Catch a Tailor by His...
The Winter Soldier had been a controversial addition to the Avengers' roster in the eyes of some— mostly conservative talking heads and entertainment networks masquerading under the thin veneer of legitimate news. It took Tony Stark himself standing up— Pepper Potts bursting with irreproachable grace and dignity next to him and their army of lawyers in tow— and providing irrefutable evidence (certain files liberated from a particular HYDRA base) that the Soldier hadn't been in control of his actions in order for the government to declare the Soldier the longest-serving prisoner of war in history and award what Stark assured him was a medium-sized fortune in back pay and compensation.
According to the files, he had once been Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, of the US Army's 107th, born March 10, 1917, captured in 1945. He'd officially been listed as "Missing in Action", not "Killed in Action", so reentering him into society was a simple matter of giving him new identification, a bank account with plastic cards to accompany it, and an entire floor to himself inside Stark's Avengers Tower.
Living in the Tower was… astonishing. Anything he wanted, the disembodied, English-accented, masculine voice of Stark's AI, JARVIS, would supply— such as the information that the designation was both an acronym meaning "Just A Rather Very Intelligent System" and a nod to the butler who had practically raised Stark (information which provided a glimpse into the inner workings of the man). Whether it was something to watch or listen to from the vast list of things James'd missed, a new and interesting cuisine he'd seen on Pinterest made and delivered by a local eatery, a new set of knives, journals to keep track of his thoughts, brewing the coffee for him, or introducing him to the wonders of YouTube's multitude of adorable animal videos, all James had to do was speak aloud.
Through JARVIS, James was able to piece together most of his history (he did not read some of the files; his memory was more than sufficient in those aspects), enough to jar loose the memory of the smell of his mother's hair and his little sister giving him the nickname "Bucky", though he didn't tell anyone that just yet, even the AI; it still felt a little raw in his own mind.
Eventually, when he'd passed all the evaluations, he began to train in the state-of-the-art on-site facility with the rest of the team. Everyone called him either Barnes or Soldier— except the Widow, who always referred to him as James with a heavy Russian accent. Stark spent most of his spare minutes in Bucky's presence either gazing longingly at and salivating over the metal arm, asking if he could upgrade it for Bucky, or both (mostly both). Bucky had allowed him to remove anything HYDRA had installed that could be trouble— trackers (six), self-destruct mechanisms (four), and unstable compounds (three)— but had drawn the line there.
Becoming an Avenger also meant looking the part. One of the only things JARVIS couldn't seem to make magically appear ("It is no magic, Sergeant. A vast local supply chain, coupled with electronic ordering and payment system and hundreds of well-paid Stark Industries employees are responsible for acquiring anything you may request") was Bucky's new uniform. He needed it to not remind him of his old life— so no muzzle or goggles unless the situation warrants, no details that looked like bindings, no unnecessary buckles— but retain all the functionality of his old tac suit— leaving the left arm open, plenty of places to secret knives and other weapons, pockets for his lockpicks and other tools. JARVIS informed him that the tailor would like to meet with him to discuss style choices. He was directed down to the fourteenth floor, where he was told "Steve Rogers, lead designer and master tailor to the Avengers, Sergeant Barnes," was waiting for him.
The elevator doors slid open and—
Bucky almost forgot how to breathe.
The man standing just inside the door was… absolutely gorgeous. He ticked all of the boxes Bucky had discovered (or rediscovered) about himself: small and lean, floppy blond hair, bright blue eyes over a nose that had seen several breaks, and a jawline sharp enough for Bucky to cut his lips on.
"Hello." Oh. Oh, Bucky was in trouble. The voice on this guy was so deep, Bucky almost shivered. "You must be Sergeant Barnes. I'm Steve. Please, come in." Steve extended his hand for Bucky to take, mouth pulled into a wide, welcoming grin.
Bucky— Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier and one of the most feared assassins in the world— tripped over his own feet coming off the elevator.
His finely-honed reflexes kicked in immediately, and as he fell forward into Steve, he grabbed the outstretched hand with his flesh one, placed the other up by the tailor's bony shoulder, and used his forward momentum to swap their positions. (It was either that or end up in an undignified heap at Steve's feet.)
"Whoa. Nice moves." Steve shook his head. "I shouldn't be surprised; of course, you have excellent reflexes." His grin never faltered— had possibly even grown. "Well, Sergeant, if you wouldn't mind just stepping into my office? I'd like your input on the design of your new uniform."
"Bucky." Oh, good, his voice was nice and steady. Even in the correct octave. Don't hurt yourself patting yourself on the back just yet, slick, he cautioned himself, remember who just tripped over literally nothing. "Uh. You can call me Bucky. Everyone used to. Before."
Steve's smile softened at the edges, his head cocked to the side slightly, and the tiniest crease appeared between his eyebrows. "And now? What do your friends and teammates call you?"
Were his teammates his friends? Well, they were friendly, but that could just be kindness. (More data required.) "Barnes. Or Soldier. Widow calls me 'James'," he softened the J nearly into sibilance to mimic the Widow's pronunciation of his name.
"Bucky it is, then. Come on in, we'll head on back to my office." The wattage on Steve's smile ramped up once more, causing Bucky to briefly wonder if it was the sheer brilliance of this man's grin powering the Tower or if Stark was still using the Arc Reactor. (He'd have to remember to ask JARVIS later.)
He followed Steve into the large, open, modern space and down a wide hallway. Off to one side, Steve's employees and apprentices were pinning and cutting a whole rainbow of fabrics and patterns. Farther along the same side was another dedicated space dotted with more workers at draft tables and mannequins in various states of dress. On the other side, the hall was lined with soundproof glass, on the other side of which rumbled a vast array of sewing machines, churning out seams and hems left and right.
Steve's office was a straight shot across the Tower from the elevator. As they walked, Steve pointed out the various operations taking place, revealing that the tailor's floor featured its own cafeteria in order to accommodate the army of caffeine addicts working there. Close to Steve's office, tucked in a large corner of the sewing department, was where they had the media center that lent its function to consultations and research.
Steve's office itself was a modestly-large space roughly the size of Bucky's bedroom on his own floor. The artwork on the walls looked like it all might have been done by the same artist, though the styles and subjects were vastly different and ranged from impressionist landscapes to stunning portraiture to a full comic book panel featuring a buff figure by the name of Captain America. The desk was tall enough for Steve to stand behind, the drafting chair also tall enough for him to sit comfortably at the desk, if he wished.
He did neither, however; instead, he led Bucky over his floor-to-ceiling windows where he had placed a low coffee table, two comfortable-looking chairs, and an easel holding a large drawing pad, colored markers lined up in the tray. He sat in the chair directly in front of the easel and directed Bucky to the other chair. It dawned on Bucky that it was probably Steve's art on the walls.
"So, Bucky. First of all, can I offer you something to drink?" At Bucky's answering head shake, Steve crossed his legs, stacked his hands on top of his knee, and met Bucky's eyes. "Okay, let's start with the big stuff: is there anything you particularly either want or don't want in your new uniform?"
They spent the next three hours pleasantly engrossed together in the task of creating Bucky's new clothes. Bucky became more relaxed and also more interested in Steve as they got to know each other a little bit through both his words and his nonverbal mannerisms, and Bucky was happy to answer all of Steve's questions.
"Do you have a favorite color?"
Your eyes. "Blue."
"Does all the metal get hot or just the arm itself?"
Oh, I'll show you how hot it can get (down, boy). "Just the arm."
"Any issues with rashes from sweating into your old tac gear?"
Oh, boy, you might as well pull up a chair. "Yes."
Steve asked JARVIS to bring up reference photos of Bucky's old Howling Commandos gear and his Winter Soldier trappings, Bucky highlighted things he both approved of and vetoed. Steve seemed... upset when Bucky requested bulletproofing, which was confusing until—
"Jesus, Buck. Your old uniform wasn't protective? What if you got shot?" The worry in Steve's voice was… gratifying.
"I was given an experimental serum; I can heal from most injuries within a few hours or days, depending upon the severity." Bucky shrugged, hoping it didn't sound like he was bragging; he certainly hadn't chosen to be enhanced. He couldn't deny its usefulness, however.
Steve frowned for the first time, and it was… also adorable. "No, I mean— you're a human, a person, and worth protecting."
"I carry a lot of knives and guns and I have a vibranium arm. It generally isn't much of a problem."
Steve's eyebrows lifted. "How many knives are we talking?"
"Usually between twenty and forty."
"And guns?"
"Generally another five or ten, depending."
Steve's expression cleared. "Well, you're in my hands now—" ooh, what a delightful thought. It started a subliminal shiver in the base of Bucky's spine that rippled out to his fingers and toes, "—and I'll take good care of you." Oh, god. Yes, please. Bucky shook his head at himself internally. Don't hit on him at his work, that's probably creepy. It took massive internal effort, though. He's so pretty.
Steve uncapped a few markers, spent a few minutes drawing on his pad, and turned it to face Bucky.
It was amazing.
Bucky couldn't speak for a moment, so blown away was he by Steve's obvious talent. Apparently, it was a little too long, as Steve began to look uncomfortable. "Of course, we can always go with something completely different, you know. Ah, what about—"
Bucky shook his head firmy. "It's perfect. Thank you."
Steve's smile lit up his face— the whole room, even; Bucky was blinded. "That's great, Buck." He put his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet, reaching a hand down to grab the metal hand without reservation and pull Bucky to his feet.
Oh, this tiny man was trouble.
Later, Bucky wouldn't be able to remember the trip from Steve's office back to the elevator, the metal hand registering the pressure of Steve's palms on either side for the whole journey, patting intermittently for emphasis as he spoke about his plans for Bucky's new uniform. It wasn't Bucky's imagination that Steve's fingers had dragged along the metal before letting go completely.
Once the elevator doors had slid silently shut, Bucky remembered his question. "JARVIS, is the Tower still being powered by the Arc Reactor?"
If the AI thought it was an odd question, it didn't let on. "Affirmative, Sergeant. The technology is sustainable for many years to come."
Bucky nodded, assuming there was a camera or seven to pick up the movement. "Good. That's good."
And if he spent a few extra minutes in the shower that night, well, only JARVIS would know.
JARVIS had all the Avengers' statistics on file, including measurements, and Steve had an entire army of help at his disposal, so the next time Bucky was called to suit up, his brand-new outfit was waiting for him.
The real thing looked even better than the drawing had led him to hope for, and it fit with absolute perfection. Steve had thoughtfully tucked a diagram into one of the obvious pockets that detailed a full fifty hidden spots to stash knives of various sizes and types, and fifteen little magic spots that were specifically designed to visually camouflage hidden firearms.
If Bucky happened to trace his finger over Steve's signature before refolding the note and stashing it away again, well, only JARVIS saw.
The mission was fairly run-of-the-mill; some crazy scientist created an army of robots to destroy the government and erase all debt and blah blah something or other; same shit, different day, really. Bucky set up in a good, high vantage point; Hawkeye mirroring him in another location. Together with the fliers, Iron Man and Falcon, they kept the threat contained and civilian risk to a minimum.
The only exciting element to the day was the nifty laser gun attached to each robot, which provided a nice workout for those having to dodge the deadly beams.
Soon enough, the Avengers had defeated the ridiculously-named Doctor Doom and his ambitious army of Doombots. In the quinjet on the way back to the Tower, Widow sauntered up to where Bucky was sitting near a window, watching the clouds roll by below. She took the seat next to him but remained quiet until he turned to look at her. Then she smirked. "Dig the new threads, James." A wild dimple appeared in her cheek as her grin deepened mysteriously. "Uh-oh." Then she stuck her finger through a tear in the fabric of his shoulder.
Oh, yeah. One of the little robots had gotten a nearly-lucky shot off just before the Hulk had simply stepped on it and crushed it into tiny Doombot-bits. Bucky frowned, but inside a little spark of joy ignited at the prospect of seeing Steve again. "Huh. Well, that won't do."
Widow's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners and the quirk of her lips suggested she knew what Bucky'd thought. "Looks like you need to make a trip to the fourteenth floor."
Bucky really hoped the lighting in the jet wasn't sufficient for her to pick out the blush spreading on his skin, but he sincerely doubted it. She was the Black Widow, after all.
From the pilot's seat, Barton chimed in, "Oh, yeah. Steve's great. Fantastic artist." He raised a finger in the air and waggled it back and forth a bit. "Free advice, though: don't play cards with him."
Widow's throaty laugh filled the small space as she settled into the copilot's seat. "Clint, you lose to everyone at cards."
"Yeah, but Rogers cheats."
"If I recall correctly, strip poker was your idea," the Widow said as she buckled in.
"Well, yeah, you were playing."
"Clint, you will never beat me at strip poker."
"Didn't have to, did I?" And he reached over and took her hand.
Widow snorted. "You're such a dork."
Bucky smiled to himself and resumed watching the sky out the window.
Steve didn't even have to say a single word; the look on his face spoke volumes. He'd been waiting for the elevator to deposit Bucky on the tailor's floor again, standing with his weight all on one leg, arms crossed, head cocked to the side.
JARVIS had directed him here as soon as he'd entered the Tower, and as the doors opened, Steve's bright blue eyes zeroed in on the burnt edges of the fabric exposing the flesh of Bucky's shoulder. "Hm."
The tone was so much like a prim schoolmarm that Bucky nearly hung his head, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned his toe into the floor. He did tuck his chin to his chest. "Sorry, Steve."
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, skin-to-skin in the two-point-five-centimeter hole there, and squeezed gently. "Can you look at me, Buck?" He waited until Bucky had complied. "You don't have anything to apologize for." He squeezed again. "Are you okay?"
Bucky nodded, and Steve smiled but took his hand away, leaving an invisible, scorching imprint behind. Bucky stupidly hoped it would never fade, then had to shake his head at his imagination, following behind Steve as he led Bucky to his office.
"JARVIS told me what happened; showed me footage. I'm going to rework everyone's uniforms with a new, stronger material they've just finished testing down on seven. But that'll take me a while—"
"Do me last." He immediately blushed. "I mean, do mine last."
A line appeared between Steve's brows. "Buck—"
"Enhanced, remember?" Bucky smiled. "Take care of the regular humans first. They need it more than I do. In fact, do Barton first; that guy is a walking disaster."
Steve snorted, but his smile was soft. "That's a fact. Okay, Buck. Now, for today, I just so happen to have made a second jacket for you, so why don't you go ahead and take that one off?" Steve walked over to a closet, from which he pulled an exact replica of Bucky's new uniform top, sans shoulder hole.
Bucky hesitated; the tank top he was wearing beneath his uniform did nothing to hide the scarring around the metal arm. It was ugly, and Steve deserved only pretty things. As pretty as Steve is, Bucky's mind unhelpfully chimed in.
Steve noticed but misinterpreted the pause. "Only if you're comfortable, of course. Here, I can just—" and then began to turn on his heel.
Which made up Bucky's mind for him. "No, it's okay." He quickly removed all twenty-four knives and six guns from their various upper-body stash spots and holsters, setting them in neat rows on Steve's coffee table. He caught Steve's smirk and raised eyebrow. A line from a song in an animated movie popped into his head, then out of his mouth, "Be prepaaaaaaared!" He felt his face flush a deeper red, but the joyful widening of Steve's sunshine smile was worth it.
"You've seen The Lion King?" He held out his hand.
Bucky nodded, unfastening the jacket to place it in Steve's hand, thrilling internally at the brush of their fingers. He hadn't imagined Steve's eyes dipping to his exposed chest, had he? "It was our post-mission movie the first time I went out with the team. Barton lobbied heavily for it against Wilson's suggestion of Finding Nemo. Which we watched last Friday."
Steve's smile brightened impossibly, eyes positively sparkling as they locked on Bucky's. "The Avengers get together as a team and watch movies?"
Bucky nodded. "Every Friday, except if there's a mission, of course, and also after every mission. It's a good way to unwind and foster healthy relationships with our teammates, according to Stark. And it's hard for most of us to form attachments with people not in our line of work. Only Thor has really managed it so far; Pepper doesn't really count, since she runs this place."
"Makes sense. That's great; so, you'll be getting together tonight, then?"
"Yes," Bucky nodded. An idea occurred to him. "Would you… want to come?"
Steve's smile was gentle but regretful. "I can't tonight, Buck. I've just decided to redo all of your uniforms, remember?" His mouth widened a bit on one side. "Next time, though, okay?" Bucky nodded, hopefully not letting either his disappointment or his tentative hope show on his face, but it must have lost some of the discipline Hydra had instilled in it in the months since his liberation because Steve hurried to add, "I promise."
Bucky believed him.
Later that night, the elevator doors opened to the common floor. Bucky was the last to arrive; everyone was already seated in their pajamas and snacks rested on every flat surface. On one couch, in their bespoke sleepwear, sat Stark, Pepper on his lap; Barton was in the middle with the Widow's legs over his and her back against the armrest, both of them looking cozy in old band T-shirts and grey athletic pants. On the other couch, Wilson and Hill snuggled together in their fuzzy pants and tank tops, as did Thor in his… toga? and Jane in her black yoga pants and wine-colored, oversized top. Banner sat on one end of a loveseat in dark blue sweatpants with Harvard down the leg and a grey hoodie, and Darcy sat next to him in loose-fitting pajama bottoms with tiny Spider-Mans all over them and a black spaghetti tank; they were not together, though. Darcy had explained to Bucky that she identifies as aromantic and pansexual, while Banner was asexual. She then was courteous enough to explain what all those terms meant, along with many others; after, he found he'd been familiar with some of the concepts, if not the names— especially certain ones like bisexual, which, it turned out, was how he'd always felt.
He noticed they'd left the rocker/recliner open for him, which he appreciated. Next to it rested a bowl of popcorn and an unopened bottle of water.
As he settled in, clad in his favorite pajama bottoms with happy little dancing tacos all over them and a plain black T-shirt, the Widow turned in her seat to smirk at him. "So, James, how was your visit to the tailor?"
This, unfortunately, captured everyone's attention and turned it on him. Most showed some level of interest, but Stark's brows were sky-high, the eyes beneath them glinting cheerfully, and both Barton and Pepper were grinning widely for some reason. "Uh, good?" He nodded. "Yeah, he decided to make new uniforms for all of us, ones that can withstand lasers, so he said he couldn't come this time, but— what?" He was suddenly getting some very odd looks, especially from Widow, Barton, and Wilson. Stark was giggling into Pepper's shoulder, and she was futilely trying to shush him.
It was Barton who answered, "Dude, you asked Steve to post-mission movie night?" He grinned widely when Bucky nodded. "That's awesome. Too bad he couldn't come, though. He's fun." There was a general consensus; Darcy and Jane had yet to meet Steve, so they were simply curious.
Stark instructed JARVIS to begin the movie, and they settled in to watch The Emperor's New Groove.
The next day, Bucky, the Widow, and Barton were sent on a two-week excursion to Rio and a Hydra base hidden beneath a huge statue atop a mountaintop there. They spent the first ten days on recon, both in-person and via remote-viewing from several cameras the Widow placed around the perimeter.
This was the longest amount of time he'd spent with any of his new teammates to date, and they spent it playing cards and talking. He learned that the Widow preferred to be called 'Nat' or 'Natasha' and that Barton, of course, went by his first name. Bucky told them his nickname and allowed them both the use of it. (Natasha refused with a smirk. "I'm not calling you that, James.") Clint introduced him to the magic of streaming music apps he could put right onto his phone.
Amazing, this new century.
Three days later, they had all the intel they needed and the rest of the team had arrived for the big show. As they were systematically razing the Hydra base, Bucky was using his metal arm to force his way into a secondary entrance when he was attacked from behind. Clint had his six, however, and the assailant found himself with a quivering arrow in the side of his knee. Bucky knocked him out, then turned to fight a second enemy, drawing his knives and going in for close combat. He'd just disarmed his foe and had drawn back his flesh arm to knock him out, as well, when another arrow whistled past, glancing off the material of his raised arm before embedding in the meat of the guy's thigh.
"Ahh! It's in the bone! It's in the bo-ho-hone!" the agent wailed.
"Barton, what the hell?" Bucky said into the comms, putting his fist to good use and punching the screaming agent into silence.
"Huh. It, uh… slipped? Sorry, dude. Ah. I think I heard Nat say she needs you in there."
Bucky frowned as he squinted up at Barton's nest— because the Widow certainly had not said any such thing over the comms, but shook his head and proceeded inside anyway.
There he found Stark and Natasha mining the databases and laying charges, a pile of indisposed Hydra agents groaning in the corner. "Barton lied and said you needed me in here?"
"Hey!" Clint protested.
Natasha snorted, then she looked at him with her eyes narrowed. "Hm. Steve does such good work. Good material, too. Sturdy. Tony?"
"Say no more." Without warning, Stark raised his left repulsor and fired a mini-shot at Bucky's upper arm, in the same spot where Clint's arrow had bounced off.
Stark's beam left a neat tear, however.
"What the—" Bucky started, incredulous.
"Oopsie. My bad. Thought I saw a mosquito. Sorry. Guess you need to make another trip to the tailor."
Natasha snorted.
Bucky blushed and shook his head, grinning. "Subtle."
Stark laughed. "Yeah, I'm definitely not known for that."
Clint chimed in, "We're all clear out here. Hey, I wonder if Steve would like to come to movie night tonight? Maybe Bucky should ask him."
Bucky shook his head again. "You're all terrible."
Stark's faceplate popped open and he squinted at Natasha. "Who the hell is Bucky?"
"Mister Rogers is expecting you, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS informed Bucky just before the elevator doors slid open to reveal Steve, head bent to sign something on a clipboard one of his employees was waiting for. Bucky took the moment to look around; it seemed busier than his previous visits, people filling more of the available workspace, the din louder. Steve smiled at the employee and thanked her by name before sending her on her way and turning to greet Bucky.
"Hey, Buck. How ya been? Come on in; JARVIS tells me you took a bit of friendly fire?" Steve smiled curiously.
Bucky snorted. "I think the team's ganging up on me."
"What makes you say that?"
"Clint tried to shoot me with an arrow, then told me to go see Natasha, who basically told Stark to shoot his repulsor at my arm, creating the neat little hole you see here."
Steve laughed. "Well, I think you may be onto something, Buck." He started leading the way back to his office. It wasn't Bucky's imagination, it was busier than before.
"What?"
"The day I saw you last, when I told you I was going to redo everyone's uniforms?"
"I remember." He didn't say it was because of his disappointment at Steve's refusal to hang out.
"The next day, Tony Stark came to visit me in person. He doubled both my staff and my salary, offered me the use of his personal driver anytime I've worked too late to catch the subway home, and told me he'd bought the building I live in and tripled the security. And fixed the elevator, finally." He sounded a little dazed.
Bucky smiled. "Definitely not subtle."
"Ha. No." They'd reached Steve's office, and he pulled open the closet door. "On the bright side, the increased staff has allowed me to complete all your new costumes in a fraction of the time. Ta-da!" He pulled out with a flourish a jacket that was nearly identical to the one Bucky was currently wearing.
Only nearly, however, as it looked just a bit sturdier. He reached out his hand and, sure enough, the material was noticeably thicker.
"Don't worry, it's super-breathable. This material has been tested extensively by Stark himself. He put it on one of his lab robots and had it run the obstacle course, with the lasers and the spikes, and nothing penetrated this stuff. It's woven with Vibranium; a gift from Wakanda."
This time, Bucky wasted no time taking off his top and handing it to Steve in exchange for the new one. He definitely caught Steve's eyes dilating as they dipped to Bucky's chest and abs, and Bucky made up his mind.
He opened his mouth to ask Steve to tonight's post-op movie night, but Steve broke in first.
"So, Buck, what movie are we watching tonight, and should I meet you somewhere?" And, oh, his cheeks darkened adorably, too, a small smile pulling up the sides of his mouth— which was suddenly all Bucky's eyes wanted to focus on.
Bucky felt his own face breaking open with the sudden onslaught of his joy; he couldn't help it. "I'm not sure; they're having fun showing me all their favorite cartoons. Everyone seems to love the escape they offer. Would you want to come up to my floor first? We can grab some dinner, then go together? Say, around six?"
And the sun shone right there in Steve's eyes. "Perfect."
At six o'clock that evening, JARVIS stated in that not-quite-happy tone that Steve was on his way up and the butterflies took that as their cue to begin a tactical assault on Bucky's stomach. Less than a minute later, Steve stepped off the elevator and into Bucky's personal living space for the first time.
He was dressed more casually than when last Bucky'd seen him, now in an old-looking T-shirt sporting a large symbol that resembled a bird, three triangles forming a larger triangle centered between the wings and loose-fitting pajama bottoms with—
"Are those…? Where did you even get those?" Bucky could hardly get his words out through the laughter choking him. Steve's pajama pants had small cartoon Winter Soldiers all over them, the head overly large and the body adorably small, doing cute things like petting a cat he was holding, snuggling a teddy bear, and smelling a bouquet of flowers. They were ridiculous and Bucky instantly loved them.
Steve snorted. "Buck, I'm the head tailor to the Avengers and on Tony Stark's payroll. I can find or commission just about any fabric and make my own pajamas."
Bucky felt his eyes grow as wide as his smile. "You went out and found cartoon Winter Soldier material just to make pants out of to wear to Avengers movie night?" A bright, hot point of light had begun to glow deep in Bucky's chest.
Steve's smile was soft. "'Course I did." Then his stomach rumbled and he laughed. "Uh, so what did you have in mind for dinner?"
"Well, JARVIS and YouTube have been helping me learn, or maybe relearn how to cook, but I don't know if I'm ready to do it for anyone else just yet."
Steve reached out to take Bucky's hand. "We could do it together. Between the two of us and JARVIS, I'm sure we can whip up something edible."
"I am at your service, sirs. If I may say, the team will be delighted to see you arrive together tonight and, personally, I believe you are well-suited to one another and will get on like a house on fire, as Mister Stark is fond of saying."
Bucky's face stretched wide as he met Steve's eyes, finding the same look reflected back at him. He gave a gentle squeeze to Steve's fingers. "Thanks, JARVIS, buddy."
In the kitchen, they found everything they'd need for a simple but flavorful vegetable stir-fry. They grabbed two non-slip cutting boards and faced a wide selection of knives of an entirely different purpose than Bucky had been trained for.
Steve selected a large, rectangular knife; after a moment's contemplation, Bucky chose a slightly smaller, more triangular one. They washed up some sweet peppers, a small broccoli tree, a few sugar snap peas, peeled a red onion, and opened a can of water chestnuts, then set about preparing everything for the pan. JARVIS showed them videos of the best ways to cut the tops off peppers and pare down the broccoli florets to mini, bite-sized trees, and offered tricks to cut onions without tearing up.
While they worked, Steve asked JARVIS to put the music from his office on shuffle. A catchy, upbeat guitar rhythm filled the space at a perfect volume to both hear well and still speak over. "Well, it's aaaaall right ridin' around in the breeze, well, it's aaaaall right if you live the life you please..." Bucky was treated to Steve's deep voice singing along, harmonizing flawlessly with the various singers. The words were thoughtful and the melody memorable, and Bucky asked JARVIS to open a playlist for him starting with that song, also adding a few others that played after.
Their joint cooking venture turned out to be delicious, and they smiled at each other throughout, talking and getting to know each other better. At one point, Steve reached out and placed his hand over Bucky's where it lay on the table and just… left it there until it was time to wash up. Once that was finished, they headed out, holding hands on the way and not letting go when the doors opened on the common floor.
The assembled Avengers (and Darcy and Jane) were all cuddled or sprawled on their couches or easy chairs in front of the massive television taking up most of a wall. They turned, nearly as one, at the sound of the elevator— every single face sporting a genuine, welcoming grin, and a chorus of "Hey, guys!" and "Steve!" went up.
Clint added, "You came, dude! Awesome! Take a seat," he gestured to the open loveseat, as subtle as a brick to the face, like most anything the team did. "Hey, Buck." He lifted a few fingers in greeting.
Steve's blush was deep and immediate. "Hey, guys. Wow, I feel like I just walked into Cheers."
Stark piped up from where he was snuggled up tight to Pepper's side, "'Where everybody knows your naaame…' Or nickname, in this case, eh, Buckaroo? Bucko. Buck Rogers in the twenty-first century!" And now Bucky was matching Steve's flush at the blending of their names (later, Steve would inform him that Buck Rogers was also a fictional character from a campy sci-fi television show).
Pepper's hand settled over Tony's mouth as she rolled her eyes affectionately. "Hello, Bucky. I hope it's okay that Tony told everyone your nickname. He was thrilled to learn something that his father never told him about you and that wasn't in any of the history books or files."
Bucky nodded and felt Steve squeeze his hand. They made their way to the open loveseat and settled in next to each other, legs kept from touching only by the width of their joined hands.
"J," Stark said, "Toy Story one, hit it!"
By the time the first movie was over and the second had begun, Steve was fast asleep and cuddled up to Bucky's shoulder, fingers entwined as though they always had been and would be; a fact of life, Steve-and-Bucky.
The rolling credits found just Steve and Bucky still in front of the overly-large screen, both fast asleep, Steve wrapped up in Bucky's arms. Someone had thrown a soft blanket over them. When he woke to some gentle prodding from JARVIS, Bucky had a vague recollection of hauling a sleepy, snuggly Steve into his lap and tucking Steve's head under his chin. Steve's arms were wrapped around Bucky's torso, one knee settled snugly into Bucky's armpit.
He spent a few minutes staring at Steve, taking in the hard planes and angles of his face, relaxed fully in front of him for the first time. He was still gorgeous to Bucky's eyes, the fiery blue hidden away behind thick, golden lashes.
He wasn't sure when Steve had become so precious to him, but the smaller man had absolutely stormed into Bucky's mind and heart like a tempest sent by a mad sorcerer. He raised his metal hand and brushed a stray straw-colored lock away from Steve's face, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the smooth, pale forehead.
Steve's eyes fluttered open a moment later, soft smile playing along his lips as he discovered exactly where he was and what had awoken him. Then he met Bucky's eyes for three entire heartbeats before leaning in to press soft lips against Bucky's.
Bucky became aware of a low, needy sound coming from somewhere. It wasn't until he heard an answering moan in a different timbre that he realized he'd been responsible for making the first.
"Stevie." Bucky couldn't remember feeling like this… ever. Arousal, yes, but not this bone-deep awareness of another person, a potential partner.
But a wince flashed across Steve's features, and he took one of his hands from around Bucky, put it to one side of his chin, and pushed, resulting in several distinct pops from his neck and one from a bit lower down his spine. He repeated the process to the other side, earning a few more cracks. "As much as I love this and wish I could stay here, my body won't thank me in the morning if I sleep curled up in your lap." He softened the statement by leaning in for another kiss, then another.
"Would you like me to rouse Mister Hogan to bring the car around for you?" JARVIS inquired once they'd broken apart and Bucky had gently set Steve on his feet, holding him by the hips still.
Bucky leaned forward, turning his head sideways and resting his cheek on Steve's stomach. "Or you could come back upstairs with me. No pressure, of course, we can just cuddle, but you're already in your PJs, and if Happy's asleep, you might as well let him rest. God knows he needs it, keeping an eye on Stark." He turned his head and pressed a kiss into Steve's shirt. He felt a hand under his chin, raising it to meet Steve's eyes.
"I'd love that, Buck."
Bucky smiled, bursting with joy, grabbing Steve's hand, and leading the way, fingers entwined as though stitched that way.
Author note: look, if I go any further with this story, I'll have to up the rating, and then it won't be able to be posted here lol
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