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"Uh oh."
"What?" Clint, full-time cupid and Steve's line manager for this particular temping adventure, straightens up from the nine-hundredth belly scratch he's delivered to that shittiest, oldest dog in this crappy animal shelter. He's in full gear, bow and arrow and white fluffy booty shorts, but thankfully Steve's union lets him get out of the uniform requirement. He'll take jeans and boots over booty shorts any day.
Luckily, apparently, because a very pissed off demon just popped up outside the cat cages and being half-naked for this encounter is the last thing Steve needs.
"Uh, so remember I told you I hooked up with that demon around Christmas?" He ducks down behind the couple cooing over a little white Yorkie, frantically trying to hide before Bucky turns their way.
"The one with the monster cock? Yeah." Clint casually fires an arrow into a little girl peering cautiously at a tortoise and then turns to Steve with a disgusted expression. "Wait, you didn't mean like a literal monster cock, right? With horns or—"
"No. Not a literal monster cock." Steve cuts him off quickly before that thought can go any further.
"I mean, he was a demon so—"
"Clint." Steve cuts him off again, because Bucky is coming their way now and it's totally code red because these elderly people aren't going to stay interested in this dog forever and if they move he's fucked.
"Yeah, okay. So demon hook-up." The cupid nods, tearing his eyes off a one-eyed golden retriever to get back on track. "What about him?"
"He's right there and I need you to spirit me away like five seconds ago because I never called him." Steve can feel the demon's icy gaze boring into the back of his head, and he freezes like an antelope caught in a predator's gaze. "To Alaska. Norway. I don't care. Fucking far away."
"I don't have that kinda mojo!" Clint looks vaguely concerned as Bucky stalks closer, the sweet white Yorkie suddenly barking angrily as the temperature of the room drops. "Maybe you should run."
"You can't outrun a demon." Steve hisses, glancing back over his shoulder fearfully and flinching when he realises just how close Bucky is. "Shit. Shit, act natural."
"You're squatting behind pensioners dressed like a lumberjack, what about this is normal?" Clint hisses back before straightening up and smiling tightly at the approaching demon. "Hi, can I help you?"
"I'm here with the kid." Bucky (black leather and PVC and spikes during the day are so tacky, Steve just cannot with this guy) gestures vaguely behind him and Steve recognises the little boy they'd crossed paths to deliver Christmas presents to, pointing excitedly at a scruffy old dog with both dads in tow. "Hey, Stevie."
"Oh." Steve does a terrible job of turning around like he's only just noticed Bucky is there, feigning surprise with very little success. He wonders if trying to run might have actually been a better option than facing the music head on. "Hey, Buck. Long time no see."
"Nice outfit." Bucky looks him up and down with an air of restrained bitchiness that makes Steve want to hate-fuck him into the floor again. "Rustic."
"Rustic?" Steve wasn't aware that the description could be an insult, but he feels offended right down to his dirty work boots. He's not rustic, he's fashionable, thank you very much. As if a Hot Topic knock-off cheap demon can judge him for his fashion sense.
He's on-trend. He checked on Pinterest.
"Rustic and, uh…" There's a flitty gesture towards his general person, and Steve can't help the tips of his ears turning bright red with irritation. "Confusing. They cheap out on your uniform or what? Because I'd love to see you in booty—"
"They're my own fucking clothes." Steve snaps, folding his arms self-consciously over his chest and pointedly ignoring the way Clint is definitely eavesdropping on their conversation instead of doing his damn job and shooting people in the ass so they fall in love with animals that need homes.
"Quaint." Bucky purses his lips disapprovingly and sticks his hands in his pockets, cocking his hip and shifting his weight so he somehow manages to exude judgement from his posture alone. It's extremely unsettling, and Steve feels about two inches tall under his fire-red stare. "So."
"So?"
"So what the fuck is happening? Because it's February, asshole." Bucky arches an eyebrow and Steve withers under the icy-hot glare. He's in so much trouble right now, he'd meant well but had just legitimately believed that he'd never see the (literal) pain in the ass demon again. "I seem to remember I split you open in December."
"Buck—"
"Last I knew, I was picking your dirty underwear up off my floor and you were promising to call me before New Year's." He gestures to his crotch and Steve blushes at about the same time Clint smothers a laugh that's so powerful the old couple beside them start making out spontaneously. "Was this not the best demon dick you ever had in your life, Steve?!"
"I don't—"
"Are you gonna call me so you can get another fix of hellspawn in your ass or are you not interested?" In the blink of an eye, Bucky is close enough for Steve to feel cold breath on his face and suppress a shudder at the proximity of those plush, icy lips he'd had such a good time with last year. Demons are filthy, in the best possible way. "Because I like you, elf. I'd even let you top."
"I'm not an elf! It was a fucking temp job!" Steve scowls and Bucky smirks, and they both suddenly jolt and let out surprised shrieks when arrows hit them simultaneously in the ass.
Clint is standing there in all his booty-shorted glory, looking at them with complete judgement splashed all across his face.
"What the hell, man?!" Steve tries to grab the arrow sticking out of his (gym sculpted, thank you) ass cheek and scowls darkly when his hand passes straight through it. "The union is gonna hear about this!"
"What the fuck did you do? You fucking… You baby in a diaper!" Bucky is totally lost for smart comments after the shock of being penetrated (Steve will save the jokes for later even though he's sorely tempted to deliver them now), as he tries to grab the love arrow in his own ass with no success. "Get this shit outta me!"
"No can do, Marilyn Manson." Clint shakes his head, slinging his bow over his shoulder with a proud grin on his face. "Love arrows, assholes. Nothing you can do about them until you stop being dicks and love each other."
"I don't feel any different." Bucky grunts, trying to get his hand around the arrow again and making the cats and dogs around them start whining and yowling unhappily when he gets annoyed and upsets the energy balance of the room. "Your tech's faulty."
"Me neither." In a similar predicament, Steve sorely wishes he'd traded shifts with an Easter bunny instead of volunteering to take the graveyard platonic pet-love Valentine's shift. He'd thought this was going to be an easy way to make some cash, not an opportunity to run into his guilty one-night-stand and be shot in the ass. "Clint, c'mon. Stop this shit. I'm calling my rep."
"You seriously don't feel different? Neither of you?" Clint frowns and reaches down absently to pat the dog whining and hiding behind his leg in the face of demonic irritation. "There's kinda only one reason that happens."
Demon and tooth fairy stare at each other in bewilderment before turning on Clint as one, pissed-off even more by the way he just smiles beatifically in the face of their combined rage. Granted, a tooth fairy dressed like a lumberjack isn't going to bring a lot of magic to the table, but lesser beings have quaked in front of Bucky's anger. Cupids are so weird, with their tacky uniforms and love.
"Fuck off."
"You're shitting me."
"Nope, sorry boys." The cupid scritches the head of the Labrador that's taken a liking to him and then straightens up, stretching and popping his shoulders after a hard day of shooting people in the ass with love. "Steve, we're about done here. You're free to go take the love of your life out on a date."
"He's not—" Steve's protest ends in a groan as Clint wiggles his fingers in a coy little wave and pops out of the shelter, leaving he and Bucky in a sea of overly-friendly dogs and enthusiastic children and pensioners. "Dammit. Can you believe this shit?"
"I mean." Bucky actually looks embarrassed, when Steve dodges a particularly enthusiastic puppy and turns his attention to him. He could swear even the little sparkly horns peeking out of the demon's hair are trying to retract into his skull to hide. "You're not terrible."
"Oh my fucking…" Steve gapes open for a second and then flushes crimson to the roots of his hair while he studiously ignores the fact they're both standing there with arrows in their asses while they have this conversation. "You like me."
"Yeah, well. I'm not forcing you to go on a date, no matter what Tweety Bird says." He scuffs the toe of his boot on the dirty floor and Steve could almost (almost) describe him as cute right now. "You would've called last time if you wanted that."
"I…" Steve swallows hard and thinks yeah, maybe he's got to hang up his single wings sometime. And maybe he could try not ducking out of every hook-up in the morning and never calling again. The love arrows still might be a trick, but maybe they're not a terrible pretext. "I've got passes to Narnia tonight. Two for one on pitchers. I mean, if you want."
"Yeah?" A flash of hope crosses Bucky's face and his horns sparkle before he's back to his usual, cocky self, grabbing up the cat that's been rubbing up against his leg to cuddle like he doesn't have a care in the world. "Knew you needed your demon dick fix, Tinkerbell."
"Shut up, asshole." Steve kicks his boot lightly and tries to hide his smile. Yeah, maybe he should've called last time. But an arrow to the ass is a pretty effective motivator the way a guilty conscience isn't. "Nine. Outside the wardrobe."
"Alright. As long as you change that homosexual survivalist get-up you've got on." Bucky nuzzles the grey cat's head and twitches a grin at Steve that's half-smirk and goes all the way to his dick. "Not that I'm against the image of you felling trees and—"
"Alright, fuck off. I'll see you later." Steve gives him the finger and grabs his shitty loaner bow and quiver from where he'd dropped them in his haste to hide from Bucky earlier. He pauses when Bucky doesn't put the cat down as he prepares to pop out of this plane. "Are you keeping that thing?"
"He's got leukaemia, gonna die in about three days. I've been thinking about getting a pet, something to sleep on your face when you stay over." With that, and a puff of dry ice (so cheap, so cheap and tacky and it shouldn't make Steve smile the way it does because demons are so annoying), Bucky pops out of view.
Steve snorts a laugh and shakes his head before trying to focus on his last few shots of the day (small child and tortoise, boxer and bunny, lonely old man and chinchilla) before he can punch his card and get the hell out of here. He needs to raid his closet for something that's not 'rustic' before the date he apparently has tonight with a goddamn demon. Again.
He twists over his shoulder to take a shot and freezes, arrow half-pulled as he realises what the negative space in his vision is supposed to be. The arrow in his ass has disappeared.
Well. Fuck. He'd better buy flowers.