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Sam walks into the kitchen on the common floor at five in the morning and proceeds to stare blearily at the refrigerator.
It’s too early. It is way, way too early to be up on a Sunday, never mind the fact that he’s about to willingly get his ass kicked by Steve. Again.
Clint would be better to run with, he muses, if he wasn’t so damn lazy.
He sighs and plucks an apple off the counter before walking towards the sitting area, where he finds Bucky perched on the edge of one of the bar stools, staring at the television. Sam’s expecting to see Steve’s face on the screen, or something, because nothing else could possibly be putting that expression on Bucky’s face.
It’s not.
Of all the things in the world, the last thing Sam’s expecting to see is commercial advertising One Direction's new fragrance.
And yet.
One of the slightly-older-than-adolescent white boys is crying one single manly tear into a clear plastic tube. He sprays the perfume.
Sam slowly puts down the apple.
The commercial ends, and then another one is playing, advertising their new single — which is, apparently, called Drag Me Down.
It takes Sam another few seconds for his brain to comprehend that Bucky, who's currently only wearing a pair of — are those Steve's? — sweatpants and his old dog tags, is bopping his head to the music. Sam tries to connect the image of the Winter Soldier ripping off one of his wings with the hand that's currently tapping the table to the beat of a One Direction song.
He fails.
"Uh, hey, man," Sam tries.
Bucky doesn't acknowledge him. Sam opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. "Catch," he says instead.
Bucky picks the apple out of the air without looking, head still moving to the beat. "Thanks."
"Steve and I are going for a run, you want to come?" Sam asks, deciding he hates his life enough to suggest it. He grabs another apple from the fruit basket.
The commercial ends and Bucky turns to look at Sam. “Natalia and I have a date at the gym.”
Ah. Right. Sam is sorry he's going to miss that, actually; watching the two of them spar is terrifying and awe-inspiring and strangely arousing, which he very pointedly does not think about.
"Tell Steve to take it easy," Bucky says, when Sam's halfway out the door. He turns to see a smirk on the man's face.
"Will do," Sam grins.
The run's nice. The air is clear, and it’s fresh in a way that it hasn't been for the past few months.
Or, well, at least as fresh as autumn in New York can ever be. Garbage, sweat, street food. It’s comforting, even with the stench, and the unfortunate fact that Steve has lapped him twice already.
Sam stops mid-run when he sees a huge billboard advertising the same perfume that was on the television earlier that morning. Steve flies past him, then stops, and walks over to where Sam is currently squinting at the sign.
"You okay?" Steve’s offering his water to him. Sam squints more before taking it.
"What would you do if I told you that I think Bucky has a thing for boybands?"
Steve stares. And stares. Sam is about to tell him dude, quit it, you're freaking me out, when Steve suddenly bursts out laughing.
"What did he do?” Steve asks, following Sam’s gaze. Once he lays eyes on the billboard he starts laughing again. Sam looks at him incredulously.
Steve smiles fondly. “Don’t tell me he wants the perfume. I’m not going to hear the end of this for days.”
Sam makes a strangled noise and throws his arms up in the air, walking past Steve. “I’m not paid enough for this.”
"Would this be a bad time to tell you that tried serenading me with one of their songs the other day?”
Sam chokes on the water.
A week later, Sam, Clint, Natasha, and Steve are eating their biweekly takeout meal together. Japanese, today; it was Natasha’s turn to pick, and she could eat chazuke every day of the week.
Sam’s in the middle of a discussion with Clint about That ‘70s Show when Stark walks into the room and leans over the table, probably trying to look menacing. “We’re having a team meeting.”
Natasha rolls her eyes and slurps the liquid off of her spoon.
Steve looks up from his sketchpad. “About?”
“This,” Stark says, pulling out a tablet which seems to be running security footage. It’s Bucky, filmed going about his life: reading, cooking dinner, cleaning his weapons, checking for unauthorized surveillance.
Sam raises an eyebrow, not understanding what the point of this is. “So?”
“Barnes was listening to One Direction in all of this footage. All of it. JARVIS checked after I walked in on him belting out What Makes You Beautiful and making some kind of Russian food at three in the morning." He pauses. "One Direction. Mainstream pop bubblegum preteen girl material.”
Steve leans back in his chair. “Bucky likes it. He finds it calming. What’s the problem?”
“There is no problem,” Stark huffs, “I just —“ he takes an exasperated breath. “I hacked into his iPod — which, by the way, I'm offended, what’s the problem with StarkTech? — and almost all of the songs were by One Direction. But, like, only the albums from 2012 and 2013. When they weren't even twenty and sounded like they were twelve.”
Sam is just about to open his mouth to ask how the hell Tony Stark knows how old the members of that particular boyband are when he gets interrupted.
"I prefer classic One Direction," says Bucky, sauntering into the room. "Less indie, or whatever. That's Steve's thing."
Sam whirls around to stare at Steve, who is trying to swat Bucky’s hand away from his sushi. Bucky manages to grab one and he shoves it into his mouth.
Stark turns to Bucky, who shrugs.
"Since when?" Stark blurts. ”I took you for, like, punk, maybe, or trap, or electronica, but One Direction?"
Bucky raises an eyebrow. "I like their music."
“That’s what I said.”
Bucky picks up another sushi roll and feeds it to Steve.
“Wait, Steve likes indie? Captain America is a hipster?” Sam blurts.
Clint decides to speak up. "I saw them in concert a few years back."
Everyone turns to look at him. Stark's mouth falls open. Bucky makes a fist and reaches across the table to offer it to Clint. Clint bumps it lightly with his own.
"I need a drink," Tony mutters, stalking out of the room.
"Ditto," Sam says.
Sam makes a beeline to the refrigerator to monopolize the orange juice as soon as he gets back from his run with Steve. He gulps half the container down in one go.
Bucky and Clint walk into the room half a minute later, obviously in the middle of a debate, but Sam can’t think beyond how thirsty he is. Steve went back to his own floor to shower after their run, which would probably be a good idea, but Sam can't bring himself to care.
Clint nods at Sam when he walks past, and Sam nods back.
“—was the golden age,” he eventually hears Bucky say, loudly, from the next room. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me you think Midnight Memories is better.”
Clint makes a noise that sounds offish. “Of course not. Up All Night is where it’s at,” he pauses, “though I’ve had Drag Me Down on repeat for weeks.”
Sam sets down his glass. He decides he has nothing to lose but his dignity, which is gone anyway, so he walks into the room where they're sitting.
Bucky and Clint are both sprawled out on the largest sofa in the room, glaring at each other.
“Hey, boys,” Natasha says before Sam can open his mouth. She lays a hand on Sam’s arm as she breezes past. He smiles at her.
"Hey, Nat," Clint says.
Bucky forgoes pleasantries entirely. "What's your favourite 1D album?"
"You did not just say 1D," Sam mutters.
Natasha considers. “Midnight Memories, I suppose.”
Bucky huffs. “You’re all in poor taste.”
“If it means anything,” says Sam, leaning against the doorframe, “the only One Direction I’ve really heard is the old songs. So."
“Thank you." Bucky continues to glare at Clint.
“I just said I like Up All Night, don't look at me like that! And Drag Me Down is great, man, you can’t even deny it."
“I can deny it, actually."
Sam raises an eyebrow at Bucky, but doesn't say anything.
“Whatever.”
Steve walks into the room then, hair wet and holding a glass of water. “What are we talking about?”
“They’re discussing which One Direction album is the best,” says Sam.
Steve nods. “Four, of course.”
Everyone turns to look at him with varying degrees of surprise on their features.
“Steve,” says Bucky, sounding exasperated, “You said yesterday that you like Take Me Home.”
“I do,” Steve says, walking over to press a kiss to Bucky’s hair. Bucky squirms away, droplets of water from Steve’s hair dripping onto his face. “But I like Four better.”
"What about Drag Me Down?" Clint asks.
Steve smiles at him. "Drag Me Down is good. Like Bucky said, I like their later music."
Bucky wiggles out from underneath Steve and mutters something under his breath. He makes a beeline for the doorway, but not before walking up to Sam and saying, “Sam has good taste.”
"Thanks, man."
He places his hand on Sam's cheek. "Nobody compares to you.”
“Uh,” Sam says.
Bucky disappears, leaving Sam thoroughly weirded out.
“What the hell was that?” he asks once Clint’s snickering has died down.
“Take Me Home,” Steve replies, as if that explains everything.
If someone told Sam a year ago that one day he was going to walk into Sephora alongside Captain America to investigate if HYDRA’s most elusive and deadly (ex)assassin is buying One Direction’s latest perfume, Sam would’ve knocked the person out from sheer pity.
But, alas, here he is, following Steve Rogers into a Sephora on 5th, muttering to himself about missing his old, simpler life. Steve rolls his eyes at him.
Sam pointedly looks at Steve’s shirt. “I am Captain America!” it says in bold letters, a golden retriever puppy beneath it, sleeping beside a plush version of the shield.
Steve just grins. “Bucky gave it to me.”
Sam stares at him incredulously for a few seconds before shaking his head and following the signs towards the perfume aisle. He finds it, eventually, and the man they’re after, but not before having to squeeze past a group of college kids, who are talking animately about what shade of whatever looks best.
“Did you get it yet?” Steve asks cheerfully, appearing from behind Sam.
Bucky glances up, and Sam has to take a few moments to just appreciate the guy's outfit.
Bucky is dressed head to toe in leather, sporting a popped collar and pink laces on his boots. Black Ray-Bans are resting on his nose. His hair is gathered into a bun. Sam starts to wonder if Bucky, rather than Steve, is the one who’s trying to start some kind of hipster-biker movement.
"I don’t want to see you moping around for another week,” Steve continues.
Bucky turns to look at Sam, who shrugs.
"Can I be of assistance to you boys?"
Steve and Sam whirl around, only to see a girl in black clothing with a red stripe across her shoulders and a smile on her face. Sephora is embroidered on her sleeve.
"Our friend here is picking up One Direction's new perfume," Sam says, smiling sweetly. He turns to Bucky, who now looks like a deer in headlights.
“It’s - it’s for my niece,” he stammers, trying to hide the box behind himself.
“Sure it is,” Sam says, just as Steve says, “You don’t have a niece, Buck.”
“Even if he did,” he mutters to Steve, “she’d be, like, seventy years old.”
Bucky is actively sweating at this point. His eyes are darting between the two of them and the lady, who's pressing her lips together in what looks like an effort not to laugh.
Why is this my life, Sam wonders.
Steve takes a step towards Bucky, who startles and curses and grabs another box of the perfume before taking off flying through the store.
The lady lets out a surprised noise as Sam stares at Bucky's retreating figure in shock. Steve starts running after him, and Sam follows, only to find Steve muttering hasty apologizes to the cashier and fishing out way too much money. He doesn’t seem to care, though; he’s already running through the main doors.
“Steve!” Sam yells, already losing him in the hoard of tourists.
Steve looks back, apologetic, before darting across the street in front of a cab to catch up with Bucky.
Sam stops, decides he isn’t spending his Saturday morning chasing after two 98-year-olds in 28-year-old bodies, and then the sun’s glinting into his eyes and he has to do a double take when he turns to the source.
Bucky’s running at full speed down the streets of New York, looking like some steampunk hipster goth boy and spraying what looks to be half the bottle of pink tinted One Direction perfume onto himself. The metal arm is reflecting the sunlight. People are cursing loudly in his wake. Some have their shirts over their noses to block the smell. Steve looks like he’s checking to make sure everyone is okay as he runs past.
“Have mercy on me,” Sam mutters to the sky.
Sam stops in the Starbucks he frequents to pick up coffee for himself and Natasha before heading back to the tower. Once he gets there, he flops down on the couch beside her and begins describing the events of his morning.
“And then, I swear to God, Bucky almost dumped the damn thing over his head. He looked like he wanted to. Forget that ‘spray and walk into the mist’ shit, the new trend is to ‘bathe and soak for twenty minutes.’ At least that’s what he seems to think.”
The corners of Natasha’s mouth curve upward as she leans back in her seat. She sips her latte.
Bucky himself walks in, then, and pays absolutely no attention to them as he strips off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his usual chair. He removes the sunglasses and hooks them on the collar of his shirt. The shirt, which is very much a crop top, has the Drag Me Down album art plastered on the front.
Sam gapes.
Bucky takes out the perfume from his pocket and apparently thinks it’s necessary to start spraying himself liberally enough — again — to make a person think he hasn’t showered in the past ten years.
He's in the middle of layering his exposed midriff with the stuff when Clint appears in the doorway. They both freeze on the spot.
Sam looks between Clint, to Bucky, to Steve who just walked in, to Clint, and then to Bucky again.
Natasha sips her coffee.
Clint is wearing the exact same shirt as Bucky, crop top and all, his jeans riding low on his hips. Clint narrows his eyes, to which Bucky narrows his eyes back, and then suddenly two of the three assassins currently residing in the tower are catfighting in the middle of room.
“You liar!” Clint screeches, pulling at the hair that’s come loose from Bucky’s bun.
Bucky flails unattractively.
“You can’t just shit on Drag Me Down and then wear the shirt!” Clint continues, flapping his arms to try to distract the other man.
It doesn’t work. They fall to the floor, only to start clawing at each other. “You fuckin’ reek, by the way.”
“Shut the fuck up," Bucky hisses, jabbing Clint in the ribs.
Steve is standing motionless in the hallway, looking like he wants to intervene, but doesn’t seem to think it’s a good idea.
A bit belatedly Sam realizes that Natasha has produced a video camera out of nowhere and is happily filming the two men clawing at each other on the floor. Her face breaks out in a huge grin when they start tearing at each other's shirts.
After a few minutes of yelling and cursing and the sounds of cloth ripping, the air in the room shifts. Bucky’s demeanour has morphed from teasing and cocky to deadly and silent, causing Sam to shoot Steve a panicked look.
It doesn’t last long, though, because all Bucky has done is twist out of Clint’s grasp and has taken the perfume out of his pocket, spraying frantically and rolling behind the sofa like it’s a damn smoke grenade.
Natasha bites back a laugh. Sam starts coughing.
“Aw, perfume, no,” Clint mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “I hate you."
“Change your shirt, asshole,” Bucky replies, smiling at Steve’s laughter as he pulls him out of the room.
"You said you hated Drag Me Down!"
Sam pulls the top of his shirt over his face. “I think my nose is permanently damaged.”
Natasha pats his shoulder.
“Shit, that was the new perfume, wasn’t it,” Clint says from the floor.
That evening, Sam hears singing coming from somewhere on the common floor. It sounds suspiciously like Bucky. It also sounds suspiciously like One Direction is playing in the background.
He considers not even bothering to investigate, but curiosity gets the better of him.
"If I didn't have you there would be nothing left; the shell of a man who could never be his best," Steve murmurs, swaying to the beat of the song. His hands are on Bucky's bare hips; he's still wearing the partially-torn shirt from earlier.
They’re standing in the centre of the room, faces illuminated by the candles littering every available surface. There's a vase of forget-me-nots on the coffee table.
"If I didn't have you I'd never see the sun; you taught me how to be someone," Bucky sings into Steve's neck. Steve's expression is open, earnest; he's looking at the other man like he hung the moon.
Steve runs his thumb along Bucky's cheekbone. "All my life you stood by me, when no one else was ever behind me.”
Bucky presses a kiss to Steve's lips, and Sam smiles to himself as he walks out of the room.
The perfume is still killing his sinuses, though.