Steve had always liked being alone, especially when he was drawing. He would sit for hours and just watch the pencil swirl all over the page, letting his hand do all the work. Sometimes, it didn't turn out so good but there were some masterpieces that had come out of letting his thoughts roam about.

This is what he had planned when he strolled into his local coffee shop, just a street away from his new apartment in Washington DC.

He was immediately hit with the scent of coffee brewing in the machine and the warmth of the place. He'd always enjoyed that too. The warmth that felt like a big hug squeezing around him, warming him to his bones, weaving all through to reach every end. This was the warmth he always welcomed and that which he received when he walked into the familiar coffee shop.

Striding to the counter and ordering the usual (a decaffeinated mocha and fat-free bagel), he sat down in his usual corner, hidden away from most of the shop, closer to the bathroom and more secluded than the rest of the seating. That's where he sat as he pulled out his sketchbook and pencil, casually running it over the paper, eventually ending up with a drawing of the artwork on the wall next to him, as if it was a perfect photograph.

"You know, you have a real knack for that." He barely caught on the comment, deep in concentration with his artwork.

His eyes gazed up shyly to reply when he saw it. Him.

The first thing he noticed were his gorgeous eyes. A sort of darker blue that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, or was that him. And his hair, long and curving just past his jaw, a deep brown that was highlighted in the sun. He was dressed in a apron, with a simple grey sweater underneath, the sleeves showing underneath, with a simple pair of black jeans accentuating his long legs.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Just here to bring your order." He added, shyly looking away. "But you are pretty damn good."

He set the bagel down with his right hand and extended it to him. "James Buchanan Barnes at your service, quite literally." He shot him a smile, which warmed Steve, maybe more than anything ever could.

"You can call me Bucky."

"Steven Grant Rogers, but just Steve is fine." Extending his own hand, he went for Bucky's right and in a quick succession of movements, his hand bumped against the cup of coffee and it was all over him. He was left with a soaked shirt and a bumbling Bucky, apologizing over and over again.

Once again lost in a blur of Bucky's fast movements and speech, he was ushered to the empty public bathroom with his shirt being ripped off of him.

"Uh-U-Umm. Do you need help with that? Are you okay? Did it burn? Did it stain?" Bucky stammered, worry and distress in his voice and eyes.

Steve slowly looked up into Bucky's eyes, almost not noticing the little specks of bright glistening blue in the wide sea of darker blue, almost the same colour of his own.

He reluctantly pulled the buttons loose of his shirt and opened it slightly, now showing his white singlet housing a darker brown stain over his stomach.

"Bucky," he spoke softly. "It's okay. I'm okay."

He once again held Bucky's gaze, diving deeper into the sea of blue. Stepping closer, he gripped Bucky's hands with his and pulled him close. Of his own accord Bucky grabbed the openings of Steve's shirt and pried it off his body, Steve slightly shivering whenever his fingertips grazed his skin.

"It's okay," Steve whispered. Leaning in slightly, Bucky placed his lips on the side of his jaw. Then the corner of his mouth, relishing over Steve's breath catching at each moment.

Bucky leaned in gently, his breath fanning over his face. Steve unknowingly held his breath. Gliding past his jaw, his lips brushed against his ear, feeling his hot breath once again.

"Is this okay with you?" He pulled back slightly, Steve's expression a mixture of lust and panic, the lust darkening his eyes, into so many shades of blue swirling together.

Staring him right in the eyes, he responded.

"Absolutely."