“Buck?”
“Whaddaya want?”
“Where’s the fucking- where’s the goddamn- the FACE PAINT?”
Bucky strolled into the bathroom, stretching as he oh so lovingly admired the ass stuck in front of him.
“Well, Stevie, I can promise it’s not under the fuckin’ tub,” he chuckled, nudging his way past Captain Assmerica and opening the bottom drawer of the sink vanity.
“Always did know where things were, didn’tcha Buck.”
Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed the palette of face paint from Bucky’s triumphantly raised hand.
He all but sets the sponge under the water before it’s snatched from him by a set of shiny vibranium fingers.
“Not so fast, dollface, it’s my turn to be the artist.”
Bucky sets himself gingerly on the counter, dabs the sponge in red paint, and gets to work painting the most obnoxious gay pride flag ever imagined on his boyfriend’s cheek.
“Done yet, old man?” Steve teased, fifteen minutes later. Bucky’s face scrunched up in concentration, tongue poking between teeth as he prodded at Steve’s cheekbone.
“If you’d shut up, I might actually finish today,” Bucky sniped back, setting the sponge down.
“Okay, now look!”
Steve turned the mirror to see that his entire left cheek had been converted into a gay ombré, each color bleeding into the next in just the right way.
Fuck, my boyfriend is perfect.
“Okay, your turn!”
Fast forward another hour, and they were finally-finally- ready for pride.
Steve was the more conservative of the two, opting for only face paint and his normal attire.
Bucky, as Natasha put it, was kitted the fuck out.
Black hotpants, fishnets, and a studded leather jacket thrown over a bright red corset formed half the look.
The other half was the swirls of blue, pink, and purple that Steve had so lovingly painted all over his body.
He felt confident, he felt sexy, and he felt good.
Especially with Steve draped over his arm.
They formed a sort of posse on their Stark Industries float; Steve and Bucky in front, with Sam and Natasha flanking them, and Peter and his friends behind. Sam and Nat matched Bucky’s colors, their outfits almost the same (“One of us is gonna have to change, lady-“). Peter was draped in the biggest trans flag Bucky had ever seen, courtesy of Tony Stark himself and embroidered with nanotechnology to become a bulletproof shield if need be.
Bucky’s gut twisted, thoughts crashing back to reality as he remembered how dangerous this was. Four well-known superheroes-turned-vigilante-turned-superheroes strolling the streets was bound to spark some amount of danger. Add in the fact that they were all openly queer and at New York fuckin’ Pride and you’ve got yourself an almost guaranteed bomb threat.
“Babe, you ok?” Steve’s eyebrows did the Thing, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled with worry, and Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath.
You’ve got combat training, goddamnit, pull yourself together.
“Just swell, babydoll. Let’s show these kids a good time, huh?” Forced joviality turns into real fun at some point, right?
The unease in his chest wasn’t that easily waylaid, however, no matter how many rainbow-printed condoms he threw into the masses.
The gunshots came two hours later.
Sixteen of them, somewhere to Bucky’s general left. He vaguely registered the four of them dropping onto the ground in attack stance, and he might’ve heard Peter’s flag clicking into place as Steve hissed at them to get back, find cover, just go.
The screaming began, floats stalled, and “Come On Eileen” cut off as a crush of bodies flooded away from the vicinity.
“Eight down- Sam, shield yourself and get to them. Nat, get the gun away from him, be careful. Buck, you and I are on lockdown duty.”
Goddamnit this should not be hot this is Not the time Barnes.
He kisses Steve anyway, as Nat takes off down an alley and Sam rushes to the nearest victim. Anger replaced the fear in his veins, flooding his icy body with a wave of heat.
“Let’s get this bastard, Stevie.”
“Fag! Faggot! God hates you, God damns you to an eternity of suffering, you sinful, lustful, fucking abominations-“
The man’s tirade ends as Natasha tapes over his mouth, tired and grim. The paint has faded from her skin, sweat washing it away.
Four people are dead.
The gunman is a well-known Baptist pastor in the Brooklyn area.
Bucky is numb.
Later, he’ll feel better. Lying in bed next to Steve, the day will seem ages away compared to the closeness of his boyfriend.
Right now, however, it’s too much. The adrenaline has let go of his system, and Bucky distantly hears the wailing of sirens, the screams of those who stayed behind and witnessed it all.
These people had families, had loved ones. They had been at Pride to feel safe, for fuck’s sake. His heart felt like it was on fire; it burned for every life lost today, for every life lost due to bigotry or hatred or stupidity.
And he wasn’t about to let it go out.