#itsalwayswinter

It was during the Stark Expo and the majority of the city was present. Stark Tower, a beacon of self-sustaining clean energy, was currently a mecca of music, booze, brilliant dresses and sharp tuxedos.

Loki weaved through the crowd, eyes on the man of the hour, Tony Stark, as he walked, steps sinuous and calculated but simultaneously random like, at any moment, he would walk straight toward the bar and bask in liquor that would hardly grant mercy in the form of intoxication to dampen the pain of his boredom.

It was as he walked that he saw him, a dark head of in the back of the room. James was standing with his back to the stage, eyes cast downward at the drink in his hand. He’d only had a few sips. He preferred whiskey over champagne, if he was being honest.

“If I remember correctly,” Loki breathes in a voice far too quiet to be appropriate in a room full of chatting patrons. “You are more partial to Jack Daniels than wine.” Loki traced the rim of the glass with one finger, his mouth curled upward in a grin that rang with knowledge of the shiver that shot down Bucky’s spine. “You’re not softening up on me, are you, Barnes?”

James’ eyes hardened and he purposefully placed the glass on a counter nearby before slipping his hands in the pockets of his pants. “You don’t know what I’m partial to,” He retorts curtly, setting his dark eyes forward determinedly, hoping the other would leave it at that.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Loki purred before stepping closer, mirroring the tracing action he’d done on the glass around the edge of Bucky’s ear. He wouldn’t think about the harsh temperature difference between the deity’s skin and his own. More importantly, he wouldn’t think about how it had felt with his chest against his, legs together, hips touching…

“That was one night,” Bucky snarled at him, eyes dark but full of fire. A fire that Loki think of the burn of whiskey in his throat, the swirl of alcohol in his system that made his magic spark and his blood to run like lava in his veins. He knew Bucky felt it too. The flare of his nostrils gave him away time and time again. It was Loki’s skin, his entire existence, that put Bucky on edge. The kind of edge one might feel when expecting one more step at the top of the staircase and finding nothing there to catch them in their stride. Temporary rush, a thrill that causes the stomach to hitch, but the knowledge of danger with simultaneous and obvious safety in knowing it could be worse, but one asks what do I have to do to get there? “And I was drunk.”

Loki’s expression stayed cruel only in that it was knowingly temping the other. “Are you not now?” The god questions innocently, tone light but implications quite otherwise. The lack of response from the other was answer enough. “Do you not think of it, James? The rush of being with a creature so powerful? So strong?”

“I’m strong.” Bucky defies him and Loki moves quickly, taking him by the jaw and pinning him to a wall around a winding set of stairs, out of view of the others and beneath a shadow cast by the steps. Bucky’s human hand flew to Loki’s wrist and tightened around it, his robotic arm determinedly at his side though he could feel it charging. Both were frowning now, but neither was upset. In fact, both were making progress toward what they wanted; what they needed and what they hoped the other had intended for the evening.

“I am stronger,” Loki’s mouth moved just inches from Bucky’s. “You can’t fool me, James.” He says, breath like winter against the soldier’s face, making his heart pump hard in his chest. Loki could feel it, his pulse under his jaw where he held him, not threateningly, but securely. “Give in.”

“No,” Bucky’s voice was pliable and the fleeting gaze to Loki’s mouth was not unnoticed by either. “No, I won’t…”