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Bucky tracks Peter’s loop around the crowded gymnasium, and decides to leave him his space for now. The six-year-old is running around in a broad figure eight, an elaborate paper airplane held proud and high above his head. Bucky can’t help the grin that settles onto his face, but he can keep his arms crossed and one foot propped up against the wall he’s been leaning against.
“Look at this cool plane Ned made me, Bucky!” Peter shouts as he sprints over.
He barely slows in time to keep from barreling into Bucky’s legs, breathing heavily in excitement. Bucky takes the plane and crouches down until he’s at eye level, turning the little craft in his hands.
“Wow,” Bucky says seriously. “This is extremely impressive. But I think it's missing something very important.” Peter’s eyes widen, and his gaze skips over every inch of the paper. “Thankfully, I always come prepared for emergency maintenance.”
Bucky pulls a sharpie from his pocket to write a thick letter ‘P’ in a circle on each of the wings. He caps the marker and hands back the plane, delighted that Peter’s still young enough to be entertained by next to nothing.
“P for Peter!” He says excitedly, already turning to run back off into the crowd of kids. “Thanks Bucky!”
Bucky waves at him as he goes, resuming his lean against the wall.
“Cute kid,” a woman says from a few feet next to him.
Her coral suit compliments her olive brown skin, and her thick black hair flows effortlessly down passed her shoulders. She looks entirely too put together to be someone’s mom, her heels too high to be en elementary school teacher.
But really, what the hell does Bucky know? He’s been a stepdad for all of eight months.
“Thanks.” Bucky smiles over at her. “Though I can’t take any of the credit. Married in.”
“Oh,” she responds with an air of conspiracy. She smiles back as she closes the space between them. “Lucky you. Looks like you got saddled with one of the easy ones.”
“Yeah,” Bucky admits, “I can’t complain, really. They’re both kind of perfect.”
“Your wife’s lucky,” she says coolly, so close now that Bucky can smell the smoky sweet of her perfume.
“Husband,” Bucky answers, vaguely nodding to Steve across the gym. Her eyebrows quirk a little, but her smile remains and she nods back at him.
Sorry, Bucky thinks.
Since he married Stevie, he’s learned to catch the signs early, especially at these school events. He spent decades of his life playing straight, and he’s never been more desirable to women than he is now that he’s off the table. Being upfront helps save time for everyone.
The mechanical bell rings – loud and jarring in the way public school bells always are – and Bucky parts ways with his new friend. The plan was to meet Steve at Peter’s classroom at the fourth bell, so he starts his walk towards Room 204.
Outside the classroom, the teacher has posted a wall of photos: students with their art, in various silly outfits from spirit week, walking the Halloween march. Right below the name plate, next to the open door, is his headshot.
Bucky can’t think of a single reason why a grade school teacher needs to be that hot. Sure, the kids don’t know the difference, but how the hell does anyone else get any work done? How does any adult walk down this hallway and not pause at this photo?
But maybe that’s the point.
Mr. Wilson’s picture looks back at Bucky like he knows exactly what’s going on in his dumb little head. His smile in the picture is bright and cheerful, but his eyes are full of a confidence that borders comfortably with smug. The kind of smile you only wear when you know you’re attractive, when you’re trying to be sweet even as you bask in the attention.
It is possible that Bucky is reading too much into one picture.
“There you are,” Steve greets, slipping his hand into Bucky’s and kissing his cheek. He’s proud of himself for not startling, despite having not heard Steve approach at all.
“Here I am,” Bucky responds with a grin. “Room two oh four, Mister Wilson. Are you sure this is him?”
He means to say, are we sure this man is real? He means, this guy spends his days in this old concrete slab of a building chasing after snot-nosed brats? He means, I’m about to meet this guy?
Steve lowers the hand Bucky’s been pointing with and smiles. “Yeah? He’s not that much older than us, I don’t think. Makes this whole thing a little easier.”
Bucky nods, forcing his eyes off of the photo as Steve knocks on the doorframe and steps into the classroom. He’s shakes off his stupor, decides he’s going to get an A+ in parent teacher conference.
“Knock knock,” Steve says, announcing their presence. Bucky barely suppresses his wince. The moment Steve signed the adoption papers, he started talking like a corny dad.
Bucky just finished convincing himself that no one looks as good as their best headshot, but then Mr. Wilson glances over his shoulder and grins, turning just slow enough that Bucky gets to take in his whole body as he approaches. It should be illegal to make a basic green polo and slacks look that good.
“Hey,” he says, a smile like a dripping ice cream sundae on a sweltering summer day. “Mister and Mister Rogers, right?”
“Bucky.”
“Hm?” Mr. Wilson gestures them towards a pair of little seats before turning to his desk to grab a folder.
“Bucky,” he repeats his name, almost falling into his seat next to Steve. “I’m Bucky. We – I’m new. We haven’t met.”
Sam pauses to gently appraise him. He looks between Steve and Bucky just once, then nods.
“Hi Bucky,” he greets with a charitable grin.
For a moment, he’s still standing, making Bucky look up at him from his stupid kid’s chair barely eighteen inches off the ground. Bucky doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. Anything he says now will just embarrass everyone.
He settles for a smile, then averts his eyes in an attempt to get a grip.
“You can call me Sam,” he continues, taking a seat with practiced grace. Bucky resolutely doesn’t think at all about what else that body might do. “Nice to meet you both. Peter’s told me so much about you.”
Bucky opens his mouth to deny it. Whatever Peter’s told him, it’s probably not going to make him look great.
What did Peter tell him about? The time Bucky let him stay up watching The Conjuring when Steve was out of town? The time he tried to blame Alpine for breaking the microwave when he was the one who forgot to remove the foil from his burrito? That time Bucky rode him around on his motorcycle as a reward for finishing his vegetables? What did Peter say, exactly? And how badly will Bucky be judged for it?
“Really?” Steve says brightly, sitting up taller. “What did he tell you?”
Sam’s warm smile falters slightly, before he shrugs. “If I’m being honest, that’s just something I say to all the parents.”
Then he winks. At Bucky.
Mr. Wilson winks at Bucky and it’s all he can do not to giggle. He shifts his gaze away again, out the window and towards the ugly concrete yard this time. The view barely slows the smile that creeps onto Bucky’s face. But hopefully from this angle, no one can see him blush.
“Well,” Steve says, “to start, I think we have to thank you for teaching Peter to love reading. I could hardly get him to keep still long enough before.”
“Yeah,” Sam says with a fond smile. “We just had to turn reading comprehension into something like a puzzle to be solved. It works for a lot of my students. It’s just the spelling and grammar he’s having a hard time with. He only needs a little bit of extra practice. With a tutor, maybe?”
“Sure yeah,” Steve is saying when Bucky is finally able to get a grip and refocus. “That makes sense.” Bucky turns back to the conversation, pretty sure he’s schooled his face back into something neutral and friendly. Sam’s patient smile is there waiting for him as Steve goes on. “I think we can arrange that, if it’s what he needs.”
“Yeah,” Bucky echoes, desperately trying to think of something relevant to say. “What do you – are you available?”
“I’m not.” Sam narrows his eyes by a fraction, but the pleasant smile stays. “For that, anyway. I don’t see students outside of school, it’s just a rule I have.”
Bucky doesn’t pout.
He really, really tries not to pout when he responds, “and I bet you never break the rules.”
Steve’s gaze is on him now too, and Bucky just – he can’t find it in himself to care.
It’s just a little harmless flirting. Probably.
He just wants to know what makes Mr. Wilson tick, what the intent is behind these lingering smiles and knowing looks. Maybe he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, maybe calling it out will snap him back into shape.
“I do sometimes.” Mr. Wilson replies, leaning forward by a fraction. The look in his eyes is telling, transparent in his intention now. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“I’m — it’s me,” Bucky says honestly, biting his lip. He doesn’t know anymore if he’s trying to stop himself, or to get Mr. Wilson’s attention focused on his mouth. “I'm asking.”
“Okay,” Steve interrupts, the word lilting up at the end like it’s a question. “Does that mean you can tutor Peter?”
“No, sorry,” Sam laughs. He reaches over to his desk for something, and it’s just far enough that his shirt lifts up to flash a strip of smooth skin at his hip. Bucky catalogs every shift of muscle, from toned shoulders to muscled thighs as Mr. Wilson grabs a sheet of paper off a small stack and hands it over. “We do have this list of tutors that’s vetted by the school, though, so I’m confident you’ll find someone that’ll fit your needs.”
Bucky tries to take it from him – he needs something to do, something else to look at – but Mr. Wilson doesn’t let it go until Bucky looks up, confused. He’s met with another piercing gaze, coffee brown eyes watching him like prey.
Bucky startles when Steve’s hand comes down on top of his and takes the sheet.
“Great,” he says in a pinched voice. “So, we’ll work on hiring a tutor. You’re not thinking it’s more than that, right? Nothing we should be worried about?”
“Nah Peter’s great. A joy to have in class,” the teacher says, his voice full of amusement. “Don’t think I’ve had to punish him at all this year.”
“Punish?” Bucky repeats, choking on the word but powering through in an attempt to sound normal, “you don’t strike me as the punishing type.”
Bucky tries to waggle his eyebrows, to add something that says, haha I’m making a joke! He is not thinking about getting spanked over Mr. Wilson’s desk.
He was joking around. Seriously.
Sam doesn’t laugh.
Neither does Steve, but. That’s his fault. He’s got two perfectly working legs, no one told him he couldn’t leave.
Sam doesn’t laugh, he smirks and drags his gaze over Bucky’s body with obvious interest.
“Well,” Mr. Wilson says, “you don’t know me very well, do you young man?”
It’s – the – It’s everything.
The blatancy of it all, the smile, his voice, the way his sleeves cling to his biceps. Bucky’s heart beats wildly in his chest, but none of the blood makes it to his brain.
“Are you mad at me?” tumbles out of his mouth without permission.
“Should I be?” Mr. Wilson tilts his head and wrinkles his nose in amusement. “Why do you think I’m mad at you?”
Bucky bites his lip and feels Sam’s eyes fall to his mouth again, hot like a lash.
“I don’t know. You just seem mad,” Bucky swallows around nothing. “Sir.”
“Listen, Bucky, if I were mad at you?” He leans forward to put a casual hand on Bucky’s knee, searing and hot even through his jeans. “You’d know. I promise.”
Mr. Wilson squeezes Bucky’s knee, and Bucky doesn’t think he’s imagining the way the air between them crackles a little with potential.
“I’m –” Steve huffs as he stands, fists on his hips, “hey, well maybe I’m getting a little mad. What’s going on –”
Mr. Wilson rises out of this chair, his strong legs lifting him gracefully. Bucky stays put, only lifting his eyes to watch him move.
When Mr. Wilson looks down, he seems pleased that Bucky stayed sitting. He glances at Steve for a second, and Bucky thinks he might die without his attention.
“I think you upset your man,” Mr. Wilson says, “why don’t you go over to the chalkboard and write ‘I’ve been bad’ until I tell you to stop?”
Bucky barely suppresses a shudder, embarrassed by how easy he suddenly is, but still eager to get up to go to the chalkboard.
“I – ” Bucky has to pause, because the two of them so close now Bucky can feel his body heat. “I’m not normally like this.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice is somehow closer than Bucky expected it to be. “You’re a natural, Bucky.”
“Am I?” Bucky says, turning into the warmth.
Mr. Wilson’s hand lands on Bucky’s shoulder and it is only by some miracle that his knees don’t give out completely. Even still, Mr. Wilson’s hands fall to Bucky’s hips to steady him. They’re very close now. If Bucky tilts his head just so...
“Wait – Hey.” Steve sounds like he’s trying to yell, but can’t get enough air into his lungs. Maybe Bucky’s projecting. “Hey, that's – ”
Steve huffs, and sits or collapses onto one of the desks, Bucky can’t be sure. Mr. Wilson’s trailed his hand up to Bucky’s cheek, and nothing could make Bucky turn his head now.
“I have other parents to meet,” Mr. Wilson says apologetically. Bucky sighs, an embarrassing sound of displeasure.
“Hey,” Mr. Wilson says with a chuckle, “it’s okay, you can come find me later.”
Bucky sort of wants to refuse him, maybe see what it would take to get punished, what it’d look like for Mr. Wilson to be mad at him.
But, for now he can only nod.