For Valentine’s Day, if it’s not too late, would you please continue 376 the Sentinel au, maybe with kisses? This one’s a favorite although of course I love them all. 😘

winterhawkkisses:

Bucky didn’t stay in the bed for long. Like there was anything they could do that would make him – that would force him, ‘cos they’d have to force him to be still, even sleeping he wound up wound up inside sheets, coiled and strangling until he kicked them off and woke too cold. 

The place they had brought him had all kinds of shielding, and so long as his senses weren’t spiking – which was easier now they weren’t drugging him – he could mostly keep track of where and when and who he was. Everything smelled cool and clean, and everything sounded hushed and rubber-edged, and Bucky forged past nurses and ignored doctors and headed for somewhere it was warm. 

There were Guides, too, in this place. You could tell where they were because of the soothing they projected, like being gently and lovingly suffocated with marshmallows. Most of the cool was theirs, too, and some of the clean, and he figured they were trained into it that way. That it’d probably be comforting to most people, people who could stand the goddamn cold. 

Bucky couldn’t stand the goddamn cold, and Bucky was standing by a window seat before he knew it, a blond guy basking in what little there was of the winter sun. Whatever there was he focused it, magnified it, exuded it until Bucky was almost purring. 

“Guide Barton,” someone said, edging around Bucky like he was something dangerous, barely restrained. The man opened his eyes, tropical sea blue, and smiled a little at Bucky before he registered that they weren’t alone. 

“Shit,” he said, “sorry,” and Bucky could practically watch him making the effort towards cool, towards clean, towards the same as all the other marshmallow-muffled Guides, and he shuddered and surged forward, pressed his mouth against the Guide’s, opened for his warm tongue.