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Lunch break would be over in a few minutes, and Steve didn’t waste a second before starting to tidy and clean up the remainder of the stains and dirty brushes his students had forgotten to wash before they had hurriedly headed to get food. He crossed the room, bending to reach the shelves below the large windows that illuminated the room, and gently laid the tonearm of his record player on the vinyl, letting the soft music fill the air. He put the brushes in a cup to dry and went to wipe a table with a wet cloth, humming happily and swaying in hips lightly to the beat.
“He’s such a cutie pie,” a blonde girl sighed dreamily to her friend, standing against the doorframe outside the room.
Steve Rogers was every student’s favorite teacher. Passionate, smiling all year round, and supportive of everyone, not only was he in love with what he taught, he was also what everyone thought a "cool teacher" was. He liked to chat with his students, cracking jokes to '40s music playing in the background. His good looks certainly helped with that. It wasn’t rare to see students signing themselves up for his class even if they weren’t interested in art in the least. Steve, however, oblivious as ever, happily took them him, more than happy to introduce them to Renoir and art techniques.
The sudden ring of the bell made him spin around with a confused frown. He had been so focused on cleaning and lip-syncing that he had lost track of time.
“Hey, Mr. Rogers!” the blond's friend exclaimed when he set his eyes on them.
Smiling with the usual slight blush that seemed to always creep its way to the apple of his cheeks, he chuckled shyly. “Hi girls, didn’t see you there.”
They giggled and made their way into the room, taking their usual seat.
“He really is...” she sighed, thinking back to her friend's earlier comment. Dreamy he was.
-
Steve wore grandpa clothes that made teenagers gossip. His closet seemed to revolve around khakis and too-big shirts that drowned his body, no matter how tall he was. It was strange, considering his build but not that surprising. A very Steve-like thing do to. He was hot, but in an I-want-to-eat-him-alive kind of way, not a gym dude-bro one, with a beard he liked to rub whenever he concentrated or was embarrassed and perpetually slicked-back soft blond hair. It didn't help that his baby blues eyes radiated with warmth whenever he smiled, which was practically all the damn time.
His students liked to talk about what was hiding under all those odd-fitting shirts of his. Some said that he probably spent all his time drawing, seeing as he was an art teacher, not a PE one, and probably wasn’t the sporty type. Another one swore he was sporty because he’d “seen him run real fast with a black dude, like, nice good-looking fella, didn’t even seem outta breath.”
That didn’t keep girls and boys alike from swooning over him, his cute and oblivious nature only encouraging them.
A while back, a group of girls had initiated the challenge of trying to get a glimpse of his body. They had, one too many times, placed art supplies on the top shelves, forcing him to stretch in order to reach whatever paintbrushes he thought some students had accidentally forgotten there. Unfortunately for them, he always wore his shirts neatly tucked inside his pants, and their faces fell each time they realized his top wasn’t going to “accidentally” rise up.
They changed strategy last June when his birthday came up. It wasn’t rare for students to get him small gifts for it. He smiled as if he'd just gotten some lottery-winning ticket whenever he received one. He cherished each gift, always using them or putting them on display in class or at home. Seeing as he was born during summer vacation, they usually gave him gifts during the last week of school, as an early birthday present. Plan in mind, the girls had headed to his desk, gift in hands.
“Happy early birthday, Cap!” They all cheered in sync, causing him to laugh in surprise. He had earned the nickname of "Captain American" a few years back when students had found out that he was born on the 4th of July.
“Thanks, girls,” he replied with a blush.
“We got something for you!” one of them added, placing the small wrapped-up gift on his desk.
Biting on his lower lip, he took it in his hands.
“Thank you, you shouldn't have.” he thanked them with a genuine smile, his blush deepening.
“Wear it tomorrow, Cap!” one of them jokingly ordered.
“Promise,” he replied with a grin.
However, when he came to class the next morning, what he was wearing looked nothing like the shirt they had got him. His eyes scanned the room and came towards them when he noticed them, looking apologetic.
“Why…?” one of the girls started, confused.
“I’m so sorry, I think you got the wrong size, they probably mixed them up, ‘fitted a bit too small,” he apologized with a sad smile.
“A bit too small” wasn’t saying much. The white shirt they had bought had been tight like a second skin when he'd put it on, hugging each one of his muscles and leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” they said, but what they meant was “Yeah, that was the point.”
Once again, they decided to change their tactic and settled on a new plan.
During a particularly hot day, they whined about being cold, so he wouldn’t open the window or turn on the fan. To no one’s surprise, he feared that they were sick and grew concerned. Refusing to take the chance to worsen their case he held the windows closed even after one of his student complained that “we’re dyin’ in there Mr. Rogers, can’t even hold my pen without it slipping from my hands, 's all sweaty and gross.”
Steve silently agreed but stayed put, suffering through the heat. At long last, he finally rolled up his sleeves, not much past his wrist, showing off was seemed to be a toned forearm. “Yeah, hotter than hell,” mischievously mumbled another.
-
Steve cleared his throat, focusing his student’s attention on him.
“Class, today, we’ll start on a new project. I haven’t studied all the reports you've handed in yet, but I already went through some, and I can already say just how proud of you I am,” he smiled at a few students. A girl batted her lashes when he looked in her direction.
Without noticing her, he continued. “Before we begin, I’d like to study with you “Soleil couchant sur la Seine à Lavacourt, Effet d’Hiver”,” he told them in the best French accent he could muster, which was actually pretty good, “which is the original title and the French for “Sunset on the Seine at Lavacourt, Winter Effect” by Monet, lemme' just...”
He went to his desk and crouched next to it, rummaging through his bag. Getting a hold of his laptop, he swiftly put it on his desk and repeatedly typed on the space bar in a vain attempt to get the screen to light up.
“Does anyone know how this thing works?” he mumbled under his breath.
“You gotta turn in on first, Mr. Rogers,” someone said, humor dripping from their voice.
“Oh...” he replied sheepishly, the heating-up of his cheeks earning a few chuckles.
Steve stood and made his way to the box where all the cables needed to connect the computer to the projector were. He looked at the tangled mess of cords, unsure of which one to choose before he realized he had been standing there too long and went with the red one.
Pressing the “on” button of the projector for a few seconds, he plugged the red cable into his laptop and went back to his desk to wait for it to turn on. He turned to his class, who were all chatting among themselves, and went to reach for his notes when he suddenly heard all chats die down. He frowned at his students, who were all looking behind him with a curious glance, mouth slightly open in surprise and covering their giggle. A few stopped staring to look at him, a smirk on their face.
Confused, he turned around and was met with the background of the laptop. The picture of him and Bucky smiling stared right back at him, the ocean in the background. He remembered the day as if it were yesterday, it had been too hot, and they had decided to go down to the beach with Sam and Nat. They were the ones who have taken the picture.
The students stared at it in disbelief. There, on the picture, was Steve, cute, shy, Mr. Rogers, in the arms of a man with a metal arm. At the beach. In swim trunks.
They all had conspired about what he really looked like, and God were they not disappointed. The blond beauty was smiling at the camera, an arm draped around the shoulders of the other guy. He was all hard muscles, shining under the sun. If they thought they knew what his happy face looked like, now he seemed like he was glowing.
The other man was about his height, maybe slightly smaller. His flesh hand was wrapped around the small of Mr. Roger's back while his metal arm was hanging stiffly by his side. His long dark hair was still wet from the ocean, and his piercing grey-blue eyes hid a sharp coldness only warmed by the loving look he was giving Steve.
They all had seen love on TV, and in those teen romcoms. It all had seemed dreamy, but looking at the picture, it now seemed dull and tame. Never had they seen someone looking so happy and complete in someone else’s arms.
A wild lock of blond hair laid on their teacher’s forehead, slightly hiding one of his eyes, which were rivaling with the sun. A few droplets of water sprinkled his chest and strong biceps, and they could almost see them slide down to his defined abs.
“Damn, he looks like a Dorito,” muttered a student a bit too loud, effectively bringing Steve out of his trance.
He snatched the red cable out of the computer, his face turning a shade darker. The blond rushed to turn off the projector. The picture faded, but no matter how hard he pressed on the button, it was still noticeably visible on the board. He clicked desperately on every button, hoping to make it go away, opened an internet page to hide the background, slapped the computer shut, but the picture remained.
“Jesus,” Steve groaned in his hands.
It didn’t take long for memories from this very morning to flash back to him. He had almost been late, having cuddled with Bucky a bit too long, refusing to let him go from his arms and get up. He had rushed to gather his things, shoving what he thought was his computer in his bag without looking back.
The thing was, when he and Bucky had gone to the store to buy laptops, they’d had the brilliant idea to get the same model, in the same color. “It’ll feel just like we’re home watching a movie on my computer whenever you use it,” Bucky had told him, to what Steve had happily agreed, like the infatuated dumb idiot he was.
If he wasn't such a love-sick puppy, he wouldn't have grabbed the wrong computer this morning, and never gotten in this embarrassing situation.
Suddenly, Steve realized that he still was in his classroom, surrounded by students who were now chatting vividly among themselves, probably discussing how inappropriate it was or making fun of him. He didn’t hear the giggles of the girls in the back or the dirty comments some made involving him and a bed.
He pushed his hands deeper into his hands, giving a low moan of embarrassment. The sound alone was enough for the whole class to stop talking instantly.
To the red-faced and giggling class, it was as if his shirt had suddenly become transparent and they could see the outline of his muscles flexing under his shirt. They really had made the right decision, signing up for Mr. Rogers' class.
“I...” he began, feeling all eyes on him, “I’m so sorry, I- I took the wrong computer this morning and I-” he sheepishly rambled.
Standing up straighter, he continued. “You weren't supposed to see that, I'm sorry. It's completely inappropriate.”
He finally looked at them in the eye, and immediately felt better when he saw that they weren’t looking at him with disgusted faces but rather smiling sweetly at him.
“It’s okay, Mr. Rogers, really, we don’t mind,” someone said, getting a slap on his arm by his friend sitting next to him in return.
He rolled his eyes. “What I mean-”
He didn’t get the chance to finish, interrupted by the sound of a light knock from the door.
“Stevie?” a raspy, yet gentle, voice called. A second passed before the door opened, revealing the man from the picture, holding the same-looking computer as their teacher had in his hand.
He was dressed all in black, and his icy eyes lost all their warmth the second he saw that the classroom wasn’t empty but rather full of teenagers staring at him.
He studied the room for a moment, eyebrows tense, before his eyes snapped to the picture still projecting on the board, and to the blushing Steve next to it. His frown eased, and his lips stretched into a smirk.
He made his way over to the desk. The room was overwhelmingly quiet, only filled with the stiff swing of his metal arm as he walked. The imperturbable record player still chirped old tunes in the background. The man's eyes scanned the panel on the wall calculatingly for half a second before confidently pressing on a few buttons. The picture disappeared.
He grabbed the computer sitting on the desk and put down the one he had brought with him in its place. Then, he cupped the blond’s face in his metal hand, and tenderly kissed his cheek.
“Didn’t forget to take a computer with you after all,” he rasped in a deep voice.
He was out of the room in the blink of an eye, leaving a furiously blushing Steve behind, his mouth slightly open.
“Well damn,” muttered someone, awestruck.
“He looks like a cute, awkward art-kid stuck inside a superhero body,” was heard.
“Shut up, he’s precious,” was shot back.