Work Text:
Bucky hated press conferences.
He’d never really had to do any prior to Sam becoming Captain America; the press hadn’t exactly been gagging to spend time in a room with a notorious assassin. There had been plenty of press coverage about him, sure; speculation as to his relationship with Steve, speculation as to whether he should be put on trial; speculation as to whether he was still a war hero considering the whole HYDRA thing. He’d never spoken directly to the press, though. Of course, HYDRA would’ve never let the Winter Soldier speak to a journalist. After that, he never really saw the need. He figured that, no matter what he said, people would create their own narratives surrounding him anyway. Plus, given everything that happened in the years following his stint in a Wakandan freezer, he wasn’t exactly around to speak to the press anyway.
Journalists hadn’t ever wanted to speak to him before. But now that he was Sam Wilson’s right-hand-man, they were tripping over themselves to get a soundbite from the White Wolf. It didn’t happen often – ‘no comment’ was quickly becoming Bucky’s most utilised phrase – but when it did, it was usually part of a press conference of sorts.
On this particular day, Sam – and Bucky, by automatic extension – had been invited to speak on the progress being made by the Captain America-and-the-White-Wolf and GRC coalition, specifically regarding the refugee camps that still existed across the globe. It wasn’t the subject matter that Bucky was opposed to – he believed in the work that they were doing and was happy enough to talk about it – but rather the actual conference itself.
He understood a little of how Steve must’ve felt, during the USO shows.
Sam was a natural public speaker; he flourished in front of an audience, always able to speak beautifully and sincerely. He appeared relaxed, open, and genuine, tone informative and inviting. The intermittent flash of a camera didn’t bother him, nor did the clamour of the journalists as they all tried to pose their questions at the same time.
Bucky hated all of those things.
He felt uncomfortable being given centre stage and having so many sets of eyes on him at once. The cacophony of questioning got under his skin and made his metal hand curl into an involuntary fist beneath the table. The click and flash of the cameras unsettled him, as did the amplification of his own voice whenever he spoke into the microphone.
So, yeah. Press conferences were not his favourite thing.
He and Sam had done a handful together already; however, today’s conference was a little different. It was their first one since Steve had returned.
“Buck?” Steve called from the couch, fiddling with the television remote. “What channel did you say it’s going to be on?”
Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling up his trousers and fastening the button around his waist. He poked his head out of the bedroom, looking down the hall towards the main living area where Steve was sitting.
“I think it’s NBC,” Bucky replied. “But Stevie, it’s not for hours yet.”
“I know,” Steve shrugged, his back to Bucky as he held the remote high in the air and jammed his thumb into the buttons. “I just want to be prepared. Don’t want to miss anything.”
“It’s really not going to be that interesting, babe.” Bucky sighed, ducking back into the bedroom and grabbing his black undershirt from the hanger. Steve didn’t respond; Bucky assumed he was too busy fighting with the TV remote. He continued to put his uniform on methodically, sitting on the edge of the bed and lacing up his combat boots. Next, and last, was his jacket: supple navy-blue leather with straps across the chest. The left sleeve was missing, meaning that his metal arm was on full display. Bucky still grappled with accepting the arm as part of himself; he was more comfortable with it now than he used to be, but he still had days where he itched to keep it covered. Today wasn’t one of those days, though.
Once he was suited up and ready to go, he checked his phone. It was just after 10; Sam was coming for him at 11, and the conference would be starting at 1. Sam always reasoned that they should arrive early to make a good impression, and Bucky went along with it because riding with Sam meant that he didn’t have to drive and could nap in the passenger seat on the way.
Bucky headed to the kitchen, figuring that he had time for a coffee and a second breakfast before he had to leave. Steve had been up at dawn that morning – as he was most days – and had made breakfast after coming back from his run. However, Bucky was getting hungry again. He knew that there would be food at the conference, but it was usually a meagre selection of sandwiches and bowls of crisps that did little to satiate his super-soldier appetite.
He flicked the coffee pot on before opening the fridge and eyeing the contents. He decided on a bowl of cereal and set about preparing it while the coffee pot heated up. “D’you want coffee, doll?” He called over his shoulder, reaching up and grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard anyway. When Steve didn’t respond, he turned around to find the man in question staring at him from his spot on the couch, a slight flush darkening his cheekbones.
Bucky frowned. “Doll?” He repeated, tilting his head to the side a little. “You okay?”
Steve blinked, shaking himself out of his stupor. He cleared his throat, breaking eye-contact with Bucky and looking down at the remote still cradled in his hands. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Good, even. Great.”
“Coffee?” Bucky asked again, lifting the mug in his left hand. It was Steve’s favourite mug; shiny black, with a heat-activated shield on the side.
“Coffee,” Steve said slowly, gaze slowly lifting upwards again. “Coffee, uh, yeah. Please. If you’re making one.”
Bucky nodded, and turned around to busy himself pouring two mugs of fresh coffee. He added a little bit of milk to Steve’s, leaving his own black, before heading over to the couch. NBC was already on the TV, cycling through the day’s news. Bucky chuckled softly, nodding towards the screen as he handed Steve his mug.
“Someone’s eager.” He teased gently, placing his own mug on the coffee table before heading back to the kitchen for his cereal.
“Told you,” Steve said, taking a fortifying sip of coffee. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Well, you definitely won’t,” Bucky grinned, sitting down beside Steve and leaning back against the couch cushions. “You’ve already got it on and I’m not even out the house yet.”
Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he sipped at his mug. “Are you feeling okay about it?”
Bucky shrugged, taking a spoonful of cereal as he mulled over his answer. “I’m feeling fine, I guess. Press conferences aren’t exactly my favourite thing in the world, but I owe it to Sam to be there.”
“Yeah, I get that. I had to do a lot of them, with the Avengers. I guess I was good at them, but I didn’t exactly like them, y’know? But I have faith in you, Buck,” Steve replied, expression overwhelmingly fond. “I really admire you for stepping out of your comfort zone, too. Just one of the many things I love about you.”
“Sap.” Bucky grinned, nudging Steve’s thigh with his knee. Steve’s gaze fluttered downwards, cataloguing the movement, before snapping back to the television.
The pair fell into silence for a few minutes, watching the news highlights flicker across the TV. Steve’s cheekbones were still dusted with pink, gaze resolutely on the screen, and Bucky eyed him carefully as he crunched quietly on his cereal. He wasn’t sure what had caused this reaction from Steve, but he vowed the draw it out of him once he finished eating.
Sitting forward, Bucky swapped his now-empty bowl for his mug of coffee. He slid his left hand onto Steve’s thigh, squeezing lightly to draw his attention.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked gently, drawing abstract patterns against the soft fabric of Steve’s sweatpants. Steve looked down at Bucky’s hand – golden grooves gleaming bright against the polished black metal – before meeting his gaze.
“I’m good, I swear,” Steve assured him, setting his mug down by Bucky’s empty bowl before shifting slightly, turning his body towards Bucky. “It’s just, this is the first time I’ve seen you, y’know. In your new uniform.”
“Oh,” Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips slowly curling up into a smirk. “Oh.”
“Shut up,” Steve groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t – don’t say a word about it, Buck.”
“Why not?” Bucky grinned, sliding closer to Steve on the couch and letting his hand creep higher on Steve’s thigh. “You like this, huh?”
Steve cleared his throat, reaching forward with one hand and curling his fingers around the strap over Bucky’s chest. “I, uh, yeah. I like it. I like you.”
“I know you like me, Stevie,” Bucky laughed, ducking forward to press a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. He relished in the slight scrape of Steve’s beard against his skin, smiling as he pulled away. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”
Steve let his hand travel upwards, closing around the dog tags hanging out of Bucky’s shirt. He tugged lightly, the metal chain digging into the back of Bucky’s neck as Steve used it to pull him forward into a kiss. Bucky made a small, surprised sound into Steve’s mouth, scrambling to set his mug down before he spilled coffee onto the couch.
Once Bucky’s hands were free, he wasted no time in winding them into Steve’s hair, letting the silky gold strands slip through his fingers. He pulled on the shorter hairs at the base of Steve’s neck, taking great pleasure in the way that Steve gasped against his lips. He felt Steve’s palms pressing against his chest, pushing him back against the arm of the couch. He went willingly, his own hands falling to Steve’s hips he crawled into Bucky’s lap, strong thighs bracketing his waist.
“What time is it?” Steve murmured, drawing a path of kisses down the side of Bucky’s throat.
“I, uh, fuck,” Bucky muttered, panting slightly as he tipped his head to the side. He looked over at the television, noting the time at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. “10:26.” He relayed to Steve, who had been grazing his teeth over Bucky’s pulse-point.
“When’s Sam picking you up?” Steve asked, pulling away slightly to look down at Bucky. His pupils were blown wide, lips already swollen red and slick with spit. Bucky couldn’t help but stare. Steve raised an eyebrow after a few moments, clearly awaiting a response, and Bucky shook himself.
“11.” He replied, sliding his hands down from Steve’s hips and letting them rest on his thighs, appreciating the strong muscle beneath his palms.
“Perfect.” Steve’s lips curled into a wicked grin, and he began pulling at the straps and zippers on Bucky’s jacket.
Bucky made it to the kerb for 11:07. Sam was deeply unimpressed.
It was, however, Bucky’s best press conference yet.