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It was Bucky’s idea. They had both seen the commercials, the billboards looming above them in every borough, even Clint’s text message telling them not to waste their money. Yet, despite all that, Bucky still wanted to go.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be hilarious.”
“You sure you’re going to be comfortable? I know it’s not really him, but still. I don’t want it to be weird,” Sam says.
“Have you not seen the U.S.O. posters or heard about the shows Steve did when he first became Cap? This woulda been right up his alley,” Bucky declares.
He has seen the posters, watched the archival footage of Steve as the “Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” And Bucky’s right. Steve probably would find it amusing.
Two weeks later, he’s pulling his cap low over his brow as they slip into their seats just as the theater lights go down. It starts out like any other show and then it gets weird. Like really weird.
The second “Captain America” comes spinning out on stage, his mouth drops open in shock. He looks so much like Steve, it’s scary.
“Holy shit,” Bucky mumbles next to him. And for a moment, he’s afraid Buck’s going to panic, go into a tailspin. But when he looks over, Bucky’s grinning like a maniac. “This is wild.”
It is fucking wild. Bucky is loving every minute of it, his knee bouncing up and down with the beat. He keeps up a running commentary as the show goes on.
“Seriously, they couldn’t afford to give the Hulk more than green face paint and a hoodie?
“Well, they sure got Stark’s goatee right. That fucker was so meticulous with his facial hair.
“Are we sure that’s not actually Thor? You know no one’s seen him in a while. He’s dramatic enough, he’d be perfect to play himself on stage.”
And then the Black Widow character appears and Sam freezes, his heart leaping into his throat. He thinks of the last time he saw her back on the battlefield in Wakanda, five years earlier.
“See you on the other side,” she said to him just before he took off into the skies.
He misses her so much sometimes, it hurts.
Bucky reaches out, slips his hand into Sam’s. It’s the small bit of comfort that he needs, that Bucky inherently understands without him having to ask, is one of the reasons he loves the man so goddamn much.
Then Antman shows up.
“He wasn’t even there,” Sam leans over and whispers in Bucky’s ear.
“Baby, it’s just a show. You don’t have to be jealous. We both know you’re the best Avenger.”
“I’m not—I know it’s just a show, Buck. I am not jealous.”
Bucky just smiles at him and pats his hand placatingly before turning back to the stage. Sam is not jealous. He is absolutely not. He just thinks that if they are going to show the Battle of New York they could at least depict it accurately. I mean, there’s a plaque at the bridge with the names of the actual Avengers who were there that day and Scott Lang’s name is not one of them. He’s just saying. Plus, if they were going to add in some random Avenger who wasn’t there, he was an Avenger long before Lang was. It would only make sense.
He ignores imitation Avenger Scott and finds himself enjoying the ridiculousness that is Rogers: The Musical. The moment Cap breaks out into “I Can Do This All Day,” they both lose their shit, dissolving into giggles, hunched over in their seats clutching at their stomachs. Bucky has honest to God tears in his eyes and that makes Sam laugh so hard he lets out a snort, earning them dirty looks and shushes from the people around them.
They take that as their cue to leave, slipping out before the theater lights go up for the intermission. The lobby is empty and they race through it hand in hand laughing like children, bursting through the front doors onto the sidewalk and into the bitter cold. The street is mostly deserted due to the nasty weather, snow already starting to stick to the parked cars.
Bucky hails a cab. They tumble into the backseat, a tangle of arms and legs and breathless laughter. There are snowflakes in Bucky’s hair and eyelashes, his cheeks flushed from the cold and Sam can’t help but lean forward and capture his lips with his own. Bucky’s eyes go all soft. Sam has to look away or risk destroying him right there in the backseat. And then a commercial for show comes on the radio.
“Ah man, have you two seen this yet? My sister took the kids last week and they loved it! The wife and I have tickets for next week,” their cab driver tells them excitedly.
One look is all it takes to set them off again, the two of them collapsing in on each other, the driver scowling at them from the front seat. Bucky is clutching his arm, his head on Sam’s shoulder and it makes Sam laugh even harder. A minute later the driver pulls over and gladly lets them out.
“That was a trainwreck,” Sam says as he closes the apartment door behind him.
“It wasn’t so bad.”
Sam looks at Bucky like he has two heads. “You can’t tell me you actually liked that mess, Buck. It was terribly inaccurate, the costumes were horrendous and the music will be stuck in my head for days.”
“I thought it was funny,” he says with a shrug. “Plus, the guy who played Cap was pretty hot.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows, smirks.
“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me.”
“You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing,” Bucky says, coming up behind him, hands sliding around Sam’s waist, pulling his hips back against his own. “It never crossed your mind when you and Steve were tracking me all across Europe about how hot it would be to bang Captain America?”
Well, shit. He had thought about it those times Steve had walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips or when he’d strip off his shirt after their morning run, sweat dripping down between his pecs. But it was Steve, his best friend. It was a fantasy he never had any intention of making reality. Then he met Bucky and he was fucked. The bastard had gotten under his skin and stayed there, all thoughts of Steve forgotten.
“I thought so,” Bucky murmurs against his ear when he doesn’t answer.
“There’s something wrong with you, Barnes,” he shoots back.
“Hey, you knew I was bat shit crazy when you married me. Actually, when you met me. Not my fault you fell for all this.”
Sam pushes off him and turns around. “I know. I’m just as crazy to have fallen for you.” Bucky laughs. “Now where’s the dinner I was promised?” he asks, running his hands down Bucky’s chest. “I agreed to the show in exchange for some of that world famous James Barnes Pasta Puttanesca.” He shoves him in the direction of the kitchen giving him a swat on the ass. “I’m going to get changed,” Sam tells him. “Get to cookin’, Barnes.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know you only married me for my skills in the kitchen, Wilson,” Bucky says. He ties on his apron, “May I suggest the sausage” printed on the front with an arrow pointing to his crotch, making Sam smile. He gave it to him as a gag gift for his birthday last year and Bucky hasn’t stopped wearing it since.
“Don’t you know it,” he yells over his shoulder.
The moment he gets into the bedroom he remembers the gift Lang sent him a few weeks ago. He digs around in the closet until he finds it, the package small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, the metallic PYM logo sitting raised against the top of the box. His pushes it and the box expands, becomes the size of a hardcover book. He opens it and pulls out the object inside, holds it up in front of him and grins.
When he returns to the kitchen a couple minutes later, he finds Bucky humming under his breath.
“Seriously, man?”
“What? It’s catchy,” Bucky says, innocently. “Smash, smash, smash,” he sings, complete with hand motions and deep, gravelly Hulk voice. And then he notices Sam’s outfit. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“You like?” He stands with his hands on his hips, the yellow boxers obnoxiously bright. The Rogers: The Musical logo is on the front, Steve’s silhouette sitting right over his dick. He spins around to show Bucky the back, I can do this all day imprinted across his ass cheeks in blocky black letters.
“Oh. My. God. Sammy, baby.” Buck’s hands are cupping his ass, laughing as he squeezes. “I can definitely do this all day.” Sam groans.
“This is gonna be a thing now, isn’t it?”
“You know it, baby. You know it.”