Work Text:
Steve normally didn’t mind his job; sure, it wasn’t what he wanted to do and it wasn’t anything he wanted to make a career out of, but the people he worked for were good to him and understanding of a lot of things. Most days he didn’t have to do anything too strenuous—the worst thing he’d had to do so far was take over for one of the chefs who called out last minute and toss some pizza dough. He did it badly enough that he knew Peggy or Angie would never ask him to do it again and let him stick to answering the phones and delivering the pies. The hand tossed crust was sort of the specialty of SSR Pizzeria and Steve definitely did not have a natural knack. It had given him and Peggy a laugh though, so he counted it as an alright day at work.
But tonight, the minutes before Steve was off seemed to drag on. Usually on Wednesdays there was enough of a demand from parents too tired from work to cook dinner or college kids deciding to preemptively get their late night munchies before stumbling back from one of the local bars. They’d only had one call in the two hours that Steve had been there though.
“It’s Spring Break, Steve,” Angie’d told him earlier in the night, her voice and smile kind. She and Peggy’d been doing this long enough that nothing seemed to faze her and she could explain anything. “Kids are gone. It’s always like this. I don’t know what to tell you.”
He was bored out of his mind and there wasn’t anything good on the TV they kept on in the corner and he couldn’t even run out to his car to get his sketchbook since he’d forgotten it on his desk at home. He had a commission he had to get out in a week too and it felt like now would be the perfect time to work, but of course not; nothing was going particularly well for him today. Instead, he was doodling on the corner of a takeout menu and waiting for more lives to load in Candy Crush.
There was a chime from the computer that made him jump about a foot and screw up the line he was drawing. The online ordering system was new enough that Steve wasn’t used to the sound, but he knew enough to get up and check it right away.
107 N Winter Lane, James Barnes. 2 Garlic Breadsticks. 1 Large Everything- Hand Tossed, 1 Large Meat Lovers- Hand Tossed. (718) 255-7038
It would take maybe half an hour for the pizzas to get done and maybe twenty minutes for Steve to get over to Winter Lane from here so he pulled his phone out to rattle off the “automated” confirmation message.
James, your pizza from SSR Pizzeria will be delivered to 107 N Winter Ln March 29 at 9:30 PM. Text YES to confirm, NO to cancel, HLP for help.
Steve wished they had a work phone if they weren’t going to have the automated messages actually set up, but when Peggy’d asked him to just use his phone for the time being—“Just until Daisy can get a chance to come help us, you know how rubbish Ange and I are with the computer”—he couldn’t exactly say no. Steve’d always had a hard time saying no to anything a beautiful woman asked him to do, and it didn’t matter that Peggy was married and thirty years older than him. So far, the phone thing hadn’t been an issue since all he had to do was delete the messages after he left work; a simple YES or NO didn’t make a lot of difference so the system worked as only a mild inconvenience.
That’s all he was expecting when his phone vibrated. Instead of that simple YES or NO, what he got made his eyes widen in shock.
Thank you Papa John you hot slice of man!!!!!@!
Steve shook his head a little bit; apparently not all of the college students who went out on a Wednesday night had gone home for spring break. He thought back to every error message he’d ever read when trying to submit a piece of art and came up with a response.
We’re sorry, our system did not recognize that message. Confirm your order with YES, cancel with NO, text HLP for help.
It sounded automated enough so he hit send and waited, hoping this James Barnes would tire of this drunken game quickly. His phone vibrated again and he hoped for a real response.
get your hot cheezy goodness in me. hellp me obi wan whatever ur my only ho
Steve rolled his eyes and typed out the exact same message he’d written before and sent it. He hadn’t even set his phone down again when it went off.
will u send the hottest delivery guy u have? I’m lonely :( ;)
Steve scoffed and ran a hand over his face. Before he could really process it, he was sending a message back, not as the automated messenger of SSR Pizzeria, but as himself, Steve Rogers.
Come on man. Our automated service isn’t set up. This is a real guy and I only make minimum wage, just tell me if you want the pizza or not.
He sent it without thinking and then cringed—Peggy and Angie would understand right? This guy wouldn’t be a dick about it, would he? His phone buzzed three times in a row and he prepared himself to get reamed out by a drunk stranger. It wouldn’t be the first time, though it might be the first time it happened via text. At work at least.
Yes we want the pizza. Sorry man.
But still, send your hottest delivery guy ;)
Are u the hottest delivery guy? Send pix ;) ;) ;)
Steve started laughing even though he knew he really shouldn’t, and then his phone buzzed again.
Shit man sorry my friends are jerks. We do want the pizzas. Please ignore everything else.
Steve smiled as he sent back, It’s okay. Thanks for confirming your order.
He set his phone down and picked the pencil nub he’d been drawing with back up again. The doodle of a man tossing dough was ruined from where he’d jumped earlier, but he could start something else to pass the time. Steve’d just put pencil back to paper and started to sketch out a rough vision of Peggy and Angie facing the front of their shop when his phone buzzed again. He thought that he’d turned his Candy Crush lives notifications off, but he must have been mistaken.
He had another text message from their online customer.
No ignore that last bit. We do want you to send your best looking delivery guy. And James’ friends are not jerks, he’s just a sourpus. What’s your name btw?
Steve. And I’m the only delivery guy we have tonight, so sorry, but you’re stuck with me, he texted back. He’d chalk it up to boredom if anyone asked about why he was responding. And besides, it was his phone. These guys were clearly just as bored as he was if they were texting the pizza delivery man. Plus, it was rude not to answer when all they asked for was a name, right?
Well then, an hour is a long time to wait to see if you’re as hot as we hope you are for James’ sake. Wanna think of that ‘send pix’ message as serious? No pressure
Steve could hear the wing-man eagerness in the texter’s voice. He hadn’t gotten this far in his life as a bi guy without being able to recognize when a friend took over for a man who liked men’s phone and whoever James Barnes was, he wasn’t the one operating his phone. Whatever friend was calling the shots was definitely a woman trying to help him get laid. Steve could just tell.
He was at work and this was technically a customer, but the truth was, Steve was in a rut. He hadn’t been on a date since Peggy’d tried to set him up with her niece Sharon—a lovely girl, but too no-nonsense for his artistic side—and he hadn’t slept with anyone since he and his friend Sam had fallen into bed together drunkenly after they’d met nearly a year ago. If this James Barnes really wanted to try to hit on a pizza guy through his friends, what would it hurt Steve to indulge him?
Plus, Steve knew what he looked like. He wasn’t everybody’s type, no, he was too short and skinny for a lot of people’s taste, but what didn’t work for some worked wonders for other people. With his long eyelashes and blue eyes and pouty mouth he got enough attention, especially from the right sort of guys. And for most of them the tattoos on his collar and arms didn’t seem to hurt. At least, according to some of the messages he’d gotten on the couple online dating profile he’d made in the past they didn’t.
He glanced around to see if he was in anyone’s view and raised his phone to take a quick selfie, mouth curled into a half smile and head cocked to show off the small hematite plugs he was wearing. He typed a quick I’m probably going to regret this, attached the picture, and hit send.
He dropped his phone onto the counter and closed his eyes with a deep breath. What in the hell was he doing? This wasn’t like him at all and he could already hear Sam laughing at him when he told this story, and he could picture Maria’s smirk after she stole his phone to look through the conversation; he’d have to delete it as soon as his shift was over. Hell, he should delete it right now so only the complete stranger on the other end would have proof of his impulsiveness.
Instead of deleting the evidence, he picked up his pencil again and tried to stop looking at his phone waiting for a response. He was mentally kicking himself every time he looked at the screen to see no new notifications. What the hell sort of response was he expecting anyway? He realized he’d been sitting there with the pencil in his hand without having even put it to paper for almost 10 minutes when his phone finally buzzed again. He nearly dropped it scrambling to pick it up.
My friends are such jerks I am sorry they made you send that I am never letting nat have my phone ever again I am so sorry!
It's fine. I understand pushy friends, believe me. Plus I am really bored at work right now so I don't really mind. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable.
Steve set his phone back down and breathed a sigh of relief. At least, he thought it was relief, but there was maybe a touch of disappointment in his chest at knowing this guy didn't really react to the picture itself. This guy wasn't a jerk, but that seemed like a polite way to ignore any potential flirting there could have been. His phone vibrated as soon as he set it down, which was not what he expected.
Not uncomfortable no. Definitely not.
Steve had no reply to that, but his eyebrows rose. Was that an opening to flirt? Was that just a polite response? How was he supposed to take that?
Luckily for him, he didn't have to respond to it, because Dum-Dum, their chef for the night was coming out of the back with the boxes of food.
"Order's all set, kid. Tell them you're on your way."
Steve nodded with a ‘thanks’ and his fingers set to typing.
Good. Your food is will be delivered shortly.
That definitely wasn't an hour was the reply he got back and Steve smirked.
No it wasn't. Slow night so everything is quicker. Hope it's not an inconvenience.
Shit no we're starving.
Steve laughed at that and loaded the boxes into the insulated bag and headed out the door. At least now he would be able to see who exactly it was that he'd been flirting with all night. Sort of flirting with. Oh god, it hit him, why had he been doing this at work? This was all such a dumb idea, dry spell or not. He silently hoped for a traffic jam that would keep him from getting to Winter Lane.
But of course, Steve couldn't be so lucky; he'd never been so lucky. He didn't hit so much as a red light the entire Google Maps route and he was at 107 Winter Lane in a little over 10 minutes. He sat in his car and took a few deep breaths. He had nothing to be embarrassed about he told himself; all he'd done was respond to a little flirting by a stranger because he was bored. James Barnes had been the one to start it, and his friends had been the ones to egg it on. Or at least, James Barnes hadn’t stopped it. If it was awkward, it would never happen again he reassured himself. Or you just lost Peggy and Angie a customer part of his brain told him. He shoved that thought down and took his keys out of the ignition. He popped open his door and grabbed the pizza bag out of his passenger seat and took one more deep breath before he started towards the stairs of 107 N Winter Lane.
It wasn't an imposing place, or an imposing set of stairs, but Steve felt like it would take a thousand years before he was to the door. His luck was no different than it had been with the traffic though and his stride was larger than it ever had been, bringing him to the door quickly. He rang the doorbell and held his breath.
A commotion came from inside: “Shit!” and then a crash. “One of you assholes get the door! who the fuck is it!? Is the pizza here already!? Shit!”
The voice was muffled and Steve tried to make sure his laugh was the same. He could hear footsteps coming to the door.
The door swung open and in the silhouette of light stood a blond man with both of his eyes bruised and a butterfly bandage over his nose. He had a beer can half crushed in his hand and as he took in Steve he took a swig. He belched. Steve didn't say a word, just stood on the door step with the bag of food.
The blond man turned around and shouted, "Barnes, the hot twink pizza delivery guy is here and he really is a hot twink. You better hope you have control of the blood that's gonna wanna flow straight to your dick!"
As soon as he'd yelled it, the blond stepped away from the door. It was just about to swing shut, leaving Steve flabbergasted on the foyer step, when a redheaded woman, who might be one of the most gorgeous people Steve had ever seen, stepped into the light.
"Sorry, please ignore Clint Barton, who is drunk and also a human disaster." Her voice was smoky, but there was a laugh in it. Steve felt a little bit dazed; this was already the craziest encounter he'd ever had while he was working and not even just for SSR Pizzeria. The redhead looked him up and down, not even trying to hide it. "Your picture doesn't really do you justice there, Steve."
He blushed and one of his hands came up to fiddle with one of his plugs. “Um, thank you?” he stuttered out. The redhead hadn’t made any indication that she was going to move out of the doorway or take the food Steve was holding. He started to move to unlatch the Velcro that kept the bag closed. “The food was paid for online, so if you could—“
“Why don’t you come in so we’re not letting the cold in? You can be more comfortable,” she interrupted him. Steve shook his head without thinking about it.
“No, thank you, that’s really not necessary. Let me just give—“
“Steve, come in.” Her tone brooked no argument and Steve found himself stepping into the space she’d just vacated in the entryway.
A game of Mass Effect was paused on the giant TV in a living room to the left and a pile of empty beer cans along with a glass with a curly straw that had a print of lipstick on it littered the coffee table. The room looked comfortable and like they’d been having fun. Someone’s phone was plugged in and charging. This wasn’t a party, not like he would have suspected by the level of inebriation of a couple of the text he’d received, just friends having fun with each other.
“Natasha, please tell me you gave that guy a massive tip for having to deal with us. I can’t believe you two were trying to—shit!”
The man who’d placed the order, the one who had to be James Barnes, stepped around the corner with a stack of paper plates and napkins in his hands, and Steve sucked in a breath. That was the guy he’d been trying to flirt with? He hated himself in that moment and any bit of his earlier blush that had faded came straight back. He was gorgeous—way too gorgeous for Steve to have even pretended to flirt with out of boredom.
“James, the pizza’s here. So’s SSR’s cutest delivery boy. You’ve been introduced, no?” the redhead—Natasha, according to what James Barnes had just said—said, a smirk on her face and teasing in her voice. “Steve, this is James. He’s going to tell you to call him Bucky, but he’s a grown up, so don’t.”
“Oh, my god, Nat, shut the fuck up,” Bucky ground out through gritted teeth. His eyes closed and he ran a hand over his face before turning his eyes to Steve. “I’m so sorry. My friends really are jerks. I clearly need to find new ones.”
“You could have more than a friend right there if you nutted up about it!” Clint’s voice came from somewhere further back in the house. Bucky turned pink around the ears and Steve thought he might die it was so cute. Clint apparently wasn’t done though. “He’s your type of hot! You like ‘em hipster!”
“Fuck off, Barton! Jesus!” Bucky yelled back. He looked apologetic, and still embarrassed, but Steve was starting to smirk with laughter. This was absolutely ridiculous.
“I’m a punk, not a hipster! But thanks, I think!” he called out. An inelegant snort of laughter came from beside him and he saw Natasha cover her mouth with her hand.
Bucky sighed and turned to Natasha. “Nat, go get some cash from your menace of a best friend to tip him for delivering our pizza and dealing with you lunatics. Please.”
With a last smile at him and a teasing look at Bucky, Natasha headed to find Clint.
“Seriously, I am so sorry. I swear, they’re harmless. We’ve just had more beer than we should on a Wednesday night apparently and they think they’re cute.”
“Like I said, I get it. I’m sorry I played along with it. Just a slow night at work.” Steve shrugged as he said it, but in the back of his mind he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Why did this guy have to be so hot? And why did his friends have to make it seem like he had a chance? The muscles of his arms stood out in the t-shirt that stretched across his pecs and he had one bit of hair falling out of his bun and into his eyes. He had a little bit of stubble on his killer jawline and a wide mouth and Steve thought he would look right at home in some old black and white Hollywood movie. Except for the full sleeve of a tattoo on his left arm and Steve thought the world really was just unfair.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s my fault for letting them take my phone. You’re at work, you don’t need to be harassed and have people hit on you for their friends. You probably have to deal with people doing that to you all the time at the restaurant, you definitely don’t need to get it from phone orders. Hell.”
Bucky’s ears were still pink but he met Steve’s eyes without hesitation. He still looked apologetic and embarrassed and absolutely adorable.
“It’s not really a thing I deal with a lot. Anywhere.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Bucky said immediately. “I mean, look at you.” Steve’s eyebrows shot up and Bucky winced. “Shit. Sorry, now I’m hitting on you at work on my own. I swear, I’ll give you a huge tip.”
Natasha chose that moment to come waltzing back into sight with a wad of crumpled up cash in her hand. She looked between Steve and Bucky and must have noticed the embarrassment on both of their faces. She rolled her eyes.
“Clint said that unless you get his number you have to pay him back.” She shoved the money at Bucky and gave a little wave to Steve before leaving again.
Steve and Bucky stood in silence for a minute and Bucky scratched the back of his neck and looked at his own feet before Steve spoke up.
“You already have my number.”
“Huh?” Bucky looked up with a raised eyebrow.
“The number I texted you the confirmation stuff from, it’s my own personal phone number. SSR doesn’t have a work phone set up to text.” It took Steve a moment to realize how it sounded. His speech faltered as he went on, trying to sound casual. “I mean, so you don’t have to pay Clint back.”
Bucky must have seen something else in Steve’s expression because a hesitant smile started to creep onto his face. God, he really was cute. He tried to tuck his loose strand of hair behind his ear and it just flopped into his face again before he spoke.
“Oh, yeah? Is that the only reason you wanted to remind me?” He was teasing, but there was a current of uncertainty under his words. Steve took a deep breath and shook his head. He tried to fake nonchalance with a one-armed shrug.
“Well, it’s not every day you get a reason to tell a customer to keep your number. And I mean, look at you,” he said echoing Bucky’s earlier words. “There’s definitely a reason that you should keep my number.”
The smile was full-fledged on Bucky’s face now. He stepped closer to Steve and took the bag of food out of his hands to take out the boxes. He gave Steve the pile of bills when he gave him the Velcro bag back.
“Then I’ll definitely save it under Steve, the hottest delivery guy, and I’ll text you. Maybe to see if you want to grab a cup of coffee or a beer.”
Steve shoved the money into his pocket and smiled back. He couldn’t help but look down and back at Bucky through his lashes to show them off. “Yeah? I’d really like that.” His smile turned into a smirk when he went on. “Should I save your number under James or Bucky?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Nat might be a jerk, but she wasn’t wrong; it is Bucky. But you can save it however you want, as long as you do.”
“I will.” The two of them stood there looking at each other with smiles on their faces in silence for a moment and honestly Steve thought he might want to stretch onto his tiptoes and kiss Bucky’s grinning face, but he thought better. He couldn’t do that. At least not now. But he was content to just look at Bucky’s pretty eyes. Their reverie was broken by Clint shouting once again.
“You’d better be making out or you’d better let the guy go back to work, Barnes! I didn’t hear the door!”
Bucky jumped and glared over his shoulder. “I hate you, Clint!”
Steve started to laugh and Bucky followed suit when he turned back to him.
“I do have to get back to work though,” Steve admitted. Bucky nodded. “But really, text me whenever you want.”
Bucky nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm.
“Stop flirting and bring the pizza in here! We’re still hungry, so seal the deal, you wimp!”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “I hate Clint, but he isn’t wrong here. We did order this pizza for a reason.” Now it was Steve nodding and Bucky went on. “But I will text you. Promise.”
Steve felt like it took a lot of will power, but with one last nod he started to head out the door. That was certainly not how he expected his night to go and he felt absolutely giddy. He’d just started his car up when the feeling left and he thought about how foolish he was for getting his hopes up about some half-drunk guy giving him his number. Sure, Bucky’d been cute, but how much of that had been the pressure from his friends? How much of it had been the beer? Was Steve being ridiculous to feel happy about it?
He hadn’t even walked in the door of SSR Pizzeria when he felt his phone buzz.
Had enough beer that I don’t care about sounding too eager, do you want to grab dinner tomorrow?
Steve smiled from ear to ear as he typed back I’d love to.
As soon as he got back behind the counter, he saved the phone number under “Bucky” and hoped it would be a name he saw on his phone all the time.