[identity profile] mollivanders.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] prefer_my_life
Title: got my love to keep me warm
Fandom: Avengers/Captain America
Rating: G
Characters: Steve/Bucky
Author's Note: Word Count 372. A holiday interlude for [livejournal.com profile] aurilly. Happy New Year's dear!
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Marvel, as always.

The garret is cold – too cold for people to live in, but then –

Steve’s only felt like much of a person when Bucky's around.

The man in question rounds the corner that separates their kitchenette (a half-broken stovetop and a sink that only spits out cold water) from the bedroom and trots over to Steve.

“Merry Christmas, kid,” he says, shoving in between Steve and the wall. “Throw some blankets over me, will you?”

“Don’t sleep in your boots tonight,” Steve tells him seriously, and arranges the blankets over their knees while Bucky holds the mugs of hot chocolate high above them. “How’d they turn out?”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Bucky says, passing Steve a mug, and Steve shivers from when their fingers brush.

(From the cold, of course.)

It’s hard to blame Bucky, of course, when their bodies are already pressed together in a solid line, but still –

Bucky blows on his hot chocolate and catches Steve looking at him. “Thinking about doing a portrait of me before I’m gone?” he asks and Steve ducks his head, nodding. “They don’t sell. There’s no point.”

“They don’t sell because people have no taste,” Bucky sniffs, and wraps an arm around Bucky. “Draw all you want.” He winks at Steve and the tension slips out of his shoulders. “Besides, I look good in uniform.”

“That’s what the girls say,” Steve says and gulps down his hot chocolate. It’s watery and thin and the chocolate Bucky melted at the bottom was probably stale, which is probably why they could even afford it but it still warms him, head to toe.

“In the morning then,” Steve promises and Bucky nods, setting their mugs on the floor. “Steve,” he murmurs, his voice sleepy as he lays back, drawing Steve with him, “I don’t want to come out from here.” He snorts and adds, “it’s damn cold in this apartment, if you didn’t notice.”

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s stomach and tugs the blankets over them again.

“I told you not to sleep in your boots,” he reminds Bucky and the other man shrugs. “Last time, promise.”

It seems like a conversation about something else, but Steve lets it go, and dreams that they’re both warm.

Finis
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we're not like the rest, no, we ain't like most

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