1743 words
They rode in silence for the most part, the music playing in the background as they drove through town after town and listened to playlist after playlist.
Given that the RV only went up to about sixty-nine miles an hour for brief stretches at a time, which made Bucky cautiously stick to a nice cruising speed of fifty-five miles an hour, they took their sweet time crossing the Texas border in the earlier afternoon. Steve didn’t mind, content with doing whatever.
They stopped to refuel again in Clayton, New Mexico, and let Punk out. Bucky walked him while having a smoke, and Steve looked away, cheeks burning as the wind gently lifted Bucky’s skirt, revealing his bright red underwear and fishnets. He busied himself with making sure the gas pump was in properly, completely unnecessarily, although he would only admit such on the threat of death.
They bought a couple of super-sized milkshakes for lunch, and Steve valiantly but futilely tried to ignore the residue of Bucky’s lipstick on the straw.
To their luck, there was a laundromat a couple of buildings away, and they pulled into the parking lot with a rumble.
Steve withdrew all his dirty clothes, watching Bucky do the same, and was actually flabbergasted at how many pairs of underwear he had, one for every day of the week and in every color and shade and style, it seemed like.
He caught a glimpse of a bare scrap of fabric that didn’t looked like it covered anything, and Steve must have blushed all the way down to his feet.
Bucky hauled the trash bag of his clothes over to where Steve was standing, holding his own much dirtier ones, and Steve dropped them in and followed Bucky out. Punk was stowed away in a large, black purse that wasn’t much bigger than he was. His head poked out comically and he barked at Steve once before Bucky zipped the bag closed.
When Bucky noticed Steve’s concerned expression, he delicately explained. “He’s much calmer when he can't see people staring at him. He’ll be much happier this way, not having to be alone. Plus, it’s a Birkin bag, so it’s added comfort,” he joked, and Steve didn’t know what a Birkin bag was, but he relaxed, giving him a small smile. Bucky’s cat eye sunglasses weren’t light enough for Steve to see his eyes, so he could only guess at what Bucky was feeling.
There were three other people inside that didn’t pay them much attention, only sparing Bucky a glance or two and ignoring Steve entirely in favor of turning back to their phones.
Steve watched Bucky unload their clothes into the washer before pouring in laundry detergent that he had carried in. After he fed the machine some quarters that he had in his purse, there was nothing to do but wait. Unlike Bucky, Steve didn’t have a phone, so he just sat down beside Bucky and watched him while he used his while it charged via the ten-foot-long cable that was plugged into a nearby outlet.
“After this, we’ll have to stop by somewhere so I can get you a phone,” Bucky said to him, making Steve blink.
“Oh, I'm fine, Buck,” he attempted to reassure, not wanting Bucky to waste his money.
Bucky dragged his sunglasses down and gave Steve a flat look, revealing eyeliner that made Steve’s mouth dry up.
“If you keep puttin’ up a fuss, Rogers, I’ll just have to make it a pink one.”
An involuntary grin worked its way onto his lips. “That so?”
Bucky raised his eyebrow at him. “Just you watch me.” The small smirk said he was just teasing, though.
Sooner than he expected, the washer stopped and Bucky transferred their wet clothes into a dryer that he also fed quarters into.
Steve observed Bucky as he typed every so now and then, his posture slumped, yet still somehow poised and graceful.
When the buzzer to the dryer went off, Bucky didn’t appear to hear it, too busy typing away.
“I’ll get it,” Steve offered quickly as he stood up, wanting to be helpful. He took the trash bag over to the dryer and opened it, and withdrew the first handful of clothes, which were silky and smooth under his fingertips.
Bucky’s… lingerie.
His brain fizzled out and he tried not to have a crisis as he stared down at the honest-to-god green brassiere that he imagined Bucky wearing. It didn’t have foam cups like usual, which was good, because Bucky didn’t have breasts like usual. If he had, though, Steve probably wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Hell, he didn’t even know what to do with himself now.
He was absolutely certain he was beet red in his face, and tried to get himself under control.
Like ripping off a band aid, Steve decided the best way was to just do it all at once, so he quickly grabbed handfuls and shoved them into the trash bag, trying not to register their feel. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, because it meant that he dropped something.
To his great horror and a minuscule amount of glee, it was the small scrap of fabric that barely passed for underwear; Bucky’s black thong. He was hyperaware of how soft it felt under his hand, and his traitorous mind supplied the imagined sensation of it on Bucky’s body, stretched over miles of smooth skin.
He swallowed, his mouth dry.
“Thanks,” Bucky said suddenly, reaching for it. Steve’s clumsy fingers nearly dropped it again, in his surprise at having been caught holding it. Steve knew his face was giving off enough heat to bake cookies, but Bucky didn’t seem like there was anything amiss in Steve’s behavior.
They quickly left after that, and true to his word, they stopped at a dollar store on their way out of town.
“I need some more shaving cream and razors,” Bucky explained as they parked, but Steve knew better. He was sure to check his wallet to see if he had enough money inside or if he needed to get more from his duffle bag, not wanting Bucky to waste his own money paying for a phone for him.
True to his word, or maybe just to back himself up, Bucky did buy the items, and browsed leisurely through the household items. Steve grabbed a rainbow piggy bank, wondering if Bucky would like it, thinking of the enamel pin he wore on his vest collar. He glanced over at Bucky, who was still looking at the different kinds of rugs they had, and stealthily went and paid for it, wrapping it up inside two bags and stuffing it into his jacket. It clearly didn’t fool Bucky at all, given the way he peered at the lump curiously.
They went up to the register when Bucky was through browsing, having bought a couple of cans of fruit scented shaving cream, a pack of disposable razors, a stack of water bottles, some dog food, a small decorative ornament to hang on the review mirror, a New Mexico keychain that he planned to add to his collection that Steve had noticed wedged into the seam of the dashboard paneling, and several battery powered wire lights that he said would brighten the RV up after he lined them around the ceiling.
Steve headed Bucky off at the pass, seeing how he was eyeing the phones behind the counter with interest. “What kind of smartphones do you have?”
The disinterested clerked blinked at Steve and pointed to the sign behind him, which helpfully listed all the models and brands they had in stock. Steve blushed lightly in embarrassment as he perused the list.
“I’ll take an iPhone 6 plus for five hundred,” he managed to say without choking, still not used to how much things cost here in the future, even considering inflation. Bucky had the same model and Steve liked how big it was, in comparison to his last shield provided phone he had that had felt so small in his big, meaty paw, as Natasha had once referred to it as. He’d have to call her sometime, now that he could. Now that he had news worth sharing to her.
Bucky hummed in approval as Steve paid the guy, and he tried not to preen.
Steve didn’t bother with a parting statement, since the clerk had ignored him the first time, and neither did Bucky, so they left in silence. That was one of the more disheartening things about the future that Steve didn’t like: nobody was friendly these days, and if they were, they never really meant it.
The only people that were sincere in their friendliness were old people, people his actual age that had been around when he had grown up. That was a sobering thought and he had never liked to dwell on it for long, that his peers were all slowly dying out.
Well, all but one.
Said person grunted as he hauled the stack of water bottles onto his metal shoulder when he stepped into the RV and nearly stepped on Punk, who was very excited to see him for so short a time away, hopping all over Bucky’s legs. Suddenly, Steve felt a deep kinship with the little animal and smiled at him.
It sent him into a barking fit and the smile fell, and he sighed heavily. He grabbed the bags from the shopping cart and put them on the counter for Bucky to put away, who was shoving the water into the cabinet under the sink. After Steve returned the cart, he approached Bucky and hesitated, nervous.
“I, uh… I got you something. To express my gratitude for letting me stay with you. And, um, to show my support.” He cringed at the stilted wording and withdrew the bag from his jacket, practically thrusting it in Bucky’s face.
He carefully unwrapped it and stared at it for a few moments. Steve’s heart started pounding. Oh god, he hated it. He hated it and Steve was the worst at giving gifts and he was going to jump off a cliff-
“I love it,” Bucky said, a bright smile spreading across his face, making Steve’s heart pound for a different reason. “Thank you, Steve. This is the best.”
Steve swallowed. “You're welcome,” he replied hoarsely.
Not even Punk howling his head off could make Steve stop beaming.