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“I guess buying popcorn to enjoy the show in here is totally out of the question,” Bucky says when he steps inside the press conference room.
Clint smirks on his left, “With these carpets? I bet they have food and drink detectors,” he says. “People Magazine really didn’t spare any money for this one, huh?”
Bucky takes a look around, shaking his head. “They have the sexiest man alive, and the first appearance of Steve in three years, I didn’t expect any less.”
The room is a huge open space at the top of a skyscraper by the Potomac River. It has a 360-degrees view of DC, and stands in the same spot where the old Shield Headquarters used to be—something that brings Bucky mixed, complicated memories he tries not to dwell on.
One of Steve’s requisites to accept the title was a press conference open to all any interested press before he did the actual photoshoot. People magazine wasn’t too keen on sharing the exclusive of his return, but once they understood it was either that or no article, they went all in with it.
The place is objectively stunning, and every detail has been perfectly studied. There are twelve rows of folding chairs covered by gray fabric, and two rows of cameras pointing towards a table with a single microphone tagged with Steve’s name. The sun has started setting behind the glass walls, and it’s beginning to tint everything with a warm shade of orange.
Bucky can’t wait to see Steve in this light.
‘Good luck, you sexiest beast,’ he sends to the group chat.
Clint laughs by his side, phone in hand, “I can’t believe he hasn’t killed you yet.”
“I’m only rephrasing People's title, and he’d never kill me for being honest.” He chuckles. “It may cross his mind, but he knows he would miss me too much if he did—he wouldn’t survive a day in this century without me.”
The thought brings a soft smile to his face, and he can hear the “as if you would” spelled out in Clint’s silence.
“Let’s find our seats, Barton, I don’t wanna miss a second of this.”
They find their names on the third row. He’s been seated between Sam and Clint—the only two Avengers who could drop everything to be witnesses of Steve’s comeback and biggest embarrassment to date. Bucky is happy to see that protocol has placed them close enough to the table that they can see Steve—study every one of his reactions and jump in to rescue him in case of need—but guarded enough that they don’t steal his spotlight.
“As if any of us could,” he thinks.
“I can’t wait to check how deeply red Steve can truly turn.”
Bucky hears Sam’s voice behind him, and he immediately turns to welcome him with a hug. It’s been a few months since they last saw each other in the flesh.
“It will be deeper and richer than the red stripes on your shield,” he tells Sam. “How is it going, Cap?”
“Much better since Steve decided to come out of that hiding hole you share with him to accept being named Sexiest Man Alive.” Sam chuckles, making them laugh, too.
“Amen,” Clint jumps in, “I still can’t believe you got him to reappear for this, what a time to be alive.”
“I just dared him, and he has the annoying habit of taking me on this kind of thing,” he explains with a mixture of amusement and fondness. He’s very proud of this particular achievement himself. “In his honor’s defense, Steve also thought that getting back to the world right before midterms would be the perfect moment to remind people to get up from the couch and vote. That’s why we’re in fucking DC.”
(Pepper’s message arrived on a Tuesday morning a couple of months ago. Steve was painting, and Bucky was sitting on the windowsill, just looking at him and trying to choose the right moment to attack those lips that he kept biting in concentration.
‘Rogers, I just got the scoop that People is gonna name you “Sexiest Man… Alive?” no matter what you say about it. They wanna turn it into another piece about your whereabouts, so you may wanna do something about it,’ it said.
“About time.” Bucky chuckled after reading it out loud.
“I guess they finally got tired of me saying no,” Steve said, not giving it too much importance, and still lost in his canvas. “They’ve been chasing me for years—it’s madness.”
“Years, as in since nineteen-thirty-four?” Bucky asked playfully, knowing quite well there was no contest back then. An artistic license for his follow-up pun. “Because I thoroughly agree. I’ve been thoroughly agreeing since I found out what sexy meant.”
Steve smirked, licked his lips, and Bucky couldn’t wait any longer to attack them, so he took the brush out of his paint-stained hand and went for it. A successful maneuver that led them straight to a glorious morning fuck that almost made him forget everything about the magazine’s proposal. Almost, because once he placed his head on Steve’s chest and ran his fingers through his bicep, he remembered it very clearly.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if you chose to accept the Sexiest’s Man Alive title as a proof of life?” He asked, and Steve’s laughter filled the room. “I’m serious, something like ‘I’m alive, on earth, and sexier than ever.’ I can totally picture it.”
They had been talking about casually confirming his whereabouts for a while to gain some freedom and normalcy in their lives. Something like going for brunch at a local café, or a Boadway Musical without the holographic disguise Steve used these days. Something mundane.
“Is your blood still in your dick, Buck? Because that’s the worst idea I’ve eve—”
“No, you listen to me. I know it wouldn’t be conventional, but if they’re gonna give you the title anyway, you should take a hold of the narrative because it's the right, smart thing to do.” Bucky was getting excited by the second and couldn’t hide it. “Do you know how many conservatives and conspiracy theorists you could piss off by getting back into the picture to accept a sexiness award? I bet it’d drive attention to all of those injustices you hate so much.”
Steve stopped laughing, and Bucky looked straight into his eyes with a mischievous smile, “I dare you to do it, Rogers, you know it’s not as crazy as it sounds.”
“I fucking hate you, jerk.” Steve huffed, but he was smiling, too.)
“Bucky?”
Clint’s voice brings his attention back to the present where most of the chairs are full, and the murmur of voices fills the room.
“I’m sorry, I zoned out.”
“We better seat because it looks like it’s about to start,” Sam says, pointing to three people with badges who are rushing a few late-comers into their seats.
‘All jokes aside, I’m here if you need me, sweetheart,’ Bucky sends right before he starts listening to the clicks of the cameras going crazy. He knows Steve can manage this, but he will jump in at the faintest sign of discomfort.
When Steve finally walks into the room through a side door on the wall, he’s sporting a perfect PR smile, and he waves at every person in the room he crosses eyes with.
“No nerves there,” he thinks, relieved and proud, as he watches him walking to the stage.
The bastard is truly looking the part of the sexiest man alive with his perfectly styled hair and beard. Bucky has been in love and lust with this man for decades, but it still surprises him how fucking great he looks in a plain, white, henley shirt. It’s absolutely unfair.
Two people are flanking him, and they’re trying to lead him quickly to the table, but Steve slows down a little when he passes by their side to give them a real smile—and a wink—before going ahead.
“I don’t trust that look,” Bucky tells Sam and Clint as a cacophony of questions start coming. “He’s here to cause some serious havoc.”
Sam smirks, shushing him, “I don’t wanna miss anything,” he says.
Bucky obeys, and devotes his whole attention to the stage to watch how that punk turns into his charming, public self.
“Thank you everyone for being here today,” he says, “and of course People for their courage—it’s a bold move to choose a man my age for this title.”
Everyone laughs. Steve charms the whole room from those first words and keeps doing so as he answers questions about how much exercise he needs to keep in shape—“the serum makes this a piece of cake, I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer than that… because I do eat apple pie all the time”—-or what would his mother think about this if she were here—“she already thought I was the prettiest even when I had no muscles and a crooked spine, but I think she’d be mostly amused; she’d hide her pride in mockery, just like my friends.”
Those are the easy ones, but he also expertly dodges or half-answers every question about why he’s here for this—“ask me at the end of this, Mister Kent, and I may give you the real reason”—what he’s been doing—“resting, painting, and learning to being just me for a while.”—and why now—“I needed to vote, it’s the right thing to do. I trust you all to do the same.”
After about half an hour of questions, a woman from the staff looks at the time on her phone, and speaks loudly to the journalists room.
“Last one, please,” she says.
“I can’t believe he got his blush under control through this all. It’s a bit disappointing,” Sam tells him, and Bucky nods, although he’s weirdly proud of it, too—he loves that he’s the one resident expert on how to arouse that glorious blushing without fail.
“Paula, could you please hand the mic to Mr. Kent?” Steve asks the woman who just announced the end of the conference. “I’m sorry, guys, but I kind of promised him I’d answer his question if he asked again, and it wasn’t entirely altruistic. I really want him to ask.”
The staff woman, Paula, passes on the mic to a tall guy in glasses.
“Thank you, Captain Rogers, as I told you before, we were all surprised when we got this press-call,” he says. “You reappearing after three years of nothing but silence and speculation to accept the ‘Sexiest man alive’ title sounded like a prank.” The whole room giggles. “So, why did you agree to come back for this?”
“Thank you for asking your question again, Mister Kent, I guess it did sound like a prank, didn’t it?”
Everyone laughs again, and Bucky doesn’t miss the look on Steve’s face, and how he uses the pause to shift his sight from the journalist to him for half a second.
“That punk is up to something,” Bucky whispers before Steve resumes talking, but nobody acknowledges him except for his own heart, which immediately starts to speed up. A hunch.
“Thinking about this as a prank isn’t too far-fetched, since I’m here because my husband dared me to do it, and I’ve always had trouble saying no to him.” There’s a moment of confused silence in the room, and Bucky feels his face exploding red, not quite believing what the little shit just did. “I’ve gotta say he dared me after making a very valid point about using the fuss it’d cause as a mean to raise awareness on the importance of voting.”
The room loses it after that, with a thousand questions asked at once, and the poor, clueless Paula trying to contain all the havoc with the help of her team-mates.
“I guess Steve didn’t tell anybody about this,” he thinks right as Sam elbows him.
“Joke is on you, Barnes,” he whispers into his ear as Clint pats him in the back. “You two are hilarious, please keep it up,”
Or maybe Steve did tell, “You knew about th—” He starts asking, but a question louder than the rest makes him stop.
“Who is your husband, Captain Rogers?”
Bucky doesn’t think anybody but him could ever catch the subtle look Steve gives him to ask for permission to go forward with it, and he definitely knows nobody but Steve could ever be able to read his deep breath and slightly upturned lip as an explicit approval to go on.
“Sergeant James Barnes, of course. I thought it would be obvious,” he answers, smiling, and Bucky can’t help but to smile, too, despite it all. “I think he’d make a great sexiest man alive next year, especially considering he’s even older than I am.”
He’s going to kill him as soon as they're on their own.
“I think that’d be all for today, please don’t forget to vote.” Steve finishes as he stands to wave at the room, ready to leave despite the reigning chaos of voices and flashes.
Bucky watches Paula lead him to the front of the table to pose for some final pictures. He hates that Steve looks so smug and relaxed while he’s still flushed, in shock and trying very hard to ignore the cameras that have started pointing at him.
“Could you pose with your husband for a few pictures, Captain Rogers?” One of the photographers asks.
“That’s up to him,” Steve answers, his voice muffled amongst the chattering and furious camera shutters reigning in the room. “Buck?”
Bucky smiles when the attention fully shifts to him, and considers it for half a second before he stands to walk towards Steve, who looks at him as if he were the only person in the room.
“As if I could ever say “no” to him,” he thinks as he listens to the cameras going crazy and Sam’s loud cheering.
“I hate you, punk,” he whispers as he hugs him, patting his back as good friends do.
“I know you do,” Steve whispers back before he lets go of him. “This is payback, by the way.”
Bucky snorts and turns to stand by his side, finally facing the room. They pose for a bit, attending to the photographers' petitions to look here and there, while they take advantage of their enhanced hearing to keep talking in pretty much inaudible whispers.
“Please, Captain, a little to the right.”
“That was very well played you bastard,” Bucky says.
“Wider smile, please? For this camera?”
“Thank you,” he answers, almost snorting as their heads move in sync towards the voice.
“I honestly didn’t see it coming.“ Bucky goes on. “Especially considering that we’re not even married.”
“To the right, please.”
“I’m aware we aren’t, but we could be,” he says nonchalantly, and Bucky hates that his shocked look as he turns his head towards him to check if he’s being serious is being filmed.
Steve looks at him, too, and his smile alone tells Bucky that he is serious, and that he’s fucking nervous about the answer. He’s always been a complete moron.
“Could you stand closer to one another?”
“It’s the twenty-first century, we have a helicopter waiting for us on the rooftop, an appointment with a city clerk in Brooklyn tonight,” Steve whispers into his ear, the sound of the cameras going mental with the gesture and their closeness. “And two willing witnesses in the audience.”
Steve takes a step back and waves at Sam and Clint who salute them while they take a picture with their phones.
“Motherfuckers,” Bucky says, not caring about hiding the word from the cameras.
“Please, sirs, move to the center, for the graphic reporters standing at the back.”
“Is that a yes?” Steve smiles, locking his eyes with him.
“Of course that’s a yes, punk,” Bucky answers, not needing any further instructions to take Steve’s hand in his to lead themselves out of the room.