Being on the run isn’t a new thing for Bucky. He’s been out on his own, living in the shadows, for over a year now. He’s mastered the art of staying off the grid and remaining invisible, even in plain sight, even with every three letter agency out there running facial recognition software. So Steve tends to take his suggestions and his word at face value on strategy and how to move, how to act, how to blend in.
But even he’s got to draw the line somewhere.
“What are those?” he asks, eyeing the packs of t-shirts Bucky’s tossed into their cart. It’s already loaded with socks, jeans, jackets, and basic toiletries, as well as a new backpack for Bucky to replace the one that had gotten destroyed earlier. Steve’s not the biggest fan of these large, impersonal box stores, but today, he’s thankful they can get pretty much everything they need to restock all in one place.
Bucky gives him a flat look. “Thought the serum fixed your vision. They’re shirts.”
You’ve missed this, Steve reminds himself. Remember, you’ve missed everything about him, including all the times you wanted to punch him.
“I know what they are,” he says, digging deep for something resembling patience. “But we have shirts already.”
Bucky snorts. “Yeah, for me. Those are for you.”
Steve rummages through the cart and holds up the pack he’d grabbed for himself twenty minutes ago. “For a master sniper, you’re not real observant there, Buck.”
Bucky just sighs and plucks the pack out of his hand. “You do realize you’re not five-foot nothing and a buck-five soaking wet, right? These -” he shakes the pack for emphasis “- wouldn’t fit your pal Natasha, let alone you.”
“They fit just fine,” Steve protests, motioning at himself and the shirt he’s wearing. Which covers him perfectly well, fuck you very much.
Bucky sighs again, long and put-upon, and shakes his head. “Look, I dunno what you’ve been up to the last couple of years, and when all this is over, hopefully we’ll have time to grab a beer and I can tell you all about my second career as a Hydra assassin and you can tell me about your second career as a porn star, but right now, we need to be able to move around unnoticed -”
“- Porn star?!?”
“Jesus, Steve, have you looked at your chest in that thing?” Bucky exclaims, waving a hand in front of him. “Your tits are bigger’n Betsy Schmauker’s in that tiny-ass scrap you’re calling a shirt. If you were a girl, you’d be arrested for indecent exposure. I can barely think straight right now just looking at you, pun intended.”
Steve feels his cheeks heat up at the look Bucky’s now giving him. Like he’s thinking about dragging Steve into the closest dressing room and bending him over. The only thing keeping Steve from begging him to do it is the faint, insistent voice reminding him that they’re wanted men, and this is a really bad time.
“Oh,” he says, faintly.
“Yeah, oh.” Bucky tosses the pack onto a nearby shelf, then cups Steve’s nape, pulling him in for a quick, hard kiss that ends with a sharp drag of his teeth across Steve’s lower lip. “So you’re gonna wear some shirts that actually fit that ridiculous chest of yours so we can blend in with the crowd, alright? And when this is over, you can go back to showing off the goods however you want. I’ll buy you the smallest, snuggest shirts I can find, and stand by your side while you flaunt what you got to everyone with eyes,” he murmurs, with another kiss. This one softer, slower. A promise.
Steve chases Bucky’s mouth, deepens the kiss for a handful of heartbeats. Not nearly enough for what he wants, but it’ll have to hold him until… Until. “Yeah,” he agrees, so dazed and turned on he’s pretty sure he’d say yes to anything Bucky wants right now. “Yeah, okay.”
Bucky smiles, and then turns back to the cart. “Glad we’re settled. Now c’mon, we’re on a schedule.”
***
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