Work Text:
“It’s for charity,” Steve says. He pushes the portfolio towards Bucky.
Without looking, Bucky says, “No. Just no.”
“It’ll be tasteful,” Steve insists.
“Then why don’t you do it?” Bucky scowls at him. “I’m sure the whole world would love to see Captain America strip off. Can’t just be me who gets to see that fine ass of yours.”
Steve looks adorably flustered, and says, “Well, it’s —”
Just then, Pepper comes in, a tablet clutched in her hands.
“I know what you’re going to say, James,” she starts. “But this calendar’s a big deal. Everyone we’ve asked to do it has got some kind of prosthesis, and it’s raising money for veterans with disabilities. It’ll be the easiest PR you’ve ever done.”
Bucky looks at Pepper. Her eyes glint; she knows she’s got him.
There’s no way he can refuse this now. Besides, it’s not as if he has the world’s best track record, what with spending seventy years murdering people for Hydra. He could use the good press.
“Okay. Fine.”
Pepper beams at him. “Great,” she says. “I’ll contact them today.”
Steve’s smile is so wide that Bucky has to kick him in the shin.
Bucky had no idea preparing for a naked photoshoot was such a serious business.
Under the bathrobe he's wearing, his skin's been sprayed with an airbrush. They’ve waxed him in places he didn’t even know you could be waxed; it makes him blush just to think of it. He’s still self-conscious about the metal arm, but it’s been polished until it gleams. It looks okay, Bucky thinks.
“If you’d just hold right there, Mr Barnes,” the stylist says patiently. Bucky glowers, but manages not to move while she artfully dishevels his hair.
Steve is watching from a couch in the corner of the room, smirking all the while. To make matters worse, Natasha’s somehow managed to invite herself along with him. She looks up from her copy of InStyle and wolf-whistles at Bucky.
“I’m feeling a little objectified right now,” Bucky grumbles.
“Hey, I’ve already seen you naked,” she reminds him, deadpan.
Steve groans, and presses a hand over his eyes. He’s fine with the fact that Bucky and Natasha have a past, but occasionally, it gets a little awkward.
The team finally finish primping Bucky, and he gets a chance to look in the mirror.
He has to concede that this photoshoot thing isn’t as bad as he thought. When he peeks under the bathrobe at his skin, he looks good. Glowing. Or maybe that’s just from the way Steve’s looking at him: proud, happy and entirely too pleased with himself.
“Ready?” Steve grins, coming over. He reaches out for the tie of Bucky’s robe, and Bucky bats his hand away.
“Steve,” he warns. “Come on. You’re gonna give me performance anxiety.”
“Captain Rogers, you’re going to need to step back now,” the photographer says, rolling his eyes.
“I’m just here to watch,” Steve says cheerfully, and goes back to his spot on the sofa. Natasha closes her magazine and leans forward.
Here goes nothing. Bucky lets out a slow breath and peels off the robe.
The photographer starts to direct him in a bored monotone, like he does this every day.
Bucky’s just relieved that naked doesn’t mean full-frontal; all the poses are carefully thought out. They stand him behind a chair. With his leg up on a stool. With an American flag strategically draped over him (Steve shakes with silent laughter during that part of the shoot). Once, with just his hands covering himself.
It’s not crude, Bucky thinks stubbornly. It’s tasteful; it’s art. He tries not to think about what his ma would say if she could see him now.
Only last week, Steve dragged him to a gallery full of black-and-white pictures of naked guys, and they called that art.
There’s a launch party for the calendar at Avengers Tower.
Unsurprisingly, Tony takes the opportunity to install several enormous portraits of Bucky—bare-assed naked but for the American flag draped over him—on the walls of the vast room. You couldn’t miss them if you tried.
At least the party turns out to be a great success on the night. Pepper’s made sure everything’s wheelchair accessible, and the veterans involved and their families are all enjoying themselves: the free booze and canapés seem to be going down a storm.
“Could be worse,” Bucky remarks, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “My dick’s basically seven feet tall.”
One of the other models, Clarence—an Afghanistan vet with a pretty awesome pair of bionic legs—laughs and says, “Why d’you you think I agreed to do it?”
Tony comes over. “It’s actually not a bad photo, Barnes,” he says. “Sexy terminator meets patriotic war hero. That stuff’s gonna sell like hot cakes.”
Not for the first time, Bucky fantasises about murdering Tony. Thankfully, Pepper swoops in and shoos him away before he can say anything else.
“It's certainly great art,” Pepper says, without a trace of irony. Her cheeks are a little pink; whether from the champagne or embarrassment, Bucky doesn't know. “Thanks for doing it. We're raising a ton already from sales and donations.”
“Just doing my patriotic duty,” Bucky says, dryly. He drains the rest of his glass; the bubbles pop on his tongue, pleasantly fizzy. “It actually wasn't all that bad. I kind of enjoyed some of it.”
“I'm glad.” Pepper gives him a knowing smile and heads off to greet some more guests.
“Hey,” a familiar, low voice says in Bucky's ear. He feels Steve's arms wrap around his waist from behind. “You look good,” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against Bucky’s neck.
Bucky extricates himself from the embrace and turns to face Steve, who looks flushed. “Have you been at Thor’s Asgardian liquor again?”
(Bucky had sworn off the stuff since last summer's barbecue and the incident with Clint and the cactus.)
Steve makes a guilty face. “No. Maybe.” He presses right up against Bucky in a way that makes his intentions clear, and starts kissing down his neck. “You're right, there, Bucky, on the wall. It's killing me. Been thinking about getting you out of this fancy suit since we first got here.”
Bucky sighs and says, “You always were a handsy drunk.” He slips a hand into Steve’s and drags him towards the nearest exit.
It might look rude to disappear from his own party, but, well — he’s got better things to do.
A few days later, the originals from the photoshoot are emailed over for their perusal. Steve immediately saves a bunch of them to his laptop.
“Creep,” Bucky says, but it's fond. He puts down the book he's reading.
Steve responds with a laugh. “Well, you aren’t always around.”
Bucky can’t suppress his smile. “Rogers,” he says. “At least have the decency to keep your spank material somewhere I can’t see it.”
Steve looks at him with wide, bright eyes. “I’m proud of you, Buck,” he says softly.
“Sap,” Bucky mutters, but there's a sudden lump in his throat. He leans in to press a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.
“Plus,” Steve says, a slow grin spreading across his face, “I get a kick out of knowing that everyone’s gonna to be lusting after my best guy.” He shoves Bucky back against the couch cushions and kisses him.
“You’re weird,” Bucky says, once he gets a chance to breathe.
Steve looks delighted at the thought, and kisses Bucky again, deep and dirty and a little possessive. Bucky just groans into Steve’s mouth; he’s already achingly hard, and very interested in where they’re going to take this.
“How does it feel, then?” he asks, wry, as he climbs into Steve’s lap. “Dating a supermodel.”
Steve huffs a laugh against Bucky’s mouth. “Don’t get any ideas or anything.”
“I dunno,” Bucky murmurs, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants so he can start to pull them down. “I’ve got a few good ones for you right now.”