Chapter Text
You think the devil has horns?
Well, so did I
But I was wrong
His hair is combed and he wears a suit and tie
He’s nice
Polite
He’ll catch you by surprise
A smile so bright
You never bat an eye…
-“Devil in Disguise” by Marino
Of all the people you ever expected to walk into a custom suit store, two superheroes sure as hell weren’t whom you’d expected.
You’d been a sales associate for a premiere men’s suit store in D.C. for the last seven years. True, you were used to celebrities—mostly politicians, but a few actors had popped through every once in a blue moon—but the day that Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes and Captain America himself Sam Wilson stopped in certainly took the cake.
“Welcome to Broly’s Custom Suit Store,” you chirped automatically as you tucked a re-folded shirt back into the wall after hearing the doorbell jingle. You stood up on the last step of a stool to get it into overstock, thinking nothing of new customers until you heard a very familiar voice call out to you.
“Hope we’re not interrupting,” Sam Wilson said, a friendly grin on his face as he clapped the shoulder of the ex-assassin beside him. Your jaw didn’t just drop; it plummeted to the floor. Years of working in DC and you’d not so much as spotted a stray feather from the Falcon, let alone ever glimpsing the other infamous Super Soldier. In fact, it shocked you so bad that you turned around too fast and overbalanced.
And it turned out Sergeant Barnes had good reflexes.
You barely got out a yelp as you tipped over on the ladder, but then two twin pythons of insane strength cushioned you long before you could hit the ground. You landed in Bucky’s arms upright, your front crushed to his chest, suddenly blinking down at his thick lashes and stubble from inches away. He seemed to have done it on pure instinct, as he looked nearly as surprised to be so close to you at your first meeting. He smelled like leather and aftershave, intoxicating up close. You gulped. “H-Hi, sergeant. Nice to…meet you?”
He then relaxed in a soft smile as he lowered you safely to the carpeted floor of the store. “Nice to meet you too, girlie. Maybe be a little more careful on that ladder, hmm?”
“I-I will, I’m so sorry—”
He sent you a stern look. “Hey. That wasn’t hostility, so don’t apologize. Happens to the best of ‘em.”
“I cannot tell you how many times I’ve fallen off of shit doing this Cap job,” Sam said gravely, which made you giggle and blush a bit.
“Well, thank you for saying so. Welcome in. What can I help you gentlemen with today?”
Sam jostled Bucky’s shoulder again. “The grumpy cyborg here decided he’s gonna run for Congress, which means he can’t be out here in those cheap hundred dollar suits you get off the rack at Nordstrom. He needs custom suits, at least three, and a tuxedo. I know damn well his proportions aren’t going to match anything store bought, so I wanted to take him in for a custom job. I’ve heard fantastic things about this place from some friends in high places, so you’re our first choice.”
“I’d be glad to help get him fitted. And you’re absolutely right—I can tell you right now he’d be in a suit separate if he went off the rack, and it probably still wouldn’t fit him.”
Bucky arched an eyebrow. “Suit separate?”
“Yes,” you said as you hunted for a tape measure and then looped it around your neck. “Most suits are sold in a fixed size of the jacket and pants with the ‘usual’ measurements for the average man. Anyone with a wide chest, but a narrow waist would have to buy a suit where we match the jacket size to the matching pants size. It happens most often with athletes and actors since you guys don’t have the same proportions as the average man. Sam, for instance, would likely be a suit separate because his form is closer to, let’s say, the build of a runner or a soccer player. Your build is enhanced by the serum, so it means your proportions are probably too specific for anything I already have here.”
Sam whistled. “Girl already knows her stuff. I like it. I’m glad we can skip the backstory catching you up since it sounds like you’re familiar.”
“Oh, big time. I watched the documentary they made last year. Good stuff. You’ve both done incredible service to your country and I admire you immensely for it. Three suits and a tuxedo should be no problem. Do you have a budget in mind?”
“Yes.” Sam gave you a round number and you scribbled it on the edge of the tailor card.
“That’s an excellent budget, so let’s start working on swatches for the three suits. I’d recommend a blue, a grey, and a black, but the third color can be anything you like, sergeant.”
“Bucky,” he said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His tone was soft and reserved, but friendly. “Don’t have to use my title, s’okay. Black’s fine—”
“Black is not fine,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “He wears too much black as it is. I agree with blue and grey, but we’re putting him in another color for the last one. I’d say khaki or burgundy.”
You beamed then. “Oh, Sam. He’d look ravishing in burgundy.”
Bucky cracked a smile, chuckling. “Ravishing, wow. Ain’t heard that one in a while.”
You giggled as you beckoned them over to the presentation table, bringing over the heavy folder of swatches with you. “This is basically all of the suit designs we have available, but if you hate every single one, I can pull more off the website. Look through them and pick your top three in blue and grey, then I’ll start your measurements so we can get the suit custom made at the warehouse and then shipped here.”
His brows rose as he noticed just how thick the booklet of swatches happened to be. “Shit, that’s a lot. Dunno that I need that many.”
“Well, there’s no rush and we want it to be something you like to wear, not us.”
He frowned. “Trust me, if it was my choice, I wouldn’t be in a suit at all.”
“Exactly,” Sam said, nudging his friend over to open the folder. “Which is why I tagged along at all. This man one-hundred percent would just pick all black suits like a damn bodyguard. He doesn’t get that politics is all optics, no matter how annoying it is. If you show up in a cheap suit, they’ll eat you alive.”
“Sadly, he is right,” you said, smiling sympathetically. “Most of the clients we get in are politicians that need to look spiffy before heading to Capitol Hill. Sorry, but it is the nature of the beast.”
Bucky sighed. “I know. I signed up for this crap, so nobody to blame but me. Sam, do your thing. You’ll know what I look good in; I sure as hell don’t anymore.”
“Gotcha, playa!” Sam cackled as he flipped through the book, of course picking a magenta suit that made Bucky roll his eyes. He then quit teasing him and offered me three blue shades: one bright navy, one true navy with a faint pale green pinstripe, and then a baby bird one that Bucky immediately balked at.
“Come on,” Bucky groaned. “That’s gonna show every single stain.”
“Then don’t eat in it,” Sam said, holding the swatch over Bucky’s head when he tried to snatch it. “Buck, trust me. You will look incredible in that shade, man.”
“He’s right.”
Bucky’s head then turned to face you. “Huh?”
You smiled shyly. “I mean it. You’d look amazing. It’s just a swatch; it really doesn’t give you the full effect of how it would look, which is fantastic.”
He scowled, squinting at you in disbelief. “Nu-uh.”
You laughed then. “Okay, fine, so you’re a very visual person. One second.”
You went over to the tuxedo rental jackets to the left and hunted until you found a pale blue jacket that was at least close to Bucky’s size and selected it. He made that same grumpy face when you held it out. “Go on, try it.”
“No.”
“Bucky,” Sam said, glaring. “Quit being mean to her or I’ll pop you one, so help me God.”
He growled and groaned, but forced himself to remove the leather jacket. It left him in a black t-shirt with the Harley Davidson logo in white across his massively impressive pecs. You went behind him and helped him into the jacket, then nudged him over to take a look in the full length mirror that led into the fitting room. They’d both come during a popular lunch hour, so they were the only men in the store for now. Your relief would get here at two o’clock when it would start to get busy again.
Bucky stopped as he saw himself in the mirror, clearly puzzled that the robin’s egg blue looked good on a man that had probably only ever worn black, blue, and dark grey his entire life. You tried to stifle a giggle as you patted his shoulder. “See? It makes your eyes and your hair pop nicely.”
He glanced down at you. “Is it…supposed to do that?”
“Yes. Trust the process, Bucky. I promise we’ll have you looking like new money.”
Again, he scowled, but then he sighed and caved in. “Alright, alright, fine. But if it gets here and I look like a fucking peacock in it, I’m saying no.”
“You won’t, I promise.” You put the tuxedo jacket back and then Sam gave you the three shades of grey: charcoal, dark grey sharkskin, and a pale granite color. Bucky still complained about the lighter shade, but not nearly as much.
“Burgundy’s not a common off the rack color, so I’m just going to go with the single shade we have in the swatch book and then he can say yay or nay when it arrives,” you explained, setting that one aside with the others. “Let’s take a look at the tux jacket styles and then I’ll get you measured.”
The tuxedo would be easiest, since all he had to do was pick the jacket type and lapel designs and color of any additional clothing. Most men rented them, but a Congressman would certainly be invited to enough white tie events that renting it over and over would get old quick. It was an expensive thing to own, but the good news was it lasted a long time when cared for nicely.
“Double-breasted or single?” you asked.
Bucky just stared. Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Double-breasted jacket is the kind you would have worn back in the forties; single-breasted is what most guys nowadays wear, caveman.”
“Oh.” Bucky seemed to weigh that in his mind. “I kinda miss vintage suits. Let’s go with double.”
“Got it.” You pointed to the three of them on the rack. “Notch, peak, or shawl lapel?”
He squinted harder. “Does it matter?”
“It might if you want to have a boutonniere or something.”
“The hell is that?”
Sam sighed. “The flower that goes on your lapel, caveman. Give ‘er a break.”
“Nah, probably not.”
“That’s fine, then we’ll do the shawl. Now comes the fun part.” You brandished the tape measure like a garrote, adopting a playful look. “Time to get those measurements, sir.”
“Oh, now, I’m a sir, hmm?” he said, rolling his eyes, but smirking to show he was kidding. “Wonder why that is…”
“Shush or you’re getting popped with a yard stick.”
He chuckled. “Yes ma’am. So what do I do?”
“I’ll walk you through it.” You then leveled a look at Sam before actually touching him. “Does he have a thing about being touched?”
“Yes,” Sam said, then winked. “But not when it’s a pretty girl.”
Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Goddamn it, Samuel.”
“What? You gonna tell me you don’t, grumpypants?”
“You’re the worst.”
You giggled. “Well, either way, I’m going to start with your neck, arms, shoulders, chest, and waist. That alright with you?”
“If you must,” he deadpanned. “How do you need me to stand after I’m done strangling him to death?”
You giggled harder. “Just hands by your sides at first.”
You looped it around his throat for his neck measurement, then scribbled that down on the tailor measurement card. His cheeks tinted just a little bit red when you first brushed him with your fingertips, but he didn’t flinch or try to resist. He did seem just grumpy instead of actually mean; you’d had a boatload of rude and mean customers by now, so you knew the difference.
You stepped behind him and placed the end of the tape measure at the base of his nape. His hair was incredibly soft and thick against your fingers as you then traced the tape down the back of his arm to his wrist, and then giggled harder when it made him dance around a little. “Oh no. The good sergeant is ticklish, I take it?”
“Repeat that to anyone and I’ll end you both,” he growled but without actual heat to show he was joking. “S’not my fault. You have…soft hands.”
“Yes, her soft hands made you ticklish,” Sam tittered, shaking his head. “You’re a whole mess, Barnes.”
“Whatever, man. For all you know, the serum did it.”
You chuckled as you measured his wrist. “Are you two always like this?”
“Yep,” they said in unison.
“Good to know. I’ve been warned. Alright, sir, make like Jesus.”
Bucky raised his arms into a T-pose. You measured his chest, then his waist and had to suppress a brief moment of thirst at how attractively narrow his waist was compared to his chest. “Mm.”
Bucky craned his neck, giving you a suspicious side eye. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He scowled again. “Out with it, girlie.”
“Nothing,” you insisted, but then he went to pinch you and you squeaked, escaping out of range. “Okay, okay, it’s just…”
You blushed. “You have a nice drop.”
“Drop?” Bucky echoed.
“Drop is the measurement difference from your chest to your waist,” Sam explained, grinning widely as he knew exactly what you were getting at. “For example, Steve has an insane fucking drop, where the difference between his chest and his waist is huge, and you’re not that far off. It’s a compliment.”
His brows rose in surprise. “So instead of nice ass…nice drop?”
Sam rolled his eyes for the millionth time. “Goddamn caveman. She’s being nice.”
“Oh.” He glanced at you. “Thanks for saying I have a nice…drop.”
“You’re welcome,” you said, laughter in your throat. “Now, have you ever had your in-seam measured before?”
“No,” he said bluntly. “Why?”
You cleared your throat and willed yourself not to blush. “I mention it as some men find it…off-putting or embarrassing if measured by a woman.”
“Why?” he asked, mystified.
“It’s your crotch measurement, dude,” Sam volunteered. “It means she has to get on one knee in front of your…area. She’s just getting consent before she heads in that direction.”
Bucky’s brows shot up again. “What? I’m not making her do that, the hell.”
“It’s part of my job,” you said as delicately as possible. “It won’t bother me, but I don’t want it to bother you either. I can either have you do it and tell you how or we can just get it over with real quick.”
He shifted his weight uncomfortably, hands on those narrow hips, seeming at war with himself. “Can I do it…wrong?”
“Well, it would just mean the tailor lets it out a little more when you arrive for the first fitting.”
He chewed his bottom lip. “You…sure it’s not gonna…bug you?”
“It won’t,” you said gently. “I’ve worked here for seven years, Bucky. I’ll be fine.”
He blushed then. “Just don’t want it to bother you, that’s all. I’m…fine, you can…go ahead, I guess.”
Bucky pointedly stared at a spot on the wall as you lowered to one knee with the tape measure and rather carefully measured his in-seam using a light touch. That said, the way he shifted his hips away when you went down on one knee told you everything and you had to bite your bottom lip to keep from a shy smile at the very small hint he was attracted to you. You’d wear that feather in your cap for just about the rest of your natural born life.
“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry you have to do that all the time,” he said when you were done, offering his hand to pull you to your feet again, which was kind of him. Most guys didn’t do that. “Can’t imagine any of these DC guys don’t make inappropriate comments about it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, we have something for that,” you confessed with a chuckle as you scribbled the measurement on the card. “It’s called ‘my tailor is a big scary Samoan and any guy that tries to hit on me using the in-seam measurement gets measured by him instead.’”
Sam whistled. “Samoan? Hell yeah. I knew I was gonna like this place. I’m so glad he does that for you. I was gonna offer if you didn’t have it handled already.”
You laughed. “I’d love to call up Cap to come smack around my rude clients. Don’t leave your number here or I’ll take you up on the offer.”
He winked. “Anytime, baby cakes. Alright, so what’s left?”
You cleared your throat. “Ah, I do have one more awkward measurement to take, unfortunately.”
“Oh God, now what?” Bucky asked, but you could hear the humor in it.
You tried to keep a straight face. “Well, Bucky, most of the men that come in here aren’t particularly…blessed in one area that you happen to be blessed in ample amounts.”
He stared. “Huh?”
You glanced at Sam. “I have absolutely no idea how to tell him this appropriately. Please save me.”
“She means your ass,” Sam said bluntly, enough that you wheezed at how blunt he’d been. “Most white guys have no ass. You have an onion booty by comparison, so she needs to measure the onion booty.”
“Onion booty?!” Bucky yelped, whirling around in disbelief. “Onion?!”
Sam chuckled, shrugging. “Hey, can’t lie on my man. It’s a nice caboose.”
Bucky sighed haggardly and buried his burning face behind his Vibranium hand. “I’m gonna kill you. I swear, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Got it. She still needs an answer, dude.”
“I hate you.” Bucky straightened, then jabbed a thumb at Sam. “Him, not you. I know you’re just doing your job. Yes, that’s…whatever. Go ahead.”
You rolled your lips inward to hide a grin. “Mmkay.”
“Don’t you start too,” Bucky grumbled as you went behind him one last time and looped the tape measure around his hips, then simply slid it down.
You wrote the measurement down and then spread your hands. “There. Hard part’s over.”
Sam smirked. “Relatively speaking.”
Bucky pointed at him that time. “Dead, you hear me? Soon as we leave.”
Sam cackled. “Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time, cyborg. Now, my lovely lady, about how long for the suits to come in?”
“One second.” You walked over to the output calendar and counted the time. “Typically, it’s fourteen business days, but I might be able to get it to you in twelve if I mention you’re an Avenger.”
Sam clapped his hands to his heart as he followed you the counter so you could tally up an estimate for them. “Two weeks? I can’t go that long without you, boo.”
You laughed. “Then come visit on my lunch hour one day. I absolutely wanna brag about you to my friends, family, and other coworkers.”
“You got yourself a bet, cutie pie. But we’ll fix that for you right now.” He grabbed Bucky and tugged him to the other side of you, lifting up his phone with a huge grin. It wasn’t hard at all to smile for the group selfie, not after Bucky’s chest and side briefly met with yours and he felt so warm and strong next to you that you nearly swooned. “Bam! Money shot! What’s your number, cutie? I’ll text it to ya.”
“Thank you so much.” You told him the number and a moment later, your phone buzzed with the selfie in a text message. “You guys have been my best clients ever, trust me. I’ll let you know when the suits come in so we can get our man fitted and dapper for those annoying bastards on Capitol Hill.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “Thanks for making this…as painless as possible, not counting having to deal with this jerk.”
He jabbed a thumb at Sam again. “They let you have tips at this job?”
“Sadly, no, but we do work on commission with base pay, so…” You smiled shyly as you passed him the estimate slip. “…just make sure you come pick ‘em up and pay for them and I’ll be all set.”
He smiled slowly, softly, in a way that made your knees weak. “I’ll be sure to do that, girlie. Take it easy, huh? Don’t do anymore in-seam measurements or just call me the next time you get one so I can supervise.”
You laughed again, your cheeks burning for two reasons. “You have my solemn word I’ll never measure another in-seam without my watchdog present to protect me from shitty men.”
Bucky chuckled softly. “Good. I’ll find another way to thank you when I come back. Be good ‘til then.”
You grinned wolfishly. “I make no such promises.”
He paused, then the smirk widened, his wintry eyes gleaming with mischief. “Then me neither. See you later, girlie.”
“Bye, fellas.”
They both waved and then left the suit store. You waited a whole forty-five seconds before snatching up your cell phone and immediately calling your best friend. “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch, you’ve got to hear what the hell just happened to me!”