Chapter 4
Steve watched as James entered the room, ten minutes late. He looked like he’d been running, hair wild and red spots high on his cheekbones. Steve unconsciously licked his lips as his gaze traveled down James’ body. He blinked, realising he was staring for way too long, as James took the seat- the only free seat, Steve noticed- next to him. James was scowling across the room at Natasha, who’s smile could literally power a sarcasm factory for a year. Next to her was Peggy, looking just as smug. Even though Steve had agreed to the plan, he still didn't like deceiving James. As Steve turned his head to his canvas, pushing his glasses up his nose, James turned to look at him.
“Hi, Steve, right?” James smiled at him, extending his hand. Steve smiled back, the back of his neck heating up with a brilliant blush.
“Yeah, and you’re James?” he took James’ hand, gripping it firmly. He didn’t like to be underestimated because of his size, and more than made up for it with little displays like this.
“Uh. Actually, my name is Bucky. Only Nat calls me James because she knows I hate it.” Bucky withdrew his hand and Steve immediately mourned the loss of contact. He blinked, trying to make it seem like he was actually listening and not just fantasising about what it would be like to have Bucky’s hand around his- not the time, Steve, focus.
“Bucky? How’d you get Bucky from James?” Steve blurted, his brain to mouth filter once again out of commission. He winced, “Sorry, that was rude. Don’t answer that.”
Bucky laughed (a sound Steve would gladly die listening to, not that he was dramatic or anything) “No it’s fine. You’re not the first and you’re definitely not gonna be the last. My middle name’s Buchanan. Apparently my mother thought naming me after the fifteenth president would have a better impact on my life. So far she’s been wrong. Apart from the fact that he was almost definitely gay. Which I am also.” Bucky was babbling, and it was adorable, but Steve knew he’d have to save him. He filed away the fact Bucky was gay for future use, but for now he held up a hand.
“That’s so funny. Your mother must be so fun at parties.” Steve deadpanned, grinning despite himself. Bucky flushed, clearly embarrassed. That only made Steve grin wider. “As much as I’d like to get to know more about your mother’s misguided attempts at making your life successful, we really need to be paying attention to the class.”
“Aw fuck, you’re right” Bucky turned to the teacher in the middle of the room, trying desperately to pay attention. Steve watched him fondly, well aware he was falling hard. He sighed and turned to his canvas.
After a few minutes of painting, Steve glances at Bucky’s work and immediately saw what Natasha was talking about. The poor guy couldn't draw for shit. He swallowed nervously and cleared his throat. Bucky jumped beside him, looking at him nervously, trying (and failing) to cover his frankly abysmal painting.
“Hey, Bucky?” Steve started hesitantly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, leaving drops of paint behind, “I was wondering if you'd, uh, possibly like to um-” he shot a desperate look at Peggy, who was making a ‘go on’ gesture and frowning at him.
Bucky looked concerned, watching the exchange between Peggy and Steve with furrowed brows. He also looked adorably confused. “Steve what is it?” He prompted, putting his paintbrush down. Steve had noticed he'd only do things with his right hand, his left hand always stuffed in his pocket. It was kind of endearing, if a little confusing.
“You suck at drawing” Steve blurted before he could think about it properly. What was with his mouth today? It just ran itself off without consulting his brain. He smacked himself in the head forcefully, wanting to die right there. Bucky’s face got more confused, and, to Steve's horror, there was an emotion very close to hurt in his steel blue eyes. Steve held his hands up in a surrender, “that's not what I meant. Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant to say was, I'm an artist. I was gonna offer to help you with the class, but apparently I'm unable to communicate properly. I'm really sorry.” He grimaced and waited for the inevitable rejection. Instead, he heard a laugh. The same laugh he was gonna die listening to. Apparently his death was closer than he had planned. It was one thing to be rejected, but to be laughed at as well? That was not on. He scowled and opened his mouth, ready to let his famous temper out on the (beautiful) man in front of him.
“Steve.” Bucky laid a placating hand on his shoulder and oh god he was touching him “-for the offer, that's very kind of you-” his hand was warm and solid, a hand he wanted touching him in some not so friendly places, “-extra classes or something at my house?” Bucky looked expectantly at him and it was then Steve realised he hadn't heard a word Bucky said. He nodded and to his relief Bucky smiled. “Cool, can I have your number? So we can arrange a day and I can text you my address.” Steve blinked. What was going on? He nodded again and pulled his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Bucky. Once their numbers had been exchanged, Bucky smiled at him easily and went back to his drawing. Steve sat in stunned silence for a couple more minutes and eventually picked up his paintbrush. He guessed he'd find out soon enough what Bucky was talking about.