Like You a Latte - ellevaire - Captain America (Movies) [Archive of Our Own]
The semester doesn’t actually start for another two weeks when Bucky sets foot in New York for the first time in almost fifteen years. He figured he’d need some extra time to get settled and actually meet his roommates, though, so he’d packed most of his earthly possessions into a U-Haul, leaving his beloved Honda Accord at the mercy of his sister, and made the (boring, flat) drive through the Midwest, and then the (less boring, less flat) drive through Pennsylvania and into New York.
He’s not sure what to expect from his roommates, but there’s not a lot of time to be nervous as he jogs up the stairs to let them know he’s here and to get his key. Bucky did find them on Craigslist, but he’s texted them back and forth a bunch, and it’s hard to imagine actual serial killers using the poop emoji as much as Tony does.
As luck would have it, neither Clint nor Tony kills him within the first five minutes of meeting him, so his mom will probably be excited about that. They do help him move his stuff in--he doesn’t have a ton but they are on the third floor--and so when they’re done and Bucky has returned the truck he buys them a twelve-pack of beer and some pizza as a thank you. Tony brings out vodka and insists they take celebratory shots before they eat, and also during and after eating, but it is like seven in the evening, so whatever. Getting drunk with his new roommates seems like an appropriate bonding ritual.
It turns out that liquor gets Tony all hyped and sciencey and halfway through their third episode of Archer he runs off to work on a design for what Clint says is military-grade armor that can fucking fly, dude, you won’t believe it. Clint, on the other hand, gets really gushy about his dog. He had sent Bucky a courtesy text that read “hey man I hope ur cool with dogs I think it was in the ad but jsut making sure,” before Bucky signed the lease, to which Bucky replied that he was, in fact, cool with dogs.) Lucky is a very friendly one-eyed mutt, and it kind of looks like he’s permanently winking because of the missing eye, and Bucky is immediately charmed. Lucky stares at Bucky for all of one second before barreling at him in an effort to get at Bucky’s pizza, so like, they're basically best friends, and Clint laughs maniacally at the fact that their names rhyme.
“Bro, I’m so glad you answered our ad and I’ve only known you for like four hours,” Clint says, after Lucky has calmed down and stolen everyone’s pizza crusts. “And you have pretty hair.”
“Thanks, man,” Bucky says, touching the messy little knot of hair at the back of his head. He usually styles it with hair elastics and prayers, so the compliment is welcome, and also, take that, mom. He resists the urge to do a happy little wiggle. This is going to be his year. He’s going to ace all his classes and get the guy of his dreams and he’s going to make the friends he never quite managed to make while doing his undergrad, dammit!
Five episodes of Archer in, Bucky’s mouth tastes a little fuzzy and gross with beer, so he calls it a night and digs through his boxes until he finds his toothbrush. Clint is already half-asleep on the couch and neither of them has seen Tony since he disappeared to science alone (possibly a metaphor, Bucky makes a note to investigate further) and so he figures it’s as good a time as any to go to sleep. He’d at least had the foresight to put sheets on his bed, knowing he’d regret it later if he didn’t, and Bucky goes to sleep feeling a little tingly from alcohol and a little bit excited.
Tony and Clint are sitting at the kitchen table with the coffee maker between them looking Very Serious when Bucky rolls out of bed the next morning. Oh god, is he getting kicked out? Has he even been here long enough to do anything that would warrant them kicking him out? His mom is going to be so disappointed in him. Bucky will be so disappointed in himself.
“Are you kicking me out?” he asks, before he can help it.
“Please stop looking like you’re about to shit a brick, it’s making my hangover worse,” Tony says.
“What? Dude, no,” Clint says. “We’ve only known you for like twenty-two hours.”
“Oh, okay, good.”
“Um, we do have kind of an issue, though,” Clint says. “So you know how I told you Tony gets all sciencey when there’s alcohol to be had?”
“The coffee maker is sentient,” Tony says. “Kind of.”
“How can a machine be ‘kind of’ sentient? It’s just a machine,” Bucky says.
The coffee maker hisses and the smell of burning coffee fills the room.
“Uh, like that,” Tony says. “It doesn’t respond well to insults and we--” Clint shoots him a Look. “--Fine, I can’t get it to make coffee anymore.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twenty. “Since this is technically my fault, please someone go buy us coffee, for the love of God, I’m dying.”
“So that’s Tony,” Clint says as they’re on their way out of the building five minutes later.
There’s a coffee place two doors down from their apartment, because this is Brooklyn. It’s cute and homey and possibly the perfect place to write stuff, Bucky thinks, but these thoughts fall to the wayside when he makes eye contact with the guy behind the counter. It’s kind of like a movie. Bucky can feel time slow down, and as they make eye contact, he would swear on his life that he hears Careless Whisper playing somewhere in the background. It’s then that Bucky remembers he’s wearing sweatpants and a ratty muscle shirt, his hair is slightly dirty, and yep, he’s got his glasses on. Well, shit.
“Hey, man,” Clint says, stepping up to the counter. He’s wearing purple sleep pants printed with tiny arrows and a hoodie that has clearly been zipped halfway up his bare chest and he still definitely looks cooler than Bucky does. God, life is unfair.
“Hey, Clint. Who’s this nerd?” says the hottest barista ever. It’s fair, he is wearing his Millenium Falcon shirt. Barista Guy is probably some sort of deity, cast from his home because he’s too beautiful and is now on Earth, masquerading as a human. His name tag says his mortal vessel is called “Steve.”
“This is Bucky,” Clint says. “He’s the new third.”
“Ah, Hank didn’t work out, I take it?”
“There may have been an incident where he built a robot and tried to give it his ex-girlfriend’s personality, so no, not really.”
“Yikes. Well, hi, Bucky, I’m Steve. I hope you’re not a serial killer or builder of weird sex robots.”
Bucky blushes at being directly addressed by the second coming of Christ (if Jesus was kind of skinny, tattooed and, y’know, white) himself and hopes nobody notices.
“I’m in grad school for writing, so no, I just write about serial killers and sex robots.”
“I’ve got my eye on you,” Steve says, smiling. “So, the usual?”
“And whatever Bucky wants,” Clint says, passing over the twenty.
“Whatever they’re having is fine.”
Steve arches an eyebrow. God, that’s hot. Although Bucky thinks Steve could probably start talking about Civil War wounds in detail and he would still find Steve hot. It’s a rare quality to find in a person, that sort of unflagging hotness.
“Okay, two cups of Death Wish and a whatever coming right up. So vague. I love it.”
“It wasn’t that vague, actually,” Bucky points out.
“Here you go,” Steve says, turning around with three frighteningly large cups of coffee. “I am not responsible for any heart palpitations or health consequences. So if you survive this, I’ll see you around?” he says to Bucky, and does the hot eyebrow thing. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about surviving is those big blue eyes, Christ.
“See you around,” Bucky says.
“Well, how was it?” Clint asks as they mosey back to their building.
“How was what? This is too hot to drink, I haven’t--”
“Not the coffee, I meant the eye fucking.”
“Uh, yeah,” Clint says, unlocking their door. “I mean it’s cool if you’re into dudes, which like, based on the thorough eye-ravishing you gave Steve, you are, and like, I’m into dudes, but not the label thing. Tony has definitely slept with dudes, but he’s a ‘try everything once’ type of guy.”
“Excuse you, it was three months,” Tony says, sweeping past the table to grab his coffee and walking straight to his room. “And counting,” he yells, shutting the door.
“Okay, so I was wrong about that one.”
“I mean, I’m bisexual, I guess, but you knew because I made eye contact with a guy?” Bucky asks, equal parts nervous about where this is going and relieved that he doesn’t have to do the awkward should-he-come-out thing.
“The ravishing for sure, and aw, filter, I swore to myself I wasn’t going to tell you this but, um. Tony has no real sense of personal boundaries? And he acts like an ass sometimes but he’s also a genuinely good person, uh, deep, deep down, but he was trying to be helpful and put boxes in the rooms they’re supposed to go in and stuff.” Clint pauses to take a sip of coffee, his face beet red. “But he was peeking into the boxes and um--listen, that’s a great dildo, I have that one too, it’s kind of sparkly and purple and--”
“Oh god, oh my god.”
“--Really just presses all the right buttons, if you know what I mean--”
“I can die at any time now. Literally right now would be great--”
“--nice shape and weight--”
“If the floor could just open up right now--”
Clint clears his throat.
“Sorry. I’d like to genuinely apologize for both of us. Tact isn’t my strong suit.”
“I’d also like to commend you on your healthy sexuality--”
“No offense, but I think the best apology would be to never mention this again.”
“Right. Filter, where are you. Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice you going all moony over Steve, who is the twinkiest lil twink ever, but you should also know that he was flirting with you, so do with that what you will.”
“He barely said anything to me,” Bucky says.
“I’ve known him for years, that was definitely flirting.”
“Really? When did you meet?”
“We went to sign language classes together,” Clint says, tapping the sides of his head, where Bucky can see thin wires running behind his ears. “Stop changing the subject. Just--talk to him. He’s a nice guy and you both seem a little lonely.”
Bucky spends most of the morning unpacking the rest of his stuff that isn’t books, which...is a problem. He didn’t really think that one through, and now he needs a bookshelf.
“Hey, where can I get a bookshelf?” Bucky says, trying and failing to pull up any relevant information on his phone.
“I don’t know, Clint says, already pulling on his shoes, wearing actual clothes now. Bucky takes a moment to mourn. Rest in peace, beautiful image that was Clint's surprisingly sculpted chest. “Leave it to me, I’ll find one somewhere. I’ll be back.”
An hour later, Clint returns with two five-foot shelves and tells Bucky he owes him thirty bucks and a twelve-pack. A red-haired woman who’s barely taller than the shelf she’s carrying hefts it up the stairs and into Bucky’s bedroom.
“You’re welcome,” she says, stalking back out and throwing herself on the couch. Lucky immediately launches himself at the couch, settling on her stomach and resting his head on her boobs. “You’re not a lap dog, asshole,” she says, but she scratches his head anyway.
“God. My dog got to first base with Natasha and didn’t even fucking try.”
“Hey,” Natasha says, poking Clint’s leg with her big toe. “You should throw a party tonight, you can introduce George of the Jungle here to everyone.”
Bucky thinks, based on Natasha's smile alone, that this will be a complete disaster.
There’s a knock on the door at eight on the dot.
“Rhodey’s here!” Tony yells, running past Clint and Bucky before either of them even consider getting up to get the door.
Tony throws the door open and attempts to jump into the arms of the most tall-dark-handsome guy Bucky has ever seen, and falls to the ground when Rhodey decidedly does not catch him.
“I brought five layer dip, I’m not dropping that because your white ass decided to jump at me.”
Tony gives him a hard stare, then leans in for a kiss.
“Alright, that’s fair.”
If it’s any indication of how the night is going to go, the whole thing is going to be a shit show. People start filtering in--none so literal in heeding the eight o’clock start time as Rhodey, but almost everyone is there by nine. Most of them are in grad school, but not all of them are at NYU like Bucky, Clint, and Tony. Bucky is introduced to Carol and her girlfriend Jess, a tall, blond, wet dream of a man named Don, a guy named Bruce who Tony calls his “science bro” and also the token heterosexual, Reed, who is apparently the last member of the Science Triumvirate, and Jan, who is ex-roommate Hank’s ex-girlfriend. (“We kept Jan. She’s cool,” Clint tells Bucky.)
Just when Bucky thinks everyone has arrived, there’s another knock on the door. It’s Steve, oh god, what the fuck, no one warned him. He’s with two other people, one who has the most flawless skin and a gorgeous, slightly gap-toothed smile, and one who only looks a little older than Bucky but has very sophisticated looking streaks of grey at his temples.
“Steven with a ‘v,’ nice to see you again,” Steve says, smirking at Bucky. “That is also Stephen,” he says, pointing at the grey haired guy.
“Stephen with a ‘ph’?” Bucky asks, shaking grey-haired Stephen’s hand.
“Stephen with a PhD,” he says, pointing finger guns at Bucky and backing into the room, grinning.
“I wish my name was Stephen and I was smart enough to get a PhD, just so I could make that joke,” Bucky says wistfully.
“It’s okay, I’m sure there are a lot jokes that go with ‘Bucky,’” Steve says, patting him on the shoulder.
And that’s when it all starts to go downhill.
The party is awesome. The party is a fucking shit show and Bucky is having the time of his life. It probably actually shouldn’t be as much fun as it is, because there are all of like, thirteen people there, including him and Clint and Tony. Don begins drinking every single one of them under the table with glee, and Bucky figures just about everyone else could drink him under the table, except maybe Steve.Trying to keep up with them, Bucky realizes after about three drinks, is a huge fucking mistake.
At some point after everyone is solidly in the cheerful drunk of loosened inhibitions, Tony brings out the karaoke machine. Bucky is going to have so many regrets in the morning.
Natasha goes first, but she can actually sing and does a version of Valerie that, were he less drunk, might have given him a boner. Tony and Rhodey do a ridiculous duet to a song Bucky doesn’t recognize. Clint sings Country Roads, Take Me Home, and when he’s done, shoves Bucky toward the makeshift stage at the same time Natasha gives Steve a none-too-gentle push.
Bucky was in honors choir in high school, but he went to a high school with like six hundred people in fucking Indiana, so he’s pretty sure his place in the honors choir was more because he was a warm body than anything else.
“Do you trust me on the song choice?” he asks Steve.
“Not at all,” Steve says cheerfully. “But go for it.”
As the title comes up on the screen, Steve barks out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head, smiling at Bucky nervously.
“Well shit, here goes nothin’,” he mutters.
What they lack in actual talent, they make up in enthusiasm. Bucky is a performer by nature, and Steve can carry a tune, at least, and together they give perhaps the most impassioned rendering of Somebody to Love since Freddie Mercury’s death. Almost everyone else is sitting around with their mouths hanging open after they (mostly) hit the last note, which is either really good or it means Bucky’s going to have to find a balcony from which to fling himself.
“Oh my god, Rogers, who knew you could hit that note. Or any note,” Sam says.
“I like...hitting...things,” says Rock God Incarnate Steve Rogers, doing that sexy I’m-making-an-innuendo eyebrow wiggle.
“Yes, yes, we all know you love butt stuff,” Natasha says in a bored voice.
“Who even are you,” Clint says, sloppily patting Bucky on the head. “You mysterious, talented bastard.”
“So,” Bucky says, sidling up to Steve after he’s gotten a fresh beer. Fuck. Fuck, he didn’t think of anything else to say. Okay, plan B. Steve is clearly appreciative of butt stuff (something they have in common, besides 70s power ballads!) which means, alright, Bucky would totally take him on a date and eat him out for dinner. Or out to eat for dinner. One of those two.
“So, Freddie, is it?” Steve says, smiling slightly.
Shitty pickup line. Bingo.
“Are you from--” Tennessee. Come on, Barnes, say it. “Milwaukee?”
Milwaukee? Milwaukee? “Because you’re the only mil I waukee”? Come the fuck on, Barnes.
“I’m from Brooklyn actually,” Steve says.
“Huh, no kidding. Me too, but I’m an army brat and you...looked like someone I knew when I lived in Milwaukee.”
Damn it, Barnes.
Their coffee maker is still broken or not at all broken but partially sentient the next morning, depending on how you look at it, so Clint and Tony send Bucky on another coffee run. Steve is at the bar, looking tired as all hell but still pretty fucking great.
“Hey. The usual?”
“For Tony and Clint, I think I’m still having heart palpitations from the one yesterday, so I’m just going to get a caramel macchiato today,” Bucky says.
“Aw, poor baby. I tried to warn you,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s money.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Steve slides two cups into a drink tray and starts frothing milk. Okay, Bucky, now’s your chance to not completely fuck up a pickup line.
“Are you tired?” From running through my mind all night? Just say it.
“Yeah, Sam decided we needed to play Skyrim when we got home last night so I’m running on empty here.”
“I know what you mean. Clint threw up in the shower and then started crying about dogs.”
“That happens when he’s sober,” Steve says, handing Bucky his macchiato.
Bucky makes a face. “Thanks.”
“See you around, Freddie.”
Bucky strides into the coffee shop with a sense of purpose the next morning. Today is his day. He’s gonna fucking do it. He chooses the opportune moment, when Steve is shaking his iced coffee.
“I think there’s something wrong with my phone.” Your number isn’t in it.
“There’s a repair place down the street,” Steve says, looking concerned. “Hang on, I’ll--” He pours the coffee into a cup and grabs a pen and a napkin. “You’re just going to go two blocks down and make a left…” he says, scribbling while he talks.
Bucky has to resist the urge to facepalm. It’s more difficult than it should be.
The next morning, he's gonna do it. He's really gonna fucking do it.
“I’m not a photographer but I…” Fuck. Now is not the time for a brain glitch. Steve is definitely giving him a weird look. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Bucky does the only sensible thing he can think of and grabs the coffee and runs.
I can still picture us together.
Clint almost damages an internal organ laughing the next morning when Bucky miserably explains why he can’t go get the coffee. He can never actually leave the apartment and will probably be forced to live and die here, wallowing in shame for the next seventy or so years, which is what he tells Clint. Clint does, however, take pity on Bucky’s poor, pathetic self.
“Plain black coffee,” he says, handing Bucky his cup. “Steve wasn’t working today anyway, by the way.”
Bucky lets his head thunk onto the kitchen table and feels a pat on his head.
“Can I have directions?” Bucky has practiced this line about a hundred times already this morning. He knows it. He is facing his fear. He’s doing this, goddammit.
“Sure. Where you wanna go?”
To your heart. Your fucking heart. Oh my god, just spit it out, Barnes. Unless he’s being disrespectful and Steve wouldn’t be interested anyway.
“I need to get a new bullet journal, so office supplies or similar.”
Bucky really does need a new bullet journal. His old one is full of terrible pickup lines, and “ASK STEVE OUT” has been scribbled in every task list for the days he’s been in New York, which is like, five whole days.
But the next day is different. He’s really gonna fucking do it. Like, swear-on-his-grandma’s-grave gonna do it. He even takes the time to get dressed in something that isn’t a really old t-shirt before leaving. He puts in his fucking contacts. He’s ready.
Steve blushes the entire time he interacts with Bucky, and Bucky isn’t sure if it’s because he’s been consistently making things awkward all week or what. Probably, he thinks sadly. Steve even looks extra good today. He’s wearing a navy blue v-neck that shows his tattoos and a scandalous amount of chest, and it makes his blue eyes look even bluer. Bucky didn’t know that was even possible.
“Did it hurt?” He asks, while Steve is foaming milk for his cappuccino.
“Nah, it’s just a surgical scar,” Steve says, looking down at his chest. Bucky hadn’t even noticed the long white scar poking out of his shirt. “I mean, I assume it did, at the time, but I wasn’t like, impaled or anything.” Steve’s smile is tight.
Bucky sighs, suddenly very resigned and tired of miscommunication, even though most of it has been his fault.
“I mean I was just gonna say, ‘when you fell from heaven.’”
“Oh,” Steve says quietly. “I mean. If you’re trying to ask me out, you can just ask me. I wouldn’t say no, even though all your lines are terrible.” He’s smiling though, a real smile that reaches his eyes.
“Okay. Hey. Wanna go on a date?” Bucky asks, hopeful but still nervous.
“Hey. Yeah, I think I do.”
Six Months Later
“Aww, aren’t you two just adorable,” Tony says, tugging Rhodey through the front door.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says lazily from his favorite position of lying on top of Bucky.
“I wish I could fix all of my problems by breaking a coffee maker,” Tony says.
“I was a problem? And you broke the coffee maker on purpose?”
“Chill, Fabio. You’re not a problem. And I didn’t break it on purpose, I just...didn’t fix it until you two had the chance to interact in my little petri dish.”
“So we were a science experiment,” Steve asks. Bucky can feel his breathing quicken, which means Steve is getting angry and worked up, which means he gets all adorable and flustered and they’ll have some really spectacular sex later. (Yay!)
“Um, no, you two were Clint and I thinking that you’re perfect for each other, which you are, and had I actually realized how true that is, I would go back in time and prevent this all from happening anyway because I know you’ve fucked on that couch.”
He turns on his heel and pulls Rhodey into his room.
"I'm not sure if I'm offended," Steve says after a moment. "Because on one hand, that's a lot of meddling, and on the other, I kind of love you."
"I kind of love you too," Bucky says, fully knowing he's wearing the face Natasha refers to as "making eyes."
"Wanna really make them regret it?"
“Well,” Clint says the next morning, when Bucky and Steve wander into the kitchen. “That sounded...creative.”
“Oh, it was,” Steve says, helping himself to Bucky’s cereal.
“You don’t look injured,” Tony says, looking Steve up and down.
“I’m not really in the position to be injured, if you catch my drift.”
“I think Bucky caught your drift,” Clint says.
“Steve’s drift is much better than the Big Boy Lover,” Bucky says.
Clint almost chokes on his bagel. Steve high fives him under the table.
Knock Knock Jokes That Are So Bad They're Funny!
Опубликовано: 12.02.2018 | Автор: Зосима
Всего 6 комментариев.
I Like You a Latte - Продолжительность: 7:17 beysisterproductions 112 просмотров. "I LOVE YOU A LATTE" - Songs From The Laptop - Продолжительность: 5:36 Sydney Lett 718 просмотров.
I Like You A-latte +133. Леви не язвил нарочно, просто в их меню были реально «любые» багели. Это было похоже на булочную рулетку, так как заказ «любой» предполагает сюрприз и только.
Вопрос про Английский (американский вариант). Что значит "I like you a latte"? LOL! It's word play. I like you a lot >> I like you a latte.
Результаты (русский) 1: я люблю вас латте. я, как вы латте. переводится, пожалуйста, подождите.. Результаты (русский) 3: ты мне латте.
Публикуйте что угодно (откуда угодно!), настраивайте все до мелочей и читайте то, что вам нравится. Создайте свой блог Tumblr уже сегодня!.
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