#winterhulk

The former soldier was grinning at Brunnhilde, who was recounting how she had captured Thor and turned him over as a contender to the Grandmaster. Brunnhilde had a half empty bottle of whiskey in hand and, for the first time, actually looked tipsy.

"When exactly did you start drinking?" Bruce asked as he approached, causing Bucky to twitch sharply and look quickly to him but Brunnhilde merely grinned at him.

"Two days ago," she boasted almost proudly, still grinning as she took a swig of whiskey. "If I drink continuously your weak booze does have some effect."

Bucky huffed and examined the empty glass dangling from his fingers.

"Wish that worked for me," he mused and Brunnhilde began a rant about how, once the Asgardian people were stable in their new home she would instruct the royal snake to bring them proper mead so that her new shield brother could properly celebrate with her.

Bruce settled easily, lightly, on the couch next to Bucky as Brunnhilde returned to her story concerning Thor and the Hulk and their first epic clash in the coliseum. Bucky grinned when Brunnhilde suddenly pointed her whiskey bottle at Bruce.

"And him! He...He never...never once said he was..." She burped, loudly, grinning in a near manic way. "My friend the...the...Hulk!"

Bruce held his hands up in mock salute.

"In my defence," he said when Bucky looked at him questioningly. "I wasn't exactly in the driver's seat during the majority of my time on Sakaar."

"I can relate to that," Bucky quipped suddenly and Bruce couldn't help the way he stiffened.

He didn't know what emotion was in Bucky's voice, human subtlety was not his strong point, and he worried he had caused the other man some discomfort or upset, but Bucky suddenly bumped his shoulder against his and grinned at him while pouring two glasses of vodka.

"Don't worry, Doc," Bucky said, handing one of the glasses to Bruce. "I ain't gonna break just from a quick reminder that my mind hasn't always been in my control.

Brunnhilde frowned and quickly lowered the bottle of whiskey she had been chugging, gaze fixing on Bucky in much the same way Bruce remembered her looking at him before he'd revealed he was in fact the Hulk.

"What does that mean," she asked, bracing one hand on the table and leaning forward towards Bucky, her dark braid flopping over her shoulder. "Are you..." She burped and then hiccupped. "Are you like...like Big Green?" She nodded towards Bruce, who merely rolled his eyes at the nickname she had refused to stop using even after learning the truth of him. "You go all big and green too?"

Bucky snorted and down his glass of vodka in one go, setting the glass down with a clink, his metal arm whirring softly.

"Not quite," he said with a slightly shrug, as though trying to brush it off, trying to act tough but Bruce saw the flicker of vulnerability in those bright blue eyes. And he knew, despite her slight intoxication, that Brunnhilde had seen it too. "But I've got my own demons." He tapped his temple. "Right up here."

Brunnhilde gave a slow, almost thoughtful nod, leaning back and all but collapsing on the other couch.

"We all have our demons," she murmured, looking away from Bucky for a moment, getting that rare, far away look she got when thinking of her fellow Valkyrie and their fates.

Bruce opened his mouth to say...well...something, though he didn't know what, when Bucky beat him to it.

"Are you going to drink that?" the former soldier asked, bumping Bruce's shoulder lightly with his own, clearly trying to deflect from the morose atmosphere settling over the room.

"Oh," Bruce looked down at the glass of vodka still held in his hand. "I...uhh...I don't drink. Haven't for...for a long time. Couldn't risk the Hulk going on a rampage."

Bucky snorted and poured himself a fresh glass.

"I'm pretty sure you can control him now," he pointed out as Brunnhilde's attention returned to them as she switched her whisky for rum. "If not, well, Brunnhilde said he likes her so he probably would just keep drinking with her rather than run amuck."

Brunnhilde lifted her bottle in a mock salute before taking a quick swig.

"We can handle Hulk if he..." Brunnhilde stopped suddenly and looked at Bruce. "Wait...if you can't drink or get angry what about sex? Surely you still had sex, yes?"

Bruce felt his cheeks heat up as Bucky and Brunnhilde both stared at him, waiting for his answer, but it seemed his silence was answer enough because Brunnhilde whistled, shaking her head.

"Poor bastard," she said almost sadly, her face full of sympathy and Bucky gave a faint nod, but his expression was full of thought as he threw out another quip.

"Still beats a seventy year dry spell."

Brunnhilde spit her mouthful of rum across the room, coughing sharply even as Bruce stared at him wide eyed.

"You...uhh...I mean..."

Bruce had no idea what to say to that and, not sure what else to do, quickly downed the glass of vodka, wincing slightly at the taste and burn. God, it had been too long since he'd had a drop of alcohol but, much to his surprise, he didn't go big and green. Maybe it was all things in moderation after all.

Once Brunnhilde got her breath back she rounded on Bucky.

"You haven't had sex in how long?!"

Bucky shrugged, sipping away at his vodka, while quickly refilling Bruce's glass.

"Wasn't a lot of call for it given I was, according to Steve at least, a prisoner of war."

The conversation after that quickly turned to Brunnhilde all but ranting about how ridiculous it was that two of her only friends had not had sex in decades, something she seemed to think was some sort of crime, Bruce had to remember to tell Tony to stop letting her watch certain television shows. It wasn't until after his third, or maybe it was the fourth, oh it could have been the fifth, glass of vodka that Bruce found himself grinning and laughing at her antics rather than feel embarrassed by them.

He blinked and suddenly Brunnhilde was gone and he turned towards Bucky, head spinning slightly, and he thought he asked about where Brunnhilde was but couldn't be certain. He saw Bucky smile and he couldn't help but think how pretty that smile was. How pretty Bucky was really. When Bucky chuckled, Bruce felt his cheeks heat up considerably.

"Oh," he murmured, blinking, head clearing slightly. "I said that...all...all...out loud, didn't I?"

Bucky nodded.

"It's okay, Doc," he said, reaching out to pluck the empty from Bruce's hand, setting it aside before standing. "I don't mind if a charming guy like you thinks I'm pretty."

Bruce blinked.

He didn't hear that right.

He couldn't have heard it right.

"You...You..." Bruce shook his head which, oh, the world was spinning now, not a good idea. "Uggh..."

"Easy, Doc," Bucky said, reaching down and easily lifting Bruce off the couch, holding him like he weighed nothing, tucking the somewhat intoxicated scientist to his chest and carrying him bridal style. "How about we have this conversation once you sleep this off, hmm? Maybe then Brunnhilde won't carry out her plan to get us both laid."

Bruce squeaked at the mere idea of Brunnhilde convincing one of the Asgardians to attempt and get him into bed and shook his head again, which did not help the spinning, and he groaned and clung to Bucky as he was carried from the room.

"Might...Might be...bad idea either...way..." He murmured, looking up at Bucky's face as they reached the elevator. "Don't...Don't know what...would...happen..."

"No way to know unless we try, Doc."

Bruce hummed and, suddenly, heard the Hulk's voice in the back of his mind.

Puny Banner found good one. Don't chase away or Hulk bring him back 'til you don't chase away no more.

Bruce would have laughed, at the situation, at himself, at the Hulk but his eyes slipped shut. They could talk later.

Bruce stands and rubs the back of his neck.  "I’m sorry.  It’s, um, a little awkward, him calling me as your doctor when we’re…“  

"It’s fine.”  It’s not.  It’s weird, but he still doesn’t want to talk about it.  Bucky searches for the right words to get him out of this, but all he comes up with is a lame “I’m late for P.T.”  He tries not to see the hurt on Bruce’s face as he books it out the door.

Needless to say, P.T. is less than productive.  Bucky goes at it too hard, pulls a muscle in his side, and his therapist ends their session early, frowning and sending him to take a hot bath.  Bucky pouts all the way back to his room, where he promptly throws himself face down on the bed and pouts some more.  After a few minutes he gets tired of smelling his own sweat and gets up to shower, but he can’t unscrew the cap of his new bottle of shampoo with one hand.  Turns out slamming it into the side of the shower head doesn’t work so well, either.

Twenty minutes later, he’s dripping on the floor of their little kitchen, glaring at the coffee machine with his towel around his waist, when Bruce comes in.  Bucky immediately hustles back into his bedroom, muttering something about needing to get dressed.  He takes as long as he can reasonably spend finding a clean tank and wrestling on some jeans, then pads back out into the living room to face the music, feeling lousy.

Bruce is at the kitchen table, two cups of black coffee in front of him.  His hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it.  Bucky grimaces and sits down next to him.  This isn’t going to get any easier.

“You know why Dr. Mubaru wants to talk to me,” Bucky says.  It’s not really a question.

“I assume it has to do with your arm.”  Bruce is calmer than he has any right to be, and it makes Bucky wince.  It’s not great when you feel like you have the emotional capacity of a toddler compared to the man you’re crushing on.

“Look, I’m really sorry about before,” Bucky says, although he can hear that his tone isn’t quite sincere.

“Obviously this is a source of anxiety for you.”

No shit.  "Could you maybe act a little less like my doctor, here?“

"How would you like me to act?  Like the guy who you stormed out on this morning?”  Bruce’s voice is still calm, and it’s pissing Bucky off.

“Maybe that would be a little more honest, yeah.”

“If you’re waiting for me to get angry, to justify getting angry back and shutting me out, it’s not going to happen.”  Bruce puts a spoonful of some natural sweetener that Bucky has discovered doesn’t taste at all like sugar in his coffee and stirs it.  "I can’t get angry.  And I certainly am not going to get angry at you for acting less than politely when challenged about a stressful situation.  But it would be nice if you could remember that I’m on your side, here.“

Bucky simultaneously feels like he wants to throw a chair through the window and like he’s about to cry.  He turns to Bruce, ready to toss a snappy retort back at him, when something in Bruce’s face shifts.  Before he knows it, Bruce’s arms are around him, holding him close.

It takes Bucky a minute to get with the program, but then he sags against Bruce, breathing in the scent of his herbal shampoo as he presses his face into his neck.  "I’m really sorry,” Bucky mumbles.  "I’m a fucking idiot.“

"You’re not an idiot,” Bruce says, rubbing a hand in circles on Bucky’s back.  "It’s okay.“

"It’s not,” Bucky protests.  He squeezes his eyes tight, and feels his chest hitch.  He wishes he could wrap <i>two</i> arms around Bruce, and the thought just pushes him closer to the edge.  

Bruce threads his fingers through Bucky’s wet hair and doesn’t say anything about how Bucky is struggling not to cry, which Bucky appreciates almost as much as the way Bruce holds him so gently, like he’s something precious rather than a moody former assassin lacking any purpose in life.

“Want to watch a movie?”

Bucky blinks up at Bruce, realizing that he no longer feels like bawling, and that they have apparently been clutching each other at the kitchen table for ten minutes or so.  Not surprisingly, his pulled muscle still hurts.

“A movie?”

“Sure.”

It’s not even lunchtime.“  Bucky realizes the inanity of this argument as the words leave his mouth, but he figures Bruce will get it.  They usually don’t watch tv in the middle of the day - in fact, Bucky should really be heading to the gym about now.

“That’s okay.”

"You don’t want to talk about…?”  Bucky asks, shrugging his metal shoulder.

“If you want,” Bruce says noncommittally.  "Or, movie first, discussion about significant trauma later.“

Bucky snorts out a bitter laugh.  "I’ll snap out of it.  It’s not that big a deal.”

Bruce looks at him like he wants to wrap Bucky up in a blanket and keep him there all day, which, come to think of it, is kind of what he has just suggested.  “What?”

“Bucky, don’t ever let anyone tell you that.  Including yourself.  It is a big deal.”

For a moment it feels like Bruce is staring straight into his battered soul, and Bucky wants to duck and hide.  Because having to make a choice about what to do with his missing metal arm has him paralyzed.  When he thinks about it, his brain spins in circles.

Why should he get a new arm? Is it really necessary?  As Bucky is now, as he’s been since he came out of cryo, he’s still an enhanced warrior.  His skills are undeniable.  And it much as it sucks, not having two arms, he wonders if maybe it’s his due.  If he doesn’t deserve a replacement for the arm that made him into a deadly weapon, especially not the powerful vibranium model Dr. Mubaru has engineered for him.

He can’t imagine why the world would want to give him back such a weapon.

Bucky shakes his head and focuses on Bruce, who is still gazing at him with concern.  “Yeah.  Whatever.” He stands up and inclines his head towards the living area.  “You’re right.  A movie sounds good.”

Bruce nods and holds out his hand.  Bucky lets Bruce lead him over to the couch and pick out a movie, not trusting himself to say anything more.  After a few minutes he lies down with his head on Bruce’s lap.  Bruce pulls a blanket over them both and combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair.  It’s incredibly soothing.  Bucky closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of safety and comfort, the warmth of Bruce’s leg under his cheek, and falls asleep.

Later, after dinner, in the middle of a conversation about whether to walk down to the new shaved ice place Sam told them about, Bucky suddenly can’t keep it inside any more.  

"I don’t know if I want it.”

Bruce doesn’t ask what he’s talking about, just takes his hand and threads their fingers together.

"I don’t know if I <i>should</i> have it,” Bucky goes on, his voice trembling.

Bruce looks at him with sad understanding.  "You’re not obligated to.“  He puts a hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder, follows it down to the temporary cap.  "You can stay just the way you are.  But don’t say no just to punish yourself.”

“Without the arm… it’s safer.”

“Your arm isn’t responsible for those killings.  Neither are you.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Bruce looks at him steadily, and for a moment Bucky wonders if the Hulk is in there too, weighing in on the question.

“Are we still talking about you?” Bruce asks.

Yup, the Hulk’s in there.

“Is it the same thing, though, you and me?”  Bucky asks.  "‘Cause I don’t think it is.  I’ve got a choice, now.  Shouldn’t I use it?  Shouldn’t I choose not to have a weaponized prosthetic.“

"I don’t think they built lasers or anything into it,” Bruce says, with a touch of humor, before his voice takes a more serious tone.  "The arm isn’t the weapon, and you know that.  And… no, you and I aren’t the same.  Not exactly.  I can’t choose not to have the other guy be a part of me.  I tried, and it didn’t work.  But I can choose to do everything I can to control what he does.  I can choose to stay home, when battles are being fought.  Or I can join in.  Those are the kind of choices that matter.  And you can make them now, however you want.  Having the new arm or not isn’t going to change that.“

Bucky shakes his head. “So you’re saying I’m always going to be the Winter Soldier, no matter what I do?”

Bruce looks pained. “No, Bucky.  You’re not the Winter Soldier at all.  That wasn’t you.”

Bucky taps his metal shoulder.  “Evidence says otherwise.”

“You can get rid of it all, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky feels a tremor run through him.

“The metal.  I studied your scans, came up with a plan, before you woke up.  There’s enough of your body left under the shoulder casing, if you wanted to remove all the metal plating.  It would require several surgeries, some skin grafts… probably result in some weakening of the area, at least at first.  There’d still be significant scarring, but you should retain function, and the muscles can be strengthened with rehab, although not necessarily up to your former strength.  We could actually do better if I got Dr. Cho involved – she could likely rebuild some of the lost skin and tissue and heal some of the scars, but I didn’t want to contact her without your permission.”

Bucky clutches his metal shoulder, flexes his muscles underneath.  Thinks about how it would feel to have skin there, on his chest, too, instead of cold metal.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I gave my results to Dr. Mubaru.  I figured he’d tell you when you talked to him about your options.”  Bruce huffs out a laugh.  “I didn’t realize you were avoiding him.”

“Bruce.”  Bucky stands up and paces around the kitchen.  “Shit.”

“You don’t have to decide now, Buck.”

“I know, but…”  Bucky takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, running his fingers over the metal on his chest.  “I didn’t think…  I could be normal, again.  Less of a monster, or a robot. Less of what Hydra made me.”

Bruce comes over to Bucky and puts his hands on his shoulders.  Bucky stills, thinking about the different way Bruce’s hands feel, on his skin and on the metal.  

“You’re perfect the way you are,” Bruce says softly.  “This-“ Bruce places his palm over the metal on Bucky’s chest, slides his fingers under his tank to touch the edges of it where his skin is thickly scarred, “this doesn’t mean anything.  It’s just surface.  It doesn’t change you.  And you, Bucky… you are strong, and brave, and altogether the most amazing person I know.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed.

“But if you want to be rid of this, just say the word.  I’ll help you.  Or – if you want the new arm, I’ll be there for that, too.  Whatever you choose, I’ll be there.”

“Will you come with me to see the doctor tomorrow?  I think he’s been looking for me.”

Bruce smiles.  “Sure, I’ll come with you.”

Bucky leans his forehead against Bruce’s, and Bruce’s arms go around his back.  He feels Bruce’s breath puffing against his skin, and shuffles closer, his hand coming up to cup the back of Bruce’s neck.  Bruce tilts his head and brings their lips together, softly at first, then with more intent.

They kiss for what seems like forever, Bucky getting more and more worked up.  He runs his hand down the front of Bruce’s chest, around to his back, and then slides it up under his shirt.  Bruce is doing the same to him, and soon both of them are twisting and pulling off their shirts, then pressing back together, skin on skin – and metal on skin, but Bucky even doesn’t care at this point.  Bruce clearly doesn’t, and Bucky just wants Bruce close any way he can get him.

Bruce finally pulls back, breathing hard.  “Bedroom?”

Bucky grabs his arm and they practically run into Bucky’s room, slamming the door behind them. Bruce climbs up on the bed and pulls Bucky after him, and they land in a pile, arms and legs tangled together.

Bruce squirms away from Bucky for a moment with a laugh, taking his glasses off and placing them more or less carefully on the night table.  Bucky crawls over Bruce while he’s turned away, kissing up his back and nipping at his shoulder.  The position puts Bucky’s hardening cock almost directly over Bruce’s ass, and Bruce rocks up into him, the pressure making Bucky gasp.

Bruce flips on to his back, and the look of pure delight on his face floods Bucky with happiness. “You’re fucking amazing,” Bucky murmurs, peppering his face with kisses.

“What’d I do?”  Bruce slides a hand down to Bucky’s ass and tugs him closer, letting Bucky know he’s not the only one fully committed to this particular activity.

Bucky gets his hand into the waistband of Bruce’s drawstring pants and tugs.  “Off?”  Bruce raises his hips and lets Bucky do the honors, Bucky grinning as he brings Bruce’s boxers off with them.  He kneels on the bed for a moment by Bruce’s feet, enjoying the view.

Bruce squirms a little, shy all of a sudden, and Bucky doesn’t waste any time taking off the rest of his own clothes (somehow this time having just one hand doesn’t slow him down too much) and flopping back down on the bed next to Bruce.  They’re both on their sides, smiling like dopes, and Bucky rubs his nose against Bruce’s.  

“I’m really happy,” Bucky says, filter completely gone.  He runs his hand down Bucky’s side, to the jut of his hipbone, and back up again.  

Bruce doesn’t make a joke about how he can tell just how happy Bucky is, just kisses Bucky, long and deep.  “Me too.” Their kisses turn sloppier, more desperate, and Bucky throws a leg over Bruce’s hip, bringing them even closer.  

Bruce shifts them, pushing Bucky on to his back, and kisses down his neck, stopping to suck and tease, and then drags his mouth down his chest.  When Bruce latches on to a nipple and gives it a little tug, Bucky moans with pleasure.  Bruce keeps it up until Bucky is peaked and hard, then does the same to the other one. Bucky is trembling all over, clutching at Bruce wherever his hand can reach. He feels like he’s soaring.

Bucky wants to explore Bruce everywhere, maybe do the same to Bruce’s chest, but Bruce has other ideas. Bruce rolls them to their sides again and gets his hand around both of them, and Bucky decides he’s going to have to save worshipping Bruce’s body properly for another day.  Bruce gets a rhythm going, stroking over and over, with just the right amount of friction.  His breath is hot and damp as he pants into Bucky’s neck, and he’s making little incredible noises of appreciation.  Bruce’s hand on him is a little dry at first, but not for long, and soon they are both crying out as they go over the edge, one after another.

Turns out Bruce likes to cuddle after sex, too, and isn’t that just the most wonderful thing.  Bucky would think he’s died and gone to heaven, but his past near-death experiences haven’t been anything like this good.

Six months later…

 Dear Steve -

 Sorry if this is a little rushed, T'challa just told me he could get a message through to you if I got it to him in the next twenty minutes.

 First of all, I can’t believe you told Sam to get "the deets” on me and Bruce.  Catching up with the times is one thing, sounding like a frat boy from a bad movie is quite another.  But even though you’re a dork, I’m gonna answer your question.

 Things with Bruce have been, and continue to be, awesome.  He teases me about falling for an older man, although we can’t really agree on which of us is older.  Thanks for helping me get that book on Asgardian meditation practices for his birthday, by the way.  From the look in his eyes you’d think no one ever gave him a decent birthday present.

 In answer to the question you asked in your last letter, I think for now the answer is no.  I’m training and staying in shape, but I’m not ready to commit to fighting any bad guys right now.  T'challa is having me spar with his soldiers to expose them to some different fighting styles, and I’m working with his sharpshooters, but I’m also getting kind of addicted to Wakandan yoga.  And Bruce is enthralled by the research facilities here.  It’s kind of nice to have this time just to be together, without any life threatening events adding unnecessary drama.  Get back to me in a year or so, and we’ll see.  (Of course, if you actually ever really need me, you bet your ass I’ll be there.  Just send an interplanetary pigeon or something.)

 Try and make it home sometime, pal.  I miss you.  And Bruce makes a tofu curry that’ll knock your socks off.  

 Yours always,