Chapter Text
It’s 2pm on Monday morning. Steve needs to leave now, and he is panicking.
He woke up at 5am to take his morning run around Prospect Park with Sam, hoping it’d shake off any nerves associated with the first first-date he’ll have in the 21st century that actually matters. If he ran faster and farther than normal, well that’s for him to know. Too bad it didn’t work.
He and Bucky have kept up a constant stream of conversation between today and the day they met. They shared small inconsequential thoughts, like how that specific pigeon reminded Steve too much of Sam Wilson, and how Bucky recently treated 3 ferrets with striped markings that resembled his shield. Bucky got pictures of Steve’s little doodles, scribbled in the margins of meeting notes and mission briefs. Steve saved all the photos of the empty pots from Bucky’s failed home gardening hobby. He tried to keep plants around, but Alpine would tussle too often with the leaves to make all his efforts pointless.
So now, Steve is standing in front of a closet that never seemed deficient until an hour ago. What the hell does he wear ? Natasha isn’t even available to consult, off doing classified spy things in Israel for SHIELD. Even if she wasn’t, he’s hesitant to ask her for help with this anyway, confident that Nat would come back two hours later with a full dossier on Bucky’s life and accomplishments, complete with his middle school grades and the name of his last boyfriend. Natasha has good intentions, he knows, but they just work off of two different frameworks for meeting new people. Maybe it’s optimistic, but he has high hopes for Bucky and he wants to learn about his favorite restaurant from him, not from an agent tailing him.
Which leads him back to his original conundrum. What does he wear to a coffee date – that might not be a date – with the cutest man he’s ever seen? Fashion’s one of the last aspects of modern life he has yet to nail down. Cooking? Been there, done that. Socialization? He grew up disabled during the height of Nazism, he can read people well enough, thanks. Fashion? Trends change at hyperspeed, so he’s given up on understanding it.
Steve scans his closet once more and sighs. He finally decides on snug denim jeans, a white shirt, and a worn, brown, leather jacket. If his shirt is a little tighter than normal, then that’s between him and his God. Taking one last glance at the bathroom mirror, he wets his hands and runs them through his fluffy hair. It’s a futile endeavor; it’ll stick up no matter what he does to it.
Well, he’s about as ready as he could ever be. He shoots off a text to Bucky, informing him that he’ll be at the vet clinic soon to pick him up, and races out the door.
When he pulls up on his motorcycle outside the vet clinic, Bucky’s already standing by the curb, tapping at his phone. He’s wearing a maroon button-up and white trousers, with his long hair cascading down in waves across his shoulders. He looks more beautiful than Steve recalls from the day they met, if that’s even possible.
Steve engages the bike’s kickstand and swings gracefully off the seat. When he looks up, Bucky has spotted him. He sneaks away his phone and gives Steve a small wave.
“Steve!” Bucky goes in for a hug, and Steve catches him tightly. He can’t help but tuck his face into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s hair smells lovely, like coconut with little floral notes, and Steve notes that their sizes are well matched for an embrace. He’s just the tiniest bit taller than Bucky but so much broader, such that holding him is like surrounding him completely. Protecting him.
They probably stand on the curb, just holding each other, for longer than what politeness dictates. It strengthens Steve’s belief that this is a date. Norms around masculinity have loosened since his childhood, but definitely not so much that just friends can hug each other for this long. It takes all of Steve’s considerable willpower to pry himself away from Bucky.
“Hey Bucky,” Steve says, stepping away from him. “I figured we could drive to the cafe on my bike, if you’re okay with that.”
In that moment, Bucky finally takes notice of the large black Harley parked in front of his clinic. His eyes wander from the seat, to the helmet dangling off the handlebars, to Steve’s eyes.
“But I don’t have a helmet? Or a jacket?” Bucky’s eyes flick to Steve’s arms before returning to his eyes.
“You can take my jacket. I don’t need the helmet either. Serum, remember? Just take the one on the bike.”
Steve takes off his leather jacket, and pulls it onto Bucky’s shoulders. It’s large for him. The width of its shoulders hang off Bucky’s frame. It dwarfs him, making him look smaller than he actually is. A small feeling of possessiveness rises up in Steve, as if wearing his jacket makes Bucky look his too .
Bucky shrugs himself deeper into the jacket, wrapping the lapels around himself and tucking his hands into the pockets. Steve clasps his shoulder and leads him to the bike. He takes his seat and motions for Bucky to sit behind him.
“I’ve never ridden on a bike before.” Bucky sweeps his eyes along the bike’s frame and bites his lip.
It draws Steve’s attention to his mouth, almost on instinct. “It’s easy, Buck, just hold on to me. Don’t try to shift the bike, but don’t resist when I turn either.” He forces himself to look into Bucky’s eyes to reassure him. “Don’t worry,” he grins, “I’ll keep you safe.”
Bucky seems satisfied by this, fastening the helmet onto himself and sitting gingerly behind Steve.
“Bucky, move closer to me. I won’t break y’know.”
Bucky, emboldened by this, scoots closer to Steve, molding himself against Steve’s muscular back.
Steve can feel Bucky’s thighs against his legs, and his arms wrapped around his torso. He pats Bucky’s arm reassuringly and turns his face towards him. “You ready Buck? It won’t even be a 10 minute ride, promise.”
“Yeah. I’m ready.” Bucky squeezes his arms around him once, and they take off.
The ride feels like it takes hours and no time at all. Steve savors the feeling of Bucky wrapped around him, feeling the line of his body pressed against his own. Every time they pass an intersection, Steve is tempted to veer off the route – to take unnecessary detours to prolong this moment of closeness with Bucky – but he doesn’t. They’re at the coffeeshop before Steve can commit the moment to memory. Hopefully, he consoles himself, he’ll have many more chances to have Bucky pressed to him.
He pulls over and parks his bike, feeling Bucky hop off once he’s come to a stop. Steve stands just in time to see Bucky pull off his helmet, his hair a complete and utter mess, then turn his head toward the sky to laugh.
Bucky runs his fingers through his hair and turns to face him. “Steve,” Bucky says exuberantly, giggling all the while, “that was so fun. You have to take me riding again. We gotta drive up to the Catskills or something.”
Bucky takes his hand and sweeps them into the coffee shop.
Steve grins at him above their linked hands, soft expression on his face. “Yeah, Buck. I’d love to take you.”
The coffee shop Bucky took him to is cozy, peaceful even. It's decorated with warm tones and wood, sunlight streaming in from the street-facing wall made entirely of glass. The wall opposite the counter is exposed brick, with hanging shelves of houseplants adding a touch of color. It smells pleasantly of espresso with a hint of chocolate, ambiance aided by the soft jazzy music playing in the background. Best of all, it's pleasantly empty, save for a few businessmen and hipsters who couldn’t care less that Captain America walked in.
He and Bucky order their drinks separately. Steve gets a regular cappuccino while Bucky gets some complicated fruity drink. Steve isn’t even sure if there’s any coffee in it at all, but he isn't one to begrudge another their small pleasures. Bucky leads him to a table by the corner of the room. It has a full view of the exits while still being shielded from direct sight from the entrance. Steve has to admire Bucky’s thoughtfulness.
“Do you know this place well?” Steve asks as soon as they’re seated. He nods at Bucky’s drink, “That order was pretty complicated.”
“Yeah, I’ve been coming here since I was in vet school. It was near my classes and cheap by college student standards.” Bucky stirs his drink with the straw and looks up at Steve through his eyelashes. “I thought it’d be a good place for a first date.”
Bucky’s eyes widen and he takes on a panicked look. “Not that I’d assume it’s a date of course!” His hands gesture wildly across the table. “If you just want to be friends I’d be totally, totally okay with that.” Bucky grimaces and looks down at his drink, posture tense like he’s braced for impact.
Steve, on the other hand, is elated. It is a date. Bucky does like him. Noticing Bucky’s panic, he reaches out for his hand and clasps it between his own.
“Bucky.” Steve strokes his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand. “Bucky, yes it's a date. And I want more of them in the future, if you’ll let me.”
“Yeah?” Bucky looks at his hands. They look tiny between Steve’s large palms. “I– Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to have more of them.”
Whatever tension built up between them couldn’t survive in the face of their mutual elation, and the rest of the coffee date is smooth sailing. Steve and Bucky trade mutual stories about Brooklyn – even with decades between them, they fell in love with the same city. Turns out that both of them adore the Brooklyn Public Library. Steve tells him how he’d spend hours on his art there because it was quiet and the lighting was perfect. Bucky shares his summers looking through veterinary texts in their archives, endlessly fascinated with the animals he could learn to treat and love. It gave Steve a fluttery feeling in his chest to know that, had Bucky been born just a few decades earlier, they would have met.
The banter between them is relaxed and effortless. Bucky is genuine in his interest, asking Steve about everything from his art to their shared love of Ghibli movies. He’s smart, and cute, and funny, and Steve barely notices the time until hours have passed and the sunlight has all but gone.
“Buck, I think we gotta leave. The barista’s been giving us the side eye for the last 10 minutes.”
“Ah right. I didn’t notice that it’d gotten this dark,” Bucky responds with a chuckle.
“Do you wanna come back to mine?” he adds. “Alpine must be chomping at the bit for me to get home, it's almost feeding time.”
Steve stands up and reaches for Bucky’s hand to pull him out of the seat. “Of course Buck. I want to see how the little princess is doing. I can drive you home?” He shoots Bucky a questioning look.
Bucky grins at him excitedly, pulling at Steve’s sleeve to ask for his jacket again. “Yeah. Take me home, Stevie.”
Bucky’s apartment is a small but comfortable 1-bedroom. His living room has a TV, a broken-in couch, and a tall cat tree situated next to a large window. Bucky’s put stacks of blankets and pillows on every soft surface and knicknacks line his overfilled bookshelves. The colors have no rhyme or reason but it’s quintessentially Bucky. To Steve, it truly feels like a home .
They both toe off their shoes and step inside. Alpine darts out of what Steve assumes to be the bedroom and weaves between Bucky’s feet, her limp not a hindrance at all.
Bucky bends down to greet her. “Hi Al, are you mad? You never greet me like this. C’mon, I’ll grab your dinner.”
He picks her up and offers her to Steve. “D’you remember Stevie, Al? He brought you back to me.”
Steve takes her from Bucky and strokes the fur between her ears. She purrs loudly into his chest. “Yeah, I think you remember me.”
Bucky finishes with her food and sets it down, so Steve lets Alpine go and he watches her run immediately to dinner. Turning his attention to his human companion, he sees Bucky fixing tea for them both while humming tunelessly. Steve can imagine a life just like this– coming home to Bucky and his cat, fixing dinner and goodnight tea in his tiny kitchen.
Bucky looks up from the counter and walks towards him, gesturing to Steve to sit on the couch. He brings over a tray loaded up with tea, a small pitcher of cream, and some sugar packets.
“I didn’t know what kind you wanted, so this is just Earl Gray. I brought milk and sugar too if you want it.” Bucky sets the tray down on the coffee table and sits next to Steve.
He’s so close that Steve could feel the heat radiating off of him if he concentrated.
“Earl Gray’s fine Buck, thank you.”
Bucky’s about to say something, but he seems nervous. Steve nods encouragingly at him and waits.
“Do you want to stay over tonight? Because it's late– and I uh.” Bucky takes a sip of his tea and steels himself. “We don’t have to do anything, just sleep.”
“Bucky.” Steve moves closer to him on the couch and grasps his hand. “Thanks for letting me stay over, I’d be happy to.”
They both finish their tea in comfortable silence, hands intertwined in the space between them.
Eventually, they stand to get ready for bed. Bucky gives Steve his own toothbrush in the bathroom and Steve savors that little sense of permanence – his own toothbrush carving out his own space in Bucky’s life. He dons some of Bucky’s largest pajamas. They still stretch indecently across his broad shoulders, but Bucky’s blush when he sees him makes it worth it. Bucky mentions off-handedly that he could have a drawer by his bedside, and he savors that too. Another hint that Bucky would let him stick around.
Hours later, after comfortable banter and light dinner, Bucky and Steve are cuddled together in bed, Alpine dozing by their feet. Steve has his arms wrapped around Bucky’s warmth, their legs intertwined.
“Bucky,” Steve whispers into his neck.
“Hmm?” He snuffles sleepily, turning to face Steve.
“I thought Alpine was a stray. I was gonna keep her,” Steve confesses in a conspiratorial tone.
Bucky smiles at Steve and pats his cheek, not even opening his eyes. “Don’t worry Stevie, we can share her now, and a few years down the line, we can adopt another one together, hm?”
Steve grins lazily back at him and kisses his cheek.
“Yeah. Together.”