Title: Special Effect
Fandom: Captain America
Rating: R
Length: 2378
Content notes: Contains references to BDSM/dominance/submission.
Author notes: For the Footwear challenge at fan-flashworks. Also, I kind of mixed Face Off with Project Runway for the structure of the contest.
Summary: Also for this prompt at comment-fic: Steve/Bucky, Face Off AU where pre-serum!Steve’s a special effects artist and Bucky’s his model for the cyborg warrior challenge



“Hi,” his model said, reaching out to shake his hand, “I’m Bucky.” He smiled down at Steve.

“Hi, great to meet you,” Steve said. Don’t ogle the model, Steve told himself, Act like a damn professional. “You’re perfect. I mean, you’re perfect for the character I planned.”

He was, actually. Bucky was tall and muscular, but not overly so. He looked like he would be positively graceful in a fight (but maybe a little too easy-going to get in one).

“Cool. I just started with the show, but I saw your first round entry on TV. That dragon queen was amazing,” Bucky said.

“Thanks,” Steve said, smiling, rubbing his hand a little nervously on the back of his own head.

“So who am I playing?”

“Right,” Steve said. “These are the sketches.” He held them up for Bucky to page through.

Bucky let out a whistle. “That is awesome.”

“The uh… the concept is ‘cyborg warrior sex god.’” It sounded good in his head but it seemed a bit forward now that Steve was saying it out loud.

Bucky didn’t seem fazed. “You’re going to make me a sex god?” he said, smirking a little.

“Let’s hope the judges think so,” Steve said. Be professional, he repeated to himself.

“Definitely. So what’s first?”

“Well, first I take some measurements,” Steve said. He felt a little guilty; normally the thought of measuring someone wouldn’t do much for him, but he was rapidly becoming one of those artists who pervs on his models. Steve really hated the guys who did that – the models were just trying to keep their jobs.

“Okay, if you can actually measure your own neck and waist and stuff, I can do a few calculations,” Steve said. “Do you mind?”

“Happy to help,” Bucky said, and Steve handed him the measuring tape with a thanks.

Steve stared at his sketches for a second and made quick scribbles that he hoped would make it look like he was making notes.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Did the neck, head, and waist. The shoulders and inseam are kind of hard to do on my own.”

“Right. Of course.” Steve swallowed.

He took the measuring tape and wrapped it around Bucky’s broad shoulders, then wrote down the number. He did the same with the inseam but moved as quickly as he could. He was almost certain Bucky was smirking at him again.

“Okay, I also need really detailed measurements of the circumference of your arm, like inch by inch,” Steve said, relieved to be done with the awkward part.

“For the gray thing?”

“It’ll be silver. Like a metal arm that’s super powerful.”

“Love it,” Bucky said. “I totally like sci fi.”

“Me too,” Steve said, smiling up at Bucky as he took hand and wrist measurements and wrote them down.

“Is that why you went into special effects art?”

“Well… that, plus it was one of the few places hiring art school dropouts,” Steve said with a grin.

Bucky grinned back. “Cool.”

Steve moved up and measured around the middle of the forearm (forearms, it turned out, are quite a nice body part when you’re focused on them – Bucky’s forearms were strong, with a soft layer of dark hair). “How did you get into modeling? Were you a fashion model I assume?”

“No way,” Bucky snorted. “Wrong body type for the runway.”

“I don’t believe that,” Steve said, pausing his work.

“Too tall. Shoulders too broad.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You were too manly and attractive to model. I weep for you.”

Bucky laughed. “I actually wanted to be a photographer. Couldn’t get any business. My girlfriend at the time suggested I shoot photos of myself since I couldn’t afford a model. The pictures turned out great, but nobody wanted the photographer – they just wanted the model.”

“Girlfriend?” Steve said, then winced. He did not intend to sound so disappointed.

“Yeah. Ex-girlfriend,” Bucky added pointedly.

Steve went to measure the lower part of Bucky’s bicep (and it was a really, really nice bicep). “So then you did some face modeling? Fashion shoots?”

“A couple,” Bucky said. “But I had a lot of artist friends, so I did a lot of art shoots. Like sitting naked on a bucket with political slogans written on my body. Stuff like that.”

“Hm,” Steve said, trying to sound uninterested in the image. He wrapped the measuring tape around the bulkiest part of Bucky’s bicep.

“One of my old boyfriends was a photographer too, and he introduced me to a lot of artists. But that was in Brooklyn, not here.”

“Boyfriends?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I’m bi.” He seemed amused by Steve’s confusion.

“Bi is great,” Steve said, then winced again. “I mean, all sexualities are great. Human sexual diversity is great. Is what I meant.” He distractedly wrapped the tape measure around Bucky’s bicep again.

“You just took that measurement,” Bucky pointed out.

“I forgot the number,” Steve said, and tried not to blush. He did the measurements around the upper arm and shoulder quickly then.

“Anything else?” Bucky said.

“Um, just the boots. They’re going to be tailored to your legs exactly. Um, just stand still, okay?” Steve said, busily turning his notepad pages to the sketches of the boots.

“Sure.”

Steve knelt down to measure Bucky’s shoe length and then suddenly realized that he was going to spend the next five minutes literally kneeling at Bucky’s feet.

Professional, he reminded himself.

He carefully took the measurements, first the feet, then several measurements up the calf, carefully lifting up Bucky’s jean legs as he went, nearly to the knee. Steve was very gentlemanly about it, telling Bucky what he would be doing and why and waiting for Bucky’s okay, and as Steve moved around on his knees, he definitely wasn’t fantasizing about Bucky grabbing his hair and fucking his mouth.

Definitely not.

When he was finally done, Steve stood and made the notes into his notepad. “Great. I’ll see you at the first fitting then. Thanks a lot.”

“Yeah, cool. Thanks,” Bucky said. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say that Bucky looked a little… flustered.

Bucky left then, and Steve stared down at his designs. He was having trouble concentrating.

--

Bucky showed up early for the first fitting, greeting Steve with a big smile.

“Hey, that looks great,” Bucky said, running his fingers along the clothing.

“Arm and boots aren’t done yet, but you can try on the other clothes, and I got the prop guns and prop knife so we can think about where to put those,” Steve said, eyeing Bucky up and down (for artistic reasons of course).

“Sounds great,” Bucky said. “I’ve been practicing a lot.”

“…Really?” Steve was impressed by the dedication. (Bucky had been practicing acting like Steve’s sexual fantasy about cyborgs. Who wouldn’t be impressed?)

“Yeah, let me try this stuff on and then I’ll show you how I think this character would walk?”

“Great.”

Bucky changed into the clothes right in front of Steve. Out of propriety, Steve turned around (though he really didn’t want to).

“Okay,” Bucky said, and Steve looked at him. All in black, form fitting.

And then he walked.

It was a hard walk, intent, the walk of a killer honed in on his target, all power and focus and ice. Not like Bucky’s personality at all – well, nothing except the little bit of swagger.

Steve realized that he was breathing a little hard. He cleared his throat. “That is exactly what I had in mind,” he said, voice cracking a little.

“I totally welcome criticism,” Bucky said, suddenly himself again, “I mean, this is your character and your contest, and I just want to help you win.”

Steve shook his head. “Don’t change a thing.”

“I also… um. Don’t think this is weird. But when you told me he’d be like super good with a knife, I practiced with a knife at home.”

“Practiced?”

Bucky picked up the prop knife and did the walk again, this time twirling the knife around, easy and graceful and vicious all at once.

Originally Steve was hoping to make the actual character live up to his fantasy. But apparently Bucky planned on being much, much hotter than his fantasy man.

Steve swallowed. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Great. And I love how easy it is to move in these clothes.”

“Yeah, I designed it thinking that the character would be good at… moving. And you are. I mean you’re good at … being the character.”

Bucky smiled. “I’m glad you think so. So like, do you have a ton to do? You want to get a coffee?”

“Um. I really wish I could say yes.”

“Of course. Sorry. You’re in the middle of a contest. Sorry.”

“But after this round?” Steve said, realizing after he said it how eager he sounded.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bucky said, then winked. He started taking off the costume then, and Steve turned his back and closed his eyes.

--

“So I know this is just fabric and paint, but I seriously feel like powerful with this on,” Bucky said, nodding down at the metal arm that Steve was finishing putting over his sleeve. It was competition day, and Steve was glad that Bucky was there talking to him, calming his nerves.

“Yeah, I envisioned it as just a superpowered cyborg arm. Like it’s part of your body and you can feel it, but it’s metal and super advanced. You could throw a guy across a room with this arm,” Steve said, touching up the silver on the shoulder.

“Then let’s hope it’s a guy who likes getting thrown around,” Bucky said with a smirk.

Steve stared at him, eyes wide, then cleared his throat. He went back to the arm. “I know this is taking forever. I really appreciate your patience.”

“Just doing my job. Besides, it’s fun hanging out with you. And I appreciate that you were really careful about my eyes when you did the face makeup,” Bucky said. “Not every artist is.”

Steve frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah, getting makeup in your eye is just a hazard of the job,” Bucky said good-naturedly.

“Well. If anyone on the show acts like that, tell me,” Steve said, finishing up the arm.

Bucky smiled at him. He seemed kind of … charmed.

“Okay, now the boots.”

Bucky leaned down to put them on, but then said, “I don’t want the wig to get messed up.”

“Of course,” Steve said. The long hair had been Bucky’s idea, but now that Steve saw it on him, he completely thought it worked.

Steve knelt down and fastened each buckle on the boots, first the left, then the right. He went slowly, carefully, to make sure the boots molded themselves around Bucky’s calves, binding the leather close to Bucky’s flesh.

When he was done, he looked up. Bucky was looking down at him, eyes dark.

“You missed a smudge,” Bucky said, voice a little lower than usual.

Steve looked down, then licked his fingers and rubbed the smudge off the boots. He really, really shouldn’t have found that arousing.

Steve blushed. He stood up quickly, then said, “You look amazing. Better than anything I could have imagined. I mean… you know what I mean. You’re talented. Is what I mean.”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t look upset, but he wasn’t smiling. He was just sort of staring. At Steve. With intent.

Steve wondered if Bucky was already in character then. Because Steve had never felt so much like prey, (never felt so exhilarated, never wanted so badly to get right back on his knees).

“Let’s go win,” Bucky said then, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Steve just smiled and nodded.

--

“You were robbed,” Bucky said, griping as he wiped off the makeup.

“Second place is really good. And I’m happy – I get to stay on the show for another round,” Steve said, helping him take off the metal arm covering.

“You deserved first.”

“First place made a castle on a cloud on a cyborg dinosaur’s back, with about 17 moving parts. No way the judges ignore that kind of technique.”

“Still,” Bucky said, pulling off his shirt.

“And you were perfect,” Steve added.

“I’m not upset for me, I’m upset for you. I wanted to help you win.”

“You helped me get to stay another round. And I’m so proud of this character, you have no idea. Even though you’re the one who made him so… uh, vivid.”

Bucky smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy. But I thought your design was way more creative.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t have to turn around,” Bucky said, stripping the rest of his clothes off and slipping on a tight gray T-shirt and jeans. “But you do remember you promised me a coffee?”

“Definitely,” Steve said. “My treat.”

“I’d rather treat. Since I’m the one who asked you on the date.”

“…Right.”

Bucky grinned. “You weren’t sure I was asking for a date.”

“I was… sort of … hoping. I thought maybe you were just a model who likes being nice to all the artists.”

“I like being nice to all the artists. But you’re the only one I’m going to invite up to my apartment after coffee.”

Steve swallowed. “Oh.”

Bucky smirked a little. “You want me to wear the character’s costume, don’t you?”

Steve hesitated. “It’s not like I’m one of those artists in love with my own creations.”

Bucky laughed. “Didn’t think you were. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind wearing the costume either.”

“Really.” Steve could barely breathe.

“Really. In fact… we could even pretend that I’m him. If you would be willing to pretend that you’re… help me out here.”

“Your prisoner?” Steve said, swallowing again, throat dry.

Bucky stepped forward, placed his hands gently on Steve’s hips. “Yep. My helpless human prisoner. Totally at the mercy of the cyborg warrior who has forgotten he was ever human.”

“I’d help you remember,” Steve said, biting his lower lip. “But only after you capture me. Treat me rough.”

Bucky grinned. “We can definitely do that.”

Steve leaned up then, quickly, kissing Bucky hard and fast.

“Why do I get the feeling the cyborg’s going to end up your prisoner?” Bucky said then, lips still close to Steve's. He looked impressed, needy even.

Steve just smiled. “Let’s wait and see.”