Chapter Text
There's a lot of starving faithful
That looks tasty, that looks plenty
This is hungry work
Take me to church.
Steve Rogers is a struggling artist. It's not as romantic as it sounds.
What Steve really wants is a job as a session musician. He can play enough instruments that he could make a decent amount of money doing it, but in New York there are just too many talented musicians and not enough jobs to go around. So he takes jobs in hipster bars, hotel lobbies, at weddings and bar mitzvahs and office parties. Mostly he plays muzak, sings covers of old standards, and since the end of October he's performed the entire soundtrack to Frozen more times than he cares to count.
If he gets one more request for Let it Go, he swears he'll find it within himself to punch a child.
He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment with Sam, who was his sort-of-boyfriend for a few weeks until he decided Steve's very domestic relationship goals weren't for him. They're still pretty much best friends, luckily for Steve, because when the regular pianist at Sam's dance company runs away to Canada to get married he's recommended his roommate and got him the job before Steve even knows about it.
Dancers. Steve's going to have to spend his days with dancers. Great.
He knows one of the ballerinas at Sam's company, Natasha, and she's about the furthest thing from what he'd imagined a dancer to be, but at Sam's last party things had been pretty dire where his work friends were concerned. A lot of them work hard and play hard (two girls ended up in the emergency room, apparently that was normal), but equally Steve had been freaked out by the girls clustered at one end of the room sniping competitively at each other. He'd never have believed that a Mean Girls, five people sharing the same Diet Coke moment could happen in real life unless he'd seen it for himself.
So yeah, dancers. This might not be as much fun as the time a touring burlesque show had needed a pianist for three nights at a fancy hotel. There are probably going to be a lot less boobs and booze and a lot more hair pulling and nervous breakdowns. And apparently no fucking sleep.
Sam wakes him up at five a.m. (five fucking a.m.) to go running before his first day of work. Usually Steve only goes with Sam on his cool-down jog after rehearsal, and he swears his eyes aren't open for the entire time they're supposed to be warming up. It's not like Steve doesn't work out, this is New York and the gay scene is absolutely brutal about looks, but he's blessed with a good metabolism and he's always managed to avoid the early-morning shit.
When he follows Sam into the studio space a couple of hours after his rude awakening, showered and clutching a large cup of coffee, he suddenly wishes he'd been hitting the early-morning workouts a hell of a lot more.
"Is that… Is that fucking Tayte Hanson?!" Steve hisses at Sam in what might be a somewhat over-excited whisper. The guy is warming up pretty vigorously, but the hair and the jawline all scream that Steve's favourite porn star is actually sharing air with him right now.
"Put your dick away, man." Sam rolls his eyes and shoves him in the shoulder dismissively. "That's just Bucky."
When the guy stops spinning (Twirling? Pirouetting? Steve knows fucking nothing about ballet), Steve sees it. He's not Tayte Hanson, although he looks a lot like him, but when Steve sees what he actually looks like there's only a small part of him that's disappointed he's not a porn star. Bucky's eyes are blue all the way across the room, his cheekbones could cut glass, and there's something about his lithe muscles and careful posture that just makes Steve feel things. Cold shower things.
The guy catches sight of Sam and waves at him, face transforming into a beaming grin that makes Steve think of sunshine and really, really good sex. Steve would keep staring like an idiot for way too long if Sam didn't start shepherding him over to meet the dance director. Maria has the cropped hair and firm handshake of someone Steve kind of wants to work with, kind of fears, but she's friendly enough and thanks him profusely for stepping in at such short notice.
He's leafing through the sheet music Maria's left on the piano in the corner when he hears Sam laughing and glances over, and suddenly remembers the guy he'd been staring at again. Bucky has his arms folded and his jaw set, and Sam is pretty creased over with laughter.
"I'm not doing a routine to Lady fuckin' Gaga." Steve can feel the force of Bucky's eye-roll all the way across the room, and he hides a smirk behind his sheet music. "Or former bisexual Jessie J."
"Are you ever going to stop being bitter about that?"
"No. I downloaded her album and then she turned into a queer-baiter on me." Bucky gestures indignantly and Sam just snorts. "I paid nine bucks for that shit!"
"Remind me to teach you about this great thing called pirating."
"Hey, supporting queer art—"
"Alright, everybody!" Maria clapping her hands inspires immediate silence. "First positions. We open in two weeks, no fucking around today. I'm looking at you, Bucky."
When Steve looks, Bucky's eyes are wide in a ridiculous parody of innocence and his arms are spread in a totally unconvincing who, me? gesture. His hair is scraped back in an untidy bun and the lines of his pale temples seem impossibly sharp against the tight, dark hair.
"Ms Hill, I would never." Steve has to stifle the laugh that creeps out at the indignation in his tone, and he looks away before he can notice Bucky's eyes flick in his direction curiously.
"No improvising Barnes, I mean it. Next time I see you showing off I'm giving your role to Sam." She ignores the way Bucky rolls his eyes like he knows it's a hollow threat and claps her hands again. "Come on, places."
The company assembles quickly, and Steve finds a strange pleasure in seeing them all slot into place, the same satisfaction he gets from lining up his pencils in a precisely straight line. It's strange how a change of posture suddenly transforms a group of people into a group of dancers. He's never seen Sam dance before, and seeing his friend in his element makes him twitch a smile before he turns to his sheet music, striking the first notes when Maria indicates to him.
He's sight-reading, so he can't look across at the dancers and it takes him a while to tune into what he's playing. It comes to him suddenly, and then he's slightly stunned. Johnny Cash, he's playing Johnny fucking Cash as he hears the boards thump and creak behind him, underneath the sounds of Maria's barked instructions. It's not exactly what he'd expected when Sam told him about the job.
The number comes to an end and Steve looks over his shoulder as the notes fade out. They're in different positions, but he's been so busy trying not to screw up his first number that he hasn't even looked at them dancing in the mirror. Sam catches his eye and gives him a grin and a thumbs up, chest heaving as he catches his breath. So Steve didn't fuck up completely, awesome.
"Good work everyone. Pietro, watch your back foot on that last jump." Maria glances at her watch and walks over to the stereo sitting on the floor in front of the mirror. "Everyone take a break. Natasha, Bucky, we'll go through your duo."
"I, uh, I don't have sheet music for this." Steve is even more intimidated by Maria after he's seen her giving orders like the most intimidating drill sergeant, but he has to pipe up before she tells him to play something that doesn't exist.
"We're not using live music for this one, too heavy on the vocals. You can take a break." She smiles, which makes the tight nervousness in Steve's stomach lessen slightly. He turns around and sits cross-legged on his stool, watching Natasha and Bucky get into position.
Okay, Bucky's definitely not that much like Tayte Hanson on closer inspection. Despite the hair and the jaw, he's definitely thinner than Steve's favourite porn star. He has a working body rather than something gym-crafted, all lean, corded muscle and very little flesh from what Steve can see underneath the baggy t-shirt the guy's wearing. The dancing leggings don't leave much to the imagination, but Steve tries not to stare because he knows he'll go red and Sam will notice and know exactly what he's thinking.
Next to Bucky, Natasha is stunning even in her training gear and no makeup, possibly more so than the last time Steve saw her all dressed up for dinner. Every time Steve's met her outside of the studio it's impossible to mistake her for anything but a dancer. She has the casual grace of movement that she must have been born with, and she wears it well on her tiny frame. Steve doesn't understand how someone can look like they're made out of smoke when they're reaching for a cup of coffee or laughing at Sam's terrible jokes, but she does.
They make a beautiful pair, two slips of silk standing in each other's arms, Natasha's red hair a neatly-tied shock as her head rests elegantly back against Bucky's chest. Bucky leans down and bites the top of her ear playfully, and Natasha twists around enough to give him a withering stare that he just grins back at. Maria clears her throat pointedly and the pair settle into their proper positions again, straight-faced.
This time, Steve knows what song is playing as soon as Maria starts the CD.
Heartbreak Hotel is something Steve would have never imagined could be the soundtrack to a ballet dance, but it's definitely working. Natasha and Bucky move together like oil and water, as if they're an extension of each other's bodies and always have been. All smoke and bad intentions. There's no trace of the playful expressions Steve saw on their faces earlier, only focus and passion and surprising strength in skinny limbs as they dance.
Steve's mouth is hanging open, he only realises as the music comes to a close. He snaps it shut quickly when Natasha catches his eye and smirks. All Sam's friends can't possibly be mind readers. He hopes.
The company painstakingly work their way through seven more numbers (the fifth one three times, since apparently there's something they're just not getting right) before Maria calls it a day. They got there at nine this morning and now it's dark outside. Half the dancers have bleeding feet, even more bruises from landing too hard, and Steve suspects the rest are just hiding their injuries. He's never appreciated the sheer athleticism of dancing until now, and he makes a note on his phone to buy Sam several hundred shots when this run is over.
Steve catches sight of Bucky ducking out of the side door, behind where Sam is obviously doing his very best to flirt with Natasha and probably crashing and burning spectacularly. The sight of his friend putting himself out there makes Steve's inner voice mutter something about not being a pussy, and he finds himself slipping outside after Bucky before he really has time to think about what he's doing.
He hasn't met a guy he likes since Sam, he might as well try.
"Hey." Bucky is leaning against the wall, arms wrapped around his middle like a shield, and he looks up like he'd vaguely been expecting someone else. "Piano guy."
"Steve." Steve introduces himself with what he hopes is a winning smile. "And you're Bucky, right? Sam's mentioned you before."
That's a lie, but he's not exactly going to tell the guy he mistook him for a porn star and had to be corrected. Bucky nods anyway, not subtle about the way he's looking Steve up and down appraisingly. Maybe he's in with a chance after all.
"It's freezing out here." Steve comments after a pause, when Bucky doesn't seem to be particularly forthcoming with conversation. It's a fair observation, there's the promise of snow in the air and their breath is clouding against the dingy brick off the alleyway.
"Helps your muscles recover quicker. Some people take ice baths, but fuck that shit." Bucky's smile is wide and easy, showing all his teeth as he shivers under his oversized hoodie (boyfriend sized? Steve tries not to think about it). "Wish I still smoked, though. That was pretty good at keeping me warm."
"You quit?"
"About a year ago." Bucky shrugs. "Wish I hadn't quit my boyfriend at the same time. He was pretty good at keeping me warm too."
The completely not-smooth way Bucky slips that into the conversation gives Steve a glimmer of hope that he's not batting above his average here.
"That sucks." Steve tries to hide his relief that Bucky is single, because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself when he tries to ask him out. He tries to tell himself to keep it subtle, not look too eager. "How come you broke up?"
"He didn't like my lifestyle." It's dodging the question, but Steve doesn't exactly mind as long as the guy's out of the picture. "He was an asshole anyway."
"Guess you're better off then, huh?" Steve smiles and the corner of Bucky's mouth quirks up again. "So, uh…"
"So how about you cut the crap and ask me out already?" Bucky turns to lean one shoulder against the wall, raising one eyebrow at Steve expectantly.
"Uh." Steve is blindsided for a second before he gets his brain in gear. "Do you wanna go out with me sometime?"
"Pick me up at eight tomorrow, take me for drinks. Not too fancy, my iron's broken. Not too expensive, this shit doesn't pay well." Bucky pushes himself off the wall with a smirk. "I'll text you my address."
"You don't have my number."
"Natasha does." He pushes the door to the studio back open and looks back over his bony shoulder to smirk at Steve. "Ciao."
Steve is left staring at the door as it swings shut and snow finally starts to dance down from the clouds above him. He's standing in a stinking back alley in Brooklyn and grinning like an idiot between the dumpsters. Snow lands on his eyelashes and he doesn't blink it away.
Somehow he doesn't feel the cold so much now.