Chapter Text
# bffs
"Um."
Steve didn't look up from his Captain Crunch. "I already paid the rent and the power."
"Oh."
He raised a fresh spoonful to his mouth. This was the last serving of food in the house and he intended to enjoy it.
"Stevie..."
"Don't call me that." He finished the bowl, raised it and slurped the milk before turning to his best friend. "What's up?"
Bucky shifted uncertainly. "Are you pissed?"
"We knew what we were getting into when we moved here. It's not easy starting out and you've already done two commercials," Steve started, his pep talk already queued up.
"In eight months," Bucky muttered.
"Bucky," Steve sighed. "I'm not pissed. I mean, I wish you'd learn to sort the laundry but there's no debt between us. When you get your big break, you'll be paying the bills and I can be your kept man, but until then, I expect the clothes to be folded." He pounded his fist on the table for dramatic effect and Bucky rolled his eyes.
"I need you to call out of work tonight," Bucky said, sprawling into the chair across from him.
"I'm closing," Steve replied. He couldn't just lay out of work when he was the only one with a job in the household.
"I need you to be my plus one, this invite was hard to get and I need the exposure," Bucky said.
"I can't," Steve said but his best friend smiled because he sensed the hesitation. He had a hard time saying no to Bucky; there was too much history between them. They used to do everything together but they were still trying to find a balance these days with their diverging life goals.
"Please? I'll load and empty the dishwasher next week," Bucky pleaded.
"You've made that promise before and it didn't last one wash cycle," Steve replied. "You're calling my boss and explaining why the one barista he has that's not an actor is calling out for a show business reason."
"On it - and I promise not to get you fired," Bucky said, perking up immediately.
"Wait - what kind of party? Because I don't have a suit, all I have is my catering uniform and that didn't work too well last time because people kept handing me their empty wine glasses," Steve reminded him.
"It's casual, just wear your tightest jeans and a button down," Bucky waved his cell phone as he walked out of the room to call Steve's boss.
Steve sighed. He hoped the party had free snacks.
He'd known Bucky since grade school, they banned all discussion of the first time they actually met (Bucky was mistaken, it was second grade recess and Steve wasn't sponsoring another argument). Steve was tiny and easy to knock down, but not so easy to shut up. Bucky kept him alive until he got his growth spurt in high school and when Bucky's parents split town; Steve and his mom took him in. When his mom died and his college fund disappeared into the funeral costs, Bucky was the only family he had left. They enlisted together, served together (eventually) after a couple of tours apart and took their discharges with matching grins.
They had seen too much of the world through a rifle scope. Bucky always wanted to be an actor and thumbed his nose at college and harassed Steve into following him to LA. Steve wanted to be an artist and he could draw anywhere.
It was just bad luck that Bucky's career path didn't allow for part time jobs with the sporadic audition schedules. He'd been fired from three different Starbucks this year. Steve had been working at the same one, bouncing at the same club and freelancing for the same publishing company for the past year. He didn't blame Bucky but he hoped he'd find something soon. He thought he'd be able to sleep past 5 am when he was out of the service.
Bucky swaggered back into the room and put the phone down with a grin. "Done. Barry says you're almost maxed out on vacation hours anyway and he's going to give you a freebie."
# meetcute
"This may have been a bad idea," Bucky said when they were finally admitted into the buzzing club. The lights were colorful and almost blinding and it looked like everyone was walking in slow motion.
"It feels like a bad trip. What if your epilepsy acts up?" Steve asked seriously. Bucky shoved him but kept hold of his elbow, steering him to the open bar.
"Loser. I used that excuse one time," Bucky muttered.
"Why do you say it's a bad idea? That one girl was checking you out," Steve said, managing to snag a water and a beer from a friendly bartender who caught his hand sign with a wicked wink.
"No, she was checking you out, I mean, where did you even get those clothes?" Bucky asked, forlorn.
"Dude. I go to the other Goodwill now, it's got tons of stuff," Steve answered. "Plus, Donna from Shadow works at a dry cleaner's and gets me leftovers if she finds my size."
"God, you and your luck," Bucky complained.
Steve wasn't sure why Bucky asked him to come if he was going to resent him. "Look, if you're going to pout because I spent 15 bucks on an outfit to come to your stupid party, I can go. I could be making 15 bucks at work right now."
"I'm just saying that the wingman shouldn't get more looks than the main attraction. I mean, you could have at least shaved - you have one of those beards that makes ovaries quiver," Bucky said, reaching over and shaking him by the chin.
"Get away from me, asshole," Steve swatted at him. "Go mingle, I'll play home base behind the decorative plants over there out of sight."
"Just grab a table and text me so I can find you. And stop being sexy, it's not making me look good," Bucky added, thumping him and stepping into the fray with his beer.
Bucky would have to give him better wardrobe instructions if he was going to be a dick about it.
They'd gotten there early enough that he managed to get a booth near the stairs leading to the VIP section, which would hopefully raise Bucky's spirits, He sat down and pulled out his cell phone. He didn't like to openly people-watch in a place like this so he focused on Candy Mountain Jamboree on his phone. He had just beaten his high score when the stranger slid into the booth across from him and almost huddled against the wall.
"Sorry. I need to sit. For a second."
Steve wondered if he should recognize the guy, but he was wearing sunglasses inside the club and he didn't spend a lot of time watching TV or movies with his schedule. That was Bucky's gig. He also wondered if the guy was about to OD or something but he didn't know much about heavy drugs outside of movies and public service announcements. He had a prescription for marijuana for his PTSD but it was legitimate since it was the only thing that worked without knocking him out. "Are you all right? Do you want some water? I haven't opened it, but it's cold."
The man didn't react immediately when he pushed the bottle of water across the table. His chest was heaving but he was only managing shallow breaths and Steve figured he would treat it like a panic attack. He had them sometimes, usually when it was raining. Something about the sound of raindrops hitting pavement took him back to the front lines.
Steve reached over and took the man's clenched fingers despite his panicked gasp. "You need to relax. You're freaking out." He put his fingers over the pulse point in his wrist and knew it was too fast.
"Get your hands off me," the guy said, but he didn't pull away.
"You can yell at me when you catch your breath. This isn't really the best way to steal someone's table, by the way. You could have just asked. I'm playing wingman, but my friend's schmoozing for connections. I don't know how it works, I mean, it's loud as hell in here, it's impossible to have a real conversation." Steve talked to try and distract the guy and calm his own nerves. "It was so much easier when he was just looking for hookups, now he's looking for jobs."
"You're not looking for jobs?" the guy asked. His pulse was steadier and while Steve couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, the line of his mouth was more relaxed. Plus, he was breathing.
"I have three at the moment. Acting's his thing, I had to call out tonight to bring him and he's mad because I dressed too nice. I guess I'm supposed to look bad so he looks better? I didn't shave and I'm wearing secondhand clothes, I don't know what else I was supposed to do, skip a shower first?" Steve muttered.
"You'd probably have to put a bag on your head, guy," the man snorted.
"Better?" Steve asked, not sure how to take that. It was a compliment, but he always suspected compliments.
The guy opened the water and took several long swallows. "Better. So what do you do if you're not schmoozing for fame?"
"I want to write comic books. I'm doing some freelance work, blocking and coloring, you know, learning how the industry works," Steve said. "Are you an actor?"
The man tilted his head at him. "Seriously?"
"Agent? You could be an agent with that goatee," Steve said, rubbing his own chin, thoughtfully.
"You don't know who I am?"
Steve couldn't see him that well in the strobe lighting but he probably wouldn't know him in broad daylight. "Is my roommate going to be pissed he didn't make a connection?"
The man laughed. "Tony," he said, turning his wrist where Steve was still taking his pulse and shaking his hand.
"I'm Steve. You owe me a water," he added.
"I owe you more than that if you don't leak that little episode to the tabloids," Tony said.
"What episode?" Steve asked, shrugging. "And I don't know anything about tabloids except people always leave them in the bathrooms at Starbucks and I have to clean them up. Gross."
Tony laughed again. "That's where they belong." He hesitated. "I'm not a junkie."
"Good for you. I hear it's bad for your health," Steve replied. "A couple of guys I served with fell into that stuff, it's hard to shake."
"You were in the service?"
"Yeah. Out a year and a half. This kind of place will never be my scene. You don't seem like you're a druggie, but neither do they, I guess," Steve considered. "I have panic attacks sometimes," he added quietly.
"Me, too," Tony replied after a beat. "I thought I could deal tonight, I'm supposed to get back into the scene. Out of rehab and back into the pit of vice."
"Probably good you crashed into my booth then," Steve said. "I'm going to get another water, can you watch my seat? I'll let you play Candy Mountain Jamboree on my phone."
Tony grinned and waved his own phone. "I'm on level 18."
"Then you can't play on mine, I'm on 24," Steve countered.
# fail retcon
"God, man, I'm struggling out there," Bucky groaned, collapsing into the booth beside Steve and leaning his head back against the headrest. "Where were you?"
"Just following your instructions and hiding in the corner," Steve said, smiling so Tony didn't feel left out. He realized they'd been talking for hours when he glanced at his watch. It was nice to have an actual conversation without a timeline for his next clock-in. "So no luck?"
"Hell, I don't know. I passed out some cards and got a couple of suggestions for open calls but I'll have to regroup with the agent lady," Bucky said. He straightened up and realized that they weren't alone. "Shit, I'm sorry Steve, I didn't know you had pulled..."
"This is Tony, we're sharing a booth," Steve interrupted.
Bucky's eyes widened and Tony grinned. He pointed at him. "Thank you, finally my ego is restored."
"Steve," Bucky said darkly. "Steve. Did you make friends with Tony Stark?"
He shrugged. "I guess. He told me I wasn't allowed to Google him until later, but I'm 49% sure he did the voice in 'My Sister, The Sharona'."
Tony choked on his water and Bucky stared at Steve. "I can't believe you're my friend."
"You're lucky to have a wingman like Steve," Tony said. He took one of the napkins and plucked the top of a pen in his mouth as he scribbled out several numbers. "It's only on his recommendation that I'm giving these to you." He passed the napkin to Bucky and even in the lights; he could see his friend lose all color in his face.
"And for you, and only you," Tony said, passing him another napkin with his number on it. "Only four people in the country have that number so use it wisely. But use it," he added, tipping his water bottle in a half salute and disappearing into the busy club. Steve registered the flashes of cameras and a hush of whispers.
"Best wingman ever," Bucky whispered.
"What did he give you?" Steve asked, tucking the napkin away before Bucky could snatch it.
"It's for the Spectate Agency, they only take clients by referral...Steve, what did you tell him about me?"
"We didn't talk about you much. He asked if you were good and I told him how you used to recite Shakespeare to put us to sleep in Afghanistan, but that it never worked because we wanted to hear the end," Steve said.
Bucky put his arm around him and pulled him into a crooked hug, kissing his forehead. "Fuck, if I was gay, we'd be so married."
"I'm too good for you, punk," Steve said, shaking him off.
# txt
Totally stole your # when you left your phone on the table. Call me. :D
Call u or txt u?
Seriously?
Srsly
Is it really that hard to spell correctly? :'(
not evry1 has autcorct on ther phon.
I'm going to Pretty Woman your ass all over town.
Idgi. im gonna call u.
# date
"You mean the hooker movie, I remember that," Steve said when Tony picked up on the other end. He was on his lunch break having a forbidden cigarette outside of the staff exit. He had taken up smoking after basic training and given it up when he gave up the uniform.
"God, I was about to run another background check to make sure you weren't a clone or something nefarious - who doesn't know about Pretty Woman?"
"Are you calling me a whore?" Steve huffed. "After the day I've had, I might have to look into it."
"You'd make damn good money, I'd be your best client."
That answered the niggling question about Tony's intentions, Steve wasn't sure he had been flirting but he had his fingers crossed after last night.
"Anyway, moderation's my new motto so I can't proposition you until we go on at least one date, so what do you say? Wait - did you Google me? Because - "
"No, Bucky filled me in. I'm sorry to say I haven't seen many of your movies," Steve said. "I trust him more than Google. He says you're really good but you drink a lot. He says you're a maneater, too."
"..."
"Did he miss something?" Steve asked when several long moments went by.
"No, I guess I've just never heard it phrased quite like that," Tony replied after a long moment.
"Honesty's important, but Bucky's been my best friend too long for me to take his dating advice. Doing the exact opposite of the other's advice is kind of our method."
"So...you're okay with it?"
Steve shrugged and then smiled at his own stupidity. "I had fun last night. If this goes anywhere, I'll want to hear your side. I was in the army a long time, I know not to trust anything that comes on the news."
Tony laughed softly in his ear. "I'd like to keep this low-key until then. How are you with paps?"
"They buy a lot of coffee but we don't get a lot of celebrity traffic. I could make you dinner, if you want to come to my place. Bucky's got some thing tonight he won't be home until after last call at the bar." Steve only crossed his fingers on one hand so he didn't jinx himself.
"Oh. That would be nice," Tony said, sounding relieved. "I have a bodyguard, he'll stay in the car but he'll have to meet you."
"I have to make extra for Bucky anyway," Steve said. "First date chaperone, my mother would totally approve."
Tony laughed and Steve crossed all his fingers.
# meet & greet
Tony's bodyguard was a jolly brick wall, more cushion than muscle but Steve could see why he liked him. He gave the apartment a quick glance and settled in with their first gen PlayStation with a gleeful expression.
Steve was only halfway done with dinner and watched Tony size up the living room across the counter in the adjoined kitchen. He walked around slowly, cataloging the paintings and photos on the wall and picking up and touching everything on the end tables.
"Is this seriously a pull-up bar? Are you some kind of fitness fanatics?" Tony asked, stepping into the entry and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he nodded up to the bolted in pull-bar. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses and his eyes were bright with curiousity. He was way out of Steve's league but he always liked a challenge.
"Not a fanatic, but I like to stay in shape when I can. Habit," Steve shrugged. "Did you find parking okay?"
"Yeah, we took a taxi, Happy has a car parked outside for us later," Tony said. "Your place is...cozy."
Steve laughed. "This is spacious for me and Bucky. Barracks leave a lot to be desired."
"Guess so. But you're still living with your friend, wouldn't you want space after spending years crammed in with sweaty men?" Tony smirked.
"Bucky's family to me and it's harder than both of us thought to afford decent apartments and find jobs. I mean, I have three jobs and we're still barely scraping by. He's a really good actor but he's really bad at getting jobs," Steve said as he slid the chopped vegetables into the steamer and checked the chicken in the oven. "We still have our space. I can't hear his one-night stands and he can't hear mine."
"You have a lot of one-night stands?" Tony asked.
He glanced at him and saw the teasing glint in his eyes. "That's not really my thing. Maybe I haven't been in LA long enough."
"That sucks for you, but is awesome for me. I'm rebooting my life and I've never had a boyfriend before. I'm very eager to get you horizontal, or vertical, I'm not picky as long as we're both naked at the time - but dating comes first in my sobriety handbook," Tony said.
"I thought confidentiality contracts came first," Steve teased.
Happy hooted from the other room as he beat a level and Tony gave him an embarrassed look. "He doesn't have to be here."
Steve shrugged. "I don't mind if you don't. I want to get along with your friends. You can send him out for snacks or something when it's time to make out, it'll be just like high school."