Chapter Text
“Chin up. Hand out. Scoot closer.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Shut up and smile to the camera.”
Sam leans closer, shoulders pressed, sweaty hand clasping Bucky’s. Shiny smile and bright eyes. To the camera, that is. Bucky walked alongside him on the red carpet, twitching in the discomfort of the brand-new suit Sam had brought and put him into.
Do it for me, he’d told him earlier, For Sarah, Cass, and AJ. Last thing he’d ever let Sam talk him into. Out of all the saving-the-world scenarios imagined, Bucky did not expect Sam to ask him to play pretend-boyfriend for the sake of dragging the attention away from his family. But hey, the guy was desperate.
Long story short. Sam received hundreds of threats ever since he officially became Captain America. Threats often rhymed with Watch out for the family.
In a moment of panic, Sam thought brilliantly that, the best way out of this was to change focus on someone else, a partner, a lover, a boyfriend, someone Sam would pretend-date, pretend-love, and pretend-care for. So that, if there were any attacks out there, they’d be reverted to said pretend-lover. And said pretend-lover will just happen to know how to handle himself.
And who else would better fit the job description than James Buchanan Barnes. Fuck with him and you’ll get your ass Winter Soldier-ed. Obviously, Sam didn’t announce that to the world, the plan that is. He thought – again, brilliantly – that it would be better to keep it a secret from everyone else, family included. Why? Bucky didn’t bother asking since Sam was delivering the answer in a speech spoken at the front door of his Brooklyn apartment at the crack of dawn. We gotta make them believe it, man! That’s the whole point of it!
Bucky might have been a tad emotional, or tired – hey, it was 3 in the morning – or both. That, and Sam was a damn smooth talker. Either way, he ended up nodding like his life depended on it. Anything to keep your guys safe . The smile on Sam’s face after that? Priceless.
Everything else after? Hell no.
Who would’ve thought being Captain America’s partner included attending charities, giving speeches, and interacting with the media twenty-four-seven? Not Bucky. Because if he did, he would’ve slammed the door at Sam’s face that same night and went straight back to sleep.
But now? Now it was too late to pull back without collateral damage. Now he got to walk the red carpet with flower petals raining over them with the American anthem playing in the background and his fingers interlocked with America’s symbol of freedom and strength. Beside him, Sam’s looking dashing in his all-white three-piece suit that squeezed his muscles just right, and when he catches him staring, he smiles brightly and winks at him like one would the love of their life.
Bucky would’ve swooned were it not all just for the sake of putting a show. Winks included.
“Feeling good, babe?”
“Never been better.”
And that might have come out a hint too sarcastic. Sam picks up on it and his smile falls. He’s frowning now, the You better get your shit together and the You promised, remember? sort of frown. And yeah, it worked like magic. Guilt-tripping was a thing. Sam was the master of it.
Bucky’s leaning closer before the cameras pick up on it and start snapping more pictures. He brushes his lips against Sam’s cheeks and takes his time to whisper what’s been eating at him for hours now.
“When the hell is this gonna end?”
Sam giggles – giggles! – as if he’d just blurted out the funniest joke into his ear. Right, for the camera. Yeah, he got it. Snap, snap, motherfuckers.
Then he turns and his lips are pressing against his cheek and Bucky wants Thanos to come back to life and blip him straight out of existence because this is just too much. He’s not used to it. The closeness. The sweetness. The gentleness. Even if it’s just pretend, even if it’s just for Sam’s sake, he’s not ready.
“You better behave your ass, Buck, or god help me,” is what comes out of Sam’s giggling lips, and it kicks some sense back into Bucky, “We got a dinner after this. A few people in high places. I gotta make a good impression. I just have to. And you gotta play along. Don’t chicken out on me now. Come on.”
Bucky? Chickening out? Never. He swallows instead, lets Sam’s lips linger on his cheek, tries to block out that part of his brain that tries to give in, to enjoy it. He straightens his back, squeezes Sam’s hand – a little too hard, because he deserved it – and pulls away to look into his eyes.
Sam’s a little startled and Bucky can understand why. He’s suddenly breathing in and out and playing it cool. He’s suddenly careless of the mass of Americans crying and shouting and celebrating in the background. He’s suddenly playing along because what else can he do?
Bucky smiles. Softly. Fondly. His free hand reaches up to fondle Sam’s cheek. He’s looking into his eyes, then he’s looking at his lips, then he’s leaning in. Then, snap .
Take that, media. Take it, and run the fuck away with it because it’s not happening twice in Bucky Barnes’ lifetime of hook-ups.
He pulls back right after the picture is taken. Job done, he checks a line in his mental list of lovey-dovey things he and Sam decided on prior to this mission. What he was not expecting was to find Sam’s breath hitching by the time he’s regained a fair distance, his lips slightly parted, as if he was expecting the actual kiss to happen. Bucky drags his gaze up and Sam’s eyes are widening one moment, fleeing elsewhere, the next.
Another camera catches them. Sam smiles back at it like he was born that way. Bucky’s re-playing the scene in his head. Did he cross a line?
He wanted to ask Sam but did not get the chance when a flock of fans flooded over the side of the walk-in to ask for Captain America’s autograph. He'll just do it later.