I saw a prompt on tumblr and that's how this fic was born! So far I've only got 2 chapters planned, but I like the idea enough to maybe continue it more in the future.
Rated M for Bucky's potty mouth. Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
Bucky sat at the back of the bar with his untouched bourbon, casually surveying the room, though he had his eyes on one person in particular. It was an attractive man in plain clothes, chatting with another guy who seemed enamoured by his beauty. That was how it usually went - have a pretty face and chat to anyone who looked lonely, so they'd be easier to manipulate. Bucky had been tracking this particular demon for weeks now, and was so close to finally killing the damn thing.
This demon preferred to prey on men, and the easiest way to do that was to hit on them at gay bars and convince them to go somewhere more private. Then the demon would eat them. Sometimes literally. Sometimes they'd just devour their soul, leaving an empty shell of a body behind. Bucky didn't care, really, he just knew he had to kill 'em. He'd stab the fuckers with his blessed blade and then poof! They'd disappear in a cloud of dust.
Tonight Bucky had planned on getting the demon's attention, but that didn't seem to be happening. So he sat back and watched from afar, deciding he might as well let the demon get this poor schmuck drunk and then ambush them when they left. The drunk guy would just think he was spiked once he saw the demon turn into dust.
It'd be fine, Bucky had worked with witnesses before.
He was so busy pretending not to watch them that he didn't see the person approaching him before he was standing right there next to Bucky's table. Trying not to appear startled, Bucky intended on simply glancing up and letting the man know that he wasn't interested, but then he saw him.
Tall, buff, blond, and looking like he'd just walked out of one of Bucky's wet dreams. He knew who it was instantly, of course. There weren't many men who could be mistaken for Steve Rogers, especially when his shoulders were as wide as they were. God, those shoulders. Bucky had fantasized about them more times than he'd like to admit.
"Hi," Steve greeted, smiling shyly down at Bucky. He was holding a beer in one hand and looked like he had no idea what he was doing. "I was gonna buy you a drink, but you've barely touched yours."
Bucky glanced down and noticed that his bourbon was still untouched. "Oh, yeah, guess I'm a little distracted. Would you like to sit with me?"
"God, yeah." Steve grinned, relieved, and sat across from Bucky.
And, fuck, this was not supposed to happen. Bucky couldn't afford to have distractions, not tonight of all nights. But when Captain fucking America approached him of all people, what else was he supposed to do?
"I'm Bucky," he said, holding out a hand for Steve to shake. "Now you wanna tell me why you're in a gay bar of all places?"
Steve shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm, uh, exploring a side of myself that I've kept a secret for far too long now."
If someone had told him that Steve Rogers was interested in men, Bucky would have laughed in their face and told them they were dreaming. But considering this enlightening new information came from Steve himself, he had no choice but to believe it. And that's when something occurred to Bucky - Steve may be exploring this side of himself, like he'd said, but he hadn't come out publicly, and he definitely looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in the sense that he had no fucking clue what he was doing, and was kinda just making it up as he went. Bucky had been there, done that, when he had first gone to gay bar. It was only plausible that Steve had never been to a gay bar before.
"Am I the first guy you've approached?" Bucky grinned slowly, already knowing the answer. He knew it was wrong to assume, of course, but considering how shy Steve was, he'd be surprised if he'd approached others before.
"Yeah, you are." Steve grinned back easily, growing more confident with each passing moment. It probably helped that Bucky wasn't fanboying or making a huge deal out of it.
Bucky settled back, taking a sip of his drink and checking Steve out, eyes raking over what was visible of his body. Damn. He was so much better looking in person, that was for sure. His lusciously long eyelashes especially caught Bucky's attention.
"So, the world knows all about the Captain, but I wanna know more about Steve Rogers."
At that, Steve's eyes seemed to light up and tension fell from his impossibly wide shoulders. "I have no idea where to start." He chuckled nervously, but Bucky could tell he was happy to be seen as more than his superhero alter-ego.
"Got any hobbies?" Bucky suggested. He quickly glanced away from Steve to see if the demon was still chatting to the man. He was. "I know you're pretty busy fighting bad guys these days, but there's gotta be things you enjoy in your down time. Things you enjoyed before you became Cap."
The grin on Steve's face faded into a fond smile. "I've always loved drawing. Even went to art school before the war. But there's not much time for it these days. No inspiration. I tried to sketch some buildings when I got out of the ice, you know, trying to find a way to cope being in the future, but it wasn't long before I was needed again. Haven't really picked up my sketchpad since then."
"Really? That's a damn shame. I'd love to see some of your art." Bucky pouted, picking up his drink to sip at again. He glanced at the demon, keeping tabs on it. "You said it wasn't long before you were needed again… How long were you here before that?"
"Two weeks." Steve looked down and dragged a finger through the condensation on his beer mug.
"What the fuck?" Bucky couldn't believe it. Two weeks? Steve had been in the 21st century for only two fucking weeks before he was thrown back into the action? "Okay, lemme get this straight. You were fighting in World War II when you crashed a plane into the ice, then you woke up in a new fucking century and were only given two weeks to acclimate before they made you start fighting again? Are they fucking serious?"
"Granted, a Norse god was on the loose and then aliens invaded New York from a hole in the sky, so it was pretty important." Steve shrugged, but he didn't look to happy about it. "They needed everybody they could get."
"Fuck that," Bucky snorted. "I mean, don't think I'm not grateful for all that you've done, but goddamn, you sound like you need a break."
Steve nodded. "I do. That's why I'm here, talking to you." He looked up at Bucky from underneath his lashes, making Bucky's heart skip a beat.
"Well I, for one, am glad you are." He hid a pleased smirk behind his glass, finishing off his drink.
"You want another one?" Steve asked, gesturing to the empty glass.
"Sure."
Bucky watched Steve head to the bar, using the opportunity to check out his ass. It was perfect, of course. Everything about Steve was perfect, and not just physically. What on Earth had Bucky done to get so lucky? What are the odds that his superhero crush was not only interested in men, but also interested in him? Bucky shook his head, knowing he was getting distracted. He had to focus back on what he was here for before he lost his chance.
The demon was still chatting up the same man, but the man was starting to look more than a little bored, constantly scanning the crowd or checking his watch. It definitely wasn't the usual turn of events. Good for Bucky, though. He didn't wanna risk there being another casualty before he finally took the demon out. As it was, the demon seemed intent on keeping the man interested, which meant Bucky still had some time to kill.
"I'm sorry, were you waiting for someone?"
Oh, shit. Bucky looked up to see Steve with a glass of bourbon, looking completely unsure of himself. Bucky cursed, upset that he was the cause of this.
"No, no, no," he rushed to amend, his smile small and apologetic. "I'm the one who's sorry. I just didn't expect for anyone to approach me is all."
Steve glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the bar, then at Bucky's table, tucked away at the back. Realisation dawned on him, and a pretty red blush stained his cheeks. "Shit, I didn't even think you'd wanted to be alone. I can still go, if you want?"
"God, no." Bucky had a job to be done, yes, but he'd be damned if he passed up the opportunity to flirt with Steve some more. "You caught me on a bad night, but I really do like your company."
"Well, that's a relief." Steve sat back down, sliding Bucky's drink over to him. "So what do you do?"
Of course, Bucky couldn't straight up tell Steve he was demon hunter, so it was good he had an answer for times like this. "I'm an exterminator. It's not that glamourous, but in a city like New York, there are always plenty of pests that need be dealt with."
"You make it sound so ominous," Steve chuckled. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "What are your hobbies?"
What were his hobbies? Hunting and killing demons was sometimes a full time job, and he didn't think hanging out at gay bars was a decent hobby. Bucky wracked his brain for things he did in his downtime. "I read sometimes. Sci-fi, mostly. And I box with some of my coworkers a few times a week."
"You like boxing?" Steve's face lit up excitedly, and he leaned in further when Bucky nodded. "Me too! I didn't have much time for it during the war, but I took it up when I got out of the ice."
"It's almost cathartic, isn't it? To hit something as hard as you want without worrying about hurting it." Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and started drinking his bourbon. He'd forgotten it was there, but this time his distraction was different. Steve was a nice distraction, that was for sure.
"You a Brooklyn native?" Steve asked, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"Born and raised."
Steve couldn't have looked happier. "Really? What neighbourhood? I mostly grew up in Brooklyn Heights, but my ma and I moved around a bit over the years."
Bucky opened his mouth to answer when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see that a disgruntled demon was leaving the bar via the backdoor that lead to the alley, the human he was flirting with nowhere to be seen.
"Shit," Bucky swore, turning back to Steve with a grimace. "I'm so sorry, I've gotta go."
Then he was up and out of his seat, speed-walking over to the backdoor as fast as he could without breaking into a run and drawing attention to himself.
The demon was still in the alley, thankfully, looking all sorry for himself. Bucky didn't know what he'd done to make that man lose interest, but he was damn glad he had. If he got the job done fast enough, maybe Bucky could figure out an excuse to tell Steve so they could continue where they left off.
"Hey, asshole," Bucky called out, hands on his hips.
The demon spun around and glared at him, taking a step forward. "Hunter."
"Mhmm, that's me alright." Bucky pretended to check his nails, feigning nonchalance. "You gonna fight me or what?"
That's all it took. The demon ran at him unnaturally fast, swinging his fist at Bucky. Bucky dodged it easily, and danced around, light on his feet. He'd been trained to hit back, all hunters were, but Bucky preferred not to. The demon couldn't manage to land a single hit, and in its frustration, started to get sloppy. That's all that Bucky needed.
He reached for the blade at his belt, covered by his heavy black coat, and in one swift motion, thrust it into the chest of the demon. The demon stumbled back, hands flying to the blade, but it was already too late. All at once, he turned into a cloud of dust and was no more.
Bucky smiled to himself, breathing heavily with adrenalin from the brief fight. God, he loved his job. He could completely understand the appeal of superheroes fighting the bad guys. Nothing could beat the feeling of removing evil from the world. It was thrilling, to say the least, and gave Bucky a moral high to know he was doing the world some good, whether they knew it or not. He sheathed his blade and turned to head back inside, only to come face to face with Steve, whose eyes were wide with shock.
Steve looked at the pile of dust that was slowly being scattered by the light breeze, and then back at Bucky, who was growing nervous with every passing moment.
"What the fuck?"