"the most important part," you say, smacking the rectangular pastry dough with your rolling pin, "is to keep it cold."
bucky turns the dough by ninety degrees as you keep hitting it. "right, for the layers."
you smile, satisfied with the information your boyfriend-slash-baking student has retained. "even the heat from your hands can be enough to melt the butter, so we refrigerate between laminations."
he nods.
you add, with a stifled giggle, "and that's why it's so helpful that one of us has a cold, dead, metal arm."
"hey."
a sharp pinch to your waist makes you squeak. "it's true!"
you really should stop poking so much fun at your super soldier, who hoists you onto the counter with ease. the realization that some flour will get on your butt has you groaning into his mouth.
"jamie."
as he kisses you, his vibranium fingers try sneaking under your shirt. "i'll show you cold—"
"no!" you yelp.
it takes three whiny shoves at his elbow to prevent his metal hand from sending shivers across your skin. your shared laughter fades gradually.
"was that too mean?"
"nah." he graces you with a smile. "you're fine, doll."
you let your nails skid along the ridges of his forearm, emitting a small tinkling noise. "it really is a baker's dream. you don't even need an oven mitt."
bucky shakes his head at your joke, but maintains steady eye contact when you cup his cheeks.
"just another reason why i'm so lucky to have you."