A/N: A Familiar Place Drabble for Christmas. Dedicated to @bitsandbobsandstuff who loves this series as much as I do - sorry I haven’t written for it in forever! Also the formatting may look bad cause I wrote this all on my phone lol. Merry Christmas everyone!
Steve slips a mug of something warm into his hands as he stares into the flames. Glancing down, he smiles at the cocoa nearly overflowing with mini marshmallows and a peppermint stick. Captain America’s sweet tooth could rival that of any five-year old he’s ever met.
“Whatcha thinkin about, Buck?” Steve smiles as he sinks into the other end of the overstuffed sofa, super soldier knees bent past a 90 degree angle.
“Mm. Nothing.” Bucky shrugs, offering a soft smile before he tastes a sip of the cocoa, maneuvering a marshmallow past his lips. It’s soaked in something -his eyebrows go up in surprise. “Is this -“
“Bailey’s. Sam had some, said it was good in hot chocolate.”
“I thought you weren’t that kind of Irish, Rogers.”
“Shut up asshole, it’s Christmas.”
Bucky finds an irrational delight in the flush of irritation on Steve’s cheeks - Merry Christmas to him - so he settles back into the cushions and goes back to watching the crackling flames in the fireplace.
Sam loves the thing - pointed it out when they were first looking around Brooklyn for a place. It’s gas, fake logs, so they don’t have to buy firewood or light it themselves, something Bucky doesn’t quite understand the point of. But it’s warm and inviting, and it still works if the electricity goes out, and he finds himself somewhere near almost every day now that the weather has turned cold. His socked feet propped up on the coffee table as he thumbs through one of his books from the library, coffee or tea in hand.
A Santa hat-covered head pops into the room.
“Well don’t you two look downright cozy in here,” Sam chuckles. He shuffles in himself, still dressed in plaid pajama pants and slippers. “What is this, an L.L. Bean catalog?”
Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky just smirks, knowing the domestic little picture they all make in the light of the tree and the fire - sweaters and cable knit socks and cocoa. Should be on the Avengers Christmas card.
It’s different from how it used to be, how he remembers it. When getting an orange in his stocking made him feel like a prince, or he’d wager all the pennies from his paper route in a poker game to win a baby doll for Becca. Lots of kisses went around that year.
It’s different in the brownstone. Quiet. The three of them exchanged a handful of gifts - some gags, some heartfelt - and a few guests came over for lunch, but that was all. No Stark extravaganza. No overflowing pile of presents they couldn’t possibly need beneath the tree.
It’s enough, Bucky thinks, savoring the Irish cream and chocolate on his tongue. He’s warm. He’s home.
What more could he ask for?
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