Honestly I wrote this in a day so you be the judge of how good it is.

Steve was officially done with the day.

It started with being late waking up this morning. Normally, he had an alarm clock by his bed and one in his bathroom. The one in the bathroom would go off fifteen minutes before he had to be out the door – just in case he hit snooze too many times in his bedroom. But both alarm clocks were useless when the power went out sometime in the middle of the night, and when he awakened, 4:36 was blinking at him to show him what had messed up.

In hunting down his phone – which should have been charging in the night – he discovered that his charging cable had finally quit – damn Apple – and he was left with 14 percent power to get him through the day. He also found that he was a full hour late to work already and his boss was not going to be happy. Maybe the fact that it was a Friday would put him in a better mood, and he wouldn't be completely fired.

In running out the door – without his morning coffee, God help him – he realized that he had forgotten his briefcase of notes behind and had to turn back for it, which put him back another few minutes.

Then, of course because Murphy's Law was working especially hard on him that day, a passing car threw up the muddy sludge that snow became this time of year, splattering all over Steve's bottom half and sending him shivering to the subway station and hoping he didn't get pneumonia this time. At least his briefcase was waterproof – necessary with his lifestyle as it was. He'd decided to spring on the bag rather than on a bike, and now he was grateful for it.

Luckily, Nick was understanding-ish about his late arrival, and only glared at him when he showed up a mess at his desk, still clutching desperately at his bag after a guy on the subway had been eyeing it and him a bit too much for his comfort.

He decided to stay in for lunch and make up the work he'd missed due to his late arrival. Fishing change out of his pocket, he managed to scrounge up enough for a protein bar from the vending machine that was probably about three years old but he still managed to swallow. Needed to keep his blood sugar up – he wasn't diabetic, but close enough. He could get sick without sufficient nutrition. Not that a protein bar was sufficient…but it was something.

At that moment, sitting there at his desk and sketching out pages from the comic he was writing and eating the sad little protein bar, he decided that he wanted to visit Sam that night. Sam had good food. And Sam would welcome him in as he always did, and he liked Sam. He was a good friend – not something in high supply on Steve's end. He could count on one hand the number of friends he had, and Sam was the best one by far.

Great, now his thoughts were depressing, and it was bleeding into the colors he chose for the comic.

Still, though. It would be great to visit Sam.

Whipping out his phone, he sent off a quick text to his friend. Good thing Fury didn't care what he did, as long as he got his work done. It prevented him from having to hide the cell.

Pizza night?

A moment later, his phone buzzed to signal a text coming in.

Rough day? He could practically hear the sympathy as well as amusement from the other man through the words on his screen. In return, he sent back a snarky response.

What, I can't just spend Friday night with my best friend?

Sure. But if that's the case I'm not getting the vegan pizza.

Steve sighed. He knew Sam was going to get it out of him anyway when he came by. May as well accede now and get the pizza that wouldn't give his stomach a hard time.

Yes, fine, it's a hard day. Nothing specific. It's just a textbook case for Murphy's Law.

Understood. Feel free to come by and I'll get your pizza.

Idk what my roomie will be doing. He might be here, if that's alright.

That's right – Sam had just got a new roommate a couple of weeks ago to help with the rent. Steve had yet to meet him – he was always gone with something or another when Steve came by. He couldn't remember his name – Jason? Something like that. With some weird nickname.

He apparently waited too long to reply, and his phone buzzed with Sam's follow-up text.

I can tell him to scram, if you want. He's a little shit too – he won't care if I return fire.

I may or may not enjoy riling him up. So, say the word and I at least have an excuse.

Hurriedly, Steve typed out a response to reassure the guy.

No, it's fine. It's his place, too. Stop picking on him! XD But if he's there he has to put out for pizza.

Wow, Steve, how forward. I'm sure he'll put out for this deliciousness.

Steve's brow creased in confusion until realization struck, and he rolled his eyes.

Not what I meant.

Yeah, yeah. It's fun to rile YOU up, too. ;) XD

I'm getting back to work now. I'll see you around seven. The pizza better be there before I am.

You just want me to put out for pizza so you don't have to.

Working now, Sam.

As it happened, Sam's roommate wasn't there that night, and Steve wasn't sure he believed Sam that he hadn't coerced the guy into leaving. Babysitting his sister seemed too much like a fabricated excuse to actually be the reason he'd gone.

But, he let it pass, and chowed on pizza with Sam while complaining about the day that had only gotten worse in the second half. Some cop sitcom was playing in the background on the TV, and it made for background noise while they chatted.

"So, how is your roommate situation going?" Steve questioned idly at a lull in the conversation. "You haven't told me much about him."

"Oh, he's a such little shit," Sam said, sighing with exasperation. But it was the same way he talked about his sister, so Steve was pretty sure his friend actually had no problem with the guy. He would have heard a lot more about him by now if he did.

"He reminds me a lot of you, actually," Sam continued, poking Steve's thigh with his toe. "Sarcastic as hell."

Steve gasped, clutching a hand to his chest like he was holding onto his pearls. "Are you replacing me, Sam?" he said melodramatically. "And here I thought our love was forever!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about," Sam expressed, pointing at him with his slice of pizza. "And I'm pretty sure if I tried replacing you it would be impossible. You would just keep showing up at my door, scratching and whining to be let in. Not unlike a lost puppy, really."

"I am not a puppy," Steve said sternly, giving Sam a glare.

"I'd say a bulldog puppy," Sam went on, like he hadn't heard the blond. "Always growling at people and ready to fight, but really not very big by comparison. And then when you like someone you'd just drool and wag your tail."

"I do not drool!" Steve said indignantly, throwing a piece of pepperoni at Sam. Sam laughed when it hit his face, before picking it off and eating it with aplomb. "Fuck off, Wilson."

"Good guy, generally," Sam continued talking about his roommate. "Cares a lot about his sister. He's going to school to be a physical therapist. His best friend is Natasha Romanoff. She's come over a couple of times. She's cool. Very scary; could possibly be a Russian spy. But cool." Unexpectedly, his face flushed slightly and he took another bite of his pizza.

Steve felt his lips slowly curve into a gleeful grin. "Sa-am," he sang, "Do you possibly have a crush on your roommate's best friend?"

Sam threw a wadded up napkin at Steve, which he batted away, laughing.

"Oh, real mature," Sam said, and then completely negated his comment by sticking his tongue out at Steve. "Yes, I like her. Don't really know her all that well, but the stuff I do know – yes, she's cool. Yes, I would love to go out with her. But like we've been over, that's my new roommate's best friend. I'd fuck it up, and then how the hell am I supposed to live with the guy? He'd hate my guts."

"This is assuming you'd fuck it up," Steve reminded him. "Give yourself some credit. You're like, the most caring person I've ever met. She'd be lucky to have you."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam waved his comment away.

"So, I'm assuming she's gorgeous, then?" Steve pressed. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I know you're not going to let this go till I give you details, and that's the only reason I'm telling you this," Sam informed him, pointing at him sternly. Steve only grinned. "Yes, she's gorgeous. Bright red hair, amazingly green eyes, and about 5'4". She moves with the grace of a ballerina, and I'm pretty sure she could kill me with an uncooked spaghetti noodle. And that's all I'm telling you."

Steve kept smiling. "Fair enough," he accepted. "I'm sure I'll hear more about her as you get to know her more. You know, when you start dating her."

Sam sighed in exasperation, throwing another napkin at him.

Steve was feeling a lot better by the time they went to bed – Sam insisted he take the bed, because Steve had a bad back and Sam got up earlier anyway, so Sam slept on the couch in the living room while Steve snuggled into sheets that smelled like Sam's cologne. He felt a little guilty, feeling like he'd put Sam out, but he recognized that was just his anxiety and tried shoving it to the side and ignoring it.

He woke up around eight-thirty to the sound of the shower turning off on the other side of the wall next to the bed. He was surprised he'd managed to sleep through it being turned on and running, but he supposed he had been especially tired the night before. He could only be grateful he'd missed it – Sam took long showers, surprisingly (it was one of his guilty pleasures), and he would have been awakened at an incredibly ungodly hour if that had been the case.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stretched to get all the kinks out of his body that had developed in his slumber. He had a bad tendency of curling into a ball when he was asleep. Bad, because his back didn't need another source of discomfort. Doing some stretches as soon as he woke up helped him not to be in agonizing pain by afternoon.

After finishing his morning routine on the floor of Sam's room, he pulled on the pair of jeans he'd worn the day before. He pulled on his white singlet, but left his plaid button-up that Sam called his "grandpa shirt" sitting on the floor to come back to later.

He was still sleepy, having only awakened about ten minutes before, and that was the only explanation he could give for his behavior in the next few moments.

He heard Sam puttering around in the kitchen, and went to investigate what the guy had decided to make for breakfast before he took care of his morning ablutions.

But it wasn't Sam in the kitchen.

Steve's sleepy brain couldn't stop staring, couldn't think anything except, Wow.

Because there was another man in the kitchen, currently pouring a glass of orange juice at the counter. His back was turned to Steve, so he couldn't see the guy's face, but what he did see…was well muscled and very attractive.

Oh, and he was completely naked.

He was sure it was only a moment of staring – a few seconds at most – before the guy turned around to go back to the fridge, and saw Steve standing there.

Hm, his face is very attractive, too, he thought absently, and completely against his will, his eyes traveled downward, taking in the muscular pecs and those gorgeous abs he'd love to lick and somehow stopping to stare at that beautifully proportioned and nicely colored dick. He wasn't normally of the opinion that dicks could be particularly attractive, but damn. This guy changed his opinions on that quite swiftly. He was like a Renaissance sculpture, perfectly smooth and proportionately shaped all around. Even his hands were beautiful.

"Shit," the guy blurted, dropping the jug of orange juice to hold it in front of his junk in a sad attempt to preserve his modesty. "Shit. You must be Steve. Wilson didn't – he didn't say you were spending the night. I didn't know anyone – I didn't know you were here. Sorry, I – I promise I'm not actually a nudist. Or creepy. Or – anything. I just got out of the shower, and – I was gonna eat before I got dressed. Shit, this is embarrassing."

"You're Barnes," Steve realized, the comment coming out slightly strangled as he dragged his eyes back up to meet the guy's – very blue and very attractive – eyes. His cheeks were flushed, damp hair dangling around his face. He was biting his bottom lip anxiously, which really didn't help with Steve's sudden attraction. Jesus, he'd never seen anyone this attractive before.

"Bucky," the guy blurted, and Steve blinked. What was a "bucky"?

"My name," the guy explained a moment later, cheeks still aflame. "My name's Bucky."

Steve blurted the first thought that came to his mind at that. "That's a dog's name."

The guy looked indignant, some of the red fading from his cheeks as affront overcame embarrassment. "It's short for Buchanan," he clarified.

"That's really not much better," Steve pointed out, unable to help himself.

"Yeah, my parents were history buffs," Bucky – apparently – said with a sigh. "My name's James Buchanan. My sister started calling me Bucky as a kid and it stuck."

"Well, I won't judge you for your parents' poor choices," Steve said primly, gathering himself back together and forcing his eyes to remain locked on Bucky's face. "I'll only judge you for your own nudist exploits."

"I'm not…" Bucky started exasperatedly, but he cut himself off with a considering look to Steve. "You're a shit," he declared decisively, and put the orange juice back on the counter. "And I may as well embrace this, because you've seen it all anyway." He put his hands on his hips, effectively framing his groin, and Steve really couldn't be blamed for glancing down then, because the guy was just asking for it.

"Enjoying the view?" Bucky said cockily – no pun intended. Steve scowled at the question and rolled his eyes. This guy was an asshole, he decided.

"Can't tell," he sniped. "Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my binoculars."

"Hm," Bucky hummed, not looking bothered at all with the insult thrown at him. If anything, the gleam in his eye told him that the guy was enjoying this. "Guess I'll just have to close the distance then." He stepped closer, so that the two of them were no more than a couple of feet apart. "How's this?"

Steve glared up at the smug bastard, though the closeness was admittedly arousing. Why was he enjoying this? He didn't even know the guy. Sure, he was perfection come to life and you could carve things with those abs, but this was still a stranger. This was his best friend's roommate.

"You're a bastard," he accused, not addressing the cock literally in front of his face.

Bucky was undeterred. "That I am," he agreed. "But I feel pretty confident in saying that's what does it for you."

Steve's eyebrows shot up at the bold statement, though upon reflection, he really shouldn't have been surprised. Once Bucky had gotten over his initial discomfort, he was confident in his skin and suave in his words and dammit if that didn't interest him a little bit. What an ass.

"You don't even know if I'm gay," he pointed out, grasping for something to say that wouldn't make him look and sound like an idiot.

"Pal, if you were a zero on the Kinsey scale you wouldn't have stared," Bucky said smugly. "That's enough to tell me what I need to know."

"If you're trying to get in my pants, you could refrain from calling me 'pal'," Steve said bluntly.

Bucky, unexpectedly, laughed and took a small step back, allowing Steve to breathe again. "Fair enough," he admitted. "Though there is a large difference between trying to get in your pants and trying to get you out of them."

"Mm," Steve said, not conceding but neither denying the statement.

"Relax, I'm not gonna try anything," Bucky waved his hand, going to the counter to grab the orange juice again to put it back in the fridge. "You're off limits. I think Wilson's got a problem with dating your roommate's best friend."

Steve frowned, unexpectedly disappointed by Bucky's refusal to do anything but also confused by his reasoning.

"Why would Sam have a problem with it?" he asked in bewilderment.

Bucky gave him a look, opening the fridge door and putting the juice back. "Well, he's not asked Tasha out," he explained. "And I know he likes her. Figure it's because we're roomies, and he's got some policy against it. Would probably hold true going the other way."

Steve's frown deepened as he pondered on that. "Sam's scared of fucking it up and making it weird," he stated. "He doesn't have rules about it."

Bucky laughed at that, going back to the counter and grabbing his glass still full of orange juice that he had yet to drink. "I'm positive Wilson wouldn't mess up with Tasha. Besides the fact that he's actually considerate and knows how girls work – don't tell him I said that – if nothing else, Tasha isn't one to just sit quietly by if someone's upset her. And Sam likes talking. I mean, he has to, because he's a counselor. But that means they'll talk through their shit." He frowned, and took a sip of his juice. "Honestly, I wish they would get together just for that."

"Sounds like you guys need to talk more," Steve observed with a smirk. "I think if he heard that, he'd be more willing to make a move on your friend."

Bucky shrugged, conceding this, before he gave Steve a considering look. "So," he remarked, his nervousness only betrayed by how he was swirling his glass a bit, juice sloshing around a bit with the movement. "Does this mean you would like me trying something?"

Just then, the front door opened, saving Steve from answering, and before he could consider what this scene must look like – Bucky, naked, calmly drinking his juice while talking with Steve, who was only half dressed (never mind that other people might consider his state of dress complete, because he didn't and tried not to let people see his skinny arms if he could help it) – Sam walked in.

Sam took in the scene immediately, of course, and he stopped, staring between the two of them silently, his expression unreadable. Steve thought he might be waiting for an explanation.

"Wilson…" Bucky finally started, sounding apprehensive.

Finally Sam cracked, and he only snorted, interrupting his roommate.

"If I find spunk anywhere in this apartment, I'm kicking you out," he informed the brunette, and both Steve and Bucky sputtered, surprised and searching for words, protests, anything.

Sam shook his head, ignoring their attempts at saying something. "I should have expected this of you two," he said longsufferingly. "How did I luck out with a gay asshole for a best friend and a gay asshole for a roommate? You're fucking meant to be – honestly." He shook his head again and walked down the hall toward the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower."

The two of them stared in the direction of the bathroom for a long moment, not saying anything, before they looked at each other. Both of them were slightly pink at the accusations just thrown their way.

"So," Bucky finally said, clearing his throat. "Not that I want to presume anything, but do you want to risk my eviction?"

Steve gaped at him, and his boldness. It was kind of a turn-on, but still. It was shocking. He wished he had that kind of confidence in him.

"I don't put out till at least the third date," he said indignantly. "And that's if you're lucky."

Bucky shrugged at this, unbothered. "Alright," he said easily. "You want to go to lunch? As a date?"

Steve glared, evaluating the other man and deciding whether or not it was worth it, the risk. He was rather attractive – that was impossible to deny. And he hadn't been on a date in – months. He couldn't remember the last one. Was it Aaron? Or was Jesse after him?

But, this was Sam's roommate. And he didn't really know anything about him. What if the guy was an ass, or abusive, or – any number of things, really.

But, going on dates was supposed to help you get to know the person. And this wasn't really a commitment to be boyfriends, to date Bucky exclusively. Surely he could go on just one date.

In the end, his attractiveness is what clinched the deal. He had to at least give this guy a chance.

"Alright," he accepted just when it looked like Bucky might start twitching with nervousness and maybe take it back, which just wouldn't do. "But I get to pick where we go."

"As long as I'm paying," Bucky challenged, eyes alight.

Steve smirked. "Fair enough," he agreed.

"And I'll pick next time," Bucky continued.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "You've got a lot of confidence that we'll make it that far."

"Oh, we will," Bucky promised smugly. "I'm sure I'll be a lucky one."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "Mm-hm," he said placidly. "You keep praying."

In the end, they made it to the third date, but only just, because they both had problems with keeping their hands to themselves. And then they made it to every other date after that.

And, months later, Sam kicked Bucky out. But that's okay, because he'd already agreed to live with Steve the rest of his life, and Natasha was going to live with Sam anyway and it would have been weird if her best friend still lived there.

But that's another story.

I need feedback like Steve needs Bucky.