Chapter Text
July 3rd, 4:20 PM
"Does my ass look good in these jorts?" Steve asked, examining himself in the mirror. The jorts in question were a light acid-wash denim that revealed the lower half of both of Steve's ass cheeks. An American flag patch adorned the back right pocket.
In her peripheral gaze, Natasha could see Steve's eyes on her.
Her eyes were on her phone. "Yes," she said.
Steve pouted, then put his hands on his hips and shifted them back and forth. "I'm buying them."
"Great," Natasha said, clicking off her phone. "So we can leave?"
"One more thing," Steve said. He pushed into his changing room and returned to Natasha in a skin-tight, red white & blue crop top that said:
KISS ME,
I'M IRISH ☘️
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY 🎂YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO 😉
"Horrible," Natasha said, lips quirked in a half-smile. "You have to buy it."
July 3rd, 6:30 PM
At her girlfriend Maria's request, Natasha had made the theme for Steve's 25th birthday party July Fourth Douchebag (But Make it Camp). Steve's response had been better than anticipated.
"'Make it camp' means make it slutty," Steve had said, looking at Natasha with his trademark sincerity. "But with more glitter."
For once, Natasha had agreed with him. Her own outfit for the party consisted of a red bikini top, blue bottoms, and white pumps. Body glitter would cover the rest of her—and, if she got her way, most—if not all—of her girlfriend.
Natasha and Steve left the store with the vaguely sexist crop top, the cutoff American flag jorts, and a pair of strappy red sandals with white and blue gladiator laces.
"I'll also have a chef's hat, but that's only for grilling," Steve deadpanned.
"Of course," Natasha responded. "That's only civilized."
It had taken years for Natasha to understand her best friend—that frustrating jigsaw of impulsivity and patchwork moral code—but she'd like to think that at this point, she did. Deadpan for Steve meant sincere, earnest, un-ironic—it meant that he genuinely had a (probably pristine) white chef's hat that he genuinely believed ought only to be used while grilling.
If Steve's commitment to ethical anxiety didn't extend to his fierce loyalty to Natasha, she would've gotten tired of his bullshit a long time ago. Instead, she'd fallen in love with it. Luckily for Nat, her girlfriend Maria had too.
As they strolled leisurely through Fort Greene, Natasha found herself particularly enamored by Steve Rogers' neuroses. In the ten minutes since they'd left the store, Steve had (1) yanked Natasha into a storefront to loudly chastise a random blond twenty-something for leaving his dog unleashed, after the dog had eaten a purple-clad teenager's pizza; (2) stopped at a bodega to buy a lighter when a moppy-haired college kid with a cute smile had asked them for one; and (3) loudly berated the largest man Nat had ever seen for spilling his coffee on a witchy-looking brunette. The brunette had watched, bemused, as the bald, tuxedoed man had proclaimed vengeance on yooz fookin' fags and stalked away.
"No one has called me a fag before," the high femme witch had said in a heavy Sokovian accent.
"First time for everything," Natasha had said with a shrug.
"Wanna come to my birthday party?" Steve had asked.
The witch had raised an eyebrow at Natasha. "Sure," she'd said, bemused.
"This party is going to rule," Steve said on their way out of the Hate Crime Coffee Shop, holding his bags to his chest. They walked down Fulton Street, Natasha's latte burning her throat like raw Stoli.
Steve wiped a spot of foam from Nat's lip and grinned. "Thank you for throwing it."
Natasha squeezed his muscled arm. "You're welcome, dork."
Steve responded with a smack of cherry lipgloss to her cheek.
July 3rd, 8:50 PM
Maria's smile widened with every passing hour and every shot Natasha matched with her. By city standards, Steve's birthday party had barely begun—it wasn't even 9:00 PM—but by grad student standards, it was ending.
"M'awake as a windbreak," Maria slurred, dragging her palms across Natasha's reddened cheeks.
"You are sloshed, my darling," Natasha replied, running her thumb along her girlfriend's patriotically-painted cheekbone as Maria bobbed like a bobblehead to the Top 40 song that the DJ was playing.
"I have never ever ever in my life been sloshed," Maria enunciated carefully, looking directly into Nat's eyes.
"Let's get you inside," Natasha said. She slung a hand around her girlfriend's muscled waist, cursing the Russian blood in her veins that made her tolerance so much higher than Maria's.
Maria stopped short and slammed Natasha in the boob.
"Ow," Natasha said.
"Our special guest isn't here yet," Maria hissed into Nat's ear. She then began biting Nat's earlobe.
"Baby, please," Nat said, darting her head around the party as she detached her girlfriend's tongue from her hairline. Maria was right—the guest of honor hadn't yet arrived.
Steve was here, though. Nat could see the birthday boy shedding glitter like a snakeskin as he politely shook his ass to Ariana Grande's 34+35.
"I bet Mr. Captain Steve Rogers America would looooooove to know what this song is about," Maria said, collapsing into Natasha in a fit of giggles.
Natasha rested her hand on the small of Maria's back. They were almost to the elevator when the guest of honor finally arrived.
"Boo-Bear!" Maria shrieked. She threw herself toward the guest of honor in what Natasha thought should have been a hug, but then Maria stumbled and kissed his bicep instead. "You're late."
"It's not even 9:00 PM," said Buck Buchanan. "You're lucky I'm here before midnight."
July 1st, 12:00 AM
Natasha had met Buck Buchanan at a queer bar on a dare. He'd been bartending in one of those high-class slutfits that consisted of a white collar and bowtie above his bare, grease-slick chest and glittery silver booty shorts. Even a couple of man-hating dykes like Natasha and Maria could look at him and see that he was hot.
"Holy shit, that guy is hot," Maria had said.
Natasha had shrugged. "For Steve, maybe."
"Well Steve ain't here tonight," their friend Sam had said, looking the bartender up and down. "I am, though."
"Keep it in your pants, Wilson," Maria had said, pinching Sam's cheek. He'd responded by tickling her waist—Maria Hill may not have had a Kryptonite, but tickling her stomach sure came close.
Nat laughed at her friends and slammed back the rest of her chilled Grey Goose. "I'm gonna talk to him," she'd said clearly.
"You're slurring," Sam had replied.
"Shut the fuck you," Nat had said, flicking Sam's ear and standing up. "I'm gonna talk to herrrr-im talk to him."
"Good luck, lovebug," Maria had mocked in between giggles.
"Shut the fuck you to you too," Nat had said. She'd pressed a kiss to Maria's hair and gone up to the sexy gay bartender.
"Good evening, sexy bar gay," Natasha had said. She'd pasted on a winning smile. "Fuck."
The bartender had laughed and reached into his booty shorts. Perhaps Natasha had been drunk as ever-loving shit, or perhaps this sexy bar gay really had been that sexy, but something about the way he'd held himself had screamed I am more than just another dumbass cis male gay who's gonna paw at your boobs and act like it's not creepy.
Natasha's breath had hitched as she'd watched the sexy gay bartender pull a business card out of his skintight shorts. "Where did that come from?" Natasha had wondered.
"Trust me," the sexy bar gay had said, pressing his card into Nat's hand, "you're better off not knowing."
"You are like ethereally sexy," Natasha had replied, pointing to the bar gay with his card. "I have a girlfriend, but I've also got a boyfriend, not a boyfriend just a boy friend but he is also ethereally sexy and I think the two of you should be ethereal and sexy together."
The bartender reached for Natasha's empty glass and ran through it with a towel. "Have him call me," he said, grinning.
Natasha tried her best to wink in a cool, hot way, but ended up eliciting another laugh from the sexy bar gay.
She didn't try again. Instead, she turned around and all but ran back to Sam and Maria, waving the business card.
"I got the sexy bartender's number!" Natasha had cried, to the tune of Sam and Maria reaching for the card at the same time before Sam won the battle of wills and flipped the card over.
"This just says 'Bite Me' with a winky face," Sam had said, raising an eyebrow and flipping the card back to the front. "Buck Buchanan," Sam had read, squinting, "Professional Booty Call. Looks like Steve's lucky day."
"He'd never hook up with a sexy bartender he'd never met before," Maria had laughed. "Can you picture it?"
Sam had started to laugh too. "Hello, sir," he'd said in a mock-version of Steve's voice, "Would you care to partake in an inebriating beverage with yours truly? My name is Steven Grant Rogers and I approve this message."
Natasha had snorted. "Using those Broadway skills for evil, eh Wilson?"
"I do what I can."
Natasha had chuckled and thrown an arm around Sam's waist. He'd been just drunk enough to accept her touch and lean his head on her shoulder.
"Let's invite him to the party," Sam had said.
Natasha had jolted up and looked at him. "The birthday party?"
"July Fourth Douchebag (But Make It Camp)!" Maria had shrieked gleefully.
Sam had smirked and nodded.
Natasha had put her hands on his cheeks and squeezed Sam Wilson's stupid adorable face while he'd tried not to grin at her. "Samuel Middle Name Wilson."
"It's Thomas."
"Samuel Thomas Wilson. You are an evil genius and I love you and I treasure you."
"You too, Nat," Sam had said, chuckling. "Let's make this a party Steve Rogers will never forget."
July 3rd, 9:45 PM
Steve and Buck had been flirting for almost an hour. Natasha, Sam, Maria, Maria's law partner Nick Fury, and Wanda Maximoff, the witchy brunette that Steve and Nat had rescued in the coffee shop that morning, watched as Buck Buchanan pressed his thumb to Steve's temple and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, making Steve turn a deep shade of puce.
"Ooga booga huhhh?" Steve said, or he said something approximating that; Natasha couldn't quite hear him. His crimson cheeks and Buck Buchanan's July Fourth Douchebag outfit—shimmering black leggings and a chopped-up white tank top with a giant red star in its center—matched perfectly.
"What's he saying?" Fury hissed in Maria's ear.
"It sounded like ooga booga huh," Maria hissed back.
"Can y'all be quiet? I'm trying to eavesdrop," Sam said, rubbing a red piece of glitter out of his eye. Nat and Maria had coated him in glitter when he'd arrived at Steve's party in a plain red crop top and knee-length jorts. What kind of a gay man—Natasha shook her head. She'd deal with Sam Wilson and his War Against Glitter tomorrow.
"Guys! Something is happening!" Wanda thrust out her arms and immediately focused everyone's attention back on Steve and Buck.
"So you're a bud- a bar- a budtender?" Steve was saying.
"A bartender, yeah," Buck said back, fluttering his eyelashes and deepening Steve's shade of red.
"That's amazing," Steve said, eyes locked on Buck's glossy red lips. "Tending the bar. It's a very, um, you're very important."
Fury and Maria snickered. Natasha gently tugged their earlobes, eliciting a neck bite from her girlfriend.
"You look like you do important work too," Buck said, widening his eyes in a mockish display of innocence that had even Nat choking back laughter.
Steve nodded for a beat too long. "I'm very important," he said.
Buck ran a finger down Steve's chest and landed on
KISS ME,
I'M IRISH ☘️
Steve visibly gulped.
"You're Irish?" Buck asked, circling the four-leaf clover that covered Steve's nipple.
"Mm-huh. Yes, uh, yessir," Steve cleared his throat, "my mother was Irish so I am too."
"That's amazing."
"Mm-hmm. Yes. I am amazing."
Maria turned to Natasha with puppy-dog eyes and said, "Nat, babe, this is hard to watch."
"Speak for yourself," Sam said, throwing an arm over Fury and grinning.
Fury kissed his teeth and narrowed his eyebrows at Sam, who returned with a wink.
"You're gonna get me fired," Maria said, pulling Sam off of her partner.
"I wish," Fury muttered. "Couldn't fire your ass even if I needed to."
"And don't you forget it," Maria said, pressing a kiss to Fury's cheek that her partner immediately wiped off.
"We're losing focus," Wanda said, nodding to Steve and Buck. "They've really never met before?"
"You've known Steve longer than he has," Natasha replied, gesturing to the sequined man whose finger was about to cause Steve Rogers' heart to explode in a big fat mess that Natasha would have to clean up.
Wanda cocked her head and considered this. "Their souls have known each other longer," she said. "Look at how they speak to each other. How they look to each other. These two hearts have met before. They have loved each other through many different lives."
"No offense, Glinda, but I'm pretty sure that guy's just fuckin' hot," Fury said with a shrug.
Sam nodded. "Amen."
"No, the Wiccan's right," Maria said. She squeezed Natasha's hand. "This was meant to fuckin' be."
"You're drunk, babe."
"No, Nat, I'm serious." Maria extricated her hand from Natasha's and placed it over Wanda's. "She's right. These two are soulmates."
"They'll be more than that tonight," Sam said, laughing and pointing to Steve's wary fingers, all ten of which were pressed lightly to Buchanan's right bicep.
"Well I think it's beautiful," Maria said, sticking her nose up. "I think they're gonna fall in love."
"They are already in love," Wanda said. "Or—"
"Their souls are, yeah, we get it," Fury said.
Natasha followed his eyes to Steve and Buck. Steve's fingers had traveled down Buck's bicep to his forearm—Natasha watched as their fingers intertwined.
"Alright," Natasha said, narrowing her eyes. "I'll bet each of you a dollar amount of your choice that Steve and Buck are gonna fuck tonight and never speak again."
"My money's on a two-week fling," Sam said.
"No way," Maria said. "Four months at least, and Steve's gonna say I love you after two."
"Two months of dating, Steve says I love you tonight," Fury countered.
Wanda just smiled. "I do not have to take your bet," she said. "My eyes have seen everything. Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes have already fallen in love."
TBC
July 3rd, 11:45 PM
Bucky reveals that Natasha hired him as Steve's All-American birthday stripper. ("Why did you take the job?" / "Because Sam wouldn't do it.")
Steve: ...I've been hitting on my stripper?
Bucky: The one our mutual friend hired, yeah.
Steve: I'm never gonna live this down.
[Maria is snapping pictures of them on her phone. She and Nat are laughing. The flash is on.]
[Bucky notices them and waves.]
Steve: Oh, my god.
July 4th, 12:00 AM
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