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"What the heck are you doing here?"
"Heck, really, fat man?" The guy in black steps back and looks Steve up and down, quirking an extremely bitchy eyebrow at his uniform. Not everyone can come to work dressed like some kind of goth hooker, and Steve refuses to be embarrassed at the actually very flattering white fur trim on his sleeves and pants. "Oh, I'm sorry, stacked man. Your rep doesn't do you justice, Klaus."
"I'm a representative. This is just my winter job, okay? I'm a full-time tooth fairy most of the year." Steve scowls and shifts the sack of presents over his shoulder self-consciously when the guy does a very poor job of smothering his laugh behind one leather-gloved hand. The hallway of the apartment building around them is silent, as they'd expected it to be at 2am on Christmas Day hence this embarrassing scheduling conflict. "What are you doing here?"
"Delivering presents for the boss." The guy sticks out his hand with a sharp, toothy grin, red eyes gleaming with mirth. The little nubs of horns above his temples look… glittery. Steve's not going to ask. "Bucky, Satan's Southern go-to guy."
"Steve. Santa in New Mexico through New Jersey." He shakes Bucky's hand reluctantly, shocked by how cold he is even through the glove. He'd always assumed demons would be hot, not that he's ever met one before. "This is kinda my patch, why the hell is Satan delivering presents on Christmas?"
"Uh, well, see right here…" Bucky checks his pockets with comedic exaggeration before he snaps his fingers and the childish letter in a Ziploc bag pops up in front of Steve's face. With added smoke that smells suspiciously like dry ice. Demons are so cheap. "If you take a little look-see there I think you'll find the first line says 'Dear Satan'."
"That's obviously a spelling mistake." Steve squints at the letter for a second, printed in the blocky hand of a five year old, before Bucky snaps his fingers again and the thing disappears in another stage-puff of fake smoke. "It's Christmas, man. The kid clearly meant Santa."
"Well excuse me, we take good care of our little fans." Bucky purses his lips and tilts his head sideways, looking Steve over in a way that threatens to make him turn as red as his uniform. "Not that I'm not happy to run into you in a dark hallway. Can I sit on your lap and tell you what I want for Christmas?"
"Requests closed two weeks ago." Trying very hard not to look as uncomfortably turned on as he feels while he's working, Steve tries to walk past Bucky and makes a sound of irritation when he finds his way blocked. "Man, c'mon."
"This kid's under my jurisdiction, my hands are tied." Bucky motions to the leathery sack over his shoulder (are there spikes on it? Demons are so cliché) with a shrug. And a bit of a leer when he looks up at Steve again, which is slightly unsettling(/hot). "I wouldn't say no to taking a little break with you after I get done, though."
Steve sighs heavily and digs in his pocket, grabbing the scribbled list of his next few deliveries. This isn't his permanent job, so he's not good at memorising and flitting about with jingly festive sounds like the other Christmas representatives. They don't call themselves Elves since they unionised, it's a vast improvement. He reads his cramped handwriting as clearly as he can, trying to get this shit resolved so he can get the hell out of Texas.
"Jace Christopher, son of Nicholai and Ben. Started school this year. Asked for everything superhero." Steve stuffs the cheat sheet back in his pocket and lets his shoulders drop with a heavy sigh as he looks back up at Bucky. "He's on the nice list, man. It's on the books, I've gotta deliver this stuff."
"Well we got a 'Dear Satan', that means I've gotta give the kid this crap he asked for." Bucky doesn't look sorry about the conflict, he actually looks rather amused. "We've got a small but growing fanbase, y'know. The big boss is very concerned about keeping them happy."
"Look… This is stupid. Can you just get outta my way?" They're still standing here in this empty hallway and the clock is ticking. Steve has to punch his card at the North Pole by midday or he doesn't get paid for this shit. "C'mon man, I've got targets to meet."
"Yeah? Me too. We don't have to make this a dick measuring contest, though. Not 'til later." Bucky wiggles his fingers and the apartment door swings open silently, without even a click. "Come on Jiminy Cricket, let's make a little Satanist happy."
"He's not a—" Steve cuts himself off and stomps into the apartment behind Bucky, tiptoeing on instinct even though he knows the occupants of the apartment can't hear him while he's under the whole 'Christmas Magic' thing.
The family's dog, pets always less fooled by the Christmas glamour, is awake and lazily sniffing her way around the kitchen like she can't quite figure out why the place smells different. Steve reaches down to pet her head gently, the ghost of a touch she can just about feel, before he follows Bucky towards the child's bedroom at the back of the house.
"Did you see that tree skirt?" Bucky's already unloading his small presents into the kid's stocking, apparently having dropped off his larger gifts while Steve was preoccupied with cute animals. "Fur. Tacky."
"Are you always this much of a dick?" Steve whispers back irritably, depositing an action figure in the stocking himself and glancing at the sleeping boy before heading back towards the living room. He's not really here for demons giving him shit in the middle of his busiest night of the year.
Not today, Satan.
"I'm just telling the truth! You never spilled tea?" He's not exactly sure what that means, but as he looks back to question it Bucky's already disappearing from the hall. Steve had just wanted to get in and out of here quickly, hit Arkansas on his way back, and get done before the sun came up.
Doesn't look like that's happening now. Not when he's apparently taken the interest of a very annoying, distractingly attractive demon.
"What are you doing?" Steve hisses as Bucky disappears into the main bedroom, flitting right through the door like there's nothing to it. He flits back just as fast, a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Lube fairy, man. Adults need presents too." He smirks and gestures to shrink the empty gift sack, tucking it into his pocket as Steve starts depositing presents under the Christmas tree in the living room (on the apparently 'tacky' fur skirt). "What did Santa get the kid?"
"Some superhero playscape thing. I dunno man, I just wrap the shit." Steve usually tries not to curse when he's near the kids, because the young ones can hear him sometimes, but the boy was so fast asleep when they were in there that he figures he's safe now. "There's a bunch of baby stuff in here too. I guess they're having another kid."
"Another little Satanist to add to the flock. I'll let the boss know." Bucky looks very pleased with himself at Steve's sharp look, and he plucks a little strand of tinsel from the tree to tuck behind his ear mischievously like a decorative flower. "So, Twink Christmas, you wanna get a drink with me or not? I've got free passes to Purgatory until New Year, they've got two-for-one cocktails and shooters."
Steve sits back on his heels and looks the guy up and down, really considering it. It's been a long time since he took a day off, an even longer time since a hot guy asked him out for a drink (the guardian angel from the children's hospital last May? Sam was lovely but their date was a disaster). He can still make it back to base to clock in before midday if he just has one little drink. And this guy is hot, for a demon.
Steve would even say he's smoking hot, but it'd probably end up being dry ice anyway.
"Yeah, alright." He finally agrees as he straightens up, to Bucky's obvious surprise and delight. "Just one, though. I've gotta get back by midday."
"Don't worry, Cinders. I won't let you turn into a pumpkin." Bucky follows him out of the apartment with a less-leery smile on his face, a little more sincere now he knows he's not getting shot down. "Y'know, I've got some mince pie flavour condoms left over if you're still in the festive spirit."
"Sweet Christmas." Steve groans, refusing to acknowledge Bucky laughing his ass off at the reflexive non-cursing as he takes off down the hall.
Their offices need to get this whole typo-thing sorted out before next year, because if Steve keeps running into Bucky like this then he's going to need a lube fairy of his own.
He's not totally unhappy about that. 'Tis the season, after all.