Inspired by Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High by Arctic Monkeys.

Wrong number AU in which Steve gets a call on a Thursday night and he's too surprised (and impressed) by the man on the other side to hang up.
This is basically 8000 words with Phone Sex and sexting and then some of the real deal in the end. All mentioned characters belong to MARVEL!

The mirror's image,
It tells me it's home time,
But I'm not finished,
'Cause you're not by my side.

And as I arrived I thought I saw you leaving,
Carrying your shoes,
Decided that once again I was just dreaming,
Of bumping into you.

Steve sits down in the small but comfortable couch and quickly puts the coffee cup on the table before he manages to burn his fingers on it. The room's filled with a quiet sound from the TV, and the documentary on screen is about a new kind of wind turbine that's producing five times as much energy as an ordinary one. 'The future of renewable energy' the calm, British voice states but Steve's not really listening.

It's 23.36 according to his clock. Thursday. He's got the whole weekend off, next workday on Monday and that means loads of hours that he can spend however he want to. He's just not really sure how he wants to spend them.

Suddenly, the familiar tune of a guitar riff starts playing from the other side of the room. At first he can't really figure out what it's coming from, but after a second it hits him that it must be the cellphone, still lying in his jacket pocket after lunch.
Damn Tony must've changed the ringtone again.

A robot-imitating voice talks over the sound of guitar-strings.

'I-I am I-Iron Man'

Damn it.

He puts the computer aside and takes a few steps across the room, grabs the light leather and pulls out the black little thing that's vibrating regularly in his hands, an unfamiliar number lightening up the screen.
Steve's surprised that it's not Tony or Clint, or someone else that actually calls him on a regular basis, but he's not sure yet, it might as well be one of them from a new number or from someone else's phone.

He taps the screen.

"Rogers"

The voice on the other end is hoarse, raspy and he does not recognize it at all. "Rogers? 'S that your name? Shit, you better not be the boyfriend, 'cause then I fucked up big time…"

"It's Steve. Steve Rogers. I'm not someone's boyfriend though"

"Man" the voice chuckles and the sound is quiet through the phone-speakers, "that's a relief. Unless you're the husband. You don't happen to have a Connie nearby, then? She gave me this number. Either you know her or I'm making a fool of myself, big time"

There's something in his voice that catches Steve's attention, but he's not really sure what it is. He finds himself smiling, and answers quickly, "Nah, no Connie here. I've never known one. Sorry, she must've left the wrong number. Tough?"

"No, no... I didn't want to see her again, she just forgot something at my place and I realized it now… I guess I'll be keeping it then. Sorry to bother you, Steve."

"No problem"
He hesitates. He's never been the social type, at least not when it comes to talking on the phone, and this isn't a unique moment - rather the opposite. But the voice just keeps on talking on the other side, like he isn't going to hang up yet.

"She was a real star, though, that Connie. She's probably got a boyfriend since she gave me the wrong number. Life's tough, don't you think?"

"Uhm…"

"How do you think you'll meet the right person when they just leave in the morning?"

Steve can't stop his comment; "maybe that's why you shouldn't sleep with them first."

They both laugh. He's surprised how easy it is, giving the thought that he's talking to a stranger. But now he's almost getting interested, and he's bored enough anyway.

"You know I never really caught you name…?"

The chuckle's there again, "Bucky, the jerk who fell for his one-night-stand's prank. Didn't know she was one to leave fake numbers. I deserved that one, really. What's up?"

Maybe it's not a question he should answer on, but he does anyway.

"Erm, nothing, if I have to be honest."

"Sounds like a wonderful Thursday night. You in New York? I guess you are, or at least somewhere in US, according to the number…"

"Yeah. Or, I'm in my apartment but it's in New York"

For the first time, he can catch something else than Bucky's hoarse voice in the phone-speakers and it sounds like a car coming closer. It gets louder until it's the only thing he can hear, and then it tones down again and the phone's quiet except for the sound of someone's regular breathings.

"Where are you?" he can't refuse to ask. Maybe it's a little creepy, but Bucky's answer doesn't sound bothered.

"I'm walking home. Been out with a couple of co-workers, don't judge, I know it's not Friday yet, but some of 'em just can't wait. Off tomorrow so we took the chance."

"It's cool" Steve shrugs and realizes that Bucky can't see it, "I would too, y'know."

Bucky makes a noise and it's almost like Steve can see him smiling on the other side, "Really? I'm not gonna be like that but, to be honest, you don't sound like someone who would be out partying a Thursday night."

"Don't I?" Steve laughs and runs fingers through his hair, "that's interesting; I didn't know you could envision those kinds of things through a phone call."

This is strange. He's never really had this easy talking to anyone before; now it isn't hard falling in to the pattern of conversation.

"Care to tell me what I sound like then?"

The man sounds happy when he answers, "Oh wait, let me just… "
Either he's faking the silence or he's actually thinking about the question, but either one is hilarious and just broadens Steve's smile.

"Hrm, you're a pretty easy one Rogers. You answer the phone with saying your last name, and that's kinda old fashioned, but you don't sound so old. Bet you're into literature or art or something like that, or, wait are you a musician? Bet you play the piano every day before you go to sleep. Or read some Jane Austen, I don't know. "

Steve can't help but to continue laughing, this man can't be real. "Not really. Or, well I'm pretty into art I guess but nothing serious. I can't play the piano even if I wish so. "

"You sound military. Are you military? Man, that'd be hot— You into men? "

"Okay, I'm hanging up now…"

But he's smiling with his entire face and he can't help it. He starts to move towards the couch again, sits down, still the phone pressed against his ear and he's actually not planning on changing that. For at least a while.

"Man, I was right! You really are military, are you? Afghanistan, or?"

Steve nods, but again, the other man can't see it. "I was. Yes."

He can hear the silent sound of footsteps and breaths, and an approving hum. "That's hot, for real"

"Hey, do you remember, I'm not that Connie you were looking for? I'm Steve, hi"

Bucky laughs, a rumbling sound that makes Steve shiver and he's not quite sure why. "Who's Connie? I remember calling some non-partying soldier with art interest and a really nice voice. He still there?" The voice is teasing, almost flirty – scratch almost – he clearly sounds interested.

Smooth, Steve thinks, but his lips are still curled and he's got a feeling they will be for the entire call. "Hundred percent."

"So… Do this non-partying soldier with art interest and a really nice voice plan on entertaining me the whole way home, or is he going to leave me all by myself? It's quite a bit to walk. I could use the company, y'know."

He shuts the computer screen. "If you'll have me"

It almost sounds challenging, flirty, and he regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his tongue, but it's too late to take back now without sounding like a total loser.

Well. What's the worst that can happen?

The other end is quiet for a while, then he can hear the approving hum again, loud this time, and he breathes out quietly and as far away from the phone-mic as he can.

"Care to tell me what you look like?"

Steve swallows.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, f'course I do, don't be shy! Afraid to talk to a stranger? You haven't met me, what is there to lose?"

He's right, but...

"I don't know…"

"It's Thursday night... Live a little, military-boy. I bet you're really, really handsome..."

He's usually very resistant, but this time it's so easy to give up, probably because of all the flirting. Maybe he wants to. Yeah, he does, he actually wants to and it's scary, but exciting at the same time. Crazy. Tony would laugh his ass of if he ever heard about it.

He starts talking again, slowly.

"I'm blonde. I've got… Short hair, military cut. Blue eyes. I'm tall, also…" he hesitates before adding, "Okay and I do go to the gym sometimes."
Five times a week. Six sometimes. But he doesn't plan on sharing that; it would only sound like bragging.

Bucky whistles, "I wouldn't mind laying my eyes upon that."

Steve can feel the heat spread over his face but he's aware that no one can see it, which makes the whole thing easier and he smiles, curious about the man on the other end of the line. How he looks, what he likes (other than military-men and one-night-stands), what he's wearing, maybe even where he's living. It hits him that Bucky hasn't said much about himself at all, and maybe that should make him suspicious, but instead it fills him with anticipation and… He doesn't really know what. He's excited, maybe too excited, but in that case it's this man's fault.

"How about you? You haven't said much"

Bucky doesn't answer and Steve's scared he's ruined it all, but after just a second the low hoarse voice is there again, and he can hear the grin.

"I've got dark hair. Gray-blue eyes, thin lips. I'm about normal size though. Wanna know what I'm wearing?"

Steve swallows and tries to sound casual, "Yeah."

"Just a dark shirt and my leather jacket, and pair of black jeans. Boots. It's not very cold outside. How about you?"

"Uhm" He's never done this before, but almost all his blood have rushed up to his head and it feels like he can actually do something without messing up too much, "Just jeans and a white t-shirt."

Bucky purrs on the other side, "That's nice. Bet you fill them up."

Steve chuckles because yes, he actually hears that quite often, "Maybe"

"You know…" the voice is getting lower, almost like a whisper and it's teasing, hoarse, inviting. It makes the blonde shiver again, now he knows why. "There aren't so many people out right now, bet they won't hear me talking. Can I tell you 'bout what I'd do if I was with you right now?"

He finds himself nodding but quickly changes it into a low, "Yeah, I'd like that"

"Good."

Bucky's pauses and Steve can suddenly catch the sound of girls in the background, maybe a group of them, screaming loudly with happiness, sniggering and laughing over again, and he listens as the sounds gets more and more distant, Bucky's breaths still audible in the speaker.

"I'd take off my jacket and my shoes by the door. I'd walk up to you. Where are you?"

"I'm sitting in the couch"

"Perfect. I'd lean down in front of you, still standing, and I'd reach out with one hand to touch you. Would you let me touch you, Steve?"

The regular sound of heartbeats echoes in his ears and he swallows, tries to not sound too affected already when he answers, "Yea, I would"

"Good" the other man repeats and sounds satisfied. There's that teasing tone in his voice again, and he continues, "I'd lean in further as soon as I'd have my hand on your cheek. I would want to kiss you. Would you let me kiss you?"

It's like Steve's lost his ability to breathe. "Yea, I would"

"I'd kiss your lips softly as I'd straddle you in the couch, and I'd let my tongue slide over your lips as I'd roll my hips against you" he continues, "I'd like to feel you underneath me."

A "God" slips out between Steve's lips; he can't deny how quickly he's growing in his pants. It's been a while since the last time, actually. Both since he slept with someone and since he touched himself. Even if this is new, his body's sure acting the same.

"I'd like that too" he admits and dares to continue where Bucky left off, "I'd roll up against you and I'd kiss you back, my tongue playing with yours and my hands on your back."

The breaths are getting louder from the phone and Bucky's voice seems affected, Steve loves it. "It'd feel so good I'd moan into your mouth, and I'd tell you to touch me everywhere."

"I would touch you, Bucky, I'd let my hands slid down to cup your ass, feel it under my palms, then I'd break the kiss to nibble down your throat and make a mark just above the collar of your shirt."

"I'd shiver under your touch – fuck Steve, I'd move my hips on top of you so I could feel your dick against me. Are you hard, Steve?"

"Yes" Steve pants, "God, yes I am"

Silence, for a second.

"Listen" Bucky lowers his voice a little more, "there are a bunch of people coming in front of me now but please keep talking, I'll listen, I promise"

Voices, chatter, footsteps get louder from the speakers and Steve takes a deep breath as he moves his hand to open up his jeans 'cause Jesus it's killing him to be under such pressure at the moment.

"I'd move my hands to unbutton your shirt but it'd get too much so I'd just rip it off you in the end. I'd place kisses all over your torso at the same time as I'd unzip your pants. Are you wearing any underwear? Say yes or no."

The clatter of footsteps was loud, but Bucky's voice a little louder. "No"
It was just one word but he thought he could hear the voice shiver a little in the end.

Steve swallows, slides his hands down his boxers and starts to stroke himself. It feels so good he lets a moan slip out before he continues, "I'd place my hand on your dick, and stroke it slowly, firmly. Would you like that?"

"Yes" Bucky almost hisses, and god, it must be hard for him out there. The sound of voices gets more and more quiet but Steve does not intend to wait, but keeps talking during the whole time.

"I'd stroke you with my right hand as I'd grab your ass with the other one. I'd pull down your pants and stroke over your soft skin, and I'd love the feeling of it under my fingertips. "

The footsteps are gone but Bucky's voice is almost a whisper, "I'd take your hand that's not stroking me and I'd suck on your fingers, preparing them. I'd want you to prepare me with them; I'd want you to put them inside me."

Steve releases a moan, only half on purpose and he gets a groan back, "Jesus fucking— do you want me to stop in some dark alley to jack off or can I at least make it home first?"

He can't help but smile at the comment, because he understands, he's damn close and can almost feel the orgasm load up inside. And he can feel that this time, it will be good, incredibly good, even though it's just him alone and Bucky in some dark alley or in his own bed.

"Is it far away?" he asks.

"Just this block, I can almost see it"

"Can you hold it?"

"F— ah, I'm touching myself right now. On the street. There's no one here, but there can be in just a second, I'm just touching outside my pants but god Steve, someone may come—"

Steve strokes harder and bits his under lip, tries to not breathe so loud it feels like he's breathing and he mumbles; "You sucked my fingers, right? You wanted me to fuck you? I'd do that; I'd open you up with them, slowly at first then more and more. Can you imagine what it'd feel like?"

He just gets a silent moan in response, and then he can hear the sound of a door shutting.

"I'm inside, just stairs now— Yes, Steve I can imagine what it'd feel like. I'd loosen up your pants and get you out of your underwear because you must be so big, right?"

"Yeah" he moans, "I'm so big, Bucky, I'm about to—"

A rattling of keys and another door that opens then closes and suddenly Bucky's voice is as loud as when they started talking, except it has gone maybe a tone darker and hoarser and god – was it this sexy from the beginning?

"I'm stroking myself Steve, I'm gonna come, keep talking"

"I'd push inside you, carefully until you'd say that it's enough" Steve can almost hear his voice shiver and he flexes every muscle in his body, "I'd move out and then thrust in again, quicker and quicker. I'd fuck you on the couch, until you'd moan my name—"

"Steve"

His voice turns to nothingness as he comes, quick and warm and sticky all over his stomach, and his breaths are rough and uneven, loud enough for Bucky to hear – and Steve can also hear Bucky, how his moans turns to whimpers and one final muffled cry before he turns silent for a second, and Steve knows that he's come, they both have. Still in the aftershock he mumbles Bucky's name and gets a chuckle as response from the other side.

"Jesus, if I'd known that…"

When he's regained his breath, Steve takes off his shirt to tosses it in the laundry, and he's still got Bucky on the phone as he walks to the toilet.

"Thank you for guiding me home, pal" the voice says and he smiles to himself.

"No problem. Listen, uhm, would it be okay for me to call sometime?"

Bucky's quiet on the other side and it's impossible to tell what he's doing, but after a while his voice is back and he hums, "Absolutely"

They don't hung up until two hours of small talk later, and Steve falls asleep without Afghanistan nightmares for the first time in what feels like forever.

He's not the one who calls the next time they hear from each other though, it's a simple text message, but Steve recognizes the phone number as soon as he reads it on the screen.
The message short, just a few words, but makes his stomach twist. He's out eating lunch with Sam and Clint when he gets it, and he reads it from under the restaurant table as the men by his side are busy discussing whether Clint should go for his new special-lady-friend or not. Steve thinks her name is Natalia or Natasha or something like that, he doesn't really listen since something else is occupying his full focus.

I miss your voice

12.48

He tells himself that he's mentally strong enough to ignore it, and just when he's about to put down the phone again it vibrates in his hand. Two times.

Fuck, Steve

12.48

I need to hear you moan my name again

12.49

He's not strong. He has to sneak in to the toilet and spends ten minutes jacking off with the phone tightly pressed to his ear and Bucky's encouraging voice in the speakers, and he does as he's promised and moans the same name five times in a row without being aware of it.

When he gets back to the table the other men doesn't seem to suspect anything, yet he blames it on a long queue and they continue their discussions while they eat their food.

Later, when they're about to leave, he receives another message.

Ten minutes, soldier? You can do better next time

13.32

"Where are you?"

"In the lunch room, at work. I'm alone today. I have twenty minutes, then my co-worker will be back, so…"

"Right. We'll do this quickly. Bet you look great, huh?"

"T-shirt, jeans… I'd rather wear nothing and lay in bed with you."

Steve chuckles, "You want me to tell you what I'd do if I was there?"

He's mostly home when he or Bucky decides to call or text, but it happens sometimes that he's out with friends or grocery shopping or driving home from work. One time, at Sharon's moving-in party he got a random phone call when they were drinking beer at her new porch, and he moved away from the others but tried to keep a normal conversation with Bucky anyway so it wouldn't look so suspicious.

They have those sometimes too, the normal conversations. The 'Good morning pal, what's up?" and "Oh I'm fine, how 'bout you?" but in the end they usually end up moaning each other's names – or if they're with others or in public environments they whisper quiet promises and spill dirty comments until they get
home or somewhere else that's private.

"Fuck, Steve. I'd wrap my lips around your cock and I'd look up to meet your eyes. I'd stare at you as I'd suck you off, not allowing you to look away one time. I'd lick and suck until you'd be right on the edge. Are you close?"

"I'm about to—" Steve pants on the bathroom floor, closes his eyes before the orgasm hits him "I'm coming, Buck—"

"Good boy"

The satisfaction in his voice is unmistakable. Steve can almost hear his smile through the silence when he comes all over his bare chest, still moaning Bucky's name.

Steve's too scared to ask if he wants to see him some day. Instead he turns, frowns and stares every time he sees someone with brown hair and gray-blue eyes. They usually stare back, wrinkle their foreheads or throw strange glances at him. No one tends to recognize him.

He tells himself that it's normal. Bucky wouldn't recognize him because a) he always loses the ability to talk whenever some brunet walks by and b) he's not the only tall, blonde, blue-eyed man in New York, not by far.

After a while he gives up, and goes back to packing his milk cartons at Tesco without wildly eyeing the whole store for people fitting the description of normal sized, dark and mysterious phone-sex-friend.

Clint is the first one of his friends to ask if there's someone special, but Steve just shakes his head and laughs it away. It takes a few nights for him to realize that maybe; just maybe Bucky is someone special. He doesn't know. He doesn't consider his fluttering stomach or increasing phone bill as obvious signs as they might be.

Not until one night, when he's lying awake and the ghosts of guns and screams are haunting his mind.

He texts: You awake? And feels like a hormonal teenager all over again. Or maybe a five year old, running from the monsters under the bed.

It takes about two minutes before his phone's buzzing again and he opens the message as quickly as he can. Reads it three times in a row. One more time. Then one more time, like there's something he doesn't understand. Maybe he can change it if he reads it even more.

Sorry, Philip's here

03.13

Who's Philip?

He doesn't know. Has Bucky ever mentioned a Philip before? Steve looks in his memory but can't find one time.
Something clicks, and then he remembers the first night they talked, the name Connie and the whole one-night-stand thing and he suddenly feels so stupid believing that he's the only one.

He'd clearly been warned from the first time that Bucky's a one-night-man.

Of course he's just a one-thing. Or no, more like a few-times-a-week-but-nothing-special-thing, not that that's something better, but he swallows the lump in his throat, breathes in and breathes out, pretends that it's nothing.

It's alright.

He's okay.

The day after he declines Sam's invitation to a movie and spends the night alone, working, with that new, popular British band-music playing loudly on the radio.
The beer-cans in his fridge disappear one by one, together with the earlier very thick lump in this throat.

7pm he receives a text. I miss you. He clicks it away and goes to grab another beer.

Clint's special lady friend is called Natasha and she's working at a lunch-café just a few blocks away. Steve agrees to go take a coffee with them plus Sam, Tony and his girlfriend Pepper the following Monday. Natasha's working but they agree to go during her lunch break and he actually looks forward to meet her, giving everything Clint's said about her.

Ten minutes before he's supposed to meet Sam outside, he stops by the bathroom and looks himself in the mirror. The stubble's clearly visible and he sighs at himself, takes out the razor and spends another fifteen minutes in there before Sam's at his door, knocking loudly.

"In a minute!"

When he meets Sam's eyes he gets an approving nod and a pat on the shoulder.

"Way better than the last time I saw you. What's going on, man? You haven't been yourself recently."

Steve shrugs and says that it's nothing.

Because it is nothing. Really nothing.

He hasn't heard from Bucky in a week.

He knows that it's not right to think that it's surprising how correct Clint's describing of Natasha is. She's got long, red hair and sharp eyes and her smile is a bit smug but very likeable. She looks strong and determined, and is just the kind of girl that Clint needs and Steve likes although he's never ever fallen in love with a girl, and he doesn't plan on doing so in the future either.

"Nat, I'm hungry" Clint complains and squints his eyes to take a look at the menu from the sofa he's sitting far too comfortable in. "What do you recommend?"

"Go bother my colleague with those questions. I'm having lunch" she points back and smiles. Sam laughs.

It's just the four of them there. Tony called the last second to cancel, apparently some important meeting and since Pepper's working for him they both had to go. Shame, but not totally uncalled for.

"You want something, Steve?"

"I don't know."

He honestly doesn't, but follows Clint to the ordering disk anyway, to get a closer look on the menu. Sam's in the couch with Natasha, talking about some movie they both find very amusing, and he can hear their voices from where he's standing.

The guy at the desk looks up and fires of a dazzling grin.

"You're Nat's boyfriend, right? Can I get you guys anything?"

Steve can suddenly not move a muscle. His eyes are fixed on the man, mouth half open and feet frozen to the ground like he's become an iceberg. He probably has.

The voice.
It's his. It must be his. It could impossibly belong to someone else, it has to be him.

Maybe it's supposed to sound different in real life, but it really doesn't. It's spot on, the exact same as he's heard before, from the speakers on his phone, except it's clearer and less sparky.

He drags his eyes from the wide grin that those thin, almost cherry red lips are curled up in and finds a name-tag pinned to his chest. It says 'James' with out-dragged letters and his stomach twists harshly, almost painfully at the sight.

His name is James.

So much for Bucky.

Steve suddenly realizes that Clint has turned around and is now looking at him, and his ability to move comes back as quick as the lightning. He shuts his mouth and blinks, smiles quickly to assure that he's okay.

"Pasta Alfredo for you, Clint. And you behind, can I get you anything?"

Oh the voice is so familiar he's almost losing it again, but he just avoids Bucky's, no, James's eyes and shakes his head as response, then turns around to make it back to the table, his heart hammering inside his chest, thoughts flying like tennis balls.

"What's up?" Natasha asks as soon as he sits down, reading his face awfully quickly and awakens the interest in Sam's eyes too.
He's doomed.

"Did he harass you or something? I know he's flirty, but I've never seen anyone look like that on their way back."

Steve sighs and tries to wave it away.

"I just thought he was someone else, that's all."

She nods, accepts but does not look like she's fully convinced. Five minutes later, Clint comes back with the pasta in his hands, and she puts her effort on stealing the tiny vegetables the man's pushing away instead of eyeing Steve suspiciously.

"Time to get back to work" Natasha sighs after thirty more minutes of chatting. "But you guys should stay and buy some coffee, too. I'm afraid it's not on the house this time."

Steve's mostly spent the past minutes glancing at the man behind the desk.

His dark hair is pulled back in a small knot, probably shoulder-length if it got to hang free, and his eyes really are ash-gray, black as pitch in some lights and almost completely blue in others. His length is normal, but he seems to have left out details about how often he goes to the gym too, because when he reaches up to take down a carton with coffee syrup from above the fridge, Steve gets a really good look at those biceps, and they're seriously impressing. Just like the rest of his body. He can also glimpse a tattoo – a star on the left upper-arm, right beneath the shoulder. He's, how old? Maybe two years younger than Steve, if he has to guess, but they might even be the same age. It feels like the world's most awkward coincidence.

It's fascinating, looking at him as he works. But it's also recreated that lump he'd thought he'd gotten rid of.

When Natasha's about to leave she leans in to murmur, discretely in his ear, "I just have to make sure... You're not that Steve, are you?"

He looks at her.
It takes a second to realize what she's talking about, then it's obvious, of course. She knows.

"Oh my god" her green eyes go big, lips form a perfect o and she looks really, really surprised, "you really are him, are you?"

"Hey, what are you talking about?"

It's Clint, but Natasha's pushing him aside and she stands up and drags Steve with her, towards the pile of trays by the dish-bench.

"Did he tell you to come?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't know it was him until I heard his voice."

Her face lights up and she looks at him, smiling, "Then what are you waiting for? Go talk to him!"

"It's not that easy…"

Thoughts go back to the last message. It's not Philip; it's the thought that he's not the only one, even though they haven't even met. And he's too scared of what he's feeling from just a couple of phone calls and thirty minutes at a Café, to go face it this moment. Maybe if he locates a bar and spends his month salary on a few bottles with beer, he can come back later.

"Come on, you've fucked him on the phone for weeks. Is one conversation in real life going to hurt? I can tell that you don't think he's bad looking. Does anyone? And I hardly think he'll be disappointed when he sees you."

She's so brutally honest he cracks up in a smile. "He's seeing others. I'm just going to leave him alone right now and then maybe—"

"Is he?" she raises her hands questioning, "That's funny because he's only been talking about you during the painfully long hours we spend here together. Just go talk to him. It won't hurt you, Steve."

Then she's out, leaving him behind like he's a grumpy kid that refuses to take his own responsibility.
In one way, he is.

Maybe in every way.

Sam's first in the queue, Clint is after and Steve's last. It feels like the men before him takes hours to order, and when they're done he waves that they can go back to the table.
They don't question him. At least that's good.

So, the only thing left is those gray eyes in front of him, currently writing down something on a note and then shouting something over his shoulder to Natasha. Steve can't even hear what it is, for how loud his heartbeats echo inside his head.

"And for you?"

Bucky, no, James is still not looking up from the paper, and Steve clears his throat.

Well, if there's something he's going to recognize, it's his voice.
Best get over with it.

"Just plain, black coffee please."

It's almost fascinating to see how every single muscle in the man's body freezes, like it's a disease that spreads over a second. His head looks up; eyes glittering in the light from the fluorescents in the roof, and his pink lips are slightly parted.
He's raising his eyebrows and puts down his pen, doesn't sound uncertain when he asks but does so anyway. "Steve?"

"Hi, B— James."

He's so close on saying Bucky, his hear sinks in his chest, but the look on the brunet's face changes his thoughts. It's almost looks like he's astonished.
Is that good? He can feel eyes all over his body, and it makes him uncomfortable, like he's naked and it's a thousand pairs of eyes instead of just two.

"Did you look me up? Shit, like, how did you find me without asking first?" he sounds impressed, still his gaze over Steve's body.

"No, I— uhm, we just got here because of Clint and Natasha…"

He points in their table's direction but doesn't move his eyes from the man's face. He's busy reading him, slowly, over-analyzing his expressions and small movements, but they don't seem wrong in any way.

He's handsome. Steve wants to lean over the desk and pull him closer by his collar, kiss his lips, softly at first and then demanding like they'd told to each other, time after time.
But he doesn't.

James focus is back on him and they just look at each other for a few seconds.
He then chuckles.

"I thought you were smaller. You're a goddamn brick-house, Rogers"

There's nothing bad in his voice.

Steve can't refuse to smile, "I hear that a lot."

"You go out with many guys?"

"No."

Not before you. Not since you.

"Why didn't you call?"

"Why didn't you call?"

It's starting to sound like some kind of sick romantic comedy, except it's not, and Steve mostly just wants to sink down in the floor and disappear forever. He can hear Natasha call for them from behind the desk, in the kitchen-area, and she comes closer.

"What is it, Bucky?"

Bucky? What about James?

"Can you take over here for a minute? Steve and I need to talk."

He points to his left, where there's a door to what must be the personnel room. Natasha sighs at them and slaps the brunet's ass when he walks by. He doesn't seem bothered; he just takes off his apron and puts it on the bench before going through the door. Steve follows.

The room's empty except for a small table with four chairs around it, a small stove and a microwave in the right corner. The man doesn't sit down, but keeps standing, leaning against the table and Steve walks closer to stand a few feet away.

They can talk in peace and quiet now, but it feels like all air has left his lounges, and words are impossible and unnecessary. Like everything else.

The brunet starts.

"You didn't answer my message. I thought you were mad because I turned you down, and then I got mad because I didn't think you had the right to be angry just because of that. But now when I think about it… It wasn't about that, was it?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Who's Philip?"

James, or Bucky, or whatever his name is raises his hands and massages his temples slowly.

"Phil's a friend. When you texted me, I was pulling him up the stairs to my apartment. He was too drunk to walk, and I panicked because I thought he'd been alcohol poisoned. Turned out I was right and they took him to the hospital, he's okay now but… I was a little shaken that night. Sorry."

Of course.

He was a stupid, selfish bastard putting his own thoughts before what actually seemed like a more logical truth at that moment.

He'd fucked things up, as usual.

"I'm sorry" is all he can get out.

The man just waves it away, "I should've been clearer"

They're silent for a while again, then Steve asks; "So… Is Bucky your name? Or is James? Or, hell, what am I going to—"

"James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. I'm sorry I didn't explain it."

"So, Bucky?"

"Yeah, I'd prefer that. "

Steve hasn't realized that he's been moving closer, but when he does, he doesn't stop. His brain is finally letting his body realize that this man is what he's been dedicating this past month to, and this man is in fact standing in front of him now. Voice low and hoarse. A face that matches it exactly. He doesn't know what he's been expecting until now, and it feels like the bricks are finally falling to their places.

"I can't believe you're here" the brunet then sighs, as if he's read his mind, and the tone sounds distant but alert, almost like he's longing for something. Someone.

"There's something I've wanted to do for a while" Steve murmurs, loud enough for Bucky to hear, but quiet enough to almost be a whisper.

"And what is that?"

The teasing in his voice is so familiar Steve almost have to stop, but instead he moves even closer, reaches out one hand and grabs Bucky's arm. The man's smiling widely, just that kind of smile he'd expected at the other end of the line. That doesn't disappoint him either.

It's Bucky that pulls him closer and the table is creaking under their combined weight, but Steve is too busy letting their lips brush against each other for the first time ever to let that bother him. Bucky tastes like warmth and coffee and something minty, and he thinks it's the best combination he's ever tasted as their tongues roll over each other and a silent moan slips out from his lips.

He lets his hands trail down to the round ass, hidden underneath a layer of jeans fabric. Bucky smiles into the kiss.

"I'm getting flashbacks" and he nibbles on Steve's under lip, breathes in and out like he has to control himself. "God it's so strange, I've missed you fucking much and I've never even met you before"

"But you've heard me" Steve reminds him. He doesn't let the man answer to that, but connects their lips again and they kiss to fulfill promises and dreams and Bucky's hands are all over his body, and his hands are all over Bucky's.

"God, you gorgeous piece of shit"

He can feel fingertips over his shoulders, arms, sides, hips. It's like they're gripping him, checking if he's real, and it's actually a little funny and incredibly sweet.

They finally have to pull away for air, and Steve's already gotten half-hard in his pants, which will be awkward to explain to Clint and Sam if they haven't already left. Bucky leans in for more, but Steve puts a finger over his lips and smiles teasingly.

"C'mon Steve, you're killing me, I just want to—"

"You're at work, punk"

"And look who's here with me!"

His smile is just as dazzling as the first time Steve saw it, but he forces his eyes up to meet the dark gray, almost fully black ones who are already focused on him.

"We can't, not here. When do you quit?"

"5pm, but that's—"

Hours away. Steve looks at his clock. 13.56.

"I'm here 16.50 again. You have like, five minutes after you've quit."

Bucky's eyes glitter and he mock salutes with two fingers before he's starting to make his way towards the door. He grabs Steve's hand on his way, and that's enough to make his heart skip a beat.

When they enter the café again it's almost crowded with people, and Natasha seems busy taking care about what looks like five costumers at the same time. She throws warning glances towards Bucky, who acts casual and keeps his eyes on Steve as he put on his apron again and places a kiss on the corner of Steve's mouth.

"16.50. Can't wait" he whispers before he joins Natasha by her side and gets an elbow in his side that looks like it's going to hurt later.

Steve turns to find Clint and Sam outside the glassed door and wall-to-wall windows. He throws one last glance at Bucky before crossing through the crowd and then takes a few steps outside the door.

They don't ask him, but judging from their smiles he gets a feeling that they know.

Natasha sends Bucky out ten minutes before set time and Steve almost wants to send her a card with his love and gratitude written on it, but he saves that for later.
Their promenade to his apartment takes about ten minutes and they're trying to hold a normal conversation during it, but it's filled with hidden meanings and small touches that may seem harmless but to Steve it feels like he's going to die right there on the street if he can't just get his hands on Bucky's body.

He almost shoves them both inside the tall brick building, Bucky laughing at it, and as soon as they've made it into the elevator they press their bodies together, closely.

"I thought about you all the time" he can hear against his neck as a pair of lips trail down, nibbles and kisses, and he groans as quietly as he can.

With a loud ding, the elevator reaches the upper floor, and they stumble out, chuckling like old men. Bucky's got his hands on Steve's ass when he's trying to open the door and it distracts him so much he almost drops his keys.

They step inside. Bucky's curious, but doesn't seem to care about anything but Steve's body, and he definitely does not complain. They almost make it to the bedroom before both of their shirts are off, and by the time when they've laid down on the bed, Steve's not wearing any pants either. It's an incredible relief. He's already as hard as he thought he could be a few months ago, but Bucky have proved that wrong.

Steve lets his tongue slide over Bucky's lips before he pulls away and rolls over to stand on all four, trapping Bucky's body under him. He looks at him. Interprets the view.

He leans down to kiss the naked skin over the man's torso, his incredible muscular abdomen and everything in between. His tongue slides, lips nibble. Bucky gasps like he's in heaven.

"God Steve, don't stop that—"

He kisses down to the waistband and murmurs with a smile against the fabric, "Are you wearing anything under these?"

The answer's a chuckle, "Guess you'll find out soon enough"

He's not. Steve takes his whole length in his mouth and gets a fair response of moans and gasps in return, fingers curl up in his hair and teach him how he wants him to move, what he needs, and he gets it quickly. It isn't that hard pleasing Bucky. At least, it's not hard for Steve.

He sucks, rolls his tongue over the tip and uses his hands sometimes too. He then goes down to Bucky's ass and places kisses all over it, listens to the groans and whispers that encourage him from above. His hand is stoking Bucky's cock, and his tongue is licking around his entrance.

"F-fuck— I need you now, please, Steve"

It feels like he's about to pass out, that's how hard he his. It hurts of course, but he doesn't want anything but to feel Bucky, no matter what pain he'd live through during it. He is going to make sure Bucky is comfortable though, so he lets go of him for a second to reach for the bedside table's drawer, where he keeps lube and condoms.

He stands up on his knees, opens the condom with his hands and during that time he can feel fingers trail down his stomach. Suddenly, a warm breath against the fabric of his boxers. He almost drops the bottle of lube on the head right beneath him, now so close, and he has to take a deep breath quickly.

Bucky chuckles against his hard erection and pulls down his boxers, wraps one hand around Steve's shaft and strokes carefully, kisses the tip.

He is already leaking pre-cum before he's handing the condom to Bucky, who puts it as quickly as possible, and the next second it's drenched in lube too.

Bucky's down on his back again and Steve lets one lube-covered finger slide in his entrance, quickly followed by one more, and after that, one more. Bucky moans like he can take just as much more and he pleads quietly with his eyes closed.

"Just—fuck me, come on—"

Steve inserts himself, bit by bit, and they don't move at first until they're both sure they won't come too early or pass out right there. When it's safe, Steve pulls out and thrusts in, moves quicker and quicker, and he does exactly as he's said so many times before – fucks Bucky right into the mattress, nothing but moans and groans escaping their lips and small pleads and his name again and again. When Steve touches Bucky's cock and strokes him maybe one or two times, he reaches climax almost directly and Steve brings him through it, strokes slowly during the whole time. It doesn't take long for him to feel the familiar rush of pleasure and endorphins either, and he bites down the pillow beside Bucky's head as he moans through it all, warm hands over his back and in his hair, and a quiet whisper in his ear.

He collapses on top of Bucky, and rolls away as quickly as he can so he won't hurt him. Bucky doesn't look close to hurt though. More star-struck. Steve laughs warmly at him and opens his arms so they can crawl close, naked and sweaty and smelly, but still so good.

They lay for minutes, just breathing, before Steve gets up and throws the condom in the trash bin. He wets a towel and throws it at Bucky so he can clean himself up, then he curls down by his side again and they still lay naked on the covers for a while.

"You know" Steve starts, afraid of ruining the moment but incapable of stopping, "I never thought this moment would come. That we'd actually meet, and that it would be as good as on the phone but—"

"It's better" Bucky smiles, his face against the skin on Steve's neck.

"It really is"

He hesitates, but then continues again, because there are things to be said and he still hasn't got all his answers. "I haven't met anyone but you during these weeks"

Bucky looks up, meets his eyes. They're almost entirely blue in this light. He smirks, "Do you swear on your life? I've been fooled by one-night-stands before"

Steve can't help but laugh, because he's sure he'll never forget that night, no matter how hard he tries. He'd like to look that Connie-girl up. Thank her, a millions of times. "You're the one who's into this one-night-stand-thing"

A loud sigh slips out between the brunet's lips. "Except I'm not. Don't you remember, I'm just looking for the right person…"

"… And I told you to stop sleeping with them first."

They laugh at that and Steve can feel a warmth inside he's pretty sure he's never felt before. He wants to be the right person for Bucky, but it's too early to ask that yet. Maybe in a while if he wants to see him again. Maybe in a while if they can hang out with each other without ripping their clothes off each other.

"Should we do this from the beginning?" Bucky suddenly interrupts his thoughts.

"Do what?"

The brunet sits up. Strands of hair have fallen out from the hair-knot but either he hasn't noticed or he doesn't care, both are fine. His smirk is smug and he leans in to roll on top of Steve's body and place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Will you go out with me? Like, on a real date?"

Has his heart ever beaten that quickly before?
He can't do anything but nod, and Bucky looks happy as he presses his lips against Steve's, lets them brush briefly and kiss softly like there's an invisible vulnerability between them that needs to be protected. Steve likes it, a lot.

They curl under the covers and naps for an hour, then Steve gets up to cook them some dinner. They spend the rest of the evening in the bed – a movie playing on the computer, but Bucky's too sleepy to watch the whole thing.

As soon as the after credits start rolling down the screen, Steve closes the laptop and pulls the already half-asleep man as near as he can.

"I've got work tomorrow" Bucky sighs, smiling.

"Well, you're not going anywhere now. It's just a few blocks away, you can wake me up tomorrow before you go."

That's a deal.

The only thing left in the morning is a note with a phone number, and the text 'I only leave the right number to those who might be the one'. He double checks and yes, it actually is the right number, although it would've been funny if it was somebody else's. He texts and gets an answer almost directly.

They're up for dinner and movie the following night, and Steve Rogers can honestly not think of one goddamn time when he's felt happier.