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"You want what?" It was early, so early even the early risers hadn't started piling in and Bucky looked askance at the, okay, ridiculously attractive guy standing across the counter from him. He got a somewhat sheepish look in response, the tall blond—don't call him a beefcake, Bucky, no matter how built he is—ducking his head. He was only the second customer of the day and Bucky was on his own out the front, Clint getting things ready out back.
"Extra large latte, three extra shots of espresso, with hazelnut, vanilla, and chocolate syrup. And a dash of cold milk. Please?"
"Yeah, that’s what I thought you said," Bucky replied, ringing it up and accepting the, huh, exact change from the guy. That was…kind of cute. "Do you order this a lot?" he asked as he made his way over to the espresso maker.
"Yeah." Blond and built shuffled awkwardly. "Sharon used to make it for me, but she left, so," he paused, "I guess you're her replacement?"
"I am." His hands knew their job, pulling the coffee, heating the milk, adding the dash of cold, but he hesitated with the syrup. "You sure about this?"
"I'm sure. Hit me."
Bucky shrugged. "On your head be it."
"In my stomach, hopefully. If you dump it on my head, it's gonna be hard to absorb the caffeine."
He shot the guy a look, but he was just standing there, wearing a half-smile. Bucky snorted, amused. "There a reason you need this much caffeine and sugar?"
"Fridays I'm on a twelve hour shift. If I don't start out with something serious I won't make it."
"That's a good reason." He put a lid on the coffee and set it on the counter. "You work nearby?"
"Yeah, at the bookstore down the block."
"Pages?"
"That's the one."
"I'll have to come by and check it out. You guys have a decent sci-fi section?"
The guy waggled his hand. "It could be better. But we can order anything you want." He scooped up his coffee. "And I'd better get going or I'm gonna be late opening. Thanks for this."
"Yeah, maybe don't thank me. I don't want to be held responsible if you end up with diabetes."
The guy grinned and then he was gone. When Clint came out the front with a load of muffins Bucky asked him about the guy and his ridiculous coffee.
"Oh yeah, that's Steve. He's good people. He brings us cookies at Christmas. Home made."
"Seriously?" Clint nodded. "None of the regulars at my old store brought us cookies," Bucky grumbled.
"I guess our customers just like us better," Clint said smugly. "You'll have to step up your game."
Bucky snorted and turned back to the counter as the bell over the door jingled.
It was Tuesday, mid-morning, right in their downtime, when Steve reappeared. "What can I get you?" Bucky asked.
"Extra-large latte, three extra shots—"
"...of espresso, with hazelnut, vanilla, and chocolate syrup. And a dash of cold milk." He punched it in, took Steve's money, went to write it on a cup and saw Clint was already making it. "What's the excuse this time?"
"I need an excuse?"
"Not usually, but you said last time you were ordering it because you had a twelve hour shift on Fridays and it's not Friday."
"Good memory."
"Your drink's memorable." And so was Steve, but he'd keep that one to himself, thanks.
"I like it." Steve squared his very broad shoulders and stood a little taller, eyes narrowed. "I know it's not a normal coffee, but it's how I like it."
"Hey." Bucky held up his hands, surprised at Steve's reaction. "Not criticising, here. Just making conversation. Sorry if it came out wrong."
"Bucky, are you hassling Steve?" Clint asked, sliding Steve's coffee across the counter.
"Not trying to."
"Steve, this is Bucky. Bucky, you've already met Steve. Bucky transferred in to replace Sharon. He's nice, so don't be mean to him."
"Which one of us are you talking to?" Steve asked.
Clint shrugged, then wandered off to wipe down the counters.
There was moment of stillness, then Steve sighed. "Sorry. People tell me I sometimes overreact to things."
"No problem." Bucky offered him a smile, a real one, not the one he reserved for customers, and Steve's answering smile was warm, turning his handsome face into something more, something that made Bucky catch his breath. Uh oh, a tiny part of him whispered.
"Kind of a problem when I take it out on you. Sorry, again. Really." He shook his head, gave Bucky another blinding smile, and scooped up his coffee. "Enjoy your day, Bucky."
"You too, Steve."
Steve arrived on Friday morning and Bucky gave him a wave. Steve waved back and started digging in his bag. "Your usual?" Bucky asked.
"Yeah, thanks," Steve replied absently, then pulled a book out of his bag with a triumphant smile. "I brought you something."
"What?"
"I brought you something." He set the book on the counter. It had a plain lavender cover, was a weird size, and had the words Proof - Not For Resale stamped across the front in huge letters.
"You brought me something." Bucky was having trouble grasping the concept.
"Uh, yeah. Is that okay? I felt bad for jumping down your throat, and we get these proof copies, no one at work really reads sci-fi so they just go to waste, and this is supposed to be good, it's not out yet but the trades are all yelling about it, so I thought you might like it?"
Steve had brought him a book. Bucky was kind of struck dumb.
"I can take it away if you don't want it. No hard feelings. Or," Steve's face fell, "I guess this was a bit weird. Sorry."
"No! No, it's not weird. Thanks. I've never had a proof copy of something before." He picked it up and tucked it away under the counter where it would be safe. "I'll have a good look at it on my break."
Steve smiled in relief. "Okay, good." He pulled money out of his pocket and tried to give it to Bucky.
Bucky shook his head. "You brought me a book, I think I can stand you a coffee."
Steve's expression took on a stubborn cast. "I didn't do it to get free coffee."
"I know you didn't, Steve." Bucky thought he was starting to get a feel for him. "But I'd like to. We get to comp a certain amount a week. Let this be one of mine." He waited, didn't push, and finally Steve nodded. Bucky felt like he'd won a victory. "If you don't read sci-fi, what do you read?" he asked as he started to make Steve's coffee.
"History, mostly. It's fascinating, infuriating sometimes, how much the same things happen over and over again. Spy thrillers when I need brain candy. Action adventure when I'm mad about something."
"And that helps?"
"Yeah, 'cause you know the bad guy's always going to die. It's satisfying."
Bucky grinned and kept working on Steve's coffee, listening as he rambled about books.
It was the start of a pattern. Every Friday, just after they opened, before any other customers started showing up, Steve would arrive for his confection-slash-coffee. No other customers meant there was time to talk to him for a bit and Steve was easy to talk to. Books, movies, rambling about nonsense. It was nice. It was a good way to start the day. And watching Steve when he got worked up about something was amazing. His face lit up, a fire in his stupidly blue eyes, while his hands cut sharp lines in the air.
Bucky didn't think it was his imagination that Steve started showing up a little bit earlier as time passed, meaning he could stay for a little bit longer before he had to head off to open the bookstore.
Of course Steve showed up other times, other days, looking for his coffee-and-sugar fix, almost always timing it for a lull. But Friday started to be the day Bucky thought of as Steve day.
Uh oh was right.
The bell over the door rang and Bucky looked past the shoulder of the guy who was hitting on him. Customers who hit on him were lower on his List of things Bucky despises than roaches in the coffee beans.
Steve was standing in the doorway, backlit by the sun, looking like an escapee from Mount Olympus. It eased Bucky's irritation slightly.
Tall, dark and slimy leaned forward, propped an elbow on the counter, put his chin on his fist, and looked up at Bucky through his lashes. Bucky grit his teeth and kept smiling. Smile at the customers. Always smile at the customers. Imagine dumping a pot of boiling water on them all you like, as long as you keep smiling. "So what's your number?"
"One eight hundred not interested," Bucky replied, sweet as honey, treading all over the edge of acceptable, but only Clint and Steve, who'd come up behind the guy, were in earshot. Neither of them would say a word and Bucky was pretty sure this guy's ego wouldn't let him make a complaint.
He'd figured right. The guy's eyes narrowed, he huffed, obviously offended, but he took himself down to the end of the counter to wait for his drink. Clint flashed Bucky a what an asshole look and he gave Clint a tell me about it back.
Steve was scowling, glaring at the guy, all six feet plus of him radiating disapproval as he asked, "Does that happen a lot?" Bucky punched in his order automatically and took his money.
"More than I'd like." The guy, now deeply engrossed in his phone, didn't notice Steve. "It just pisses me off. You don't hit on people at work. They can't get away, they have to be nice to you, they can't tell you to fu—uh, to get lost." Steve's gaze had darted back to him at his hasty correction and Bucky winced slightly. "Sorry."
Amusement chased the scowl off Steve's face. "I have heard people swear before."
"Well, you're so wholesome looking, I wasn't sure."
Steve snorted, then glanced back at the guy. "Want me to trip him in the parking lot?"
"Nah, not worth it," he decided after some thought. "Thanks, though."
"Anytime." They watched the guy take his drink and leave, moving a hell of a lot faster once he caught sight of Steve's size and muscle, all glaring fiercely in his direction. It warmed Bucky all the way through.
"Morning, Bucky," Steve said with a smile, with the smile, the one that lit Bucky up from the inside.
"Hey, Steve. Interested in trying a real coffee this morning?" he teased.
"Nope, I'll stick with the ridiculous, thanks."
Steve held out his money, but Bucky's eyes sharpened and he didn't take it. Instead, he gently caught Steve's fingers, lifting his hand, his fingers curling around Steve's palm, and he lightly brushed the tops of Steve's fingers with his other hand. "What happened?" There were deep gouges under Steve's nails, red and bloody, that looked like they hurt. He glanced up to find Steve giving him a strange look and realised he was basically holding his hand. Oops. "Sorry," he said, letting go. "That was out of line."
"No, it's fine. I don't mind." Steve touched his hand and Bucky sheepishly took his money. "And we're doing returns. There were way too many flavour of the month bestsellers that the boss ordered way too many of, so there's hundreds of them going back. Gotta pull the price tags off, without damaging the covers, so I've got to pick them off. Carefully. Which means I end up with under my nails looking like hamburger. And yes," he said to Bucky's questioning look, "it stings like a son of a bitch."
He really didn't like the idea of Steve hurting, but he also had a solution. "Hang on," he told him and disappeared out the back. No one was going to notice if a set of tea tongs went missing; half the time the customers used them to squeeze their tea bags and then stole them, anyway. He pulled a clean pair out of the basket and returned to Steve, brandishing them like a sword. "Ta da!"
"Uh, they're very...nice?"
It wasn't an unreasonable reaction to being presented with a set of small, pink plastic tongs with square flat ends. Bucky clicked the ends together a few times, saying, "Steve, my friend, these are the solution to your problem."
"Okayyyy."
"Trust me." He grabbed each end, bent them backwards, snapped them in half, then handed one to Steve.
"Broken tongs." Steve clasped it to his heart. "Just what I've always wanted."
"Not broken tongs. Price tag remover. We use them at Christmas, since management had the bright idea that we should do gift wrapping for the gifts that they also had the bright idea we should sell. You just slip the edge under the label and ease it off." He tapped Steve's fingers with his half of the tongs. "No more hurting yourself."
Steve blinked, looked down at the pink plastic in his hands, up at Bucky, then he broke into a smile that hit Bucky right in the gut. "Bucky. Thank you." It was warm and grateful and his eyes were soft and Bucky swallowed hard, because Jesus. How the hell did he keep getting more attractive?
"It's just a bit of plastic."
"Yeah, but you thought of it for me. You didn't have to."
He shrugged and handed Steve the other one. "It was no problem. Can't have you walkin' around with hamburger nails." He set to work making Steve's coffee, sneaking little glances at him as he turned the bits of pink plastic around and around in his unfairly beautiful hands.
Bucky kind of wanted to wrap his hands around Steve's again, wanted to hold them and run his fingers over them, and that was kind of a weird thing to want—he was a grown man, this wasn't primary school—but he still wanted to do it.
He very firmly quashed the urge and gave Steve his coffee, startling slightly when Steve touched his hand and said, "Seriously, Bucky. Thanks."
"You're welcome, Steve."
Steve looked at him for a long moment, like he was going to say something else, then shook his head, saluted Bucky with his coffee, and left.
"Do people really do that?" It was Friday again, and Steve was leaning against the counter, drinking his coffee. Bucky had a coffee of his own, black, brewed perfectly, the king of coffees. Steve had wrinkled his nose at it, which amused Bucky way more than he was prepared to let on.
"Oh yeah, all the time," Steve said. "We can usually figure out what they're after if they can give us a bit more info, but half the time it turns out they didn't even get the colour right."
"You're kidding."
"Nope." Steve took a long sip of his coffee, which still kind of made Bucky want to shudder.
"They come in looking for a book with a blue cover, that's literally all they ask for, and then the cover turns out to be red or something."
"Yup. When I was a kid I wanted to own my own bookstore. Now I kind of want to go back in time and smack myself, because working in one's frustrating enough." He took another sip. "What about you?"
"Can't say I ever wanted to own a bookstore."
Steve rolled his eyes. "No, what's the dumbest thing anyone's ever done to you?"
"Hmm, that's a tough one. There's so much to choose from." He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then grinned. "Well, there's the people who don't know there's coffee in a mocha. Those are always good, especially the ones who don't believe you, no matter how slowly you explain it. Or the ones who think latte means coffee, they're always good. Or the ones who have an espresso machine at home and think they know more than you. One guy pulled out his phone and timed the coffee pull with his stopwatch app. He was a piece of work." He took another sip and gazed innocently at Steve over the rim of his mug. "Or the ones who destroy perfectly good coffee with ridiculous amounts of flavoured syrup."
He got a sharp look in response, but he could see Steve's lips twitching. "Hey, at least it tastes good, not like the bitter swill you're drinking."
Bucky gasped and held his mug close. "Don't listen to him," he whispered to his coffee. "He doesn't mean it." Steve's mouth curled at the corner. "And you redeem yourself slightly," he told Steve. "By actually having a decent amount of coffee in your coffee."
"So glad I meet with your approval," Steve said dryly, but his smile was soft and Bucky felt himself slipping, because Steve more than met with his approval.
It was Thursday and Bucky was on his own, the text from Clint short on details beyond stuck and going to be late. Bucky had learned that, where Clint was concerned, it was better not to ask questions—the answers were always disturbing or confusing or both—and, on the rare occasions Clint was late, he always made up for it.
The bell over the door jingled and he leaned back to poke his head around the corner from out the back and saw Steve. "Back here," he called. "Just give me a sec."
"No hurry, Bucky. Take all the secs you want," Steve called back.
Bucky choked on silent laughter. Take all the sex I want. Yeah, don't tempt me. He put down the tray of muffins and stepped out to eye Steve, who stared back in confusion. "Really, Steve?"
"What?"
He obviously had no idea what he'd said. Bucky couldn't resist. "Now you're hittin' on me?"
"Huh?" Bucky could pinpoint the exact moment Steve realised what he'd said, since he flushed bright pink from neck to ears. "No! No, I didn't, that's not what I meant!" Bucky smirked, raising both eyebrows almost to his hairline. Steve, growing ever more flustered, retreated from the counter. "I didn't, sorry, I'll just." He reached the door, felt around behind him for the handle, and fled like the store was on fire.
"…I was only kidding," Bucky said, but he was talking to empty air.
It seemed like kind of an over-reaction, but he guessed it was kind of embarrassing and Steve had said he tended to do that. Shaking his head, he went back to the muffins. He'd give Steve a chance to facepalm in private, and then he'd tease him about when he came in tomorrow for his Friday coffee.
Except Friday came and went and there was no sign of him. Bucky ducked into Pages on his break and a scary redhead whose nametag read Natasha gave him a long thoughtful look then told him Steve wasn't available.
Four days passed with no sign of Steve, not in the coffee shop and not in Pages. Bucky wasn't sure what to do. Then, on Wednesday, the redhead reappeared in his life. She ordered a coffee and Bucky, abandoning all professionalism and every scrap of customer service protocol, said, "This isn't yours."
"No?"
"This is Steve's order."
"Is it?"
"Yes. It is. No one else'd drink this abomination. Why are you ordering Steve's coffee? How come he isn't ordering it himself?"
She hummed thoughtfully. "That's something you'd have to ask him."
Bucky wanted to tear his hair out. "I can't ask him if I can't talk to him and I can't talk to him if I can't see him. It's not like I have his number." He managed to keep his voice calm but his frustration, his confusion, his hurt leaked through. Steve was avoiding him and he didn't know what he'd done wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have teased him.
She tapped her nails in a staccato on the counter. "When do you get your break?" He told her and she said, oh so casually, "If you were to bring that coffee down to the bookstore around then, you could give it to him yourself."
He knew the look he gave her was pathetically grateful. "Really?"
She nodded graciously and paid for the drink. Bucky watched her leave then glanced up at the clock. These were going to be some very long hours.
When Bucky walked into Pages he had Steve's coffee, and he'd never made it with such care. Natasha was standing behind the counter and she directed him to a door marked Staff Only, told him to go ahead and go in.
It was a big storeroom, the walls lined with boxes and books. Steve was sitting on a stool, surrounded by book stacks, peeling off price tags, using one half of the snapped tea tongs Bucky had given him. He looked up when the door opened, eyes going wide when he saw Bucky. Before he could say anything, could do anything, Bucky said, "I'll go if you want me to. But I don't want to."
Steve stared up at him, then called, loud enough to be heard out the front, "Nat, I'm taking my break."
"I clocked you off when I sent him back," came the response.
"Of course she did," Steve muttered, then offered Bucky an uncertain smile.
"Take this," Bucky said, handing Steve the coffee. "And tell me why you've been avoiding me."
Steve's eyes were firmly on the coffee that he wasn't drinking, and Bucky was pretty sure there was nothing he could do to make Steve look at him. "Because you hate it when people hit on you at work. Because it's the shittiest thing someone can do to you, for all the reasons you said, and I did it to you. I mean, I did it accidentally, but I should have been paying attention."
Bucky was dumbfounded. It took him a few tries to speak. "That’s why you've been avoiding me?"
"Yeah."
"Steve." Bucky dropped to one knee in front of Steve, uncomfortable with looming over him. "You. I can't." He sighed. "You're an idiot, you know?" He couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice. "I was teasing you. I'd never think you were hittin' on me."
"Why?" His expression went mulish. "I could hit on you if I wanted to."
Bucky stared, bemused, because Steve was something else. "Now you're saying you were hitting on me?"
Steve opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. "No. But I could." He looked away. "I wanted to."
Oh. "But you wouldn't, not like that, not when I'm at work. You'd never do that. You know that, right?" He waited until Steve finally nodded. "It was a slip of the tongue, and you don't have to hide from me because of a slip of the tongue. Especially not one that was damn funny," he added with a quick grin.
"Oh, nice. Now you're laughing at me," Steve said, but there was no heat to it.
"Not now I'm laughing at you, I've been laughing at you since it happened." Steve glared, or Bucky guessed that's what he was going for, but there was too much relief, too much affection, in his eyes to be effective. "Tell you what, I'll stop laughing," he leaned against Steve's legs, "if you tell me more about how you could hit on me. About how you want to hit on me."
Steve set down the coffee and fidgeted with the pink tongs, eyes on the floor. "I may have oversold that part. I'm actually kind of lousy at it."
Bucky studied him, then reached out and folded his fingers over Steve's, stilling his fidgeting. Steve's head shot up and Bucky smiled softly. "With lines like take all the sex you want, I'm not surprised."
"Shut up." It was quiet, gentle, as soft as Bucky's smile, and Bucky plucked the tongs from his hand, set them on the floor, and slipped his fingers through Steve's.
"Nope. That's going down in history." He was leaning forward, Steve was leaning in to meet him, Bucky was running his thumb over Steve's knuckles, the space between them was warm, swirling with anticipation, but comfortable in a way he'd never felt.
Steve brushed his free hand across Bucky's cheek, leaned closer and murmured, "You said something about a slip of the tongue?"
Bucky blinked, then bonked his forehead lightly against Steve's, felt the rumble of laughter in Steve's chest. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?"
"You did."
"Okay, but for the record? That's just as bad."
"But you're gonna kiss me anyway?"
Bucky pulled back far enough to see Steve's smile, hopeful and bright, said, "I guess I am," and did just that. It was soft and sweet, and he leaned into Steve, felt Steve settle his hand tentatively on his back and he squeezed their joined hands. Steve smiled against his mouth, Bucky smiled back and then he was laughing softly, one hand against Steve's chest as leaned back, and Steve was grinning, looking content.
"So," Steve said, and his hand on Bucky's back was warm and solid.
"So," Bucky replied. "Date me?"
"What if I'm just using you to live out my bookstore fantasies?"
Bucky smacked his chest. "Ass."
"Yeah," Steve agreed, smiling a little.
"To which, dating me or being an ass?"
"Honestly? Both. But especially the dating you. I like you, Bucky." Steve's smile faded, leaving a hint of uncertainty behind. "A lot."
He didn't sigh happily, because he had dignity, damn it, but he did lean in and give Steve a swift kiss, wanting to wipe that uncertainty away. "Good, because I like you, too. Also a lot." It left Steve practically glowing, his hand rubbing slow circles on Bucky's back. "And Steve? If things work out the way I hope?" He paused, drawing it out, until Steve's gaze was fixed on him intently, then he grinned. "You can take all the sex you want."
Steve stared, then he blushed and laughed, dropping his forehead to rest on Bucky's shoulder. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
"Never," Bucky promised, running his hand up through Steve's hair, ruffling it a little. "Not in a million years."