Chapter Text
Steve was not an expert at undercover operations. Somehow he always managed to make a complete mess of them - even when wearing a nano mask, there was always something familiar about his stance, his physique perhaps that made people see through the guise. So when he was informed of his latest mission, he was shocked and more than a little surprised that his name was considered.
“But me?” he questioned Nat as they left the briefing.
“Yes, you,” Nat replied with a hint of impatience, and Steve knew she was trying hard not to lose her cool. It was only the tenth time he’d asked in so many minutes.
“But,” he paused and moved to the side of the hallway to let a SHIELD intern pass by. “I’m terrible at these undercover spy-type things. And this is big, Nat! -Taking down a black market Vibranium syndicate in Russia? This requires nuance, not my type of brawn.”
“You do know you’re not as bad as you think, right?” Steve had a moment to feel vindicated, until Nat kept speaking, “Plus, I have no one else left to ask.”
“Oh, so that’s what’s happening here. I’m your last choice?” Steve tried hard to keep the sulk out of his voice, he was a grown man, not a child who’d been picked last for baseball. Though he’d also lived through that humiliation in his past.
“Of course not, don’t be dramatic. My last choice would be Tony.”
“Fair,” Steve chuckled, somewhat relieved. “Hang on. You do realise that I don’t speak Russian? So how am I supposed to do this mission if I can’t say hello? Or order a milkshake?”
Nat cut her eyes to him, “We’re going undercover to lay the groundwork that our boss is interested in gaining a steady supply of Vibranium, and if you ask for a milkshake at any point, I will kill you.”
Steve held up his hands and gave his best smile, one that usually worked on crowds; made them less nervous. He should have realised it wouldn’t have worked on Natasha Romanoff.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll do one of those computer lessons, you know that app I see Peter using for his Spanish school assignments? -Duo... linguistics, or something...”
Nat peered up at him, looking pensive for a moment, deep in thought. “Duolingo, but… look, I have an idea. I have this friend, a language teacher. He does lots of different classes, but Russian is his specialty. I’ll set it up so you can join his class.”
“You have friends?”
“Steve,” Nat said with steel in her voice, “I need you to do this. We have a month until the meet-up. Sort yourself out.”
Steve felt chagrined until he saw a smile slip. Nat just enjoyed bossing him around.
“Alright, alright,” Steve grinned, holding up his hands. “I’m sure he won't mind helping out an Avenger last minute.”
“Yeah... about that. He can’t know who you are, or me for that fact. He’s a really sweet, nice, and respectable guy, and I don’t want him to get caught up in all the crazy.”
“Is this person special to you?” Steve asked with a raised brow, knowing that Clint and Nat were dancing around each other after years of intense friendship.
“Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not his type.”
Steve couldn’t imagine Nat not being someone's type, well except Steve’s. He liked his partners a little more…masculine.
“Ok, so I’ll go to these classes, pretend to be a civilian, learn a complex foreign language within a month and not ask for a milkshake. I’ve got it.”
Natasha stared at him long and hard until he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. There was an intensity surrounding a Nat glare that could slice a man in two.
“You’d better, Rogers. Because if not - I won’t be the one scraping your corpse off a Russian mobster’s floor.”
Steve gulped. “No pressure.”
Steve looked inside his satchel at the new notepad and gel pen Peter insisted he purchase, somewhat looking forward to seeing if the glide across the paper was as ‘insane’ as Peter said it would be; then pulled out the course enrolment information again for his after-hours, community based lessons. He’d not been to a class since…forever, and the few words on the front page stood out, black against white.
Basic Russian - Professor James Barnes BA PhD. Room 107.
Checking the number on the door first, Steve yanked his cap down further over his eyes and pulled up the collar of his jacket to hide his features from curious eyes, and entered the classroom. He immediately spied that the back row was vacant of bodies, and scuttling up the stairs he slid into a seat then took his notebook out and waited.
There were ten people already seated, some talking amongst themselves, but most were looking at their phones, so Steve watched and assessed the space, noting three exits and a skylight before his eyes landed at the front of the class. Scrawled across the board at a right angle in sharp spiky lettering was James’s name with a few words below it in Russian. Steve had missed the first two lessons and hoped he wouldn’t be too far behind; having completed the prerequisite reading the day before, telling Nat it was great, that he understood everything and he’d sail through the course.
He’d lied.
Steve had no clue. The information he’d read was all jargon and literally in another language he didn’t understand. He was so lost that even if they sent out a search party, he’d be gone, he may as well be encased in ice again for 70 years for all that he understood the course requirements.
Just as his foot started to tap with nerves of the unknown - something that rarely occurred to him since having the serum - the class began to fill up with an array of ages and sexes. Steve was thankful he wasn’t the only person of his age, or his supposed age - highly doubting there would be another 100 year old in attendance. Although the grey haired lady in the front row could give him a run for his money.
He relaxed further, the buzz of conversation and the bodies sitting in an enclosed space became familiar.
Then a man walked in.
Steve’s stomach lurched and his heartbeat increased; the relaxation of a second ago gone and in its place a strange vibration, humming up his spine. The newcomer was tall, lithe, with his dark brunette hair tied back off his face, but it was messy, unkempt like somebody had run their fingers through it recently. Steve watched, eyes riveted on the new face, staring as the man raised his hand and ran it through his bound hair, making it even more dishevelled. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away. As the mesmerizing stranger shucked his large winter coat, throwing it on the desk at the front of the room, he turned and clasped his hands together and greeted everyone in Russian, his deep voice clattering through Steve’s molasses-slow brain.
This was the teacher.
Steve was in huge trouble.
He was going to kill Nat, throttle her and then hide the body.
Not once had she warned him, nor mentioned at all, that Professor James Barnes was the most gorgeous man to walk the planet, and that his velvety voice speaking a foreign tongue would render Steve immobile. And worse - she’d also conveniently omitted that he was Steve’s type. Exactly his type.
As James spoke in a low cadence, English words peppered with Russian, Steve’s mouth fell open as the air in his lungs disappeared. James’s voice was electric, deep and melodic, and to top it off - he used his hands as he spoke, gesturing wildly, eyes sparkling and Steve could tell he loved his job. Steve was a sucker for passion, drawn to people who thrived in their life's purpose. He only wished he’d sat closer to the front of the class to capture the exact shade of blue that shone from James’s eyes.
Steve sat back, not listening to anything specifically, just letting the words known and unknown flood his senses, and he realised it was more than the voice, the hair, the passion that had caught his attention - it was also the way James presented himself. The tailored gray jacket was stylish without being over the top and paired with a plain white t-shirt, dark jeans, loose enough to be comfortable but on the right side of tight - made Steve’s mouth hover somewhere between too dry and salivating so much he’d need a bucket. But it was when James spun to write something on the board (something Steve no doubt should have paid attention to) that Steve shifted in his seat, adjusting his suddenly constrictive underwear. There were tan patches sewn onto the elbows of his jacket.
Somehow, James had managed to kickstart a professor kink - one Steve didn’t know he had until thirty seconds before.
The strangled noise he let out was mortifying, even more so when James spun, seeking out where the squeak had eventuated from. Steve ducked down, hitting his knee loudly on the chair in front of him.
“Apologies. I didn’t notice we had a new student tonight. And what’s your name?”
Steve glanced around. It wasn’t until he looked back, finding himself stuck, ensnared, unable to breath as gray-blue eyes held his and a soft chuckle escaped James; Steve realised he was the new student.
What. An. Idiot.
“Oh hey, I’m -” Steve knew he had to say Grant or Robert, Peter or Tony, anything but… “Steve.”
Shit.
“Well, Steve, it’s good to see you here. Welcome.” James followed up his greeting with a flurry of Russian and Steve had no idea what was said at all.
All Steve knew was that he couldn’t look away from the pink lips that so invitingly spoke words fluently in another language. He’d always had a competency kink, and it had been activated in full.
“Err, was that...did I have to...” Steve trailed off, not certain if he was supposed to respond in kind. He literally only knew a few words from Nat, like ‘thank you’ and ‘hello’ - although he actually didn’t know if she’d taught him swear words instead, just to set him up. At his lack of response, a few of the other students had turned around to look at him, and Steve flushed, working on a little faith that what he was about to say was correct. “Спасибо.”
Steve hoped he hadn’t butchered the pronunciation too much. It was supposed to be ‘thank you’, and the way James’s eyes crinkled in the corners at Steve’s attempt to respond would live with Steve for the rest of the week, hell , month.
“Well said.”
Steve felt his stomach stirring at the praise.
“You’ve not missed too much, but come see me at the end of the lesson and I’ll go over what we covered in the first two sessions,” James followed up with a warm smile.
“Will do, Professor Barnes.”
The unexpected laugh startled Steve, but also at the same time he wanted to drown in the sound, wanted to make James laugh like that over coffee, holding hands across a small cosy table, staring into each other’s eyes…
“Bucky.”
“What?” Steve replied eloquently, hearing a chuckle from a woman two rows in front of him.
“We’re all adults here, you can call me Bucky.”
Steve nodded, realising that the rest of the room was now staring at him, and he flushed further. It wasn’t a great start to staying incognito, to hide who he was. Yet luckily, there were only a few curious glances, his non-disguise holding up. No one expected to see Captain America attending an adult learning class for Russian.
“Alright everyone, let’s start on chapter three, and we’ll work our way through introductory phrases and enunciations.”
What felt like ten minutes but was actually two hours later, the class came to a finish. Steve wasn’t sure how much he took in, too busy watching James… Bucky , strut across the front of the room, helping people with their phrasing, answering questions and writing on the board in a frenzy of spiky handwriting.
Steve was utterly mesmerized.
He still couldn’t introduce himself in Russian or understand basic questions.
When Nat found out, he was completely screwed.
“So how was your first lesson?” Nat asked as she stood in his kitchen doorway, biting into a crisp apple that crunched noisily. Steve looked up from the book he was reading, the ‘homework’ the class had been given, having not heard her enter the apartment. He was going to have to find out from JARVIS how she kept doing it. He placed the book down on the kitchen bench and wondered what he should say.
“It was okay. Bucky’s a good teacher.”
“‘Bucky’ is it? So what did James teach you then?”
Steve opened his mouth and stalled, realising Nat was probably looking for actual progression, not the fact Steve had learnt he had a thing for long haired brunettes with elbow patches on their jackets who spoke foreign languages fluently, and made him harder than the Vibranium they were trying to track down.
“I can say, hello, goodbye, and ask for directions to the hairdresser.”
The arched brow he was on the receiving end of made him swallow tightly, she was clearly unimpressed. To be fair, he didn’t blame her.
A swathe of rapid-fire Russian came at him, of which Steve understood about two words, hopefully.
“Did you say something about daytime and a river?” Nat huffed out an exasperated breath. “I guess not.”
“This isn’t going to work. I thought James would be a good teacher for you, maybe I should find another -”
“Hey, no. I mean he’s fine, a great teacher in fact, but I’ve missed the first two sessions and I was supposed to see him after the lesson to get some extra homework to catch up, but, you know - we got the call to assemble and I had to run. I'll do better. I promise.”
Nat hummed and stalked towards him, placing the half eaten apple on the counter and leant over it to look directly into Steve’s eyes, watching him closely, the green of hers unblinking as she gazed into his very soul.
Steve gulped.
“Oh god. You find him attractive. You have a damn crush on your teacher. On James.”
“What? No. No way, of course not.”
“You can’t lie to me, Steve. Wait until the others find out you've finally -”
“Nat, no. Not now. Just…I’ll study hard over the next two days. If you can help me, I’d appreciate it. Just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asked, softer than her usual sharp tone.
“Don’t tell anyone. Not yet anyway.”
“Tell them about what?” Nat responded straight away and Steve smiled at her.
“Thanks.”
“But I can’t help you out, I’m on an op for the next week. Clint is still recovering from his burns and he’s surprisingly good at Russian, he’s picked up a lot over the years, he could help you.”
“Burns?”
“Pizza related,” Nat said sardonically.
Steve raised a brow, not sure if the man who was constantly covered in bandaids and had a coffee pot in his hand like it was an attachment of his actual body was the right person to ask for help on learning Russian.
“Sure, no worries, I’ll see how I go. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Steve was not fine.
He was floundering, and he hated it. Steve couldn’t get his head or his tongue wrapped around the dialect, and although in his mind he understood what was required, putting it into practice didn’t go so well. He felt like an idiot. He also didn’t ring Clint for assistance.
The next lesson with Bucky, Steve moved forward to sit two rows from the back, still on his own, but closer - for reasons . He’d arrived early and the longer he waited, the hotter he got. Looking for the thermostat that must have been set to boiling, he couldn't spy it, and even though he ran warmer than most, it had to be unbearable for the rest of the class.
They all looked comfortable.
Steve made it almost ten minutes before he shucked his hoodie, leaving him in a t-shirt; and it wasn’t until he’d received the fifth appraising lingering stare, that Steve questioned if somebody had outed him as Captain America. But the sneaky looks were not at his face, but lower.
Steve glanced down to see what might be garnering all the attention and immediately his cheeks flamed, hot to the touch. The t-shirt he’d inadvertently thrown on earlier that day under his nondescript hoodie was tight - too tight. Steve may as well have been naked. But it was what was printed on it that made it go from a (very) fitted t-shirt to something else. It had been a gag gift at Christmas, but one he liked and the only t-shirt Tony had ever given him that Steve wore, the others too rude to be seen in public. The graphic was of an old school lumberjack holding a large plank of wood over his head, the words ‘Woody’s hardwood & lumber - our wood is hard to beat!” written underneath it.
On closer inspection, maybe it was more suggestive than he’d originally perceived it to be.
Tony was a dick.
It was too late to change and would be too obvious if he put his hoodie back on, so instead he crossed his arms over his chest to hide the words. But he still received his fair share of looks, because now his forearms bulged obscenely.
Steve was embarrassed right up to the moment Bucky strode into the classroom. Bucky looked up in greeting, eyes landing directly on Steve, raking him from head to waist then proceeded to trip over the small step leading up to the podium he taught from. And Steve...he felt vindicated, not so silly. But was it because of his shirt that Bucky had a sheen of red on his cheeks and looked everywhere except at him? Or the fact he’d misstepped in front of a group of people?
After half an hour, Bucky still hadn't let his eyes fall to Steve again, and Steve wondered if the tighter than usual suggestive t-shirt was worth the initial reaction. He missed engaging in eye contact with Bucky, the closeness that washed over him when they conversed. So Steve decided to force Bucky’s attention, knowing he shouldn’t as he was supposed to be in disguise, flying under the radar, not seeking to make a spectacle of himself. There was something about Bucky that made him want things. Terribly vivid things, things he’d been denying himself too long. It was not appropriate, but Steve rarely had impulse control.
So when it was time for questions, Steve raised his hand patiently like the rest of the class, and finally, after eight people had been answered before him, Bucky’s gaze landed on him. Steve gave a wide toothy grin, noticing that Bucky inhaled sharply as his eyes dropped to Steve’s chest, and asked his question.
“If I were to ask for a milkshake in Russia, how would I go about it? Would I seperate the two words and smoosh them together, or is there a specific word for it?”
Bucky’s eyes bugged, and for a moment Steve worried he’d asked something outlandish, as he received a few sharp looks from the others. Was his question really that silly? Surely no more than Gladys asking how to pronounce ‘false teeth’. It was all he could come up with on short notice.
“Well actually the word lumber, I mean milkshake , is pronounced ‘молочный коктейль’.” Steve couldn’t stop staring at Bucky’s lips as the words left him, it was so damn hot. “I hope that helps. Alright, any other questions? Please ?”
Bucky moved on to the next question so quickly, Steve worried that he’d annoyed him somehow, the feeling compounding when he went to talk with Bucky at the end of the lesson to organise his catch up work. Wide-eyed, Bucky exclaimed he had another meeting directly after and would send through some curriculum data via email.
It wasn’t exactly how Steve had hoped their conversation would go.
“So what did James teach you this week?” Nat asked quietly.
“Err,” Steve started, and cut his eyes to the interior of the darkened warehouse where they knew a drug king-pin was hiding out. “Lots.”
“Lots, hey?” was the smug response. “Have you learnt the word for kiss yet?”
“What?” Steve exclaimed and then immediately fell silent, he’d spoken way too loudly. He waited, holding his breath, but when no movement was detected he hissed, “Why would I? It’s not that type of operation is it?”
“You are way too dense, it’s not even fun anymore.”
Steve went to protest but before he could, Nat continued, “I asked James how his after hours Russian language class was going.”
Steve snapped his eyes to her. “… And? ”
“He said something about a big guy that gets everything wrong.”
“What?” Steve said a little too sharply.
The smile Nat gave him in return was sly, and Steve shook his head, annoyed he fell for such an obvious trap. “Not funny.”
“I disagree.”
A movement deep within the warehouse made Steve reach out a hand to alert Nat that someone was arriving, and even though his Russian was terrible, his eyes and ears were definitely cut out for sneaking around. That aside, he knew the upcoming operation was going to be a disaster though, and it wouldn't be Bucky’s fault at all. It would be Steve’s.
Steve understood what was required, but the minute he tried to put his learnings into practice, it fell over. There were too many eyes on him in the classroom and he clammed up, still concerned he'd be discovered as Captain America if he drew attention to himself. So instead of being an active participant, Steve sat making moon-eyes at a teacher who hardly ever looked his way.
A sharp gesture pulled him from his unhelpful thoughts. Nat was using her hands to indicate she would head around the left side of the cavernous room, and for Steve to go right. They needed to get up close to ensure that the person who’d entered the warehouse was the criminal they were after. The last thing they wanted to do was frighten the hell out of a homeless person looking for a dry place to sleep.
As Steve dashed around the edge of the building, light on his feet and shield up at the ready, he couldn’t help wonder about his upcoming lesson that night. He’d finally relented and tried practicing on and off with Clint, as Nat continued to say with a smirk that she was too busy to help him (which had to be counterproductive). Somehow though, all he’d managed to remember was an array of colourful swear words and phrases, of which Clint giggled each time he uttered one. Steve didn’t quite know how to break it to him that he’d been using filthier words his entire life, he just didn’t advertise the fact in his new future. He also didn’t know when the mantle of Captain America became so pure.
A moment later, a loud banging along with a flurry of grunts emerged from the office off the main area. Picking up his pace, Steve slammed into the small room, only to find Natasha standing over four unconscious men. She bent over to tie one up - it was their mark.
“Took you long enough,” she snarked with no heat.
Steve automatically responded in Russian, one of the many phrases he’d picked up from Clint rolling off his tongue.
“James did not teach you that,” she said incredulously.
“I guess you’ll never know,” Steve chuckled, finally getting one over on her. “I’m going to make sure there isn’t anyone else lurking in the shadows.”
“Oh shit - it was Clint right? Right? Steve, was it?”
Steve ignored her, and with a grin took off into the darkness.
Steve ensured the t-shirt he donned for the next lesson was loose and free of suggestive wording that could be misconstrued, and proceeded to sit another two rows closer to the front. He’d not even reached halfway to the dais, but he could now see Bucky’s features clearly, the glint in his blue-gray eyes as he talked passionately about Russia and what he loved experiencing in the country and how wonderful the people were. Steve sat enraptured.
The picture Bucky painted of the scenery and architecture was so visceral, Steve became lost in the words, the tone of Bucky’s lowered voice and didn’t realise that Bucky had been speaking in both English and Russian, he was too mesmerized. Steve wondered idly if he’d have time on his mission to take photos to show Bucky when he returned.
Then it hit him.
Once the mission was over, done, there was no need to learn Russian, none whatsoever. Steve would have no excuse to return to the now familiar classroom, to hear Bucky’s deep cadence as he spoke, as he taught. Steve would never see his handsome face again.
Rubbing a hand over his chest, he tried to soothe the sudden ache. He’d only been attending lessons for less than a month, but he was already addicted to seeing Bucky twice a week. And he realised he wanted… no , he needed more.
It was half way through the lesson when Bucky made an announcement that Steve found an opening on how to make it happen.
“Okay, that’s it for today, but if you require extra tuition or feedback and help, I have time freed up now that my other classes have finished for the semester. So come see me after the lesson and we’ll work out what suits us both.”
Steve had to sit on his hands, he was so excited. The prospect of one-on-one unimpeded time with Bucky was almost too much to contemplate, close together in a confined space, maybe a fire roaring beside their spot on a plush floor-rug and the smell of old books surrounding them... Obviously all to learn Russian, not for any other reason.
He’d actually done well that night, picking up a few more basic phrases and retaining information, starting to understand some of the wording, the inflictions, the aborted sentences that people spouted. So by the end of the lesson he didn’t feel like a complete and utter failure, but he only had a week and a half to work it out, else potentially fail in the mission. Steve knew Nat would lead the conversations and negotiations, but he also needed to know what was being said, or the gist of it at least, and have enough knowledge to answer questions thrown towards him. He was already the weakest link, he didn’t want to be the link that broke the operation, losing their tenuous lead into the Vibranium smuggling ring.
Waiting patiently (quite a feat for Steve), he watched as everyone trickled out, a few people waiting to speak to Bucky, organising one-on-ones. As he heard them talking over dates and times in the next few days, Steve realised that maybe he’d miss out, that Bucky wouldn’t be able to fit him in anywhere. He was so lost in his thoughts, waiting in line, moving forward automatically that he walked into the desk with a thump.
“Watch your step,” Bucky chuckled. “So what can I do for you, Steve?”
Bucky was staring up at him from his place behind the desk, and Steve was so much bigger in that moment, larger, taller, and having Bucky at waist height was making him think thoughts he really shouldn’t. And the question - oh boy , what could Bucky do for him? So many depraved and delicious things filled his mind.
Bucky’s smile dropped, and Steve belatedly registered he’d not responded, too caught up in fantasy.
“Russian lessons,” Steve blurted.
The grin he received was megawatt, indulgent and Steve melted, shoulders loosening at the teasing note in Bucky’s expression. “That is something I probably have experience to help you with.”
“Oh, good.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, utterly mortified at his schoolboy-evident crush. He was a man, a superhero, he’d fought wars, aliens, robots, and the worst people on the planet. He could ask a cute (gorgeous) man (teacher) for extra tuition. Steve dropped his hand and stood straight, squaring up and tilting his chin, he could do this - he was Captain America after all. Even if it really was Steve Rogers who wanted to ask Bucky out on a date.
“Have we met before?” Bucky suddenly asked as he looked up at Steve, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry?” Steve responded, panic filling his veins.
“It’s silly, nevermind. You just looked really familiar all of a sudden. But I’d most definitely remember meeting someone like you.”
Steve stiffened up at the near miss and watched a flush spread across Bucky’s face as he ducked his head to look at the calendar before him. And through the confusion, Steve finally understood what Bucky had said, and a small spark of hope ignited in his chest, maybe Bucky wasn’t as unaffected by Steve as he’d first thought. Until Bucky’s next words filtered through his brain.
“Ahh, I’m sorry Steve, all of my office hour slots are filled up for the next two weeks. I can fit you in after the twenty third, if that suits?”
Steve had to stop imagining Bucky trying to fit all of him in when naked and sweaty, and must have made a noise as Bucky looked up again sharply.
“Unless…”
“Unless...?” Steve parroted.
“You’d like to meet after hours, like a cafe, or I could come to your place?”
Steve was stunned. Was Bucky asking to come to his house, to see where he lived, to be in his personal space?
“Oh, god, you’re right, that was inappropriate -”
“No!” At Bucky’s stunned look, Steve took a breath, “I mean yes, that would be brilliant, I actually have a trip to Russia coming up in a week and a half and I really need a crash course to get me up to speed.”
“A week and a half?” Bucky asked incredulously. “That’s not a lot of time, Steve.”
“I know. But any help would be appreciated,” Steve watched mesmerized as Bucky caught his bottom lip in his teeth and then looked up into Steve’s eyes again. Could Steve be in love? Was that a thing that could happen? “Please?”
And maybe it was that small innocent word breathed out in the space between them that made Bucky’s eyes flutter shut before he stood up and smiled brightly. “Alright, I’ll help you out. But we start tomorrow night, and I think we catch up every two days, with homework on the nights off. Does that suit you?”
He thought less than a second on it, knowing he’d deal with Fury if an operation came up in the meantime, and the idea that over the next ten days he’d be seeing Bucky five times, plus the lessons with the class, was too much. His grin was huge.
Steve responded immediately that it sounded perfect, and it wasn’t until he saw Bucky’s pleased and smug expression, he realised he’d responded in Russian.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Let's meet at Grinders at seven.”
“Grinders?” Steve asked slack jawed, certain it was the name for a gay bar nearby.
The chuckle Bucky gave was devilish, and Steve sucked in a sharp breath, chest tightening.
“It’s a coffee shop nearby, I’ll text you the address.” Bucky held out his hand and Steve automatically unlocked and handed over his phone, and within a minute he had the number of the most gorgeous man in New York, who wanted to meet at Grinders to speak to him in a foreign language.
It was a good day. No, it was a great day.
The next evening found Steve standing prone before his closet with the worst case of indecision that had ever befallen him. Did he wear the deep red button down, or a t-shirt or maybe a suit? Not the suit, turning up in stars and stripes was probably not the way to keep his identity secret. But something a little more formal than his usual ballcap and jeans combo.
Steve continued to stare into the cavernous closet that held too many clothes by his standard, and yet not nearly enough.
“What are you doing?” Nat asked as she came to sit on the end of his bed.
It was a testament to their friendship and unwavering trust that Steve didn’t flinch, as she’d once again gained entry to his supposed impenetrable apartment. He also suddenly felt a little self conscious about the fact he was only wearing a towel and nothing else.
“I have nothing to wear,” he lamented. The bark of laughter was unexpected and he gave Nat a side eye. “This is a real problem!”
“Oh I know. I just didn’t...you know what, it doesn’t matter. Where are you going?”
Steve looked at her incredulously.
“Okay, you’re right. I already know, but James is a good guy - he’s not going to care what you’re wearing.”
“Gee, thanks,” Steve deadpanned and looked back at the sheer ridiculous amount of Khakis he owed.
Suddenly Nat was beside him, bumping her shoulder on his arm. “You know what I mean. Look, give me three minutes in there, that’s all I need.”
Nat proceeded to stalk into his walk-in closet as if on a high stakes mission and Steve felt a momentary pang of fear for his clothes. Within two minutes she’d waltzed back out, handing him a pale blue button down, a pair of dark almost blue-black jeans he’d never seen before that looked a little tight for his liking, and some brown leather boots.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Get changed and you’ll see.”
Steve readied himself, hand on the knot of his towel and waited, hovering before Nat, who after a second swore under her breath about ‘delicate male sensibilities’ and turned her back. Steve dropped the towel and changed quickly, noting that Nat hadn’t grabbed underwear, but he’d have to walk past her to get a pair, so he pulled the jeans up over his hips and quickly buttoned them.
“You can turn now.”
“Are you sure my eyes won’t burn from their sockets when my gaze falls to your god-like physique?”
“No guarantees,” Steve quipped, flattered at the satisfied look in Nat’s eyes when she spun, sweeping his body head to toe.
Nat pulled him before the mirror at the end of the bed, a mirror he suddenly had a suspicion was positioned so Nat could still see him when she turned her back, and Steve lost all words. He looked... well , he looked good, great in fact. Steve performed a few squats just in case the jeans really were tighter than they appeared, but they held, and he felt a little naughty and vulnerable by not wearing his boxer briefs underneath.
“I have no idea how you found these clothes in there, but what if he recognises me?”
“And if he does?”
“Won’t that be bad?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m Captain America? Don’t give me that look, Nat. I’m not wanting to hide my identity, it’s just the way things are…have to be...” Steve’s voice sounded uncertain to his own ears. “You even said I couldn’t tell him.”
Nat was staring at him intently, her green eyes narrowed, and instead of the tirade he was certain was coming, she exhaled quietly, expression softening. “I may have been hasty…look, honestly, you’re fine, I don’t even see Steve Rogers anymore, just a guy going on a coffee date with his professor.”
“What?” Steve turned quickly to face her. “Date? No, it’s a lesson, just a lesson to catch me up. Bucky’s helping me get ready for the mission, unbeknownst to him.”
“Sure, that too.” She looked way too smug and Steve flushed, it wasn’t a date - was it?
Nat fluffed around with the shirt, pulling and positioning the collar so it sat better and reached up to smooth the shoulders straight, and the pleased look in her eyes had Steve relaxing. If Nat approved, then he mustn’t look like he’d stepped out of a catalogue for grills aimed at suburban men, as Tony had said on numerous occasions about his attire.
“Okay loverboy, I have to go kick Clint’s ass at Mario Kart for half an hour until he sulks, so have fun and don’t stay out too late.”
Steve chuckled and Nat’s laserlike focus was instantly on him and Steve almost stood to attention. “I’m not joking, we have a briefing first up then we’re going to pilates.”
“Again?” The whine in his voice was apparent.
“Yes, again. You don’t just go once, Steven.”
Steve sighed as she walked out with a wave over her shoulder, and he sat down on the end of his bed to put on his socks and boots. By the time he walked out the door, Steve felt ready to take on the world, but he wasn’t so certain about taking on a Russian language professor whose eyes he wanted to fall into, who had plump delectable lips that he could spend all day teasing, kissing, making them open in little gasps as Steve took him apart.
Yeah - he should have worn underwear.
The coffee shop was busy for that time in the evening, but as Steve walked into the warmth, the scent of caffeine, pastries and sweetness wove throughout his senses. It was a homely smell, it reminded him of the baker at the end of the street where he grew up, not as rustic, and didn’t have the street stench from old New York filtering in, but it was familiar and put him at ease.
Looking around when he walked inside, Steve saw how eclectic it really was; the room full of mismatched furniture and tables, prints from all over the world adorned the walls, and when he heard someone call out his name he glanced up, seeing Bucky sitting in a lowered booth. A very small booth. Steve smiled widely, ignoring the butterflies erupting in his gut and walked over, and as he neared Bucky, his professor, Steve almost lost his footing.
Bucky was breathtakingly gorgeous outside of the classroom.
Steve had endured years of models being thrust at him each time a public event was to be attended, and had been in the company of the most attractive people on the planet, but none of them held a candle to Bucky. There was a light within him, something that screamed out that he was worthy, that he was somebody warm and comforting and that by knowing him, life would be better, more meaningful. It was such a surprising revelation and concept that Steve found himself standing over Bucky once again, and Bucky, well, his eyes were not on Steve’s face.
They’d dropped lower, at his eye level - which happened to be almost at Steve’s crotch height. Steve couldn’t help it, feeling his cock twitch in one of the most mortifying moments of his life. It was so obvious and Bucky had watched it from less than twenty inches away.
He made a sound, a very strangled one, and quickly slid into the chair across from Bucky, face flaming, and cursed Nat for the thirtieth time in two weeks.
When Steve finally had the courage to glance up nervously, Bucky’s face was a deep crimson, and he coughed, sounding strained. Steve wanted to break the tension somehow, but all he could think of was sliding forward in that same standing position, with less clothing, to watch Bucky take his dick deep into his mouth, stretching to fit him all in with a dazed expression on his face.
“Fuck,” Steve whispered. He needed to get back on track, this was business. So he shifted in his seat, alleviating the tightness in his pants, minutely. “Hey Buck, err, have you ordered yet?”
Bucky shook his head, eyes meeting Steve’s and Steve was floored at the expression. It seemed to be a cross between hunger and longing, and when Bucky flicked his attention over Steve’s shoulder to the menu and back to him a second later, the expression was gone. Maybe in his own lust-addled mind, Steve had misread it.
“No…” Bucky’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I’ve only been here a few minutes and saw this seat, I can get -”
“Hey, none of that, I’m forcing you from your home, taking you away from your family tonight, so it’s my treat.”
Steve was a limpet, a complete idiot. Could he have been any more obvious about his line of questioning? But there was something about Bucky that scrambled his usually stable and linear thought process. And if he were being truthful, Steve didn’t hate it, but it was making him look like an A-grade idiot.
“Oh…” Bucky still appeared a little confused, but with a small shake of his head, his eyes focussed directly on Steve, and it was like Steve was hit with an anvil hard in the chest. “It’s just me. At home, I mean. Oh, and Alpine.”
“Alpine?” Steve questioned, and tried not to react to the fond half smile Bucky gave.
“My cat.”
Relieved that Alpine wasn’t Bucky’s biker boyfriend, Steve grinned, “I’d love a pet, always wanted a bird, fish or a dog, but…err, my job means I’m out a lot, and it wouldn’t be fair to them.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, what is it that you -”
“- what drink do you want?” Steve asked before Bucky had finished speaking, knowing he’d walked directly into that line of questioning, and tried to deflect quickly. Bucky chuckled as they spoke over the other.
“I’ll just have a triple shot, vanilla and hazelnut frappe with extra whip. Please.”
“How much sugar is in that? Is that healthy?” Steve asked with a chuckle.
“Does it matter?” Bucky replied, a sparkle in his eye that Steve wanted to keep there.
“Well yes of course it does, especially if it means my language professor falls over in a sugar coma halfway through teaching me how to get directions to a toilet in Russian.”
Bucky’s eyes dimmed somewhat at Steve’s reply and he wondered what part of his sentence made Bucky lose his spark. Christ, he wasn’t diabetic was he?
“That’s true, and I am here to teach you what I know.” Bucky’s smile seemed to lessen further, and Steve wanted so badly to bring back the full sunshine force of what he’d been experiencing less than a minute earlier. But he wasn’t sure how, so he excused himself (in Russian), and went to the counter to order.
As he waited for the barista to finish up with another customer, Steve glanced back to see Bucky’s attention down on his hands, before he looked up at Steve, clearly startled to meet his eyes. Immediately Bucky gave a goofy little grin and a half wave. Steve couldn’t help but give one back, feeling extra foolish when he heard the clearing of a throat from before him.
The young blonde server was looking indulgently at him, her name tag stated ‘Gwen’ and she gave Steve a bold knowing wink. “You guys are adorable - first date?”
“Uh, no...maybe. I'm not sure. Hopefully?” Steve replied automatically, confused as to why he was suddenly telling a small perky teenager more than he’d ever told Nat.
“Oh, it’s definitely a date,” she replied cryptically while glancing over at Bucky. Steve gave a half shrug, trying not to let his mind and heart get out of control with runaway thoughts. Bucky was helping him out of a language bind - nothing more.
But it could be more, his traitorous brain taunted him.
As Steve walked back over to Bucky with their drinks, Gwen shocked him when she called out, “you forgot your cookies.”
Steve went to say he’d not ordered cookies, when she slid out from behind the counter with a grace Steve admired, and swiftly brought over a small plate with two large cookies on them - both heart shaped. One said ‘be mine’, the other, ‘I have a crush on you’.
Steve knew that Gwen and Nat would get along brilliantly.
Just as Steve was about to firmly tell her that she knew damn well he didn’t order cookies, feeling his face burning red until he was certain he looked like Ghost Rider, Bucky’s voice stopped him.
“Excellent. Great thinking Steve, I’m starving. I forgot to eat after class today.”
“Ah, perfect then.” Steve sat heavily in his seat, watching Gwen waltz off with a little spin and a shiteating grin.
He was never telling Nat about Grinders in case she did meet Gwen.
Three coffees and two grilled cheese sandwiches later, Steve was most definitely in love. There was no doubt in his mind. Not only was Bucky a competent and kind teacher, genuinely interested in Steve and making his understanding of Russian better, but he also listened, didn’t take bullshit, and was always extra encouraging. Steve felt like he wasn’t being taught a lesson so much as he was immersing himself in a language. It was truly a gift.
But it was the way Bucky stared at Steve’s lips when he enunciated words, that made Steve hot under the collar, made him want to reach over and brush the crumbs away from the corner of Bucky’s mouth and then follow up with a flurry of kisses. He knew soul-deep that Bucky’s mouth would be pliant and ready and open under his.
“Crap. Steve, we might have to wrap up, it’s been four hours and Gwen needs to close up.”
Steve came back to himself with a startle. “Shit - I mean, yep. I’m so sorry to have kept you out this late. Thank you though.”
Bucky’s eyes darkened as he looked at Steve. “It was my pleasure.”
Then under his breath Bucky whispered ‘you have no idea how much’ and Steve knew he wasn’t supposed to hear it, but his senses were enhanced and he couldn’t help it. Puzzled, he looked over at Bucky who was packing up his books, talking to Steve in Russian, telling him his homework for the next evening, and it was when Steve responded in kind, seeing the way Bucky lit up that he’d actually understood most, if not all he said, that Steve knew he was in deep.
He had to get himself under control.
“So it looks like I might not suck after all,” Steve said teasingly as they left the shop, both of them giving Gwen a friendly wave; Steve leaving an extraordinarily large tip, knowing he would be back.
“Pity,” Bucky said, and before Steve could ask what he meant, Bucky was rubbing the back of his neck, staring up at him. Under the streetlamp he looked utterly kissable, soft, and Steve wanted to pull him close. “What are you doing in Russia? I forgot to ask.”
“Work,” Steve replied without thinking, trying to erase the image of Bucky’s lips raw and chapped from being kissed over a space of hours out of his mind.
“Work? What do you do again?” Bucky frowned, it was adorable and Steve lost his train of thought again. “Have I asked this though? Sorry if I have, teachers' brain.”
“I, err…” Steve drew a blank, throwing a large disc around wasn’t really an answer unless he was an Olympian, and neither was saying he was an Avenger. "I work in consultancy with a large team of specialists.” That would do, but his mouth kept running away from him, “I help negotiate satisfying outcomes and smooth over any…problems that crop up, and well, Russia is a new place of business for us.”
Bucky frowned and Steve held his breath, did his lie sound too much like a line?
“Okay. Well actually that’s good to know, next lesson I’ll ensure the material is geared at more formal speech, you don’t need to know how to get to the farmers market, you need lessons on how to close business deals.”
“Well let’s not be too hasty - I do love farmers markets,” Steve sassed back, glad that Bucky didn’t question him further, even though a large part of Steve longed to be honest with the man before him. Didn’t want to lie.
“Agreed, there's nothing like fresh produce straight from the farm.”
“Yeah, there’s one near where I live. If you’re interested and free Sunday morning, you should come along while I buy super sized eggplants and free range eggs.”
As Bucky stared back at Steve, he realised how desperate he must have sounded. Why would he bring up eggplants? Even big ones, which they were - very much so. They made the best moussaka. He valiantly tried to backtrack.
“I mean, only if you want. And I could practice my phrasing. Make it one of our lessons?”
Bucky exhaled through his teeth, eyes darting over Steve’s face and Steve stood still, trying to look as genuine and non-threatening as he could.
“I think I can make Sunday morning work, just text me the details. So...” Bucky trailed off waiting.
Steve also waited.
It was the longest and most awkward ten seconds of Steve’s life, because he didn’t want to say goodbye, he wanted to invite Bucky back to his apartment, to bask in his company, to sit beside him and to converse with him. Kiss him. Bucky made Steve feel like…Steve.
“Steve?” Bucky questioned, a note of breathlessness in his voice.
Once again Steve had been rendered absolutely useless in the face of Bucky, and had stalled like an idiot, staring directly into his eyes far too long to be polite. But Bucky’s were wide open in return, flicking between Steve’s, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat.
“Bucky…”
Just as Steve made the decision to lean forward, a taxi blared past, honking its horn at a man jaywalking, and Steve jerked away in surprise, immediately using his super strength and reflexes to grab and shield Bucky with his body incase something else was about to transpire (like aliens falling from the sky). Of course there was no disaster, and Bucky was left spluttering at how Steve had moved so quickly. Knowing he’d screwed up, Steve mumbled ‘good night’ and fled, ignoring Bucky calling out his name.
There was no way Bucky wouldn’t have noticed his unusual speed.
Captain America might have great instincts on the battlefield, but Steve Rogers lacked even the most basic ones in real life.
“If you don’t text him, I will be forced to return these bagels,” Nat threatened, sitting opposite Steve at the breakfast bar as he groaned into his hands, hiding his face for a second.
“I don’t think the bakery will take them back,” Steve hedged, ignoring the first part of her demand.
“I didn’t mention the bakery. I’ll return them to my apartment where I will enjoy eating each one with jam and honey.”
“You wouldn’t dare, that’s sacrilegious.” Steve was certain Nat was playing with him, she knew he was a bagel purist.
“So,” she gestured towards his phone.
“What do I even say? I physically pulled him away from the road and threw him behind me.”
“That you’re chivalrous,” Nat smirked and took a bite of her bagel with cream cheese. Steve sighing in relief that the bagels remained unscathed. He grabbed one before it could be withheld again, figuratively or literally.
“I picked him up and moved him metres within a second. Steve , the consultant, shouldn’t be able to do that.”
Nat shrugged, she was absolutely no help.
“Just send him a text, it’s a farmers market catch up. It’s not like you’re going on a black-tie date.”
Steve shut his eyes and bit into the bagel, ignoring the pang deep in his gut that wished it was a date. Suddenly the bagel didn’t taste as good as it smelt.
“Steve,” Nat’s voice was soft and he swallowed a large mouthful, gulping loudly and met her eyes. “Your Russian is passable, but it’s still awful. You need to text him.”
He’d been played, cornered in fact.
Picking up his phone he pointed it towards her. “If he figures out who I am, I’m telling him you’re the Black Widow.”
Natasha’s smug grin didn’t clue him in to if she was worried about being unmasked or not.
He sent the text, even though his self preservation was telling him not to, and ate another four bagels.