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The Captain American gig comes with way more fan mail than Sam had realized. They give him a PO Box number and a team that sorts through the gifts and letters. They handle his “social media presence” too. For the mail, they mostly filter out the racist, shitty stuff to flag for potential threats and send him the rest.
The rest is a lot of kids writing to him, which Sam replies to personally along with sending some action figures and games over. Then there’s the occasional secret admirer letter that sneaks in if it’s not creepy enough to be filtered out. Those he’s not quite sure what to do with.
Bucky usually helps him sort through the letters when there’s a busy week and they pile up.
It’s Saturday and they’re home so they decide to tackle the most recent pile that’s been building up in their living room. Bucky takes half and Sam grabs the other, settling in for a long afternoon but determined to finally see their dining table again. For a while, the sounds of letter openers and rustling paper fill the room, until Bucky snorts.
“What?” Sam tries to peer at the letter in Bucky’s hand.
“Got another secret admirer. This one wants to know how your lips taste.”
Sam shakes his head, feeling his face grow warm. It’s a strange phenomenon to be desired by people he’s never met. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.
“Should I write back?” Bucky asks, lips quirked up in a smirk.
He begins narrating, his hand gesturing in the air. “Captain America’s lips taste like [redacted] [redacted] because it’s none of your business. Love, his boyfriend: Bucky Barnes.”
Sam laughs, grabbing the hand that’s still poised in the air. “Are you jealous of a random secret admirer, Bucky Barnes?”
“No, I’m just being honest.”
“Uh huh, honesty. Right.”
“Yeah. And in the name of honesty, I think I should get a little taste. Make sure my description is accurate.” Bucky tugs at his hand in Sam’s, pulling him closer.
Sam chuckles, his heart squeezing in his chest even as he rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s antics.
“Wouldn’t wanna make a liar out of you,” he murmurs, licking his lips.
Bucky closes the rest of the distance, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. He deepens it after a moment, tilting his head to lick into Sam’s mouth.
They’re both breathing harder when they part, the mail forgotten.
“Mm, yeah definitely [redacted] with a hint of [redacted].”
Bucky dodges the smack Sam aims at him, grinning wide.