep him just as close to you. It used to be that seeing couples walking along like this would make him feel that sharp stab of jealousy, of loss. The Winter Soldier didn't deserve to have someone cozy up to him like that, not even if he accepted that he'd been brainwashed and forced to hurt those people. As far as he'd been concerned, it just wasn't in the cards for him. But then you'd shown up in the Tower, and you'd been every bit as stubborn and pugnacious as he'd been. Bit by bit, you'd wriggled your way into his life, and now he couldn't imagine things without you.

That in itself scared him a little. Being an Avenger was not a stable thing. Every time one of you left for a mission—even when you went on missions together—there was no guarantee that you'd be back. It took a long time for him to accept how big a part you now played in his life. He turned to press a kiss to the side of your head, and felt a little ridiculous when his lips hit your hat and he realized what he'd done. But you didn't say anything, only sighed happily and squeezed his waist.

"I love you, Bucky Barnes," you murmured, your voice just barely audible over the sounds of the public. Still, the words spread through him like an inner warmth.

You wandered the park until you'd both finished your coffees, and then, moving as one, you both headed back towards the street. A companionable quiet had fallen between you, interrupted only by the occasional comment or joke. That was yet another thing that he loved about you. As lively and chatty as you could be, usually when he most needed that from you, you were also just fine with a comfortable silence. You didn't need to talk just to fill the space between words. Bucky knew he hadn't always been like this, but...he was now, and so he greatly appreciated it when he could spend time with someone who would just let him exist in his head. And when that someone was as pretty as you, it was so much the better.

The two of you made your way back to the Tower even as night fell in around you. Just as you were reaching out to open the door to the Tower, he swept you back into his arms to dance with you. You laughed even as you clutched at his coat for support, but went along with his whim. You danced together, to the proverbial music that only the two of you could hear. But you weren't protesting. Instead, you were beaming up at him as you worked your arms up and around his neck. Sometimes when he looked at you, he just knew that he'd go through every last horror of his past all over again if it would keep on leading him back to you.

The pavement was wet, but not icy, so he felt safe enough to spin you out and away from him, mostly so you would then spin right back into his arms. When you did, he pressed his lips to yours so he could claim you in a kiss. After a few long moments, you pushed him away gently and smiled up at him.

"Who would have ever guessed that you were such a romantic, Bucky Barnes?" But your voice was fond, and you reached up to caress his cheek. He wanted to devour you right then and there, but he kept that tucked away.

"What can I say, sweetheart? You inspire me." He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch for a moment, but it was hard to truly enjoy the soft material of your mittens when he knew he was so close to having your actual hands on him. He opened his eyes again and let some of his hunger creep into his gaze. You noticed immediately. Your lower lip drew between your teeth, and it was all he could do not to kiss you again. "Now what say I get you out of this cold?"

He behaved himself on the ground floor. He behaved himself at the elevator bay, despite the interminable length of time it took for an elevator to reach you. He mostly behaved himself in the elevator, allowing himself only a quick nip of the skin of your neck beneath the watchful eye of Stark's security system. Once you were locked safely inside his room, on the other hand, he stopped behaving himself. As much as he might have liked to draw things out until you were trembling not with the cold but with anticipation, he made quick work of your clothing and then stood back to admire you.

Something dark and possessive in him liked seeing you like that: naked, vulnerable. He liked how you often averted your eyes, suddenly shy under his hungry gaze. He stepped closer again and cupped one of your breasts in his gloved hand. At first, you cringed away from the stark temperature difference, but then pressed yourself more solidly against him and lifted your chin. A challenge. He grinned down at you and stole your breath in yet another kiss.

"I believe you made me a promise," he said in a low voice. You hummed thoughtfully and reached up to unbutton his coat. You pushed it down off of his shoulders and stretched up on your tiptoes to press your nose against the side of his neck. Already your face was warm, surely flushed with desire. He pulled off his gloves on his own so he could work his fingers through your hair and hold you in place.

Without even trying to pull away, you unzipped his hoodie and then deftly worked the buttons on the flannel he wore under that. You worked your hands beneath his button-up and laughed softly, mostly just a puff of air against his neck, when you felt the Henley he wore beneath the rest. "You're so warm," you purred, pressing yourself still closer to him.

"That's what happens when you dress for the weather. You should try it."

He let you pull away then, and you gave him a stern look even as you unfastened his belt. "I was dressed for the weather until someone tore off all my clothes like a wildman." Without much ceremony, you pushed his trousers and boxers down his legs. He laughed and shrugged out of his flannel and hoodie, and tugged his shirt up over his head, but then slipped past you to stretch out on the bed. You turned to level him with a glare, with your hands on your hips, but he was more concerned with taking in the shape of your body than with looking appropriately penitent.

He licked his lips and shrugged at you. "It's the cold, sweetheart. It does things to me. And you promised that you'd warm me up. I'm still waiting..." Partly in hopes of enticing you and partly because he couldn't take it any longer, he reached down to wrap his hand around himself and pump a few times. When he heard your breath catch in your throat, his heart thudded in his chest.

"You're so beautiful," you murmured, still frozen in place. He let his eyes slipped closed for a moment as he enjoyed his own hand, but the knowledge that you were fully nude and only a few feet away soon drove him to look at you again.

"This is all because of you, honey. How much longer do you think you're gonna be?"

With a hungry growl of your own, you climbed into the bed and crawled up along his body. When you sank down onto him, enveloping him in your velvet heat, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that you were all he was going to need for the rest of his life.