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“C’mon Alpine, quit looking at me like that.”
Bucky is a weak man. He’s grown enough to admit that fact. Knowing, though, doesn’t make things any easier.
Dating and living with Captain America came with several challenges. Steve’s work kept him busy and he was called away often. There had been several dates interrupted by an Assemble Alert and sometimes they would have to go without contact for weeks at a time when Steve was on a mission.
Those things aren't the problem. The problem, as Bucky has taken to calling it in his head, is the Captain America suit that he had found stashed in their closet a week ago.
Realistically, Bucky had known that the suit had to be in the apartment somewhere. Steve had told him that he actually had several suits – one kept at the tower, one in a go-bag, and one kept in the storage area on his motorcycle.
That didn’t make it any less of a shock when he opened up his closet and found the suit hanging amongst his own clothes.
Growing up, Captain America had been such an important symbol for him. The shield stood for things that were good, a reminder to be strong and stand tall. Though those thoughts had shifted slightly upon meeting Steve Rogers, the sentiment was still true. Plus, the suit was just cool.
Bucky crosses the short distance to their shared closet, pulling the doors open with only a slight hesitation. Steve had said that anything in the apartment was theirs, right? Surely that extended to the red, white, and blue monstrosity in the closet.
It’s unfair to tempt him – he is, after all, a weak man.
Alpine watches on from her perch on the nightstand as Bucky pulls out the suit, piece by piece. Growing up, he’d always assumed that it was a singlet – a single piece of fabric that zipped up in the back. Bucky’s only a little disappointed to find out that he was mistaken.
The top and bottom halves of the suit are pulled from the closet with ease, clutched reverently in Bucky’s hands. He lays them out across the foot of the bed, and after a second of thought, snags a helmet off the top shelf. If Bucky’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. Never let it be said that Bucky Barnes does anything half-assed.
Checking the time, Bucky is pleased to see that there are still several hours before Steve is due home. “Please don’t tell your dad about this,” Bucky says to Alpine before tugging off his t-shirt, the discarded piece of fabric joining the suit on the bed. “Seriously. We’re taking this to our graves.” After that, his joggers join the pile.
It isn’t until Bucky finds himself standing in his boxers, staring down at Steve’s suit, that he wonders if he isn’t making a mistake. He glances toward the cat for reassurance.
When Bucky had moved in, Steve had made it a point to reiterate that Bucky was welcome to anything in the apartment. Steve had told him that it was their apartment; it belonged to Bucky just as much as it did to Steve. Bucky had never been made to feel like anything was off-limits.
The thought didn't exactly make him feel better, but it was reassuring.
Bucky takes a moment to gather his nerve before reaching forward and picking up the suit once again.
It’s surprisingly easy to get into. There are a few buttons, a few zippers, but nothing that he can’t secure on his own. It makes sense when Bucky considers how quickly Steve must need to get into it each day.
Chancing a glance in the full-length mirror, Bucky can’t help but laugh. He looks ridiculous. The suit, so obviously tailor-made to Steve’s build, has extra fabric hanging around his shoulders and catching at his ankles. Bucky’s bare feet poke out of the bottom of the pants.
At least the blue polish on his toes matches the suit, he thinks.
Though Bucky is objectively smaller than Steve, he still has a protective layer of fat around his middle. It’s a clear contrast to Steve’s slim waist, emphasized by the way the unyielding fabric molds to his skin. The suit clings around his hips and thighs, accentuating his ass. Bucky spins a quick half circle, admiring his backside through the mirror. Huh. Maybe he doesn’t look as silly as he thought.
He picks up the helmet, the last piece of the uniform, and slips it over his head. Much like the suit, the helmet was created to fit Steve’s larger head. The helmet slips down, covering the top half of his eyes, and he has to laugh at the sight of his brown curls poking out the bottom.
It doesn’t look like he’ll be taking on any super villains, to say the least.
Bucky spins another slow circle in front of the mirror, his eyes dragging up his own body. He sees something shift behind him, his eyes darting up to meet Steve’s through the mirror.
“Fuck!” Bucky exclaims, his entire body jerking in surprise. Behind him, his boyfriend is leaning against the door jamb casually, arms crossed across his big chest.
“Whatcha doin’, Buck?” Steve asks, his eyes sparkling with humor.
Bucky gasps, his hand coming up to press against his chest in an effort to slow down his wild heart rate. Under his hand, he feels the embossed star and groans.
Given Steve’s size, it’s easy to forget that he can be quite stealthy. He can move throughout the apartment, quiet as a mouse, if he wants to. Bucky wishes that Steve would remember that skill when he’s banging around the apartment at four in the morning with pent-up energy.
“Oh my god, S-Steve, I’m real sorry,” he rushes to say, pulling the stupid helmet off of his head and dropping it on the bed. God, this was such a dumb idea. “I didn't–”
“You look good,” Steve says, effectively cutting Bucky off. Bucky watches as Steve’s eyes move up and down his body, taking in the sight in front of him. “Really good.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–” Bucky’s cut off once again by Steve, the blond shaking his head.
“Seriously, it’s okay baby,” he says with a smile, finally moving to take a step forward. Steve quickly closes the distance between them, bringing his hands to drag along Bucky’s outfitted sides. They wander down across Bucky’s hips before veering back up, caressing along his chest.
“I’m gonna have to tell Scott that he was wrong,” Steve ponders, hands still running along Bucky’s flank.
Their eyes meet through the mirror, and Bucky blinks at the odd comment. “About what?”
“This,” Steve says, dropping a hand to grope at Bucky’s ass, giving it a sharp squeeze, “this is America’s ass.”
Bucky laughs, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. He’s so embarrassed that he’s sure his face matches the red paneling that stretches along his sides.
“Seriously,” Steve presses on, a mischievous smile taking over his face. “But I think you’re missing something. Be right back.” He presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips before leaving the room once more.
Bucky turns to Alpine, shooting her an accusing glare. “You couldn’t have warned me?” he asks. She blinks back at him, unimpressed. Betrayed by the cat, how unfair.
Thankfully, it’s only a handful of seconds before Steve reappears. In his hands, he’s holding the shield. Bucky begins shaking his head before Steve can even open his mouth.
“No way, Steve, I can’t,” he says. “You don’t have to humor me, this was a stupid idea.”
“Baby,” Steve’s free hand is back on Bucky’s side, running up and down the rough fabric. “I wanna see you. Do it for me?”
Bucky can’t keep the small smile from turning his lips up at the corners. “Really?”
Steve nods, holding the shield out to Bucky. “Yeah, ‘course Buck.”
The grin on Bucky’s face widens as he takes the shield - the shield - and slips his arm through the leather straps on the back.
“What do you think?” He turns to Steve, holding the shield up in an imitation of the pose Steve is famous for. “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” Bucky punctuates the question with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Steve tilts his head back and laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he moves forward to wrap his arms around Bucky’s middle, tugging his boyfriend against his chest.
“God Bless America,” Steve whispers, pulling Bucky up into a kiss.