[ It’s almost disturbing easy to forget that they’re on a mission. It shouldn’t be. He’s a professional, has been for longer than most people have been alive and has undergone the kind of rigorous training that most civilized countries would contend is illegal. At any other time, in any other arena, James Barnes would be so focused on the mission and its objectives that the rest of the world might as well cease to exist for all the attention he would be paying it.
The problem, such as it is, is that their cover isn’t really much of stretch. Which is, he knows, why they’d been picked for the mission. No one else works as well together as they do, save for him and Steve, and there’d been no way in hell the two of them were going to do this. That would’ve been asking to borrow trouble neither would have wanted in their lives.
Like this, for all that it’s work, it’s also kind of like a vacation. Huge house in a fancy gated community, nothing much to do all day but putter around, make nice with the neighbors, and pretend he’s writing the next great American novel while the love of his life brings home the big bucks. Bucky doesn’t know shit about writing novels and he’s hardly a sugar baby, but he doesn’t have to act like he stops paying attention to everything else the second Jake walks into the room.
At the moment he’s sprawled out by the pool in the middle of their ridiculously enormous lawn, wearing sunglasses and swimtrunks and not a damn thing else. The holographic imager in his bionic arm projects the appearance of a normal human-looking arm, convincing enough to fool any of the myriad neighbors he’s been forced to socialize with too much in the last few weeks. And since any of them could come parading back here without regard to their privacy, he hasn’t turned it off. Plus, he’s vain enough to admit that it’s nice to pretend, even if the only other person here who matters knows better, that he looks the way he used to.
Noise from the grill catches his attention and Bucky turns his head, peering over the top of his sunglasses at Jake’s back. Cookouts like this aren’t possible in DC. This is nice. Getting up, he walks silently across the patio on bare feet, ignoring the heat, and slips up behind him. Not the wisest decision, perhaps, but Jake’s a professional too. Bucky’s confident he won’t skewer either of them with the spatula even if he is startled. ]
Hey. [ He slides his arms around Jake’s waist, knowing the left still feels like metal even if it doesn’t look it. Temperature regulators prevent it from being too hot from being out in the sun all afternoon, but it’s still a little warmer than the other one. Going up on the tips of his toes, Bucky props his chin on Jake’s shoulder and peers over it toward dinner. ] How’s it coming, Grillmaster?
no subject
The problem, such as it is, is that their cover isn’t really much of stretch. Which is, he knows, why they’d been picked for the mission. No one else works as well together as they do, save for him and Steve, and there’d been no way in hell the two of them were going to do this. That would’ve been asking to borrow trouble neither would have wanted in their lives.
Like this, for all that it’s work, it’s also kind of like a vacation. Huge house in a fancy gated community, nothing much to do all day but putter around, make nice with the neighbors, and pretend he’s writing the next great American novel while the love of his life brings home the big bucks. Bucky doesn’t know shit about writing novels and he’s hardly a sugar baby, but he doesn’t have to act like he stops paying attention to everything else the second Jake walks into the room.
At the moment he’s sprawled out by the pool in the middle of their ridiculously enormous lawn, wearing sunglasses and swimtrunks and not a damn thing else. The holographic imager in his bionic arm projects the appearance of a normal human-looking arm, convincing enough to fool any of the myriad neighbors he’s been forced to socialize with too much in the last few weeks. And since any of them could come parading back here without regard to their privacy, he hasn’t turned it off. Plus, he’s vain enough to admit that it’s nice to pretend, even if the only other person here who matters knows better, that he looks the way he used to.
Noise from the grill catches his attention and Bucky turns his head, peering over the top of his sunglasses at Jake’s back. Cookouts like this aren’t possible in DC. This is nice. Getting up, he walks silently across the patio on bare feet, ignoring the heat, and slips up behind him. Not the wisest decision, perhaps, but Jake’s a professional too. Bucky’s confident he won’t skewer either of them with the spatula even if he is startled. ]
Hey. [ He slides his arms around Jake’s waist, knowing the left still feels like metal even if it doesn’t look it. Temperature regulators prevent it from being too hot from being out in the sun all afternoon, but it’s still a little warmer than the other one. Going up on the tips of his toes, Bucky props his chin on Jake’s shoulder and peers over it toward dinner. ] How’s it coming, Grillmaster?