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Harley tried to sneak into the shop while his dad was busy with a customer, but Bucky must have had eyes in the back of his head, because as soon as he’d slung his backpack into a vacant booth, Bucky said, “Chores, Harls!” over the whir of the espresso maker. It was making that weird hissing noise again.
“But Peter’s coming over to work on our science project!” Harley complained. “He’ll be here any minute!” Harley had run from the bus stop, in fact. Peter got a ride home from school every day, and Harley had no idea how long it would take Peter to get home, get the stuff for their project, and come down to the coffee shop, but Harley would bet it was less time than it took the bus to slowly trundle its way across town from the school.
“Then you should get a move on,” Bucky said, wholly unsympathetic. He dumped the espresso shot into a cup, and his hands moved over the assorted pumps and nozzles with practiced ease. It had taken him a while to learn how to handle things with his prosthetic hand, but now it moved like it was a natural part of him.
Bucky finished the drink and handed it to the customer with a professional smile and a “have a nice day,” then turned to look at Harley directly.
Harley turned up the pitiful factor on his pleading look. “C’mon, Dad, it’s for homework.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, but sighed. “Fine, you can leave the dishes until after dinner. But you’re still doin’ ‘em!”
“Yes!” Harley pumped a fist into the air. Any delay was a good delay.
Bucky smiled indulgently. “Yeah, fine, you pulled one over on me again. Go get a tray of muffins out of the freezer before your friend gets here, at least.”
By the time Harley came back into the front of the shop, Peter was there, standing awkwardly by the door with a backpack that had been crammed full. “Hey!” Harley waved, and slumped into the booth where he’d slung his own pack earlier.
“Hey, man,” Peter said as he slid in opposite Harley. “Wasn’t sure I had the right place, at first.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harley said. “My dad was taking advantage of my unpaid labor.”
“It’s not unpaid,” Bucky said, setting two hot chocolates on the table. “I’m just setting aside all your wages for college.” He offered his hand to Peter. “Hi, I’m Harley’s slave-driving dad. You can call me Bucky; everyone does.”
“Peter Parker,” Peter said, taking Bucky’s hand. Harley could practically feel the tension when Peter’s eyes fell on Bucky’s other hand. “Oh, wow,” he said, and before Harley could kick him under the table, asked, “is that a Stark model?”
That... was not what people usually said when they realized Bucky was sporting a prosthetic arm. Bucky seemed just as startled as Harley was. “Uh, yeah,” Bucky said.
“So cool,” Peter said. “I, uh, I worked at SI last summer in the prosthetics division.”
“What, like an internship?” Bucky asked.
Peter bobbed his head and shrugged at the same time. “Basically, yeah.” Peter didn’t like to trade on his dad’s name.
Harley thought Peter was crazy; if his dad was as cool as Peter’s, then Harley would want everyone to know.
“How’d you land that?” Bucky was asking. “I’ve heard those internships are harder to come by than diamonds.”
“That’s ‘cause it’s easy to get a diamond if you have enough money,” Peter quipped, grinning. “Stark internships take something much more rare: brains.”
Harley had heard it before, but Bucky laughed appreciatively. “And you’ve got brains,” he surmised. “Good; maybe you can help Harls drag his science grade up out of the gutter.”
Harley made a face; he was fine with actual hands-on experiments and projects, but he wasn’t good at taking tests.
“I make no promises,” Peter said. “Anyway, my dad got my foot in the door.”
After a little more small talk, Bucky left to tend to customers, and Harley and Peter finally got started on their project.
They were a couple of hours in, taking a break, when Peter looked up and started laughing. Harley twisted in his seat to follow Peter’s gaze, and found his dad standing on a stool and updating the Specials board. He was filling in the blank spaces with geeky puns, because Harley’s dad wasn’t just a nerd, he was a nerrrrrrrrd.
May the Froth bean with you!
Harry Potter’s wake-up spell: Espresso Patronum!
Bean me up, Scotty!
Who ya gonna call? Roast-busters!
The (pumpkin) spice must flow!
Harley slumped lower in his seat with a groan and covered his face with one hand. “Oh, god, kill me now. My dad’s a total dork.”
“My dad’s the same way,” Peter said. “They’d probably get along great.”
“Yeah, I bet they’d get along like--” Harley paused, turning that thought over in his head. “Hey, Peter, your dad’s bi, right?”
Peter froze for a second. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“Why not?” Harley said. “They’d get along, and I dunno about your dad, but mine hasn’t been on a date in... I don’t even know. Months. Maybe years.”
“Dad’s had dates...” Peter said slowly.
“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Harley pointed out.
“Well, most of them are, like, PR dates. For events and stuff. I don’t think they’re real.”
“So?” Harley said, grinning. “Come on, let’s set ‘em up! I mean, the worst that happens is it doesn’t work out and they go on about their lives, right? And imagine what could happen if they do work out!”
“I’d have to see your stupid face every day,” Peter complained, but he was grinning.
***
Tony walked into the restaurant -- a diner, really, all old-fashioned kitsch, kind of cute -- and scanned the crowd.
The man who looked up, checked Tony’s tie, and then stood up was a little taller than Tony, with broad shoulders and longish hair held back in a tie. His “meeting a stranger” smile was a little closer to genuine than Tony had expected, but Peter had said the guy owned a coffee shop, so he probably got a lot of practice at making his smile look sincere. And holy hell, that mouth was made for sinning.
Tony pushed down the inappropriate thoughts and offered his hand as he got closer. “You’re Harley’s dad, right?”
“Bucky Barnes,” the guy offered, taking Tony’s hand. His grip was firm but not testing, and his hand was warm and strong. His other hand, Tony noticed, was a Stark prosthetic, a couple of generations old. “And you must be Tony Parker.”
“Stark,” Tony corrected. “Peter’s adopted, too.”
“Oh!” Bucky said, smacking his head in that universal “I’m an idiot” way. “I actually knew that, but I didn’t realize Peter had kept his birth name.”
“It’s fine,” Tony said, sliding into the booth across from where Bucky had been sitting.
Bucky sat back down and pushed a menu toward Tony. “Kind of crazy, you have the same name as the guy you work for, huh?”
Tony blinked.
Bucky must have taken it for confusion. “I mean, Peter told me you got him that internship at Stark Industries; I figured you already worked there, or--”
“I... work there,” Tony said, recovering. “I just hadn’t realized that Peter had told you.” Or that Bucky didn’t know who he was. Which was... refreshing. When was the last time he’d spent time with someone who he knew for sure wasn’t there for the money or the power, but just for Tony himself?
“Wow, I’m screwing it up all over the place,” Bucky said. “You talk next. How long have you had Peter?”
“Just a year,” Tony said, “but I’ve known him his whole life; his dad and I were friends. It was a shock to find out he’d named me Peter’s guardian. I went through this whole thing for a while where I was mad as hell that he hadn’t even asked me first, and then felt guilty that I was mad at a guy who’d died, and... Well, that’s what therapists are for, right?” He grinned and Bucky chuckled, which was good; Tony wasn’t about to date some asshole who thought therapists were for wimps. “And I couldn’t ask for a better kid. We had an adjustment period, of course, and he’s still working through the grief some, but he stays on top of his schoolwork and doesn’t get into too much trouble. How about you?”
Bucky ran his hand through his hair and bit his lip, which didn’t do any good for Tony’s resolution to behave himself and not stare at Bucky’s lush mouth. “I didn’t want to be gay,” he said. “I don’t really remember why, now -- probably something my dad said, you know? But I was pretty deep in denial, so I married my best friend right out of high school, and then it turned out she couldn’t have kids, so we adopted Harley. He was, I dunno, maybe five or six at the time? And around the time he was eight or nine, I realized I had to stop lying to myself.” He spread his hands in a what can you do? gesture. “My ex and I are still friends, but she travels a lot for her work, so I’ve got Harley and she comes to visit whenever she’s in town.” He grimaced a little, “Which is pretty heavy for a first date, sorry.”
“I asked,” Tony pointed out. “It’s already a little weird, talking about the kids on a first date, anyway, right?”
“I think we’re allowed a pass on that one,” said Bucky, “since they’re the ones who set it up in the first place.”
Tony laughed. “True.”
And the kids made an easy, neutral topic of discussion. Peter’s continued attempts to convince Tony to let him have a pet tarantula. The bullies Harley had dealt with by building a pocket-sized flare gun and half-blinding them. The way Peter had never quite outgrown his toddler impulse to climb everything.The time Harley built a potato gun and shattered the coffee shop’s pastry display case.
From there, the conversation wandered all over. Bucky talked about how he’d gotten into owning a coffee shop, and had some great stories about kooky customers. Tony countered with some wacky engineer stories of his own. That led to talking about college (for Tony) and service (for Bucky) hijinks.
Despite initial skepticism about the whole thing, Tony found himself having a good time. Bucky was easy to talk to, sensible and laid-back and fun. It definitely didn’t hurt that Bucky was smoking hot, with a mouth just made for sin and thighs that Tony could all too easily imagine wrapping around him.
It was a good date. Really good. And Bucky seemed just as into it as Tony.
In fact, at the end of the night, as Tony was waiting with Bucky for the bus (he’d told Bucky he had a ride, and Bucky probably thought that meant an Uber), Bucky stepped into Tony’s personal space and said, “We’re adults. You can just tell me if I’m reading the situation wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
Tony tipped his face up. “You’re not reading it wrong.”
“Good.” Bucky kissed him, slow and sweet and not at all simple, and pulled away just as the bus reached the stop. “I’d like to see you again,” he said. “I’ll text you?”
“Do that,” Tony agreed, and watched Bucky board the bus (that ass), and kept watching until it drove down the street and around the corner. It was long gone before he realized he'd never gotten around to clearing up Bucky's misconception about who he was.
Shit.
***
Harley was still up when Bucky got back to the shop, perched on a stool with the espresso machine spread out all over the counter, a screwdriver tucked in his teeth as he fiddled with some component in the machine’s innards. He dropped the screwdriver when he saw Bucky coming through the door, though. “Dad! How’d it go?”
“It went... really well, actually,” Bucky admitted.
“Yeah?” Harley lit up. “He didn’t ask you back to his place, though?”
“Harls!” Bucky protested. “First date, dude.”
Harley waved that away. “You’re grownups; the three-date rule doesn’t apply to you.”
“Uh, yes,” Bucky said firmly, “it does. You aren’t even supposed to know about the three-date rule; for you, it is the three hundred date rule.”
Harley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Dad, whatever. C’mon, spill, did you at least make it to first base?”
“Okay one, ew, I am not discussing my sex life with you. You are both underage and my son; if I felt the need to talk, I’d at least call Natasha.”
“I’m pretty sure talking about your sex life with your ex is even weirder than talking about it with your kid,” Harley said. He went back to digging in the espresso machine. “You going out with him again?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said. “Hey, did you know he’s got the same name as the guy who designed my arm?” Bucky waggled his prosthetic fingers.
Harley snorted. “Har, har, Dad. Very funny.”
“What’s funny? Peter kept his birth name, that’s why they don’t match.”
“I know that,” Harley said, in his best oh god my dad is such an idiot voice. He looked at Bucky sharply. “You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Harley’s eyes rolled. “Peter’s dad is the guy who designed your prosthetic.”
“No, that Tony Stark is a billionaire,” Bucky said, though his innards suddenly froze over. “He wouldn’t take an Uber to a diner for a blind date with some random coffee shop guy.”
“Apparently, he would,” Harley said. “Because that’s who Peter’s dad is.”
Bucky leaned on the pastry counter and massaged his temples with his fingertips. “It’s late. I need you to stop fucking with me now.”
“If I’m not allowed to curse, neither are you,” Harley said. “And I swear, I’m telling the truth.”
“I... just went on a date with the Tony Stark,” Bucky said flatly. And kissed the hell out of him at the end of it, his brain so-helpfully supplied.
“Uh-huh.” Harley was distracted, elbow-deep in the espresso machine again.
Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through to find the number Tony had put in for him. Would it actually work? That seemed... surreal. Impossible. There was no way that Tony Stark had given his personal cell phone number to some random guy from a blind date their kids had set up.
There was no way Tony actually wanted a second date with Bucky.
***
Tony actually wanted a second date with Bucky.
That never happened. The first date was usually enough for Tony to figure out what they wanted from him -- money, power, sex, bragging rights. But talking to Bucky hadn’t yielded any of those things. Well, maybe sex. But it hadn’t seemed urgent. It hadn’t seemed like the primary focus of Bucky’s attention.
Bucky had seemed interested in Tony. In the way he took his coffee, in the way he dealt with parenting conundrums, in the kinds of movies he watched, in the music he listened to.
Operative word: seemed.
Because Tony had sort of thought he’d hear from Bucky right away, but he hadn’t. And then he’d thought that maybe Bucky was following those dumb unspoken rules and waiting three days before texting again. But he hadn’t texted then, either. Tony hadn’t heard from Bucky since their date nearly a week ago.
He didn’t think Bucky had been faking it. He definitely hadn’t been faking that kiss.
Which probably meant that Bucky had figured out who Tony was, and gotten freaked out. Which was somewhat understandable. But Tony couldn't help hoping Bucky would work his way through it.
It was a problem. It was interfering with Tony's work. He’d be plugging along at something and then suddenly wonder if he’d missed a call or a text. Or he'd start perusing the gossip rags and trying to decide if the latest news would freak Bucky out even more.
Peter swung into the kitchen and climbed up on the counter. “You’re gonna overcook the steaks, Dad.”
Case in point. Tony jerked his attention back to the grill and flipped the steaks. “Thanks, I was just...” Just maundering pathetically about a man he’d met once? Yeah, that was something he should share with his kid, he mocked himself. Great parenting, Stark.
Peter propped his foot up and wrapped his arms around his knee. “Did Harley’s dad call yet?”
Peter’s intuition was off the charts, and yet it always seemed to surprise Tony. For Peter’s sake, Tony needed to get his act together. Bucky obviously wasn’t interested in a second date. Tony should just put it aside and move the heck on.
“No,” he said. “He probably won’t. Most don’t. Not to worry,” he said, pasting on a smile to answer Peter’s sudden look of concern. “It was a long shot anyway. Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that. Come on, get the table set and we’ll have dinner.”
***
Harley flung himself onto the stool beside Peter. “I figured out why that one gear keeps sticking,” he announced. “We need to adjust the tension on the feed.”
Peter shuffled through their sketchy diagrams until he found the correct sheet. “This one?”
“No, here.” Harley pointed. “See? It’s got a little too much pull, which is giving this bit too much torque, which is--”
“--pulling the gear out of alignment,” Peter finished with him. He dug a pen out of his backpack and circled the offending feed, scrawling the math in the margins to work out how much they needed to adjust it.
“I’ll never forgive you for making the math look that easy,” Harley said, fishing his notebook and pen out of his bag. “You can’t even claim you grew up with it!”
“I kind of did,” Peter said. “My dad -- my real dad -- was a scientist, too. That’s how he and Dad -- Tony-Dad -- knew each other.” Peter glanced at the clock. “Speaking of dads, mine is kinda bummed that yours hasn’t called. What gives?”
Harley groaned and slumped dramatically onto the lab table. “My dad didn’t know who your dad is until after the date, and now he’s all freaked out about it. Ug, it’s so stupid.” He rolled his head so he could look at Peter with one eye. “Your dad’s actually bummed?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “He was acting all ‘no big deal’ about it, and when I asked, he tried to give me the ‘plenty of fish’ speech. Which, I guess, is his weird way of giving it to himself. It didn’t work. For either of us.”
Harley snorted. “That’s because that speech is a total fallacy. It assumes that any fish you manage to ‘catch’ is good enough, and that’s obviously bullshit. Look, see if you can get your dad to swing by the shop tonight and we’ll try to make them use actual words for a change.”
“Ugh,” Peter complained. “Taking care of parents is such a pain in the ass.”
***
“Hey, Dad, Peter’s coming over to work on our project tonight, okay?”
It was a Thursday; the shop wouldn’t be that busy. “As long as you get your chores done, sure,” Bucky said. He was more preoccupied with the inventory of their weekly order, anyway -- every time he thought he’d reconciled the list, a new customer would show up, and by the time Bucky had their order made, he’d lost track of where he’d been.
By the time he finally got that done, a six-year-old spilled their hot chocolate all over a table, chair, and floor, so Bucky had to haul out the mop and cleaning rags and deal with that.
Then there was a small dinner rush of office drones who were looking to grab caffeine and a bite before heading back into the office to work late. When that finally passed, he was wiping down the counter when the door’s bell chimed, and he heard a familiar voice say, “...have to have coffee right now when we’ll be home in half an-- Oh.”
Bucky looked up to meet Tony Stark’s eyes. Oh, indeed.
Sneaky goddamn kids.
“Peter,” Tony said, eyes lingering on Bucky for a half-beat too long before he turned to face his son. “Not okay.”
Ow. Well, Bucky had known Tony wouldn’t really want to date him.
“He didn’t want to see me again, that’s his choice,” Tony continued. “You can’t just force these things. It doesn’t work like that.”
Wait, what?
Harley darted out of the back room and around the counter before Bucky could grab him. “Pete, hey!” he said, disingenuously. “Hi, Mr. Stark!”
“...Harley,” Tony said, obviously suspicious.
“I need to borrow Pete for just a minute for our science project, okay?” Harley said, hooking his arm through Peter’s. “We’ll be right back; you two just talk amongst yourselves.” He waved a hand vaguely and tugged Peter toward the back of the shop. They were snickering even before they got out of earshot.
Tony pressed at the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “I’m sorry,” he told Bucky. “This wasn’t my idea. The kid just--”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Bucky said quickly. “I just--”
“No, I get it,” Tony said. He looked away, pretending to watch the pedestrians in the street. “It freaks people out.”
“I was intimidated,” Bucky admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me, when you realized I didn’t know?”
Tony grimaced. “That one’s on me, yeah. I just... wanted to see if I could make someone like me for who I am, instead of what I am. Which was probably a shitty move on my part. Totally unfair of me.”
Bucky hadn’t considered it from that angle, really. What must it be like to have to suspect every date or hookup of wanting a handout? “I liked who you are just fine, Tony,” he said. “It was the what that I tripped over.”
Tony glanced at Bucky sidelong, then went back to staring out the window. “Are you... Is there any way you’d be willing to give me another chance, now that you know?”
Bucky glanced back toward the corner where the boys were not even pretending to work on their project, just staring, hearts in their eyes. Slowly, he pulled the phone from his pocket and scrolled down to the number he hadn’t been able to make himself delete, even when he’d been certain it was a fake.
I had a great time with you. I’d love to do it again sometime.
He hit send, and a few seconds later, Tony twitched and took his own phone out. His mouth curved, and he looked at Bucky again, finally. “Yeah?”
How about that? The number was real. “Well," Bucky said, glancing toward the boys again, "I’d hate for all their hard work to be in vain."
“Just for their sake, huh?” Tony tucked his phone back away and leaned closer. “What if I pulled you across this counter and kissed you senseless? Would that be for their sake, too?”
Bucky’s heart skipped a beat at the mingled humor and want in Tony’s expression. “Oh hell no,” he said. “That would be all for me.”
Tony leaned in closer still. “Show me.”