#also steve

It was supposed to be nice. Steve said they deserved to get away from the city and the noise and everything for a bit. Which Bucky couldn't and didn't even want to argue with, it was true. He also said that Wakanda was nice but they've become too frequent guests there, made too many friends not to have someone disrupting their peace — even in the nicest way possible. And again, he did have a point here. So for some reason, Steve decided that a cabin in the Alps — on the Italian side, not the Austrian one, as if it made anything better — in the beginning of December was the best idea.

In theory? Maybe it was. All the peace and quiet, the beautiful landscapes, the nice and comfy cabin just for him and for his dumbfuck of a boyfriend to do whatever they hearts desired. Bucky would lie if he said he didn't feel at least a bit tempted by the idea. He didn't get killed (twice), brainwashed and scarred for life to deny himself a nice winter retreat with the love of his life.

But maybe he should. Because he always knew that Steve would be the death of him. And yet, here he is, over 90 years later, having learned nothing.

It all seemed fine at first. Maybe that's what lulled Bucky into the false sense of security. When they arrived this morning Bucky was absolutely charmed by the place. The cabin was small and remote, it had a tiny porch in the front and the view from there was absolutely breath-taking. Inside it was just as cosy and warm — both in the figurative and literal meaning — as it seemed from the outside. It was furnished in a more modern way that he was expecting but everything here seemed to fit together just fine, creating a perfect atmosphere to take a breather from life and just chill.

Sadly, this is not the kind of chilling that Bucky is currently doing. Because right now he is sitting on the couch dressed in a hoodie and Steve’s sweater, wrapped in every single blanket he could find in the cabin. Because the power went out around two hours ago and Bucky is already freezing.

If he had to pick a third way to die, turning into an icicle on a romantic getaway with Steve would not make it high on his list.

“I called the owner,” Steve says, walking over to the couch. “He said that he’ll send someone to fix it but it can take a few hours before they get here.”

Bucky glares at Steve from his personal blanket fort, his eyes narrowed into slits. Steve doesn’t even look at him, checking something at his phone, so Bucky just keeps glaring until it gets noticed. Steve only chuckles and drops onto the couch next to him.

While Bucky has been putting on more layers with every passing minute, Steve didn’t even notice that something was wrong for the first hour or so. It wasn’t until Bucky pointed out that the lights didn’t work that Steve agreed that maybe he should check if the fuses didn’t blow or something. They did not, it was some more complex power outage that took away the thing Bucky loved most — working heaters.

But now it seems that the cold even got to Steve “I Don’t Have Working Temperature Receptors” Rogers.

He put on a flannel.

He left it unbuttoned, but it's progress from the thin t-shirt he was wearing earlier. Bucky feels colder from just looking at him.

“I’m about to turn into an ice statue,” Bucky says.

“And you’ll be the most handsome one of them all!” Steve smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky wants to smack him but it would require pulling an arm out of the warm cocoon. It isn't worth it.

“Why did I agree to this?” Bucky wonders out loud for who-knows-which time in the last hour. “I hate cold so fucking much. Why didn’t we go to Hawaii or something? The next time we go on a trip somewhere, I’m gonna pick the place. And it’s gonna be as far from the fucking Alps and snow as possible.”

Steve laughs and moves on the couch so he faces Bucky. “Come on, love. It’s not that cold and—,” seeing Bucky’s expression, he amends, “OK, sorry. My opinion on whether something is cold or not is not valid, I forgot. But they’ll fix it soon and meanwhile I’m gonna get the fire going, yeah?”

“Light me on fire, since I’m going to die anyway,” Bucky grumbles.

“And while we wait for the heaters to be fixed...” Steve started, completely ignoring Bucky’s words, “there are some ways that I could keep you warm.”

There’s a smirk on his face and he leans towards Bucky on the couch. Before he can do anything else, Bucky starts shaking his head.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Rogers! I won’t let you take off a single piece of clothing off me, so don’t even try that!” he says.

“Come on, Buck it’s—”

“Not even a fucking sock,” Bucky’s finger pokes from under the covers to jab at Steve’s chest and hides just as quickly.

Steve raises his hands in surrender. Before he moves to the fireplace, he pulls another blanket out of thin air — Bucky doesn't know how he did that, he ransacked the place when he felt the first chills. He wraps it around Bucky's shoulders and presses a kiss to his hooded head.

It would warm Bucky's heart, if there were any traces of heat left in his body. Since there are not, he just glares at Steve in a softer way this time.

Soon enough a big, nice fire is crackling in the fireplace. It looks really inviting. Bucky wants to move closer but on the other hand, his butt warmed up a nice little place on the couch, so it would be a pity to leave it now. While Bucky contemplates pros and cons of moving closer to the warmth (pros - warmth, cons - moving), Steve disappears for another few minutes. There are some weird noises coming from the bedroom and then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Steve?” Bucky calls. “You OK back there?”

“Yup,” Steve says happily, reappearing in the living room. When Bucky turns to look at him, a surprised laugh escapes his mouth.

Because Steve has just dragged the entire mattress with duvets and pillows from the bedroom and is currently placing it on the floor, leaving a reasonable distance between it and the fire. Before Bucky can react in any way, Steve leaves again and comes back with two big mugs filled with something steamy and — Bucky assumes — deliciously warm. He places them carefully on the coffee table, in arm’s reach from the mattress.

Bucky must admit that he’s tempted. He is considering rolling off the couch but Steve decides for him. Walking over to Bucky, he simply wraps his arms around Bucky and picks him up, covers and all. Bucky is so surprised that he frees his legs from the warm armour and wraps them around Steve’s waist.

Without breaking a sweat — both because of the superserum and also because the cabin is a North Pole — Steve sits down on the mattress so Bucky ends up in his lap.

“It should get warmer in a bit with the fire and all. I also made us some tea,” Steve says, kissing the tip of Bucky’s nose. “I’m sorry this trip turned out to be shit.”

For the first time in hours, Bucky doesn’t know what to say.

Maybe his boyfriend is not a complete dumbfuck after all. 

He can be pretty OK sometimes.

“Well,” Bucky starts. “You did get punched in the head a lot during the course of your life. So I guess all those stupid ideas are not completely your fault.”

“Jerk,” Steve says but his eyes are laughing.

Bucky unwraps his flesh hand from under the blankets and presses it to Steve’s chest, his fingers resting over his heart. “Really, though. It’s not your fault. And it’s not shit. You put so much work to get us here and I’ve been doing nothing but complaining.  But besides the fact that my balls will probably freeze and fall off, I really love it here. I’m happy to be here with you.” Bucky looks up at Steve and sends him a little smile. “Heating or no heating.”

“Buck! This is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me!”

“And now you’ve ruined it. I take it all back and I can’t wait to go home,” Bucky grumbles but he can’t help a grin from appearing on his face. He rolls onto his side and gets comfortable on the pillows, straightening his covers over himself. Steve lays on his side, propped on his elbow so he’s still facing Bucky. They’re quiet for a while, the only noises being the soft crackling of the fire and the wind blowing outside the cabin.

“I was thinking,” Bucky says after a moment. “If you take me back to Alps and let me freeze to death here,” Steve rolls his eyes so hard Bucky is worried he strained a muscle. “I think it’s only fair that I take you back to the Potomac and try to drown you when we get back to New York.”

“My God, you’re so dramatic,” Steve sighs. “Why do I even still put up with you?”

“Because of my good looks, sharp wit and killer thighs,” Bucky prompts with a grin.

Steve only shakes his head in response and leans down to kiss him. Bucky — being the generous boyfriend that he is — let's him.

"Will you let me into that blanket fort of yours?" Steve asks, still hovering over Bucky. "You’ll be warmer if I cuddle you."

"Sure," Bucky snorts. "I know you long enough to know it's not cuddles you want. You want to take off my socks and I've told you it's not happening."

"I truly don't care about your socks, Bucky," Steve puts his arm around the bundle of covers that hides Bucky's waist somewhere. "Although you've mentioned that there's something on the verge of freezing and falling off so maybe I should check how that’s doing."

"Dear lord," Bucky sighs heavily. "I can't believe that I've been hearing similar nonsense coming out of your mouth for ages and still one day I looked at you and thought 'Yes. That's the idiot I want to spend my life with'."

"I always admired your wisdom," Steve tries to remain serious but he fails miserably.

As soon as Bucky picks up the edge of his covers, Steve slips under them. He wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him closer, resting his chin on top of Bucky's head after pressing a kiss there. They stay like this for a while. Bucky sighs constantly, burrowing his nose in Steve’s neck. The warmth from the fireplace is nice enough that Bucky eventually starts gradually peeling off his layers, one blanket at a time.

A bit later he lets Steve check — very thoroughly — if he’s not frostbitten anywhere.

.