"Russian... tea?" Bucky studied Steve dubiously. After coming back from being the Winter Soldier, yadda yadda, he was back to living with Steve -- back to relearning their past.

"We used to make it," Steve explained as he bustled about the kitchen, grabbing ingredients. "We used to pinch lemonade from Mrs Hornberry's, remember?"

"We had to watch her cat for two months after that," Bucky murmured without acknowledging that he just casually remembered something. "Why was it called Russian tea?"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck absently. "Something about the ingredients, I think." He shrugged, dumped everything they'd needed on the table. Bucky leaned in apprehensively, as if instead of spices Steve had dropped explosives.

Steve smiled, grabbing his hand and gently pulling him close. "Help me make it?"

Bucky couldn't say no to that face.

A hodgepodge of spices was thrown into a container -- then Steve scooped some into a cup and poured boiling water into the dried mix. Bucky watched, memories beginning to resurface. The smell of allspice and cloves was very familiar; his chest felt warm.

He took a cautious sip -- and suddenly he was back in the past. When he looked up he saw Steve huddled in a blanket, sniffling, frowning at the sketchbook in his thin hands.

He felt like he was watching a reality other than their own, and in a way, he was: this was the reality they had left behind for a better one.

"Warming up any?" Bucky found himself asking as he crossed to Steve, sitting against his legs to keep them warm. "You really oughta stop goin' out in the snow, Stevie."

Steve nodded, shrugging. "I don't mind the cold." He smiled briefly at him, then tried to focus more on his sketch. It was a portrait of two women ice skating; Bucky marvelled at the talent, looking at Steve to see his tongue poking out as he focused.

He dropped his chin to Steve's near bare shoulder, and Steve leaned into his touch absent-mindedly, tapping his pencil against his lips. Bucky's eyes flicked between his eyes and lips before he moved again, leaning against the couch and idly stretching his arm over the back.

"Was work okay today?" Steve spoke softly, as if he wasn't aware he'd spoken at all -- he still looked focused. The quiet scratching of pencil on rough paper was comforting.

"Almost had to knock Todd's head off," he reported, frowning, and Steve immediately shot him a worried look, reaching out to grip his hand. Bucky, not wanting to stress him, rushed to say "He was pickin' on Missy, I couldn't just let him get away with it."

Steve raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Throwing yourself into fights, huh?" He shook his head, sighing dramatically. "Sounds dangerous, Buck. What-- got something to prove?"

Bucky elbowed him playfully, and Steve grinned as he swatted him off. Bucky watched over his shoulder, grabbed his own cooling tea and sipped at it.

"How are you so skilled, Stevie?"

Steve smiled shyly, blinking over at him.

Bucky had taken a more... obvious approach in his flirtation. He still veiled it as pure friendship, but drunk off love and Russian tea he didn't mind throwing in a couple angles he wouldn't have considered -- pressing close, eyeing him the way he did.

Steve was focused on his drawing once more, cheeks a little more flushed for the compliment, and Bucky loved to see that look. Bucky tried once more, moving closer, and Steve once more leaned against him, resting his head against Bucky's shoulder.

"I'm only tryin' to keep your warm," Bucky mumbled as a half-hearted excuse that neither of them needed. Steve nodded, eyes lidded as he idly finished up his sketch.

Bucky was like a damn furnace, yet Steve pulled the blanket higher so it covered both of them. He was acutely aware that his button up, only partially buttoned, was incredibly thin -- he relaxed completely against Bucky's chest.

He dropped the sketchbook on the coffee table and rubbed his shadowed eyes; the warmth and smell of holiday spices lulled him into a rare and sought after calm.

"You finally warmin' up?"

Steve hummed his agreement, turning his head to look at him. His heart skipped a beat when he realised their faces were incredibly close -- he could distinctly see the small freckles in their distinctive places, the shadow of stubble.

"Could be warmer," he muttered, and Bucky met his gaze. He hesitated only a moment before tilting his head, twisting ever so slightly so he could kiss him. Steve reached a hand up to tangle in his ruffled, short brown hair -- Bucky cupped his face like he were porcelain.

"Buck," Steve murmured against his lips, opening clear blue eyes to look at him like he's never seen him before. Bucky held his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone lightly. He smelled like spices and home -- Bucky smiled at him in a way that made Steve's heart stutter in his chest.

And then just as suddenly as it happened, Bucky was standing in the kitchen, clutching his tea, and Steve was looking at him expectantly. "So?"

Bucky moved to him, paused a moment, and pulled him into a kiss -- Steve froze a second before melting into the embrace, a strange familiarity warming his chest. When they broke away, Bucky pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, smiling briefly.

"I remember that," he said with a small chuckle, eyes flitting to meet Steve's. He was smiling, his gentle smile that still stole Steve's breath away. Despite everything, he was the same old Bucky.

It was still the two of them bracing out the cold and basking in the warmth of the other.

"Dork," Steve muttered as he grinned. Bucky pulled him closer, stole another quick kiss, content.

"Punk."

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My family and I make this "Russian tea" every winter/fall -- it's been my comfort drink for my entire life :)