Burnt Coffee

All characters belong to Marvel Comics

I own nothing

Bright shafts morning light dazzled in his focused deep pools of turquoise, the empowering scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air; Steve sat at the kitchen table with his legs neatly tucked underneath the wood mahogany.

The chiseled lines of his defining cheekbones and sharp jaw line gleaming in the caress of sunlight as he scanned his gaze over old newspaper clippings and black and white photos of captured moments in history.

He pressed his smooth lips into a firm line, lifting a photo to a source of light and studying it with his intent eyes until the methodical steps of James 'Buchanan Barnes lulled him from the past, he reared his head up and shifted his eyes to the looming shadow in the doorway.

"Is that burnt coffee, I smell?" Bucky questioned drowsily, in his rich Brooklyn accent voice, he leaned his slender, half-unclothed body against the wooded frame in stoic; his tarnished graven chest glazed with a fresh layer of sweat from the stale summer heat—his dog tags gleamed in the light.

His dark, disheveled chin length hair matted like a rat's nest with strands draping over his heavy and well-defined jaw. His steel-blue eyes heavy-lidded, were still heavy lidded with exhaustion. A pair of black jeans fitted snug around his trim waist line as he lifted his bionic arm, the serrated plates and bolts moved as he crooked his elbow and threaded his metal fingers through the mass of unkempt hair.

Steve sat back against the chair, folding his broad arms over a pressed white shirt, he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and spoke with a light cadence in his soothing voice, and «Do you want me to make you a cup, Buck?"

"No thanks," Bucky shot back, a light grimace urged to play over his lips. "If there's one thing I can remember about you, Steve Rogers… You make the worst tasting coffee." He shivered slightly as the familiar aroma entered his nostrils. He suddenly became frozen as a strange smell teased his hunger, pulling him out of the sleep daze and awakening him fully. The sugary smell filled the air and the void of his gut emitted an instinctive rumble of desperate need.

"Whoa, Steve," He spoke in an uncharacteristic tone, inhaling the entwining scent of sugar, danger and temptation. He sniffed… "What—what is that smell?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"It's something you used to have when we were kids, Buck." Steve answered in serene voice. "Do you remember?"

"What?" Bucky grunted with an edge in his voice. He furrowed his eyebrows; squinting his blue eyes against the sunlight glaring over his metal arm. "What is it?" He searched around the room, pin pointing with his sharp eyes to the source of the heavenly aroma.

"Go see for yourself, Buck." Steve replied, releasing a small baritone laugh. He gestured his hand over in a white cardboard box.

'Go see for yourself, Buck." Bucky repeated, grumbling under his breath. He pressed his upper lip—the lazy Cupid's bow hard against his plump bottom lip and morphed his face into a displeasing and childlike scowl. He involuntarily dragged his feet across the floor and stalked close to the counter top, his metal hand absently brushed over the cardboard as he took a deep breath and flipped the cover up—his blue eyes lit up with bewilderment as he stared at the fattening, greasy chocolate covered doughnuts. He bit on his lip, inspecting the chocolate icing smudges over the corners of the box "What are these things?"

"Doughnuts," Steve answered, with a broad and amusing with a grace of a smile. He lifted a mug of coffee to his lips and took a sip. "Tony Stark introduced me to them—they're a lot different from what we used to have as kids-in fact a lot of things has become different, Buck."

"Mm...» Bucky droned, making a dismal sound rise up his throat. He withdrew a step back—almost like he was forbidden to eat. He hardened his glare at the doughnuts and narrowed his head.

"Buck, are you hungry?" Steve asked in a tender voice, looking directly at his sullen expression of his displaced friend. "Buck?"

"Starving…" Bucky whispered in a low, heart wrenching voice. He winced as his empty stomach rumbled with hunger and lurched slightly back, shaking his head. "I can't eat… I failed my mission." He rubbed his hand over his metal arm, chewing on his lip. "I don't deserve to eat."

Steve pulled the chair away from the table, straightened up tall to his feet and tentatively moved closer to his friend. He placed his hand firmly on Bucky's bare shoulder, feeling the muscle coil against the soothing heat. "Don't give me that, soldier," He spoke in a firm voice—almost like an order. "You need to regain your strength and your mission was successful… You found liberty and your old captain. Now, pick up that doughnut and eat, that's an order, Sergeant James Barnes."

Bucky responded to the command and reached of the middle doughnut, his metal fingers dig into the icing, "Yes, Cap." he said, secretly smiling as his soft lips melted into a chocolate. He moaned lightly, relishing the taste of cinnamon and sugar sinking into his gut—he looked at Steve with his glistening and warm blue eyes. "I need something to wash this down with—do you have some milk?"

Steve's face lowered, "You wiped me out last night, remember?"

"No," Bucky replied in a nonchalant voice, devouring the doughnut. "I can buy you some more…"

Steve shook his head, "It's okay, pal." He smiled back with assurance etched over his cut-stone features. "I'm going jogging with Sam. I'll pick some up after."

"Okay," Bucky swallowed down his last bite. "You have anything else?"

Steve rubbed his lips together; a smirk crossed his lips "Just coffee. Buck."

Bucky drew out a frustrated breath, dreading the taste of burnt coffee, "Alright… «He grimaced, scowling lightly. "I'll have some of your modern day coffee..."

"Good." Steve spun on the soles of his feet, grabbed a white mug and instantly poured the hot brewed coffee into a mug, handing it to Bucky. "It's not as bad as you think, Buck. «The dark haired rogue assassin shot him a ravenous glare, and then held the mug to his trembling lips and took a small sip—instantly he became wide-eyed as the taste of crude motor oil seeped down his throat and he looked fiercely at the sink.

"Ah, you punk," Bucky growled as he moved to the sink and instantly poured the contents down the drain, turning the cold water tap, as he lowered his head down and allowed the water to wash down his throat. He wiped the dribbles of water off his lips, using the back of his metal hand, he turned around and punched Steve in the arm, jabbing the metal knuckles into the firm muscle. "I can't believe after all these years you still make the worst coffee."

"Well, I was asleep for seventy years-so I hadn't time to practice." Steve replied back nonchalantly; his lips twisted into a defiant grin. "But I'm getting better."

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right, Rogers" he grunted, sparing a savage glance at the gleaming coffee pot. He parted his lips and released a sigh, a digressed in a savory accent mixed with Russian and old style Brooklyn. "I guess I will have to teach you the ropes."

Steve smirked broadly, patting his best friend on the shoulder. He forced down a laugh as he stared intently at the smudge of chocolate on the corner of Bucky's mouth. "Now, that sounds the real Bucky Barnes."

A bright smile broke up Bucky's stone-like features; he moved his hand up and messed up Steve's golden, short locks of hair as he chuckled low and teasing voice. "It's moments like this, that never get old."