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Steve’s been sitting on the couch watching Dora The Explorer since 7am and it’s now well after lunch. Lucas and Beth are sitting on the floor staring mindlessly at the TV and while this is an easy way to occupy the most energetic twins on the planet while babysitting on his only free weekend since midterms, it’s certainly not the way he wants to spend his Sunday. But Steve is a good friend and when his best friend calls him at 6pm on a Friday in a high-pitched voice basically begging Steve to take his kids because his wife has expressed an interest in trying for baby number three the entire weekend, Steve sighs, shuffles his plans to sleep in past 6:30 to next month, and agrees.
Sam owes him. Owes him at least drink, if not the whole damn bar.
Steve’s a decorated war veteran suffering through art school, god damn it. He deserves some damn peace.
Although, Sam’s just as decorated and suffers through toddlers waking him up at 0-dark-thirty every morning, so.
Steve’s been browsing Craigslist for the past few hours because it’s fun to see how many weird rich guys there are in New York looking to buy themselves a sugarbaby. He’s just tired enough and just broke enough to start thinking he could be a pretty good sugarbaby, actually, considering he’s always down to let people buy him stuff and is really good at convincing people they are the greatest person on earth. But he’s 6’2”, 250 pounds, and could break any man’s neck with his thighs. He thinks sugardaddies are mostly looking for petite girls or, if otherwise inclined, twinks.
If only this were 4 years and 120 pounds ago.
Oh, well. At least he’s not hemorrhaging money on medical bills anymore.
He comes across an ad titled “Looking for a random family to let me take a Christmas portrait with” and stops scrolling. He thinks that might be the saddest damn thing he’s ever read in his life, but he clicks the link and thinks maybe he can cheer this person up in some way.
What he reads next changes his entire day. The ad reads:
“So my name is Bucky and I’m a 24-year-old student at NYU. This year for Christmas, I really want to confuse my distant relatives by making a Christmas card with myself and a random family saying something like ‘Merry Christmas from the Barnes Family!’ and make it look like I married some random person with kids. It will be an awkward photo for sure. Lots of turtlenecks and awkward sweaters. Sideburns, if possible. I can give you like fifty bucks if you’re interested.”
Well, Steve is usually pretty interested in someone looking to give him $50, but he’s even more interested in someone whose sense of humour might be just as fucked up as his. He taps his passcode into his phone and texts Sam.
Steve: Can I use your kids to take a family Christmas photo with a total stranger?
Sam: Um.
Steve: It’s legit, I’ll meet him in the park or something public.
Sam: Steve, I trust you and I’ve been having loud, acrobatic sex for two days so I honestly don’t give a fuck what you do for the rest of the year.
Steve: I’ll send a copy to you.
Steve opens the message option on the ad and replies:
“I have my buddy’s kids for the weekend and he says it’s cool. Want to meet in Central Park by the Bethesda Fountain at 4pm?”
The response is nearly immediate.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe someone responded to this. So far I’ve had three old ladies angrily tell me that I should be ashamed of myself for being rude to my family. Yes, I can meet you there. I’ll be the idiot in the Star Wars Christmas sweater and Santa hat.”
Steve laughed loudly, disturbing the twins’ glazed stares at the TV, and wrote back.
“I’ll be the idiot in the Star Trek Christmas sweater and two kids in elf pajamas. My name is Steve, by the way.”
Steve jumped up off the couch and went on a hunt for his Star Trek Christmas sweater complete with Spock wearing a Santa hat reading ‘Trek The Halls’. It took him the better part of an hour and unpacking his entire closet, but he found it, shook it out, and tugged it on. He rounded up the twins and brushed their hair, wiped their faces, and spent 30 minutes talking them into their Christmas pajamas.
He had an hour and a half before he had to meet Bucky, most of which would likely be eaten up wrangling the twins on public transportation. After all, they were only three years old and full of energy, with a special talent for not listening. Ever.
So he curses Sam for thinking child leashes are ‘a little too BDSM to subject my spawn to’ and allows himself to be tugged down the stairs of the apartment by the grip he has on both of their winter coats’ hoods. The bus ride is spent mostly singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with his very own special lyrics at the top of his voice to appease them, much to the disgruntlement of their fellow passengers.
The walk through Central Park is nice because it’s just cold enough that tourists aren’t hanging around too much but not so cold that the twins are snotty, sobbing messes. It’s potentially the emptiest he’s ever witnessed the Park, but by no means is it devoid of people.
They wait by the fountain, Lucas and Beth rolling around in the mud and making a filthy mess of their winter coats, but Steve – it’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s more like the thinks Sam having to wash them is going to be penance for having hot, steamy sex with his gorgeous wife all weekend while Steve is made to look after two very tiring children for free.
He may bump Lucas into a puddle, just a little bit.
And – he’s just leaning against a tree, waiting for this Bucky guy and – and – oh my god.
There’s a man walking toward him. He’s – he’s not really fully described with the word ‘man’. He’s tall, strong but slim, wearing a snug Star Wars Christmas sweater, dark hair messily scooped into a bun at the back of his head. His eyes are – so blue. He’s got a faint dusting of stubble across his jaw and – Jesus – you could cut glass on that jawline.
He’s young, that much is obvious, and his eyes are bright with excitement.
Good God, Steve thinks. This might have been a bad idea.
-
Bucky sees two kids in winter coats with elf pajamas sticking out the bottom rolling around in the mud around the fountain and grins. He wasn’t sure this ‘Steve’ would actually show up. He follows the kids with his eyes, two adorable little toddlers with spring-like black curls and chubby faces, and sees them darting around the legs of a man.
Bucky looks up at him, thinking this guy had to be Steve, and almost falls into the fountain.
His first thoughts?
Sweet Lord, is this what daddy kink is?
Steve’s probably about thirty. Jacked as fuck, Bucky thinks, as he traces the outline of Steve’s pecks through his Star Trek sweater. A distinguished beard, perfectly groomed, doing little to hide the sharp angle of his jaw. Hair combed carefully with a stylish side part. Big, black plastic-framed glasses sitting on possibly the handsomest nose Bucky’s ever seen. He wants Steve to call him a ‘good boy’ and slap his ass.
This is what daddy kink is, Bucky knows it.
He’s going to die.
-
“Hi, Steve,” the man who must be Bucky says, waving awkwardly. Steve’s heart flutters and he can’t feel his fingers.
“I’m Steve,” he says, stupidly. Bucky chuckles.
“Yeah, I gathered,” Bucky smiles. “Um. I’m Bucky.”
“H-Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Um,” Steve stutters dumbly, still mentally trying to deal with seeing Bucky for the first time. He points suddenly at the toddlers near his feet. “This is Lucas and Beth.”
Bucky stares down at them for a moment. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Beth shrieks, pulling hard on Bucky’s skin-tight khakis. Bucky stares at Steve with giant eyes and a blank face. Steve colours violently.
“Sorry,” he blurts out. He scoops Beth up off the ground and looks at her seriously. “Beth, you can’t grab strangers.”
“It’s okay,” Bucky breathes awkwardly. “Maybe we should take the picture?”
“Yeah. Yeah,” Steve says, gathering the twins and sitting them on the edge of the fountain.
Bucky grabs a passerby and asks her to take a photo of them with his camera. She’s an older woman with rosy cheeks and she happily agrees.
Bucky sits on the left of the twins and Steve on the right. They lean in and Bucky’s hand rests lightly on Steve’s shoulder, which is suddenly warmer than it has ever been before.
The woman snaps the photo and hands the camera back to Bucky.
“What a lovely family,” she says warmly. “You two are so lucky to have found each other.”
“Oh!” Bucky exclaims, blushing. “No, we’re not a family. I just met these people, actually.”
“Oh,” the woman offers with a worried expression. “Well. Okay, then. Have a nice day?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says faintly. “Thanks!”
And the woman scurries off, confused.
Steve sits on the edge of the fountain for a while, as Bucky plays with the twins for a bit before moving to sit on the fountain, too. They bump shoulders accidentally and both of them look in different directions immediately.
“So,” Steve starts. “What’s with the Christmas photo?”
Bucky laughs.
“Oh. Well, my family keeps bugging me about settling down and starting a family, which is hilarious because it’s not like I’m a party animal or anything. I’m mostly just busy and an awkward son of a bitch, so I don’t date much,” Bucky explains. “So I thought it would be funny to send them a Christmas card with a family photo on it when they were under the impression I was totally single for, like, the third year in a row.”
Steve presses his lips together in an attempt not to laugh, but fails. Bucky glares briefly, but eventually starts laughing, too.
“Oh my god,” Steve wheezes. “That’s hilarious. Oh, man. I find it hard to believe you’ve been single for three years, though.”
“Uh, I have been,” Bucky admits. “Not great at making first impressions, which means first dates are not generally a success.”
“No shortage of interested parties, though, right?”
Bucky stares at him. His mouth drops open. “Uh. Why?”
Steve raises his eyebrows. “Because you’re so pretty. I mean – not pretty – I mean. Yeah. Pretty?”
Bucky is the colour of the Santa hat on his sweater’s stormtrooper. It’s cute and Steve is pretty sure Bucky’s too young – he can’t be more than 24 and Steve’s pushing 30 hard – but he’s gorgeous and funny and Steve wants to wrap his fingers in that hair for very dirty reasons.
“Thanks, I guess,” Bucky smiles shyly. “You’re, uh. God, Steve, I almost fell in the fountain. Your beard, oh my god.”
Steve strokes a hand down his face and over his neck instinctually and Bucky actually moans.
“Jesus,” Steve groans, looking up at the grey sky. “Jesus. Okay. So do you want to come back to my place for coffee? Sam and Natasha will be by to collect their spawn in like two hours.”
Bucky covers his face with his mittened hands and breaths deeply.
“Steve, I would like that very much.”
-
Three hours later, Sam and Natasha have barely knocked once when Steve yanks the door open and shuffles two already winter-ready twins toward their parents.
“Hi, Steve, good to see you, how have you been, was the weekend fun?” Sam asks sarcastically. Natasha elbows him a nods to Bucky standing awkwardly behind Steve and Sam’s eyes widen comically.
“Yes, Sam, it was great, how was making babies?” Steve asks as he pushes the twins out the door.
“Epic and energetic, as usual,” Sam winks. “So who’s this?”
“This is Bucky, the Christmas photo guy.”
“Oh, really,” Sam grins delightedly, stepping toward the door when Steve blocks him with an arm across the doorway.
“Sam,” Steve says seriously. “I’m glad you had fun being epic and energetic.”
“But?”
“But it’s my turn.”
And Steve closes the door in Sam’s face, the little shit.
Natasha and the twins have already started to wander down the hall when Sam hears the thud of a body being shoved against a door followed by loud panting and an all-too-audible, “Oh – oh – ah, lower, ohhhhh….”
“Faster, Wilson family!” Sam cries, darting down the hall after his children and wife.