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“Your boyfriend’s here,” Natasha said with a sly smirk, her green eyes twinkling at him over the espresso machine.
Steve grunted, “Not my boyfriend,” at her from where he was standing at the back counter, setting up another pot of their house blend to brew. He didn’t look up to see who she meant, didn’t need to. She’d been teasing him for a month now, ever since he accidentally confessed his fascination for a certain frequent customer of theirs at the coffee shop on campus. He heard her move to the register, greeting the object of Steve’s affection.
“What can I get started for you today, James?”
“Oh, uuuuhhhhhhhh, can I get the s’mores latte? A large one, yeah, and two espressos and a slice of that orange pound cake? Thanks, Natasha. Hey, Steve,” he called towards the Steve’s back.
Steve studiously kept his back to the transaction, but raised a hand in acknowledgment and greeting, before getting the coffee going and busying himself with finding a plate for the cake. By the time he’d turned around, James had gone to his usual spot in the back and started unpacking his bag, notebook after notebook appearing on the longest table they had.
Steve shouldn’t stare, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. James was beautiful, achingly so. Eyes that changed color like tidal pools, the lines of his face strong and clean where they pressed against his skin, the shadow of a dark beard making them more pronounced, more inviting. Long limbs that held the easy grace of someone who know the power and potential in their body and was entirely comfortable with it. When he looked at James, Steve burned, like Icarus before the sun.
“You should talk to him,” Natasha said for the millionth time.
“Maybe.” It was a brush off, a prolongment of the moment before they both knew he would say nothing.
Steve was working the long shift today, since he’d only had one class early in the day. James had come in shortly after Steve came back from lunch, and when Natasha left for her afternoon physics lab he was still spread out at the table, dark hair a wild tangle on his head from where he’d run his fingers through it in thought. Steve’s fingers itched to follow suit.
It was an hour before closing, and James was still there, heading toward the counter yet again. Sam, who had come in after Natasha, was in the back, doing the days paperwork, leaving Steve alone up front. He stood at the register and watched as James and his long legs ambled to the counter, muscles shifting under denim and driving Steve to distraction. James had to say his name twice when he reached the counter, as Steve’s thoughts had slid directly into the gutter at the sight of those thick thighs coming his way.
“Huh?” Steve said finally. “Oh, James. Sorry. Just, y’know. Thinking.” Maybe if he played it off, James would believe him. Maybe James wouldn’t see it in Steve’s face that he wanted to touch every inch of skin he could find, that he wanted to learn the language of James’s body, to be able to read him with lips, with tongue, with hands, the bones of his ribs, his spine like Braille under Steve’s fingertips.
“Yeah, I figured. Long shift today huh?”
His voice was melodious, was delectable. Steve wanted to hear it say his name a thousand times, learn all the ways it could sound. How would it sound first thing in the morning? In late afternoon? How would it sound whispered in his ear, or said like a prayer, or cried out in the deep hours of the night?
“Y-yes, but it’s almost over,” Steve replied, his own voice betraying him and breaking on the first word. Traitor.
“Well, before you finish up, can I get another order of everything but the cake?”
That brought Steve up short. That would be his fourth order in the last six hours. Four s’mores lattes, and eight shots of espresso. “
“Should I be concerned about how much caffeine you’re taking in?”
James blushed, dusky rose dusting along those high cheekbones. “Would you like to be?”
What.
Steve’s brain shorted out, all coherent thought grinding to a halt. Had James just…? Was this…?
He saw the embarrassment start to creep into those tidal pool eyes and hurried to answer, praying his voice wouldn’t betray him again. “Yes. Yes.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, great. Cause I like you. Would like you. To be concerned that is. Oh, hell.”
Before Steve could realize what had happened, James had leaned over the counter and pressed his lips to Steve’s.
When he pulled back, Steve followed for a moment before realizing. Opening his eyes, he saw those lips, those lips! curled into a decadent smile.
“James…” Steve breathed, heart hammering in his chest, world realigning.
The smile widened and the tongue peeked out to wet those lips.
“Please. Call me Bucky.”