Work Text:
"I want to get my face painted" was the first thing that Bucky said when they arrived at the Brooklyn Bridge Park Fall Festival.
The impromptu declaration brought a snort of laughter out of Steve as he turned to look at the other man, who was surveying the park with that near-unsurpassable level of accuracy.
"Well" Steve started, with a drawl that brought out all of his Brooklyn accent, "I can see why; cover up all that ugly on it."
Bucky's attention snapped back to the blonde, indignation clear on his face, "How dare you, you little shit!"
Still chuckling to himself, Steve pulled Bucky close with an arm around his shoulders, dipping to nuzzle into the other's jawline.
"Nope, can't butter me up now pal" Bucky shook his head, resolute, "can't just tell a guy he's ugly and then try to kiss all up on him."
"Was only kiddin' Buck, you know I think you're real pretty." Steve battered his eyelashes exaggeratedly.
"Mmhmm."
"C'mon Bucky" Steve now started trailing kisses along Bucky's jaw, "say you forgive me and then tell me what you want painted, c'mon."
"You think you're so damn clever, don't you Rogers?" Bucky rolled his eyes in exasperation but in contrast to his words pulled the blonde even closer to return kisses of his own.
After a few moments, the pair separated enough to just hold hands, shoulders still brushing as they walked and began making their way through the various stalls and activities set up around them. There was even a pumpkin patch that Bucky pointed out with a mischevious grin.
As they neared the face painting stall, there was a small line of children ahead of them, but it was the two at the front that caught Bucky's attention because while one stated with absolute certainty that they wanted to be a tiger, the other was asking for a "Bucky Barnes".
The lady running the stall looked taken aback for a moment, before frowning down at the child and querying, "do you mean a Winter Soldier mask?"
Now Bucky remembered enough about his own siblings to know that no-one can do true exasperation at being misunderstood the way small children can and it brought a smile to his face when the little girl looked up, jaw set, hands on hips and said very carefully and clearly, "No. I said Bucky. And I want my arm painted not my face."
Steve had now tuned into the conversation as well and Bucky could feel him almost vibrating out of his skin and gave his hand a squeeze in warning.
Of course, it was a wasted effort as the next thing he knew, Steve was dropping his grip to walk around to the front of the line before crouching down in front of the child.
"Hi, I heard you wanted your arm painted like Bucky?" his tone was quiet but warm, posture open and unthreatening. A gentle giant.
The girl looked up, blinked twice and then said: "You're Steve Rogers."
There was a flicker of surprise that only Bucky saw at the fact she didn't mention his title first before Steve was smiling back at her, "You're right, I am. And if these nice people don't mind, I'd like to paint your arm for you, would that be okay?"
And because most people, Bucky reluctantly included, were incapable of saying no to Steve Rogers ("Barnes-Rogers, Buck!") that was what happened.
Steve commandeered a set of brushes and paints before flopping to the floor next to the chair the girl was now sitting on. As he started to make the outline, Bucky gave himself a shake and made his way over, consciously trying to make himself smaller, something Steve would frown at if he saw, the hypocrite.
"Hi, Buck" he greeted with a smile, not looking away from his work. At his words, the little girl snapped her gaze up, mouth falling open as she saw Bucky for the first time before whispering, "You're Bucky Barnes."
Bucky dropped to the floor next to Steve before putting out his hand to shake, "You're right, I am, what's your name?"
"I'm Sarah."
Again, the flicker was small enough only for Bucky to notice, but the moment of hesitation was there when Steve heard his mother's name.
"That's one of my favourite names," Bucky told her with a smile, "One of the most important people in all the world was called Sarah." Out the corner of his eye, he could see a smile tugging at the corner of Steve's lips. "Can I ask why you wanted your arm painting like mine?"
If facial expressions can be described in one word, the one that Sarah directed back at Bucky would simply be "duh" and he was sure that if she was a few years older it would've been accompanied by an eye roll of epic proportions.
"You're a hero," she said, matter-of-fact.
"Er..." he stumbled, still unsure of how to reply to statements like those, unused to being anything other than a villain in the eyes of the world.
Sarah continued, undeterred, "You are, you saved Steve lots of times! And then you got hurt but you fought back! My Dad says that means you're a hero. My Mom says that's what you do when you love someone."
Steve was now full-on grinning and nodded in approval, pausing from his painting to agree, "Your Mom and Dad are right Sarah, and his arm is just another symbol of that."
"Uhuh" she nodded, "My big brother has a prost-press..."
"Prosthetic?" Steve prompted gently.
"Yep! For his leg, he was in a war, and he says that Bucky is very brave."
"Sounds like your family is very clever" Steve smiled.
Sarah nodded before turning her attention back to Bucky, "I like your hair, Mr Bucky, it's pretty."
Bucky knew he was blushing, knew Steve was grinning, knew parents were quietly chuckling at the straightforwardness of children, he ducked his head for a second before looking back up with a smile, "thank you, Sarah, so is yours, when Steve's finished your arm can I get a photo with you?"
"Yep."
And that was that.