Narrow stairs led the way to a small flat. Two windows face out onto the city boasting a lovely view of the twinkling lights. A small bed, piled with blankets, sat in one corner. TV and record player sat on a scratched entertainment center on the far wall across from a saggy green couch. From the door Steve spotted a small but clean kitchen to the left and a closed door which one could only assume lead to the bathroom to the right.
"It's not much but its home." Bucky made his way to the window nearest the TV, pushing it open easily allowing in a slight breeze. The scent of jasmine and lavender lingered on the air. "The bathroom's through there and obviously the kitchen." He thumbed toward the corner.
"It's perfect." Steve smiled, his eyes were lit up as he took in the tiny flat. "It's a lot like the place I grew up in." Bucky smiled warmly hearing the kid opening up a little. An army green couch cushion flew right at Steve, colliding square with his face. His warm hearty laugh echoed through the small place.
"Oh is that how it's going to be?" Bucky chuckled hearing the playful threatening in his voice. "You've got another thing coming if you think I'll let that fly." The same cushion flew clear past Bucky's head colliding with the window, knocking it open, and landing on the fire escape beyond.
"Was that your best shot? Course I should be amazed you even threw it that far for as scrawny as you are…" A smirk spread across the chef's features as he turned only to be wiped away by the soaking wet blue towel that smacked him in the face with a squelch. It slid down landing on the cool wood floor with a loud splat. He laughed again and shook his head. "You're a character you know that." His words pulled a smile up on Steve's thin face.
Turning back to his work Bucky pulled the folded mattress out of the worn out sofa. Clean sheets and blankets were wrapped around it, always ready to embrace a guest.
"It's not the Ritz or anything but it's warm and dry and well it's not a park bench." Steve had yet to say a word since his playful threat.
"It's great, it really is."
The brunette padded over to a small linen closet fetching several fluffy pillows and a few well used blankets. It wasn't lost to Steve how nearly all of Bucky's stuff seemed worn or second hand… everything upstairs at least. The springs of the thin bed groaned as Steve sank into it.
"You know something, I don't even know your name yet." Steve even seemed surprised by his words. "You know my name but I don't know yours yet." The brunette smiled as he toed his work shoes off.
"It's James, James Buchanan Barnes but everyone just calls me Chef and my real friends call me Bucky." He glanced over to find Steve buried in the pile of blankets already.
"Want me to leave the window open?" It was common for him to sleep with it open even during rainy nights.
"Yeah that's fine." Steve yawned through his words as he got settled. "So what do I get to call you then? Not that it matters much since this is just for tonight after all."
Bucky turned from his place at the kitchen sink. "What'd you say Steve?"
He waited in silence for a moment but nothing but shadows and silence filled the flat. He smiled hearing the soft steady breathing of Steve already asleep.
"You can call me whatever you want Stevie." Bucky's whispers mingled with the scent of lavender and shadows across the apartment. Crawling into his own bed Bucky's mind began to wander.
He's a scrappy little guy. He's got the brightest blue eyes I think I've ever seen.
Bucky licked his lips as he stared into the darkness. His mind began to wonder what it would be like to kiss those thin lips, to have his hands all over that tiny body. He groaned, feeling himself get hard at the thoughts.
I've just met the guy and he's already doing this to me. What am I going to do if something comes from this…?
"I'm so messed up" he muttered. Grabbing a few tissues off the bedside table Bucky pressed his calloused palm against his length. He swallowed a moan as he stroked himself rapidly trying his hardest to not wake Steve. Images of the thin boy naked and moaning under him urged Bucky to his release. A loud gasp shot through the small room.
"Fuck," Bucky muttered, bolting up praying he hadn't woken Steve. The chef flopped back after seeing the boy was still out cold. "Good." He honestly was too tired to care about cleaning up. Once the used tissues were discarded Bucky rolled over to sleep.
Steve's sleep was filled with dreams about dark hair, a strong jaw, and a cool metal hand on his skin. Tossing and turning a thin layer of sweat covered his brow. Just before dawn Steve was woken from a particularly vivid dream involving those cool metal fingers in a few tantalizing places.
If only, but this is just a one-time thing.
Steve first went to the bathroom then made his way down the narrow squeaky stairs to the large professional kitchen. He made quick work of the dishes from the previous night. While they dried he began to explore both the walk in freezer and the dry storage pantry.
The smell of cinnamon and butter wafted up through the ceiling into the apartment above. Salty, fatty bacon joined it followed by the warm bitter aroma of coffee.
Bright rays sprayed across the bed in the small apartment, spurring Bucky from his dreams. The delicious smells from downstairs caught his attention. It was too early for either Sam or Natasha to be there and Bucky had always lived alone. So it left Bucky wondering who the hell was downstairs cooking.
Sitting up he spied the mussed pull out and the night's events flooded his mind.
"Steve" he whispered as he quickly made his way downstairs. The small table in the kitchen was covered with food. Pancakes, bacon, coffee, perfectly all of Bucky's favorites, were all plated and waiting. The dishes were done and put away. As he sipped on the coffee the chef spied a note on the table.
"James,
Thank you so much for taking me in out of the rain last night. I appreciate the bed and the food. I know breakfast isn't much but it's the least I could do before heading on my way. Have a good life. –Steve."
A lump formed in his throat as Bucky looked over the letter a second and third time.
Oh no, no, no, I have to find him. This kid needs help. I can't let him go back to living on the streets. I have to find him.
Bucky's mind raced, grabbing coat, keys, and shoes, as he dashed out the door with only one objective. Find Steve, convince him to come back with him.