Work Text:
The issue is that Steve doesn’t want to wake up. He’s not a morning person or a people person. He doesn’t enjoy small talk or friendly inquiries into his life. The worst part of his day is opening his eyes and realizing that he has to pretend to care—about his job, the inane people who come into the coffee shop, and his idiot coworkers.
The thing is that Steve does care—deeply—about a million things. World peace, the environment, campaign finance reform, the foster care system, poverty, nuclear proliferation, American imperialism in Africa, the exploitation of workers by a capitalist system that rewards billionaires and hurts the middle class, and anti-vaxxers are all vital matters he’d spend hours obsessing over if he didn’t have to work. He could talk about those things for a hundred years, hopefully to sway a few people to his (obviously morally and ethically correct) side.
But does he get to spend his days discussing those things? No. Instead, he serves Karens venti, half-caf, caramel macchiatos, half-sweet, no whip, and extra sprinkles with a fake smile pasted across his face and chirps “Welcome in!” to every guest that darkens his shop’s door. He hates Starbucks with a passion. The entire setup makes him want to scream.
Although he’d rather poke his eyes out with a dull pencil than go to work, he drags himself out of bed, takes a shower (even though the water never quite heats enough to be comfortable), and puts on his uniform of khakis (what in the fresh hell is this bullshit?) and a forest green polo. He feels like an insipid yuppie in spite of his very interesting brain. If anyone bothered to listen to him, they’d know that. It’s simply not fair.
By the time he makes it to his Starbucks store, he’s in a foul mood, which isn’t that different from any other day he works the early morning shift…or the afternoon one…or closes. In general, he’s beginning to suspect he’s got a grumpy personality, but there’s no way he’s going to admit that to anyone. He has a surly reputation to uphold. At least he’s managed to score a shift with the only other decent employee in this dump—a quiet, thoughtful, popular guy named Bucky who looks at him with amusement in his ice blue eyes every time Steve goes on a rant. Steve doesn’t like him exactly, but he doesn’t want to punch Bucky every time he speaks. That’s high praise as far as Steve’s concerned.
“Morning,” Steve grumbles as he grabs his stupid green apron and ties it around his stupid, too skinny waist. It’s huge on him—everything is since he’s about as big around as a sapling—and he seethes internally that Bucky’s apron looks so damn good on his bulky frame. His co-worker’s got at least six inches on him and probably a hundred pounds of muscle. Steve’s never been so jealous of another human being in his entire life, especially because Bucky’s both nice and seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Intelligent and hot. It’s ridiculous. It should be illegal. It should be mandatory.
“Good morning,” Bucky replies softly in his deep rumble. “Another day, another Steve Rogers rant about capitalism. I’m waiting with bated breath.”
Taken aback, Steve studies him curiously. He can’t figure out if Bucky’s joking or taking a dig, and it bothers him a little bit. Steve doesn’t usually give a shit how anyone feels about him, but there’s something about Bucky that makes his heart beat a tiny bit faster. Steve finds that he wants to impress Bucky, and the possibility that Bucky finds him annoying sends a pang through his chest.
“Capitalism is rotting the soul of America,” he announces tersely, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s been fighting to recover from a particularly nasty asthma attack for several days, and he’s exhausted. Besides, he’s feeling a little insecure after Bucky’s comment, and that doesn’t sit well with him.
“Agreed,” Bucky replies as his lips curve into a tiny smile. “Although, I’m not sure what system would be better. Communism doesn’t exactly work. I know enough about the Soviet Union before it fell to understand that.”
Cocking his head, Steve narrows his eyes. “You know about the Soviet Union? Is it a pet project of yours to study America’s former rivals?”
“Not exactly.”
Irritated at Bucky’s reticence, Steve demands, “How is it exactly, then?”
“My mother’s from Ukraine.”
“Oh…”
He wants to say more, but their boss Maria snaps at them to “stop yapping and get to work.” Rolling his eyes, he brushes past Bucky and heads to the espresso machine. If he’s lucky, Bucky won’t challenge him and will take over the cash register without complaint. After all, he’s much better with customers than Steve is. The thought of small talk this morning makes him want to vomit.
The morning passes in a flurry of hissing noises, steam, and frothing. He packs grounds and brews coffee, squeezes caramel onto the sides of plastic cups, and calls ridiculous names like Cynamyn and Breyeson with every finished drink. Someone should take away the naming privileges of white, evangelical, suburban (or urban or exurban or rural) moms who think they’re clever. They aren’t, especially since so many of them make snide comments about people of color with names they can’t pronounce. The hypocrisy is real.
“Need a break?”
A shiver passes through him at the sound of Bucky’s deep voice in his ear. Apparently, he’s been making drinks for so long that it’s time for 15 minutes of relaxation. If it can be called that. It’s ludicrous to expect an inconsequential amount of paid time off is enough to recover from two solid hours of hunched shoulders, brain drain, and aching feet, but he’s going to take every single second that Starbucks pays him, and he’s going to enjoy them. It’s his right as a worker. He’s been trying to unionize his store without much interest from anyone but Bucky. Until then, he’s perfectly content to work just hard enough to not get fired and stick it to the man—whoever that happens to be. That’s the thing with systemic issues. It’s a system that’s the issue (obviously), not a particular person. Harder to fight that way.
Sighing heavily, he drops into a chair in the breakroom and runs a hand through his hair. It’s sticking straight up today, which is never how he wants his hair to fall. More often than not, his cowlick refuses to cooperate, and uneven bangs fall over his forehead. He knows he looks unkempt, but his outward appearance doesn’t matter nearly as much to him as a sharp mind and compassion for the underdog. Besides, it’s a capitalist trap to care about being fashionable. Steve has no desire to purchase disposable clothing that clogs landfills and needs to be replaced every single season.
The chair to his left slides out, and Bucky joins him without saying a word. It’s a companionable silence between them, which makes Steve thankful that he drew this shift. At least he doesn’t have to feign interest in somebody boring.
The problem is this—Bucky isn’t boring. Not at all. In fact, he’s the most interesting person Steve’s talked to in about a week, and he always wants to hear more. There’s not enough time to get to know anyone at work without being overtly obvious he’s got his favorites. He’s tried to delve into some deep issues on a quick break before, and he doesn’t see Bucky outside of work ever. As a result, he’s constantly suppressing an unwelcome feeling of longing every time he logs in for a shift and Bucky isn’t here. Also, he’s in a constant state of limbo trying to find the balance between opening up and keeping tight control of his mouth.
“I didn’t know you were half-Ukrainian,” he blurts. Clearly, he’s not doing a great job of shutting up today.
Nodding carefully, Bucky gives him a side glance that makes Steve’s heart ping in his chest. “I don’t talk about it much. With a surname like Barnes, it’s easy enough to pretend that I’m not a first generation immigrant. Never sure who’s going to take offense that I’m eastern European, and with the situation there right now…”
“No, I get it,” Steve blurts readily. “Putin’s an asshole.”
“So much so,” Bucky agrees. “My cousins…they’re in a little village outside of Odessa. It’s a crapshoot whether or not they’re alive on any given day. My mom’s a mess worrying about them, and I don’t know how to make it better.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Shrugging his broad shoulders, Bucky says softly, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Do you—do you speak the language?”
“A little. I speak Russian more, which I kind of hate. The school where I went still required the oppressor’s language, and it stuck in my head somehow. Makes me feel a bit like a traitor, but I can’t help what my brain does.” Cracking his knuckles, he admits, “I have some blank spots in my memory from before we left and immigrated to America. No matter what, I can’t fill the holes. It’s frustrating.”
A quick glance at his watch confirms that his break is over, but he’s so invested in this conversation that he considers returning to his post late. If he didn’t think he’d get docked pay for an extra minute or two he would, but he can’t quite let Starbucks win. He doesn’t want to take a hit on his performance review either. That way he can give both middle fingers as he walks out the door on his own terms. Someday. He can’t wait.
“Break’s over,” Bucky observes as he stands.
Towering over Steve, he gazes at him with sharp eyes and high cheekbones. For a brief moment, Steve’s head swirls, and he wonders what it’s like to be as tall, muscular, and handsome as Bucky is. Unfortunately, he’ll never know. He’s a scrawny, shorter than average, asthmatic slip of a thing with birdlike forearms and wrists so small his watch would slip over his hand if he didn’t modify the band.
Apparently, there’s as much bias against small people in accessories as there is against plus sizes in clothing. He doubts he’ll get much sympathy from anyone about it, though. He's lost track of the number of times he’s been told to “eat a sandwich.” As if that will do a thing to change his natural state.
Grumbling under his breath, he follows Bucky back to the café and gets to work frothing milk for ungrateful assholes. Thankfully, he keeps his head down and slings drinks like it’s his job—which it is—and the day passes without further incident. He’s just about to head home when his boss asks him to stay behind for a few minutes. Slightly disappointed that he won’t get the opportunity to leave with Bucky, he walks over to Maria and crosses his arms.
“You wanted to see me?” he grouses, although he should probably be a little nicer to the person who could fire him immediately. The last thing he needs is to be unemployed with that hit on his resume.
“I did,” she confirms and motions him into the back where no one can overhear them. “You may not know this, but I’m being relocated. This week is my last here, and I’ve been tasked with finding my replacement. While I have some reservations, I think your surliness and sarcasm are the only ones here that rival mine, and since I’m leaving, you’re going to be my legacy.”
Cocking his head, Steve tries to process what she’s saying, but nothing seems to register. “You want to what?” he finally sputters because he’s no closer to figuring out what she means than he was before they started talking.
“I’m promoting you to manager. Do you want the job or not?”
Thoroughly confused, Steve gapes at her. “I’m the worst employee you have.”
“You’re the grouchiest employee I have, but not the worst. What you are is exacting, and this store could use someone who takes no shit and has high expectations.”
“Are you kidding? Is this a practical joke? A prank? Are there cameras somewhere?”
“No, and I’m quickly losing patience. Do you want the job or not?”
“Of course!” he blurts without thinking. “I get to boss people around? That’s not a promotion; that’s a gift.”
Grinning slyly, Maria says, “I’m going to regret not being here to watch you crash and burn.” He’d be offended if he wasn’t already planning the same thing.
He walks home floating on air, but he wakes with the same piss-poor attitude he always has the next morning. No matter that he’ll spend the day training to manage his very own Starbucks store, he still has to talk to jackasses and spoiled shits who think coffee is more important than a living wage for service employees. He’ll also still be working for corporate America. Idealism, be damned.
Trudging into work, Steve bypasses a green apron and finds Maria in the back. Knocking on the door to the supply room, he grumbles, “Steve Rogers, reporting for duty. Train me. Teach me how to run this soul sucking hell on Earth.”
“So cheery. Obviously, I made the right choice.”
Maria keeps him so busy for the next few days that he doesn’t realize he hasn’t seen Bucky until his first shift in charge. Then, it hits him—he’s Bucky’s boss, and that means…
“Well, shit,” he mutters as Bucky gives him a look as he moves behind the counter and puts on an apron. There’s a strict rule at Starbucks that there’s no fraternizing between managers and employees. If by some miracle Bucky finds him interesting enough to date, Steve’s just fucked himself out of possibly fucking Bucky at some point.
Unfortunately, that’s the least of his worries during the next week or so. Besides learning his new position on the fly, he’s dealing with a shortage of employees and a desperate need to hire at least two baristas. Bucky—bless his heart—works his ass off without being asked, which only makes Steve even more disgruntled that he’s off limits now. By some sheer dumb luck, Bucky has a friend who needs a job immediately, and Steve hires Natasha on the spot. He learns ordering and scheduling and fifty other things that make him want to scream, and he’s almost got a handle on it when the world shuts down.
The pandemic hits New York City like a freight train, and no one’s prepared, especially Steve. Almost immediately, he has to decide whether or not to shut down the store or if it should function in a decreased capacity. On one hand, fuck Starbucks, but his job is to make hard decisions and run the store. If he keeps it open, he’ll have to go to work, and he’s immunocompromised. Do the coffee needs of a bunch of Karens matter more than his own health?
Thankfully, the city of New York makes the decision for him. Mandatory shutdown for the next two weeks means Steve has fourteen days to procure as much PPE as possible (both for himself and for his employees) and contact everyone on the schedule to check in with them about availability once the café reopens.
Heart in his throat, he dials Bucky’s number and holds his breath. He hasn’t heard Bucky’s deep rumbling voice since he locked the store the day the mayor ordered everything closed. It feels like a hole in his life.
“Hello?”
“Bucky?”
“Yeah, this is he.”
“This is, uh…I mean, I’m Steve. Rogers. From Starbucks?”
“Hello, Steve Rogers from Starbucks. How can I help you?”
There’s a rustle on the line, and Steve hears a female voice asking who’s on the phone. Bucky obviously attempts to cover the receiver when he answers, and Steve has to swallow the spark of jealousy that builds in his gut. Besides, didn’t Bucky just say who he was? What the actual hell?
“Right, so, I’m calling all the employees and checking availability. We’ve got the green light to reopen as soon as next week,” he forces himself to say in spite of his irritation that Bucky’s hanging out with some unnamed woman—not that Steve has any say in what Bucky does outside of work.
“Next week? Isn’t New York shut down?”
Snorting at Bucky’s question, Steve drawls, “Apparently, coffee is essential to the health and wellness of the city. Fuck corporate America and all that, but I could use the income. How about you?”
“Well, hell yeah!” Bucky sputters and whoops in celebration. “Hey, Nat! Rogers is on the phone. The coffee shop’s reopening next week. He’s checking on our availability.”
Something clicks then, and Steve realizes who’s with Bucky. “Natasha’s with you?”
“She lives here, so yeah.”
“Oh,” Steve manages to mutter as his heart cracks in his chest. “Well, that saves me a phone call. You can let me know about both of you.”
“We’re available. Whenever you need us.”
“Okay, I’ll—I’ll put you on the schedule for when we reopen.”
He’s in a considerably grouchier mood for the next several days, but he can’t help being a little excited that Bucky’s on the schedule to open the first day back at work. It’s just the two of them at first, and Steve’s sure his face is on fire. He’s forgotten how handsome Bucky is and the way he seems to be at ease in his skin. Despite his own anxiety about existing in such close proximity to another human being who might infect him with a virus that could kill him in five seconds, Bucky seems to be perfectly fine hanging out with just him. It’s kind of nice.
“How’d you keep busy?” he asks as Steve turns on the lights and tries to remember the store’s opening sequence.
Shrugging, Steve admits, “I sat around and stared at the walls a lot. Sent letters to my senators and representatives. Signed some petitions. Spent a lot of time googling to figure out what the hell this virus is and tracking down masks and gloves. I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you that I’m immunocompromised. I’m just trying not to catch whatever it is that’s killed off a tenth of the city and paralyzed the rest.”
“Well, that sounds…”
“Kind of like we’re living in a hellscape?” he quips. “Yeah. Starbucks doesn’t care if I die or not. Neither do the people who decide getting a coffee is more important than social distancing. Also, that mask is shit. Here.” He hands Bucky a medical mask and indicates that he should put it on instead of the cloth one he’s wearing.
“Policy?”
“Yeah, and also, you know, science.”
Grinning at Steve with his eyes over the top of the mask, Bucky teases, “Never heard of her.”
With his reduced workforce, he ends up opening with Bucky more often than not. Forced proximity and lack of help has Steve side by side with Bucky far more often than he normally would as a manager, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he comes to love his shifts at work for the express purpose of seeing Bucky, even if the customers often make him bunch his hands into fists and offer silent prayers of thanks that no one can see his disapproving scowl behind his mask.
Over the subsequent weeks, he gets to know Bucky in a way he’s never been able to before, and everything he finds out makes him like his employee more. He’s smart and funny and he rarely takes himself too seriously. He’s a hard worker and good with customers. In fact, Steve wonders sometimes why Maria put him in charge when Bucky clearly would have been a better choice.
Of course, Natasha’s a good employee, too. She’s sarcastic the same way Steve is, and she doesn’t suffer fools at all. Still, she’s got enough of a game face to put on a show for customers who try her patience. She’s also clearly very important to Bucky because they talk and laugh each shift they work together before heading home to their shared apartment. It’s not that Steve’s jealous of their relationship exactly. It’s more that he envies the easy way they interact, as if they can sense the other’s movements, words, and thoughts before they manifest.
One night, it’s just the three of them as closing time nears. He’s happy listening to Bucky and Natasha tease and joke with each other, and he interjects a few times when it won’t seem as if he’s crashing their conversation. When he follows them onto the street and locks the door behind him, he turns to head home, but Natasha stops him.
“Want to come hang out?”
Startled, Steve hesitates. Technically, he’s their boss, and he shouldn’t. However, the world’s been turned upside down, and he’s barely talked to anyone other than his employees and customers for the past two months. Bucky and Natasha still work for him, but this would be outside of Starbucks. An actual social interaction is too much of a temptation to refuse, so he shrugs his shoulders and nods.
“I, uh…”
She gives him a look, and he’s pretty sure she’s grinning at him from behind her mask. “We spend a lot of time on the roof in our building. We can spread out, put six feet between us, and take off the masks for a while. Might even have a couple of beers. If you’re okay with that.”
“Sure,” he mumbles. He’s immunosuppressed, but he’s not dead. If he can’t even have a conversation on a rooftop while the world’s ending, he might as well be.
When they get to their apartment building, Steve realizes Natasha was being modest with her invitation. She hasn’t just offered him a place to socialize for a couple of hours. There are blankets and twinkle lights as well as lounge chairs, a stack of books, and a small portable refrigerator stocked with craft beer. It’s a veritable resort high above the streets of Red Hook.
Bucky drops into a lounge chair and tugs off his mask. He looks tired, but he’s still so handsome that Steve’s stomach clenches. It’s been a while since he’s seen Bucky’s entire face. It’s a sight for sore eyes. Grinning at Steve, Bucky swipes a hand over his face as if to wipe off the remnants of the day and rubs his eyes.
“Toss me a cold one, Nat, and make sure Steve gets one.”
Settling onto a blanket, Steve takes the IPA Natasha hands him and carefully removes his mask. Inhaling deeply, he takes a swig and grimaces. He’s not much for beer, but he wants to be sociable. Besides, he does like the buzz he gets after even a tiny amount of alcohol. There are some perks to being small. He doesn’t have to drink much before it affects him. Smiling at the stars, he relaxes and listens to Bucky and Natasha talk to each other. Before long, he’s engaged in the conversation and feels like he’s wanted instead of being an interloper.
Things change, then. Instead of feeling isolated and alone, he has friends who invite him over and want to spend time with him. On his days off, he either heads to their building or hangs out with whichever one of them isn’t on shift. When it’s rainy, they do watch parties with him safely ensconced in his own apartment and chat with each other via phone or computer. Every once in a while, he feels guilty for how much he’s enjoying the shutdown when so many others have suffered intense illness or the loss of loved ones. For him, this time has provided him with a well-paying job and spare time with people he adores. For someone with as many comorbidities as he has, he’s damn lucky to have weathered the storm so well.
Without realizing it, he starts spending more time with Bucky alone than with both of them as the season changes and the weather turns colder. Natasha’s enrolled in online classes, so she cuts back on her hours. Before long, Steve and Bucky are in each other’s pockets, and he has to force himself to move away from Bucky in the store. Even more intriguing, the six feet of distance they’ve so carefully kept between them dissipates until Steve’s pressed up against Bucky’s solid frame when they binge shows together.
Steve should put a stop to their closeness, but he doesn’t. First, he doesn’t want to, and second, he thinks the fraternization policies Starbucks has are fucking stupid. Third, Bucky’s warm and solid, and his big hands give the best damn shoulder rubs Steve’s ever experienced in his life. He’s caught himself purring like a cat more than once when Bucky touches him.
Not surprisingly, it all comes to a head late one night at work when they’re in the store together. Everyone else has left, all the customers have taken their overpriced coffee and returned home, and Steve’s in the back doing inventory. When Bucky slips into the room and indicates his plan to remove his mask, Steve grins and rips his off, too.
“Need help?” Bucky asks as he scratches the stubble on his jaw with his fingers.
Shaking his head, Steve glances at the cases of syrup and coffee beans and shrugs. “Only if you want to be here. I can’t pay overtime this month.”
“Nah, I’ve already clocked out. Just doesn’t feel right leaving you here alone. You helped me out in front today. Otherwise, you’d probably be finished by now.”
“You’re still wearing your apron.”
Bucky chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Think of it as a fashion statement.”
“Suit yourself. It won’t take long.”
As Steve checks off the inventory, Bucky keeps up a steady stream of conversation. As always, he’s funny and interesting. He catches Steve up on news events from the past few days since he’s been too busy working to read more than the major headlines, and he shifts back and forth on the boxes as Steve prods and pokes around him. The third time Steve brushes against Bucky’s thick thigh, he reaches over and puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he whispers, his voice a hoarse rasp.
Raising his head, he looks at Bucky and is trapped by the icy blue stare. “Hey,” he replies with a gulp.
“How long are you going to tiptoe around me? I don’t really know how much more obvious I can be that I’m completely into you.”
His mouth drops open at Bucky’s declaration. For the past however long he’s known Bucky, he’s been convinced Bucky doesn’t share his feelings. He’s gotten used to the idea of unrequited affection. Apparently, he’s wrong.
“Y-you are?”
Laughing softly, Bucky squeezes his shoulder. “Uh, yeah. Since the first damn day I met you. I looked at you in your baggy apron and recognized a spitfire. I fell in love with you the second you opened your mouth with a scathing review of corporate policy on sick leave.”
“Oh, God.”
Steve knows he shouldn’t. He’s aware of the rules about bosses and employees. The thing is that Bucky’s mouth is the most tempting thing he’s ever seen, and that’s saying something for his immunocompromised ass to not be thinking about covering it up with a mask. The dim light in the supply room cuts across Bucky’s face, hiding it in shadows and making his handsome face even more attractive than usual. He’s so big, broad, and strong compared to Steve’s slight frame, but he doesn’t loom over Steve or make him feel like he should cower. Instead, he simply holds his space and allows Steve to make the first move or not.
Tossing the clipboard to the floor, Steve grabs the straps of Bucky’s apron and tugs him down until their lips are a millimeter apart. Gasping and licking his lips, Steve looks deeply into Bucky’s eyes and finds eager anticipation. With a groan, he closes the distance but isn’t prepared for the bliss that erupts inside him.
Bucky’s mouth is perfectly soft, pliant, and sinful. His lips part at the slightest pressure, and his tongue sweeps confidently and purposefully against Steve’s. His arms come around Steve’s back and pull him close before his hands settle on Steve’s hips to hold him steady. Bucking into him, Steve moans as his heart rate picks up. It’s the single most all-consuming, life-altering, fascinating kiss of his entire life.
After what feels like a second and a lifetime, Bucky breaks the kiss but dives back in immediately. Steve’s back arches as Bucky leans over him. Glued to Bucky’s chest, Steve practically climbs him and wraps his legs around slim hips. Groaning as he cups Steve’s ass, Bucky backs him into a wall and tilts his head. Licking into him, Bucky plunders his mouth, claiming him repeatedly until Steve’s shaking.
When they finally break apart, Steve’s not sure his legs will hold him. Sucking in a deep breath, he holds it for several seconds before exhaling shakily. “Wow,” he gasps, eyes wide and mouth dry.
Looking into Bucky’s face is like looking at the sun. He can’t stare directly at it because it’s too bright, too beautiful. He can practically feel his grumpy demeanor melting away because he’s tasted the sweetness of Bucky’s lips. It’s like taking a shot of sunshine and happiness directly into his veins.
Cupping Steve’s cheek with his wide palm, Bucky smiles tentatively at him. “Was that okay?” he asks. “I…I don’t know…I’ve been wanting to do that since our first shift together.”
Nodding dumbly, Steve can only gape at him without saying a word. He’s usually feisty, ready with a quick comeback for anything that comes his way. With one kiss, Bucky’s disarmed him. Right now, Steve’s not sure if he can make a coffee, let alone manage an entire store. He forces his hands to loosen, to let Bucky go, but it causes him actual physical pain. Now that he’s tasted the nectar, he’s dying of thirst. Steve wants Bucky, and he wants more.
“I—it was fucking spectacular,” Steve gushes and immediately flushes. He sounds like a boy scout instead of a twenty-seven year-old adult. “I need—ah, God—I need so many damn things, but first—”
Chuckling at Steve’s state, Bucky leans down and whispers in his ear, “I’ll give them all to you if you let me.”
Backing away, Steve shakes his head to clear it. There’s nothing he wants more than to give into the pull Bucky has on him. Still, he has responsibilities, and they don’t include making out in the backroom of a coffee shop conglomerate. He has standards, and doing it in a shrine to capitalism isn’t where Steve wants to discover Bucky’s talents for the first time.
“I, uh…right,” Steve croaks. “I need to finish inventory, and then I’ll close—lock everything. Make sure—”
Bucky grins at him, as if he knows exactly why Steve’s off-kilter. Backing away, Bucky tosses him a wink. “Well, my shift’s over. I’m headed home. Nat’s away this weekend. Visiting her boyfriend in Queens. I’ll be there all by myself. Very lonely. Totally bored. Wishing I had someone to share my Friday night.”
He doesn’t trust himself to answer, but there’s not a question in his mind that he won’t take Bucky up on his invitation. He just has to get his head on straight and close the coffee shop properly. With shaking hands, he notes each box and supply on the inventory sheet and heads back into the café. It’s clean and orderly thanks to Bucky’s hard work. The register is shut down, and the cash and receipts are secured.
Unable to procrastinate any longer, Steve locks the door and contemplates turning in his two week notice. There’s no way he’s going to give up a relationship with Bucky for this job. He can do it later, though. Right now, he wants to get to Bucky.
As he looks around, he realizes he’s nervous, but that’s to be expected. Bucky and he have been dancing around each other for a long time. It’s about time to figure out what they are to each other, if for no other reason than to decide how to negotiate the non-fraternization work rule or if one of them needs to quit. Of course, that doesn’t have to happen before they spend the evening together. Steve wants to explore Bucky instead of negotiate work issues.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hurries down the street and weaves in and out between other pedestrians. He doesn’t get more than a few dozen feet before he finds Bucky waiting for him. Hand in hand, they hurry to Bucky’s building and rush up the stairs. As the door closes behind them, Bucky turns to him with a smile on his face and sparkle in his eye. Steve doesn’t speak as they gravitate to each other, and Bucky doesn’t either. The world’s shut out. Now, it’s only Bucky here with him. Steve couldn’t be happier.