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The man standing in front of Bucky looked like an absolute dream . He wondered if he was actually still dreaming, because the sight looked like something out of a porno. The man was too handsome to actually exist.
He was blonde, his hair shining golden under the dim lights. His eyes were blue, really blue, like the spring sky or sapphires. He could see the lines of his muscle even underneath his firefighters’ outfit, and Bucky was pretty sure he could cut himself on the man’s jawline.
A hot fireman showing up at his door in the middle of the night. This could not be real.
He pinched his arm. Yup, definitely real. For once, he didn’t regret getting out of bed, if it meant being able to see this man.
“Sorry to bother you,” the man started. Jesus Christ and Mother Mary, his voice. Deep and a little husky. This was all a huge reminder of how long it had been since Bucky had gotten laid. “But there’s a fire in this building, and you need to get out.”
“Oh, of course,” he replied. He was pretty sure he would do anything for this man.
“Like, right now.”
“Right.” Bucky was really glad he had put on sweats and a shirt before opening the door. He stepped out of his doorway and closed his door, and the beautiful mystery man led him to the stairs. He knew where they were, but he didn’t say anything.
“Thanks,” he said. “You got a name?”
The fireman blinked, like he wasn’t expecting that question. That was ridiculous. He probably got flirted with wherever he went. “Oh, uh, it’s Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers.”
Rogers’ floundering was absolutely adorable, and Bucky smirked, looking him up and down. He would probably never see him again, so he would have to make sure he got enough flirting in now. “I’m Bucky Barnes. Thanks for saving me, Rogers.”
Then he set off down the stairs.
Bucky breathed in the cool Brooklyn night air as his feet hit the concrete outside of his building. The moon was full above him, and he couldn’t see the stars through the light pollution. Everyone else who lived in his apartment building was sitting outside on the curb, talking and complaining, and he joined them. That’s what New Yorkers did best. Talking and complaining. Especially in Brooklyn.
About a half an hour later, they all found out there was no actual fire, just a smoke alarm going off because of late night cooking. The person was making eggs, of all things. Eggs. That was not worth getting out of bed for.
That man was, though, Bucky thought. It was a shame he probably would never see him again.
He collapsed back into bed, not bothering to take off his sweats or shirt, and dreamed of firefighters under the moon.
He hadn’t actually thought he would see him again. There were too many people in New York for that, and it wasn’t like Bucky was going to show up at the local fire station to ask them about him. Hi, I’m looking for Steve Rogers? Big muscles, baby blue eyes, looks like a movie star?
He had thought about it though. Multiple times, but he always convinced himself it was a bad idea. Just because he was hot didn’t mean that he would be nice. He did his best not to think about him too much, and he actually succeeded!
Until two weeks later, when he saw him again. Then everything just came flooding in.
Steve Rogers casually strode into the bakery Bucky worked in, like it was no big deal. Like his heart didn’t jump at the sight of his eyes, like he didn’t almost drop the dough he was kneading when he saw him.
“Hey Rogers,” he said, trying to sound calm and collected and not nervous at all. Which he totally wasn’t. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Rogers’ eyes widened, and Bucky fought down a wince. Maybe he didn’t remember him. That would be understandable. After all, he probably tells a lot of people to get out of their apartments. It was his job.
“Bucky Barnes, right?” Rogers asked. Oh.
He beamed at him. “That’s me. So, what do you want?”
He bent over to look at the pastries in the display, and Bucky wished that he wasn’t behind the counter. “A croissant?”
“Good choice.” He took one out with his tongs, dropping it into a paper bag and holding it out for him. Rogers took it, and for a moment their fingertips brushed. His were warm, and a little rough, and he swallowed.
He pulled his wallet from his pocket, taking out a few bills and handing it to him. “Didn’t take you for the baking type.”
He shrugged, putting the money in the cash register. “Not many people do. They tend to think that I’m an assassin or something.”
“I could see that.” Rogers sat down at the counter, watching him knead the dough and taking a bite of his croissant. He made a pleased noise, and Bucky’s heart skipped a beat.
“You look like a firefighter though,” Bucky said. “You have the muscles.”
Oh, why did I say that?
Surprisingly, he laughed, his smile lighting up the bakery. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I actually got them from the military, before my contract ended.”
“Oh, well, did you like the military?”
Rogers shook his head. “No. I did at first. I wanted to do the right thing and fight for my country, you know? But then I realized that those two things might not be the same thing. So I left once my contract was up, and I became a fireman.”
God, could this man get anymore perfect? He was hot, he was nice, he liked croissants. “That’s admirable. So, what brings you here?”
“My friend recommended it to me. Nat can be insane sometimes, but she has good taste in baked goods.”
Bucky froze. “Wait. Natasha Romanoff? Russian, redhead, really sneaky?”
Rogers nodded. “That’s her. Do you know her?”
“Yeah. We met in an alleyway brawl and we’ve been friends ever since.” Not after work they wouldn’t be. He had mentioned Steve Rogers once when they had gotten drinks a few days ago, and of course she knew him. His life was a disaster.
“An alleyway brawl?” he asked, leaning forward. His eyes sparkled with genuine interest.
“Yeah. Two guys tried to rob me or something, and I started fighting them off, and then she leapt down from her apartment window and joined in,” Bucky said. “She kicked serious ass. We got drinks afterward, and the rest is history.”
“I wish my life was that interesting. I met her when I was evacuating her building, and she threw a knife at me when I answered the door.”
He raised an eyebrow. “She threw a knife at you? That is interesting, Rogers.”
“I guess it is,” he said. “And call me Steve.”
Bucky bit his lip. Steve . Old-fashioned, but it suited him. And they were on a first name basis then.
“Then call me Bucky,” he replied, giving him a smile much softer then he meant it to be.
“Okay, Bucky.” God, he loved the sound of his name in Steve’s perfect mouth. “I should get going. Work. But, uh, would you want to go get coffee sometime?”
Wait. Was this perfect specimen of a man asking him out ?
No. He didn’t have time to panic. Bucky needed to say yes, yes yes yes, right away.
“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds great. Friday? My shift ends at six-thirty.”
“I’ll pick you up in the front.” Steve was beaming at him, and it was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. “See you Friday.”
“Yeah. Friday.”
Steve walked out of the shop on those wonderful legs, and Bucky could not wait for Friday.