Adventures in Retail

Steve hadn’t been to church since 1936 when his mother died. He remembers not finding it in him to join the rest of his troops in Europe in 1945 to pray on the way to fight Hydra (the first time around). Even though he’s been friends with the guy for years, Steve still has a hell of a lot of questions about Thor’s… everything in general.

With that being said, Steve is not necessarily a religious man in any sort.

But every interaction with Bucky makes him pray a little harder to God that this one is one of the good ones.

He thinks he has a good shot. Bucky wouldn’t be like this with him if there wasn’t something there, right? Sure, they only work with children and Nazis and no in between, but he’s sure that he doesn’t treat any other of-age male the way that Bucky treats Steve.

Or at least he hopes. Steve hasn’t been this happy to get out of bed since 1945.

-

He’s on his fifteen (feeling guilty about leaving Morita to deal with the nearly fifty-person line by himself, he swears) when Bucky kicks the door to the break room open, holding a giant plastic bag.

He surveys the four teens and Steve sprawled out and sighs. “You know what’s funny?” Bucky says, making his way further into the room, standing over the teenagers laid on each other with one hand on his hip. Steve definitely isn’t gawking at the way his jeans stretch across his ass and thighs. It’s just that no retail store manager should be that built. It doesn’t make any sense.

Jubilee grunts. “Fart jokes?”

Peter snorts. Bucky scowls at him, and then Jubilee, who doesn’t even look up from her phone. “I only remember hearing Kamala and Steve be cleared for their break.” At the sound of that, Peter, Jubilee, and Kate’s heads shoot up, panic written clear as day on their faces. Steve snorts. “And yet… there’s one, two, three fuckers in here that are supposed to be helping poor Jim get these soccer moms the hell outta here.”

They all exchange nervous glances before Peter, apparently the bravest (and dumbest) speaks. “We’re tired, Bucky,” he whines. The brunet looks at him evenly. “They’re being particularly mean today.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Excuses, excuses.” He turns the plastic bag upside down, and at least two pounds of candy comes tumbling out. The teens whoop, all tension seemingly forgotten, and lunge at the sugar. “Anyway, the candy store upstairs had extras. Shove some of this in your mouth and let that sugar high carry you to closing.” He steps in front of it before anyone can get a hand on it and wags his finger warningly. “And do not fucking do that again! Better me than Gabe or Morita.”

“Sorry, Bucky,” they say in unison before tearing into the candy.

“If someone doesn’t recycle all this plastic, I swear to fucking God I’m quitting,” Kamala mumbles, and Kate laughs so hard she snorts.

Steve makes a face at the mountain of candy in the middle of the table. “God, that’s so much sweetness.”

“Like you.”

Did he just-? Steve barely keeps his jaw from dropping, and hides a laugh (and his most-likely-reddening cheeks) behind his hand. “That’s incredibly cheesy.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “But you’re blushing like a school girl anyway. How interesting.”

Steve opens his mouth to make some retort about the shitty conditioning, but Peter fake gags as he maneuvers between the two grown men, mouth full of gummy bears. “Jesus, won’t you two just make out already? We’re minors for crying out loud.”

Kamala starts chastising him instantly as Jubilee and Kate start cackling. Bucky cracks a small smile that, if he didn’t know any better, he would dare to say was triumphant before snapping at them to get back to work. Steve feels his ears get even hotter.

This is starting to get out hand.

-

“-so that’s one more country on board with it. Natasha is supposed to be going to somewhere in Eastern Europe to try and smooth things over with the Russians, but me and Misty both have our doubts about that going well,” Sam snorts. Steve grunts in acknowledgement, completely immersed in his own thoughts about brown hair and an ass that won’t quit when Sam clears his throat pointedly.

Steve refocuses back on his best friend, who’s currently admonishing him with nothing more than pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes. He makes a face back. “I swear, Sam, I heard all of it. Natasha’s probably going to do fine in Ukraine, don’t worry.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Good thing she’s going to Russia then, right?” Steve sticks his tongue out before he can stop himself, a habit he picked up from Jubilee. “What’s got you so distracted?” Sam feigns horror. “And, even worse, acting like a Gen Z?”

Steve huffs. “They’re not all that bad,” he defends quietly, and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling to avoid Sam’s reaction.

“I’m just- you get out here and you start folding clothes and you have a lot of time to think, you know?” Sam “mmhmm”s him impatiently. “And I’ve just been wondering about how I could maybe go about…” he gulps, and finally fixes his eyes on Sam’s face, bracing himself for the reaction. “Dating someone.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and Steve’s heart races when that signature smile doesn’t follow.

“But that would be stupid, right?” Steve rushes out. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. “Because-”

“Well, I mean it wouldn’t be impossible I guess,” Sam sighs, more pensive than annoyed.

Steve tries not to panic after he doesn’t get Sam’s immediate approval. “Not that there’s anything to really even be on the lookout for, being in our line of work and all.” Sam’s quiet. “I mean I know there’s probably tons of hoops to jump through with this sort of thing,” he rambles, coming up to pull at his hair. Sam looks at him impassively. “I couldn’t imagine the field day Fox News would have with my, um, you know,” he says, and Sam, the bastard, doesn’t even try and help him out to the finish line. Steve deflates, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

They’re both quiet for what feels like an eternity.

“And this is all theoretical?” Sam finally asks.

Steve sputters. “I- Of course. I’m on a mission,” he defends unhelpfully.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.”

Steve waves his hands. “It is! I swear. I was just thinking.”

“Alright, Steve. Whatever you say. Stay focused.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Steve promises, and hangs up.

He flops back onto his bed, rubbing a hand down his face before groaning. Very loudly.

-

“Natasha?”

Steve can hear her low, distracted hum even through the tinny speakers on his computer. She doesn’t even look his way as she types away at a monitor off screen. Her green eyes are narrowed into slits as she hacks what’s probably a screen in Times Square or a power source of a Bosnian hotel.

“Could you do a quick background check on someone for me?”

Natasha stops and looks at him. Not even through the monitor, in that vain way that everyone does. She looks straight into the camera and into every shameful part of Steve’s soul. He wants to shrink.

“Is there someone else that might be Hydra? I’m positive we identified everyone before you even engaged, Steve.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, vaguely reminding himself to oil it like Sam said he should. Of course they already had the number of all their suspects. Earth’s mightiest heroes and all that. Steve couldn’t even try to be smooth.

“Uh yeah,” he says dumbly. “I know. There’s just- I wanna be sure,” he finishes, and Natasha is nodding and back to clacking away on her keyboard before he’s even finished his sentence.

“That’s fair, Steve. Name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he says, and definitely does not think about how nicely that rolls off the tongue. It sounds like the names from his generation. “One of the assistant managers. Goes by Bucky-“

“-Completed two tours in Iraq with several pages of confidential missions, born in Brooklyn in 1982, severe scarring on left arm from what looks to be a cafeteria bombing in Baghdad. Two ex-boyfriends according to a Twitter account abandoned in 2013 but currently single,” she finishes easily. Natasha’s face spreads into a slow smile as Steve watches her eyes read over his manager’s file. “He’s cute, Steve.”

Steve coughs. “Didn’t notice.”

She shoots him a flat look. “I’m sure,” she coos drily, but thankfully doesn’t push him anymore. “But he checks out. No Hydra connections. Just someone with a ridiculously extensive skill set that seems to be wasting his time taking coupons from yoga moms.”

“There’s no in-store deals going on until the sixteenth,” Steve corrects quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Steve. You deserve something nice, you know?”

Steve groans. “I am literally on a mission!”

She shrugs. “With a hell of a lot of time to kill. I told you that this one was gonna be pretty uneventful. Nothing’s gonna happen if you don’t stick perfectly to the status quo.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Nothing is going on, Natasha. Seriously!”

“Is he lying to you about that special someone he met out there, too?” He hears Sam yell off of the screen. He scowls.

Natasha laughs and crows “he sure is!” at the same time Steve says “mind your damn business, Wilson!”

-

Over the next thirty days, Steve fell into an easy pattern: come in, fold shirts, dodge handsy old ladies, flirt with Bucky. Go home. Report his top secret spy shit to Natasha and avoid her questions about who has him smiling so hard. Repeat.

He’s trying to muffle his laugh as he watches Kamala and Jubilee try and shove Peter into another pair of jeans to go over the two they already forced him into earlier when Gabe’s desperate voice crackles over the walkies.

“Not to alarm anyone, but the regional manager will be here in about fifteen minutes for a managerial meeting.”

Steve’s stomach swoops as he watches the kids freeze and look over at him, terrified.

“Please make sure the store is presentable and we’re meeting our goals for loyalty,” Gabe continues, voice even. “You’ll all be fine, I promise.”

The channel cuts out, and Peter nearly trips and cracks his head open on a chair in the break room trying to jump out of the pants. The girls immediately straighten out their clothes and break into frenzied, nervous chatter.

“I’m going to be sick,” Kamala groans.

“Do you guys think we can get away with hiding in here?” Jubilee pleads, looking at Steve for advice. He shrugs helplessly.

Peter wobbles in a small circle for approximately three seconds before toppling to the ground. “So no one is gonna help me out of these?” He gripes.

Steve sighs. “Guys, relax,” he advises, and they listen to him, strangely enough. “You guys are kids.” They scoff, but no one objects. “No one is expecting you to do anything other than your job. It’ll be over soon enough. Just stay out of the way.”

The kids seem to visibly unwind, and all look around at each other a little less doubtfully. “You’re really good at this kind of stuff, Steve,” Kamala says sweetly. He smiles at her. “I feel like you’re leading us into battle.”

When you lead tens of thousands of men to their death in the middle of German winters, you start to get good at this sort of stuff, Steve thinks. He hopes his smile doesn’t get too sad. “I sort of am.”

Bucky comes over the walkie next. “Everyone hold onto your nuts. Look like you know what you’re doing. Don’t strangle any customers.” The channel cuts off just as quick as it started.

Steve’s mouth feels dry as he walks back up to the front of the store, logging back into his register and tuning out the first customer he calls up that’s giving him an earful about the line.

He can’t focus. There’s a reason Steve doesn’t do espionage. He can’t play the same waiting game that Natasha does. How is he supposed to stop himself from ripping Pierce’s heart out of his chest the second he sees him?

Gabe comes to the front with Bucky. Neither one of them gives Steve a thought as they talk lowly and urgently. Steve tries to busy himself with the giggly baby in front of him struggling to get out of its mother’s arms as he rings up an absurd amount of flip flops. Thank God for supersoldier hearing.

“-completely unexpected, dude,” Gabe gripes. Bucky grunts in agreement. “What the fuck would he even possibly want?”

Bucky sighs. “Dunno. The only time I’ve ever even heard of the guy was when he personally saw to it that Kurtz got put in our store.”

Gabe laughs bitterly. “Great. And he’s a fucking Nazi.”

“Looks like it. I just wanna lock everyone in the break room until they’re gone.”

“Eh, I mean Randall wouldn’t be so bad out here. What did you say about him the other day? All-American good looks and what not.”

Steve can barely conceal the grin on his face.

“Shut up! He’s right over there.”

Gabe snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Just try and keep it in your pants until Pierce is gone so you don’t get fired for bastardizing the Aryan race.”

Bucky laughs even louder. “I’ll try. Pierce’s email said something about coming back on the 21st to watch over that next shipment of shorts. No clue why.”

Steve’s ears prick up at that. Pierce is coming in again? Here?

His thoughts start racing, and it’s hard to focus on what Bucky and Gabe are saying after that.

Time for action.

As if on queue, the devil himself waltzes through the giant arching entrance at the front of the store, accompanied by the douchiest man that Steve thinks he’s ever seen in his entire life. They make brief eye contact before Douchebag’s eyes narrow. Steve turns back to his computer screen and tries to work through more customers.

“Gentlemen,” Pierce says, and Steve can hear the forced smiles in their voices.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pierce,” Gabe says. Bucky hums in agreement. “Let’s go to the back room, shall we?”

“Oh sure,” Pierce says, and Steve tenses as Douchebag starts to stalk closer to him. “Brock here is just going to do a quick observation of my store. Nothing to worry about.”

Brock Rumlow. The only person in that organization that comes anywhere near being the monster that Pierce is.

Steve wills himself to keep his head down as the asshole circulates around the front of the store as the managers and their guest of the hour make their way to the back. He gets about forty seconds to himself before he finds Rumlow right in front of him, sizing him up.

Rumlow nearly leans over the register to stare at Steve. He gulps. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Captain America, pal?”

Steve wills his eye not to twitch. “All the time,” he answers through gritted teeth.

Rumlow chuckles. “Poor bastard,” he says, and walks off before Steve can open his mouth.

Steve waits until Rumlow is far away from him to scowl.

-

“Bull fucking shit,” Natasha says. Steve nods frantically on the other side of the phone before remembering that she can’t see him.

“Cross my heart,” he says gravely. He winces as his voice seems to bounce around the putrid men’s bathroom. “And he’s with Rumlow.”

Natasha lets out another long line of explicatives. “We’ve hit the jackpot. This feels like Christmas with less bullets.”

Steve frowns. “Less?”

The redhead is smug. “I said what I said, Rogers.”

They’re both quiet, and Steve winces. He knows what he’s about to say is going to kill their mood, but he can’t help himself.

“This is our chance,” he reasons. Natasha is quiet on the other end. “Pierce only pops his head out a couple times a year, and never in the same place.”

A few more moments of silence follow before Natasha concedes. “If you’re really that sure, Steve,” she says. “We’ll do it. Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it to you.”

He smiles although he knows she can’t see him. “We’re gonna get him, Nat. I promise. We just need to act fast and be smart.”

She groans jokingly. “There you go, being all captain-ly again. And here I was hoping your little suburban vacation had loosened you up.”

“The stick up my ass hasn’t moved an inch,” he retorts, and takes pleasure in her surprised guffaw on the other end. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

The line cuts, and Steve lets himself do a little victory dance before leaving the stall. They were really going to catch this son of a bitch! And not a hitch went off while they did it.

Steve finds himself chest to chest with Bucky as soon as he steps out of of the bathroom. The brunet is frowning at him and crossing his arms.

“And where were you? No one approved your fifteen.”

Shit.

Shit.

“Uh,” Steve said. “I had a big breakfast?”

Bucky’s nose scrunches in disgust before he laughs. “I’m kidding. I don’t really give a shit. Also, too much information, Steve, Jesus.”

Steve forces out a painful laugh as his heart rate slows down. Bucky smile wilts a little, and he actually gives Steve a real once-over. “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Something like that,” he mumbles. Bucky’s frown from earlier becomes real, and Steve knows he has to make a move to divert this line of questioning. “I-I’m not gay,” he blurts, and immediately winces after.

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Okay? What are you trying to say?”

Steve flails. What was he trying to say? He was Captain fucking America and he couldn’t even ask someone on a damn date. “But I’m not straight, either,” he tries again.

Bucky remains unimpressed. “I’m still failing to see why I have to know this information.”

“It’s the- what do you call it nowadays? Ah!” He snaps his fingers and smiles brightly at an annoyed Bucky. “Bisexual. I’m bi.”

The brunet raises an eyebrow. “That’s good for you, Steve.”

Steve nods, choosing not to respond to the sarcasm. “And I think you’re cute.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other before Steve scrambles for more words. “And I would like to take you out? This is all really new to me. I’m sorry. I feel like that’s a violation of some sort of rule? But no one ever told me we couldn’t date co-workers, so what’s the harm, right?”

Bucky blinks at him, completely frozen. “Right,” he breathes. “Would you excuse me for just a second?” He squeaks, and turns on his heel to round the nearest corner. He doesn’t let himself breathe until he’s sure he’s alone by the newborn onesies, and lets out a sharp “HOLY FUCK” before giving himself exactly fifteen seconds to regulate his breathing and get his mind to stop racing.

Steve, hot, big, blond, Steve just asked him out on a date. And Bucky’s gonna fuck him.

His life is unreal.

He returns to find Steve exactly where he found him, but the blond has made himself useful by starting to straighten up the ruined piles of shirts in his section. Good boy.

Steve looks up at the sound of Bucky’s walkie talkie, and Bucky wonders how someone who could probably pull a helicopter back to the ground (if desperate enough) could look so much like a kicked puppy. It was dangerous. And confusing. And frustratingly endearing.

“Bucky,” Steve starts, and Bucky watches the poor cloth choke in the blond’s tense, nervous grip. “I’m sorry if that was out of line of me. I’m not sure what the protocol is for work relationships, but I just like you, is all. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“Yes.” Bucky blurts out before Steve talks himself into backtracking his initial offer.

“I- what?”

Bucky exhales shakily, and suddenly can’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Yeah, I wanna go out with you.”

Steve’s smile looks like a million bucks to Bucky. “That’s fantastic! I mean… yeah, cool. Very cool.” He clears his throat at looks down at the shirt still in his hands. “I found this really good burger joint that’s the farthest thing from mall food I’ve had in what feels like forever.”

Bucky hums, not really listening, more focusing on the way that Steve was gripping the poor piece of cloth in his giant hands. “Yeah, I mean I’m not picky, but- wait.” He frowns. “Did you say you already had a place picked out?”

Steve snorts. “Where were you the last fifteen minutes? I have a place already. I can take you, too… if you’re not scared of motorcycles.”

Seventeen-year-old Bucky just died and went to heaven. “N-no! I’m fine with motorcycles.”

Steve smiles. “Perfect. I’ll text you, then.”

Bucky wants to open his mouth to make some smart ass remark about riding big things, but Kamala’s voice comes over the walkie before he gets the chance, asking Bucky to come help her with another stubborn customer up front.

“Duty calls,” he says lamely, and yeah no shit he knows you’re a fucking manager here Barnes and starts walking towards the trashed baby section.

-

“Bucky,” Morita calls out, probably for the third time. Bucky’s floating on air right now. “I’m gonna get Chipotle for lunch. Did you want anything?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, and a stupid smile is slowly forming across his face. “I have a date coming up.”

Gabe throws him a look. “You’re disgusting.”

Bucky shrugs. “That’s the price I have to pay! I didn’t choose this life.”

Morita narrows his eyes at him. “With who?”

Bucky blinks at him before turning to the papers on his desk. “Since when is this a fucking police interrogation? If it goes well I’ll let you know. Hopefully I come in limping.”

Gabe rolls his eyes.

-

Steve looks really good, is Bucky’s first thought as said blond beefcake swings a leg over his motorcycle and shoots him a smile as he jogs up to Bucky.

Damn.

Bucky doesn’t know what he expected, but damn.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“You look really hot,” Bucky blurts back.

Steve raises his eyebrows, and takes his sweet time taking in Bucky. He squirms a little. “So do you.”

They take in each other in silence before Steve punches Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky scowls.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks just as Bucky says “That was a hate crime.” Steve laughs.

“Come on, let me help you get on the motorcycle. You’re wearing my helmet.”

Because he’s a grown ass man, Bucky most certainly does not squeal as he follows Steve to the ride. He’s trying not to think about that tight henley stretching across Steve’s chest as he maneuvers onto the motorcycle. He told himself he wasn’t going to put out on the first date, especially not for one of his employees, but it’s getting embarrassingly harder as the seconds pass.  

Bucky wraps his hands around Steve’s middle, and the blond whistles lowly. “Hands to yourself, Barnes. Children live around here.”

He buries his smile into Steve’s shoulders instead of answering. This was going to be fun.

-

Bucky frowns. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steve makes a face back at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bucky reaches behind him, grabbing for his jacket. “That’s fucking disgusting, Steve. I genuinely cannot believe that, and I expected more from you.”

Steve snorts, watching Bucky angrily push back from the table, chair legs scraping against linoleum. “Good. Leave then. Have a good time walking your ass back home on I-74. Have a good life, asshole.”

Bucky stops to stare at Steve hard. Steve stares back.

They glare at each other for about a minute before cracking up as Bucky makes himself comfortable in his chair again.

“You’re ridiculous, Steven,” Bucky says, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye.

“I can’t believe you like Superman better than Batman, though,” Steve gripes. Bucky shrugs. “That’s just wrong.”

“Batman is an asshole and that sounds like a problem for you and Google,” Bucky says simply before sipping on his milkshake. He indulges himself in peeking out at Steve’s amused smile, his own lips curling up around his straw. He reaches across the table to grab Steve’s hand and squeezes with faux condescension. “But it’s cute that you think he’s the underdog.”

Bucky’s grin drops when Steve’s hand tenses. He tries not to snatch his own back too quickly.

Steve immediately relaxes and drops his gaze, stealing sheepish glances up at a confused Bucky. “I- sorry,” he says hastily, and gives the offending hand a dirty look as if it had a mind of its own. “I’m not- where I’m from- I couldn’t…” Steve trails off and sighs.

Bucky’s blood boils. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell got to us all buddy,” he says softly. “You’re fine.”

Steve runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m still learning to be comfortable with everything,” he apologizes again. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky smiles warmly and reaches for Steve’s hand across the horrible checkered table again. “No need to be nervous. We’re fine here. We can be ourselves. We can take it as slow as you want.”

-

Naturally, the couple finds themselves making out outside of Bucky apartment like teenagers approximately twenty minutes later.

Bucky kisses him hard before bracing himself against Steve’s chest. “I have to get the door open, Lover Boy. Give me a minute.” Steve grunts and ducks down for another kiss, but Bucky laughs and pushes him before their lips connect. “Steve! Five seconds!” He laughs, and Steve actually stumbles back.

He tries his hardest to laugh off the shock of someone actually being strong enough to shove him, and uses the brief time that Bucky’s turned around unlocking his door to try and gather himself. What the fuck?

The door finally budges, and Bucky’s grabbing at Steve once again. “Come here,” Bucky orders, and closes the door just to crowd Steve against it. He sticks his hands down the front of Steve’s pants to palms him through his underwear. Steve huffs and grinds his hips into the touch.

“It only took me a minute to open the door, and, contrary to popular belief, you didn’t die.” Bucky teases against his lips as he squeezes his package, and the blond groans. “See what happens when you’re good?”

Steve makes a mental note to find out whatever response his body just had to that later.

“You’re talking too much,” Steve complains and kisses him, and slips a hand in Bucky’s hair to tug on it experimentally. He pulls his grip as much as he can, careful not to take his date’s head off of his fucking shoulders, but still enough to make the brunet feel it.

He can’t lie. Steve’s developed something shy of an obsession with Bucky’s hair. It was just so long and shiny and pretty… and now here he is, getting to play with it in all of its 2006 emo-punk band glory. He can’t believe it. Steve feels like he’s floating.

Steve also feels like he’s fucking dying. He’s probably erring too hard on the side of caution, but he knows himself. He knows how after seventy-something years in this body, his muscles work faster than his brain when he gets too excited. He wants Bucky to enjoy it, but he can’t pull at it with all of his strength.

His stream of nervous consciousness is abruptly interrupted by Bucky fully holding him through his briefs.

Right.

Steve’s hand tightens in his hair before he knows what’s happening, and Steve winces as he feels the roots strain against the scalp. Shit. Bucky’s breath catches, and Steve breaks the kiss, drops his hand, and holds Bucky slightly away from him to read his expression.

Bucky is staring back at him with wide, glazed eyes, hand still firmly planted on his dick.

“Shit, Bucky. I’m so sorry-”

“Harder next time.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry. “I- what?”

Bucky kisses him again, and closes the bit of space Steve put between them seconds before. “Pull my hair harder. I like it.”

Steve’s mouth drops open as Bucky goes to work on his neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. “I- oh,” he concludes in a small voice. “Okay.”

Bucky snorts in response. “I wanna blow you. Is that okay?”

An irrational panic grips Steve, and he doesn’t know why. He’s an adult. He knows that, logically, this is what follows after some dates, especially between people with as much chemistry between them as him and Bucky. Just because he’s a damn near immortal ninety-five year old that happens to be an Avenger doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a night of nice company and consensual sex with a man to whom he’s attracted.

Sam’s counseling logic only works for about two more incomplete thoughts before the anxiety kicks in, however. He’s really about to waste an entire night of a mission jumping into bed with a stranger. Right after he had made a large discovery that would knock Hydra on its ass for a considerable amount of time, nevertheless! Steve should be at home, organizing an attack so that they could strike soon, and here he is shacking up with the fucking manager. Unbelievable. He was the worst spy ever. He hopes they never put him on a case like this again.

But if they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met Bucky, who was currently teasing his head through his underwear and making an incredibly convincing argument about why Steve should get out of his head and focus on the moment right now.

Natasha said it herself. Steve deserves this.

He’s pretty sure that advice was meant to be taken had the head of a neo-Nazi organization showed up at his job to run a drug smuggling operation through a shitty retail store, but whatever.

Besides, when was he ever going to get a chance like this again?

“Yeah,” Steve says firmly, more to his own thoughts than to Bucky. “And I wanna return the favor later.”

Bucky kisses him hard one last time before removing his hand altogether and sinking to his knees. He fixes Steve with a hard look as he reaches for his zipper. “I don’t usually do this on first dates, you know. I’m a lady.”

Steve cracks a grin. “Well, I’m glad you decided to make an exception.”

Bucky returns the smile as he yanks at Steve’s pants.