Work Text:
It was a sunny early morning in Manhattan, the air warm but not suffocating. The perfect day for the window washers company to be booked to clean up the windows of one building in the lower part of the island.
The streets below the platform Steve Rogers was currently working on were busy as always, muffled sounds of people chit-chatting following him up to the twenty-second floor, regularly interrupted by the sound of horns. New Yorkers were mean drivers, anybody knew it. Steve thought himself to be lucky, not to own a car. He wasn't so sure he would have been able to drive in that hectic chaos, nor to stand all the rude comments and signs without starting up a fight.
Working as a window washer wasn't Steve's dream of life, far from it, but it was a good job nevertheless, especially since it helped him pay the rent. Steve considered it to be his second job, the first one being his biggest passion: art. Drawing and painting was what he loved, but he had to be honest with himself, and living of art wasn't as easy as one could think. Sometimes clients gave you commissions and then didn't pay for long periods, other times there were weeks spent waiting for a phone call. Yes, washing somebody's else windows was just another way to afford his apartment in Brooklyn.
His boss hadn't been too enthusiastic when he had seen him for the first time. He was well build, yes, but had thick glasses that always, inexplicably, got dirty lenses, no matter how careful he was with them, and his hearing aid in his left ear was clearly visible through his blonde hair. Mr Fury hadn't been impressed, not at all. But one of his employees had had a big injury just a week before, and he was in dire need of a substitute. So Steve had gotten the job, at least until the other man – Coulson was his name – was able to come back. Which was going to take quite a lot of time, unfortunately for him.
So, now here he was, at 7 am sharp, humming lowly to himself as he got the glass wet with water, then used a liquid detergent that smelt funny to scrub away the subtle film of filth from the window, and then rinsed with water once again. Finally, he got everything dry, and the window was shiny once again. It was a monotonous job, the same motions repeated on each and every glassy surface he met, but Steve was a patient man. Not to mention, it was actually funny to be able to see inside the building.
The majority of the floors were occupied by common offices, big open spaces full of desks. Only a couple of them had been occupied, down on the twentieth floor, with a couple of secretaries who had clearly arrived earlier than anyone else. So far, he had only found one office occupied with only one desk, clearly designed to host only one person. He had found it to be quite anonymous, the walls tinted in gray colors and a total lack of personal objects anywhere, and he had guessed that the single offices of the managers and directors were probably located on the highest floors.
Steve moved to the next window and went through the motions automatically, his minds wandering away. He was almost done with that floor. Seven more to go, he thought distractedly, wondering if his coworker Clint, who was washing the windows on the other side of the building, was almost done, too. His mind wandering away, he cleaned up the next window, and the one after that, and then the floor had finally been completed. Time to move the platform up to the twenty-third one.
He pressed the up button that was attached to the rail, and with a low rumble the floor under his feet began moving upwards, slowly and with a couple of small jolts. Nothing he wasn't accustomed with by now, anyway – even if, he had to admit it, the first time it had happened, it had scared the shit outta him. And he was just moving up to the second floor, at the time.
Moving up, his eyes were met with a single office, quite big – not one of a manager judging from the furniture in there, that's for sure, but not one of a simple secretary, either – with a big mahogany desk and an ergonomic chair behind it. The desk was angled in such a way that it allowed the worker to use the natural light coming from the soon-to-be pristine windows as best as possible. One whole wall was covered in a big bookshelf full of volumes. As the platform kept moving upwards, he noticed a vase of fresh flowers sitting on a corner of that same desk, and...
And then the door opened, and a young, handsome man got inside. Not walking. But dancing.
At a few minutes past 7 am, the most beautiful human being Steve had ever laid his eyes on danced inside his office with earphones in his ears, his eyes closed, wigging his cute ass and making funny faces. He was completely ridiculous and impossibly sexy at the same time. He was wearing a fine black dress that subtly but finely showed the toned muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the trousers covering those magnificent legs made his ass appear like the one of the sculptures of ancient Greek gods. There was a look of pure bliss on his face, smoothly shaved and so perfectly symmetric, as he kept dancing in his office. His hair were brown, and Steve found himself regretting the fact that he couldn't see the color of his eyes, since they were closed.
Steve exhaled a quiet sigh at the sight, and kept staring even though he realized all of a sudden he must be witnessing a moment probably no one should have been made aware of. Clearly the man was dancing by himself under the firm belief that nobody would see him. Still, Steve couldn't find it in himself to avert his eyes and leave the man to the privacy he clearly believe he had in his office up there; but hey, it wasn't Steve's fault the man had forgotten today they were going to come clean the windows. So he kept watching, feeling slightly like a voyeur.
Then the man opened his eyes – and oh, were those eyes magnetic, a pale blue with a bit of gray in them, a color Steve did his best to memorize in the hopes to be able to reproduce it later, at home, on one of his canvases, but already knowing no replica would ever be as good as the original – and he saw him. The stranger jumped two feet in the air, and so did Steve, who had been so engrossed in admiring that handsome being that he had been startled by his reaction just as much as the man had been startled by him. The man lost his foot and landed hard on that beautiful ass, still staring at Steve, pink lips slightly parted in surprise. The blonde could only imagine what a scare he must have given the poor man, staying there like a creep, spying.
“What are you doing out there?” the stranger choked, still with his ass on the floor.
Steve could only hear muffled sounds coming from the inside of the office – partially because of his shitty hearing, and partially because the window was closed, for obvious reasons – but it wasn't hard to figure out what the man was saying.
“I, uh-” Smooth, Steve, very charming. A creep and also an idiot, what an impression you must be making. “I, uh, have to wash the windows today. Sir.”
The man looked at him with comically wide eyes, probably wondering how long Steve had been there looking at him, and blushed the cutest shade of red the blonde had ever seen.
“You what?!” the guy squeaked, voice so high pitched in surprise that Steve's hearing aid whizzed. The expression on the man's face was so funny that Steve had to fight hard not to laugh. “The manager didn't tell me, otherwise I wouldn't have, you know... I thought, twenty-third floor, no one's gonna be out there to see me so far high making a fool of myself and dancing like an idiot. Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed right now, I'm sorry” the man all but moaned, finally getting on his feet once again.
Steve barely noticed him helping himself getting up only using his right hand, engrossed as he was figuring out what the man had just done. Had he apologized to Steve, for doing whatever he felt like doing in his own private office, which should have been away from prying eyes, when Steve had been the one standing there like a perv spying on him? That man was simply too cute and too perfect to be even real, he thought. And helplessly clumsy, too, swaying as he was on his own feet to get up properly.
“No, I mean, you don't have to feel embarrassed, I should have made my presence known anyway, I just didn't want to, I mean, you looked so... blissful, I didn't want to interrupt,” he replied, dumbstruck by the words he had just said without even meaning to. Really, Steve? “Blissful”. What the hell, man?
The guy laughed, a soft sound that barely reached Steve at all, smothered by the noises coming from the busy streets. Then he moved towards the windows, and opened the one right in front of Steve, who found himself barely inches from that smooth skin and those sinful lips. From that small distance, those eyes seemed to be even more enticing than before. He gulped as the man adjusted his jacket and leaned a bit on the windowsill.
“Did I, uh?” the man asked, his Brooklyn accent thick just like Steve's. He smiled. “I'm Bucky, by the way.”
“Steve. Nice to meet you. I'm really sorry for startling you, honestly”
Bucky smiled even more, if that was possible. Steve felt a hint of cologne reaching his nostrils and inhaled subtly. Silently, he wondered what kind of impression he must be making on Bucky, wearing his uniform – a red shirt, blue trousers with a white belt and a blue baseball cap – and sweaty as he was. Compared to the man finely dressed standing in front of him, he felt inadequate for a moment.
“Ah, no need to be. I am the one who should be sorry, for the stupid faces I must have forced you to just witness. I can't help it, when I dance they just come natural to me,” Bucky laughed, a crystalline and self-deprecating sound escaping those lips. Steve smiled back at him, genuinely thinking how much the man was friendly, and not feeling inadequate anymore. He actually liked people who had a bit of sarcasm and some good auto-irony in them.
“They were actually really comical. But, you know, in a nice way. And you didn't force me. To look at you, I mean. I wanted it. You just move so well, after all,” he said, and then immediately smacked his right hand over his mouth, as if it could take back all the stupid things he had just said.
Oh crap. Oh God, Steve didn't even know if Bucky was even vaguely interested in other man. Could his words be counted as sexual harassment? He didn't think so, but who knew? Maybe he would get angry. Maybe he would ask for his full name and call Mr Fury and have him fired. Maybe...
Maybe he would just burst into a rich laughter and pat his right hand on his knee enthusiastically, just like he was doing right now, almost bent over and with tears in his eyes.
“Oh man! You're so funny. I already like you,” Bucky said between hiccups of laughter. He was howling with laughter with so much force he actually lost his balance and found himself with his ass on the floor for the second time in less than five minutes. Steve laughed, too. He couldn't help it, the scene in front of his eyes was just too comical, and Bucky wasn't the kind of guy who would take offense from that, that much Steve had understood.
Well, if this wasn't his lucky day! He had just seen the most handsome man he had ever met, had discovered that said man had, at least, a good sense of humor, if not even a real interest in men in general and Steve himself in particular, and they both had already made a fool of themselves more than enough not to be ashamed anymore.
He didn't think twice before he spoke once again, this time perfectly knowing which words would leave his mouth. “Maybe we could properly meet for a coffee one of these days? Without a wall of glass between us and me startling you, I mean. If you feel like it, obviously”
Bucky smiled softly, his features washed in warmth, and nodded. “Yeah, I would really like that,” he said.
Slowly, he got up once again. Grabbing his wallet from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Bucky pulled out an elegant business card and flipped it over. He walked to his desk and wrote something on the back of it, then came back to the window. He handed it over to Steve, who promptly grabbed it in his hands, still covered by the gloves he had to wear at work.
James B. Barnes, electrical engineer.
Underneath the name and title, there was the name of the society he worked for, the address of the building and his contact numbers.
On the backside of the card, handwritten in a scrawl, there was his cellphone number, with a winky face on the side.
Yes, that definitely was Steve's lucky day, he thought with a smile as he carefully put the card in the back pocket of his trousers. He smiled at Bucky.
“I'll call you,” he promised.
“You do that,” Bucky agreed. Then, he took a step away from the window. “Back to work, now. No more distractions, for each of us, or our bosses will have our heads. I'll wait for your call later today,” he winked at Steve, then closed the window and walked back to his chair behind the desk before the blonde could reply with any further joke.
Despite their good intentions, they found himself stealing glances at each other for the best part of the following fifteen minutes, Bucky regularly raising his eyes from the documents in front of him to look out the window and smiling at him, and Steve purposely washing the windows on Bucky's office in slow motions, not even looking at what he was doing, staring at the wonderful man he had just met, and blushing every time Bucky caught him looking. Which was every single time.