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It’s six in the morning, the sun barely peeking out over the horizon, and Steve is already up and running. Literally.
He crosses Grand Army Plaza and enters Prospect Park just as the first rays of early May sunshine hit the top of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Arch, lighting it up in gold and red. Apart from crossing the Brooklyn Bridge before the swarms of tourists have made their way up there, the stretch through Prospect Park is Steve’s favorite bit of his usual twenty mile run. There’s just something about its gently undulating hills, its quaint ponds and bridges, that soothes Steve’s soul. It hasn’t changed much at all since he was young, and for the ten minutes or so it takes him to lap it, he’s able to soak up the sort of peace and quiet he’s rarely able to get anymore in modern day New York City.
Which is why Steve is caught utterly off guard when the sound of anguished screaming suddenly pierces the quiet morning air.
The screams come out of nowhere, shrill and harsh and incongruous. Instantly, Steve’s heart rate skyrockets, his body automatically shifting into Cap mode. He doesn’t even break his stride, just speeds up and breaks out into a sprint as he heads straight into the direction of the ear-splitting noise.
After a moment, it seems like the screaming lessens, before it starts up again with a vengeance, even louder than before. In the seconds flat it takes Steve to reach whoever may be in distress, a number of disastrous scenarios flash through his mind. Possibly a fire, or an attack of some kind. Maybe by some sort of beast, or worse, a mad scientist or a mind controller… Whatever it is, Steve really hopes it’s not aliens. He idly wishes he’d brought his shield, but then he hadn’t exactly expected to need it on his mundane morning run.
As soon as he catches the first glimpse of a group of people through the trees, Steve starts to shout at the top of his lungs in order to be heard over the turmoil.
“Hang in there!” he bellows, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Help is coming, I’m almost there!”
Another hundred yards to go, then it’s just a few dozen, and after one last flat-out sprint that would make Pietro proud, Steve finally reaches the incident site. He skids to a halt so suddenly he leaves actual skid marks in the grass, breathing hard and braced for a fight.
He’s so primed for a confrontation of some kind that it takes him a minute to realize that the scene he encounters is… not what he expected. He doesn’t actually know what he expected, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. ‘This’ being a distinct lack of visible danger, and an abundance of tight, shiny clothing and ponytails.
And silence. Abrupt, almost deafening silence.
“Uh,” Steve pants, as a dozen pairs of startled eyes turn in his direction. “I heard… screaming?”
Nobody replies, possibly because they’re all too busy gaping at him to do so.
“Is- is everyone alright?” he tries again, looking around the circle formation that the women – because it does seem to be just women – have gathered in. “Anybody hurt? Any- any injuries or um, other… issues?”
Nothing.
“Are you Captain America?” someone asks finally, peering at him over another girl’s shoulder.
“I’m, uh.” Steve frowns, clearing his throat and relaxing his stance to better match the situation. Whatever the situation is. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
That prompts the entire group of women to break out into excited chittering, all thoughts of screaming seemingly forgotten for the moment.
Steve watches the excitement ripple through the gathering with bemusement, his adrenaline-fueled brain struggling to grasp that apparently there is no great threat to be vanquished after all. Or even a small one, actually, like an illegal campfire or a rabid dog. Not even so much as a sprained ankle, by the looks of it. Everyone seems… fine.
“Apologies, Captain,” a male voice comes from somewhere on his right flank. Startled, Steve turns towards it –
– before his brain promptly turns to static.
Later, Steve will try to blame his behavior on the rush of adrenaline still swooshing around his body with nowhere to go. But deep down, he knows he has no excuse for the way he shamelessly drags his gaze up the man’s body, all the way from his bare feet to the messy brown hair piled on the top of his head. No way to justify the way his eyes rove over long, lean legs and strong thighs clad in tight, black pants that very leave little to the imagination, lingering on the sliver of taut, tanned abs visible between the waistband of the guy’s pants and the hem of his cut off navy t-shirt. His eyes trace the tattoos that snake up the man’s bare forearms and biceps before disappearing tantalizingly under his shirt, and then finally, Steve’s gaze lands on the man’s face.
The man’s extremely handsome face, wearing a distinctly amused expression.
There is a slight smirk on his pink lips and a glint in his blue – no, his gray eyes, and Steve is helpless to do anything but gawk at him like he’s never seen a male human man before in his long, long life.
It’s only then that Steve realizes the man is speaking.
To him.
“…amygdala,” the man finishes – somewhat, in Steve’s humble opinion, nonsensically.
“Ah…” Steve repeats. He gives a small shake of his head, as if that will somehow make it make sense. “Ah- sorry. Ah- what?”
“I said,” the guy repeats patiently, in a voice that suggests he’s explained it a hundred times before, “that screaming out loud is a technique we use in yoga to release stress from our amygdala. That way, we can start the session with a clean slate, without any pent-up emotion that might get in the way of the state of relaxation we seek to achieve through yoga.”
Steve stares at him for longer than is probably socially acceptable. “Yoga,” he echoes slowly.
The man nods solemnly, though his eyes are still sparkling. “It’s a form of physical, mental, and spiritual exercise originating in ancient India, aiming to control and still the mind.”
“I know what yoga is,” Steve says automatically. “Bruce does it sometimes.”
The man smiles. “Well, then. There you go. No danger, just yoga.”
Steve blinks at him for another moment, before the penny finally drops and he deflates like a hot air balloon.
“Oh,” he exhales as mortification starts to spread through him, much like that unfortunate blush that the serum never did manage to get rid of. He’s painfully aware of the way that blotchy red flush travels from the back of his neck to the entirety of his face, yet unable to do anything to stop it. No way to punch a blush into submission, unfortunately. Steve would know; he’s tried.
“Well.” He clears his throat again. “That’s embarrassing.”
The guy laughs then, a bright and happy sound that is like a soothing balm on Steve’s overheated skin. Normally, being laughed at would make Steve bristle, but somehow this feels different. The man’s amusement is joyful and infectious and it makes Steve crack a smile too, albeit a slightly sheepish one.
“Alright. So.” Steve raises a hand, clutching the back of his neck. “I guess I’ll let you all get back to it, then. Apologies for the interruption.”
The man shakes his head. “No need to apologize. We all very much appreciate the intention, don’t we, ladies?”
A chorus of agreement goes up from the women, interspersed with some cooing.
“Sorry to alarm you, sir,” one of them offers, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear.
“Captain,” her blonde companion corrects her, treating Steve to her most winsome smile.
“Call me Steve, please,” he urges with a reassuring smile of his own. “And it’s no problem. Just a small misunderstanding.”
“Well, Steve,” – and god, why does his name sound so good coming from this stranger’s mouth? – “I’m sure you’re keen to get back to your run, or any Avenging business that may need attending.” He pauses, gauging Steve’s reaction. “But, on the off chance that you’re not in any hurry…”
“I’m not,” Steve says quickly. He immediately cringes at this own eagerness, running a hand through his hair in an attempt at nonchalance. “I mean, it’s my day off. As long as there aren’t any emergencies today – no real ones, anyway – I don’t have anything urgent to attend to.”
The man’s smile widens. “In that case… would you like to join us for today’s session?”
---
And that’s how Steve finds himself barefoot and standing on one leg in the middle of Prospect Park at 6.30am on a Thursday morning.
“How does that feel?” the yoga instructor, who’d introduced himself as Bucky, asks from somewhere behind his left ear.
“Um,” Steve says, taking a moment to assess his position. He’s got his left foot propped up against his right thigh, his hands clasped in front of him, and absolutely no clue what he’s doing. “Mostly stable, I think?”
Bucky laughs softly, rounding Steve to stand in front of him. Steve can’t help but notice he’s only a couple of inches shorter than he is. “That’s good. But what I meant is, how does it feel here?” Bucky asks, lifting a hand and placing it in the center of Steve’s chest.
Steve knows he doesn’t mean anything by it – over the past half hour he’s watched Bucky move through the group and touch people continuously to adjust their pose or help them relax – but he can’t help the way all his nerve endings seem to light up at the simple touch. He’s pretty sure Bucky’s not actually magic or super-powered or anything like that, but with the way his mere proximity turns Steve’s brain into mush and his body back into that of his clumsy, teenaged, pre-serum self, he might as well be. Steve can’t quite fathom what exactly it is about Bucky that makes him feel this way, but he does know he’s helplessly attracted to him in a way he hasn’t been attracted to anyone in this century. Maybe even before.
“It feels… good?” Steve tries again. “Um. Calm?”
Bucky hums, a slight wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “Okay... Your heart is beating pretty fast, though.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s- the serum,” Steve lies not-so-smoothly. He hopes Bucky won’t notice his blush, but judging by the way his expression slowly clears and his eyes get that amused glint in them again, that’s probably a vain hope.
Bucky holds his gaze for a long moment. Despite being terrified of what Bucky might read in his eyes, Steve can’t seem to look away. “So it did more than turn you all big and strong, huh?” Bucky remarks, finally lowering his gaze only to sweep it up and down Steve’s body in a way that can’t be anything other than deliberate. While Steve normally very much minds being openly checked out, it seems that when it’s Bucky, he doesn’t hate it. At all.
Steve swallows. “I guess it did. It also improved my vision and hearing, and uh, my stamina and so on.”
Bucky’s eyes widen just a fraction, and it’s only when he says, “Good to know,” and winks, that Steve realizes what he’s said. Oh, god.
Before he can splutter out an explanation or apology, Bucky’s moved on to the woman next to him, leaving Steve to stand there like a giant, reeling flamingo.
It’s only by virtue of his superior tactical mind that Steve manages to keep up with the rest of the group and Bucky’s instructions throughout the lesson. He tries not to ogle Bucky too obviously, but that’s easier said than done considering the tightness of his pants and his truly mind-bending flexibility. And not only is Bucky flexible, he’s also strong, effortlessly pushing himself onto his arms in an upside down standing position and not even wavering a little bit. Steve is actually the only one in the group who can replicate that particular pose. He wonders if Bucky included it just for him, maybe, because the rest of the group doesn’t even seem to be trying very hard to follow Bucky’s example. Instead, the women seem happy to alternate between appreciatively eyeing Steve, then Bucky, and then Steve again.
The only thing Steve really struggles with are the exercises that require flexibility. His strength and bulk are great for knocking out bad guys and lifting debris to free trapped civilians, but less suited to contorting himself in all sorts of mildly compromising positions. Who knew. In fact, it’s one of the poses that seems to come easiest to everyone else that almost makes Steve throw in the towel.
“Bucky,” one of the ladies titters helpfully, as Steve continues to struggle on all fours, “I think Steve might be able to use a little help with his downward dog.”
“No shame in that,” Steve hears Bucky say, his voice already coming closer. “It can be one of the more challenging poses for those with, uh, more developed muscles.”
“Amen,” another woman chimes in under her breath.
“How are we doing here, Steve?” Bucky asks kindly. “Want me to help you out a little?”
“Please,” Steve mutters at the grass, trying not to think too hard about the way his backside is currently sticking up in the air or just how many pairs of eyes are likely to be fixed on it right now.
“You okay with me touching you?” Bucky checks, moving to stand in front of him.
Hoo, boy. Steve is really glad that Bucky can’t see the borderline hysterical expression of his face right now. Why yes, Bucky. I’m okay with you touching me. In fact, please touch me everywhere, anytime, anywhere you like, god, please –
“Uh-huh,” Steve replies belatedly, remembering his manners in the nick of time, just before things can get even more embarrassing.
The next thing he knows, Bucky’s warm hands settle on his lower back. So low, that if he’d move them just half an inch down, he’d be touching Steve’s ass. Steve wonders if he’s a terrible person for wishing Bucky would do it and just fondle his ass in public, but before he can get too worked up about it one way or another, Bucky starts applying pressure until he’s more or less leaning his entire weight on Steve. Steve tries his best to work with him, keeping his back straight as he moves back a little with the pressure.
“Good,” Bucky murmurs. “That’s good, Steve. I’m going to try to straighten your back out just a little bit more, but tell me if anything hurts, alright?”
Steve chooses not to remark on the fact that he kind of gets hurt for a living, or that he’s got a much higher pain tolerance than most people. Somehow, he thinks that wouldn’t go down well.
Bucky moves to stand behind him next, planting his feet on either side of Steve’s legs, placing his hands on his lower back again and then pulling him backwards.
Steve squeaks. Just a little. It’s just – he knows Bucky is just doing his job, and he knows he should really try not to be quite so weird about this, but the position they now find themselves in is highly suggestive, and Steve’s face is on fire.
“Doing okay, Steve?”
“Yep, yes, fine.”
“Excellent. You’re doing great. I’m going to let go in a minute, try to hold your position just like this, okay?”
“Okay,” Steve chokes out.
“Now we just need to adjust your head and shoulders, and you’ll be all set.” With that, Bucky lets go of him and moves around to the front again. And because Steve his still lifting his head in an unconsciously attempt to keep sight of what’s happening around him, when Bucky drops to his haunches right in front of him with his knees spread wide, Steve gets - well, he gets an eyeful.
He barely manages to swallow down a whimper. Don’t look at it, he tells himself sternly. Steven Grant Rogers, do NOT-
Steve looks at it. Oh, wow.
Fortunately for everyone involved, Bucky then places a hand on the back of Steve’s head and gently pushes it down, before reaching out to take hold of Steve’s shoulders and pressing them towards his core, too.
“That’s it,” Bucky praises, his voice so low and smooth it’s almost a purr. “That’s perfect, Steve, look at you.”
Oh, merciful god in heaven. Oh, hell. Forget perishing heroically in battle someday – this is how Steve dies. With his ass in the air and the most attractive man he’s ever met praising him before the innocent eyes of a dozen perfectly decent dames.
What a way to go, though.
Blessedly, the lesson wraps up not too long after that. They finish with a breathing exercise that can be done either lying down on one’s back or sitting upright in a cross-legged position. Steve opts for the latter, because with the memory of Bucky crowding up behind him fresh in his mind, he doesn’t trust certain parts of his anatomy not to misbehave right now.
Steve can’t say he feels particularly relaxed after the yoga session ends, but that’s entirely on him. It’s certainly not because Bucky isn’t a good teacher. In fact, Steve thinks he wouldn’t mind being taught by Bucky again. Which is why, when Bucky comes up to him once every starts packing up their stuff and asks him whether he enjoyed the session, Steve nods vigorously and asks, “So is this a- a weekly thing?”
“It is,” Bucky confirms, hoisting his backpack onto his back.
“Right,” Steve nods some more. “So, hypothetically, would I be able to join you here again some other time? Say, next week? I’d pay the fee, obviously,” he hastens to add, “and for today’s session as well, that goes without saying.”
To Steve’s distress, Bucky visibly hesitates. “Well, the thing is,” he starts, “that, um, this is technically a postpartum class?” He scratches the back of his neck, giving Steve a sheepish look. “I made an exception today because nobody seemed to have any objections, but I did adjust the program a little to accommodate you. Normally it’s more about like, ways to relieve and prevent aches and pains from breastfeeding, flatten the stomach, and strengthen pelvis and core muscles after giving birth, that sort of thing.”
With each word out of Bucky’s mouth, Steve feels the blood drain from his face a little further. He hadn’t thought it would be possible to be even more mortified than he already was after making his dramatic entrance earlier, but it seems he’d been wrong.
“Oh god,” he breathes, eyes growing wide. “I- I didn’t realize, I am so sorry. Oh geez, and I just barged in here like a--”
“Hey, no, Steve,” Bucky interrupts, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Steve’s bicep. “I invited you to join us, remember? Nothing to be embarrassed about, I promise.”
Steve blows out a slow breath, trying to believe what Bucky is telling him. The fact that Bucky’s eyes are kind and without even a hint of ridicule definitely helps bring his anxiety back down to more manageable levels.
“I do have other classes that are also for men,” Bucky continues, “but I’m afraid they’re all fully booked for the foreseeable future.”
Well. At least he sounds genuinely sorry about it.
“Of course, of course,” Steve nods, swallowing down his disappointment. “I’m sure your classes are very in demand. You’re a great teacher.”
Bucky ducks his head a little, his smile almost shy. “Thanks, Steve. That means a lot.” He looks up again, casting a quick glance around to make sure they’re not being overheard, before adding in a lower voice, “What I could do, though… I could offer you private lessons, if that’s something you’d be interested in?”
Oh. Oh. “Private lessons?” Steve repeats, his stomach swooping excitedly.
“Yeah.” Bucky cocks his head. “I’m pretty busy at the moment, but I’m sure I could… squeeze you in.”
It’s possible Steve imagined the slight pause, but he doesn’t think he did. Swallowing hard, he crosses his arms over his chest and purses his lips. “Um. Uh. Yeah, that- that’d be great, actually.”
“Yeah?” Bucky flashes him a dazzling grin. “Cool. How about I give you my number, and you can call me to set up an appointment whenever suits you? You could come to my studio in Park Slope, or I could come to you. I’m pretty flexible.”
That last bit is said with an undeniable twinkle in his eye, and now Steve knows he isn’t imagining it. Bucky is flirting with him. Steve feels simultaneously ten feet tall and scared shitless – a bit like he did when he stepped out of the Vita-Ray chamber, actually.
“So… do you-” Bucky says after a few seconds in which they just smile at each other, “do you wanna give me your phone, or..?”
Steve jumps guiltily. “Oh! I don’t have it with me.”
“Ah,” Bucky nods. He starts to pat himself down, even though there’s no way the clothes he’s wearing have pockets. “I don’t think I have a pen, but maybe…”
“I have a pretty good memory, though,” Steve interrupts, a little bashfully. “Perk of the serum. If you tell me your number, I’ll remember it.”
Bucky blinks at him for a moment, before letting out a slightly breathless laugh. “Right. Of course. ‘Cause you’re-- Captain America. Yes. Forgot about that for a second.”
That, more than any of the yoga exercises did, makes Steve feel like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Between this remark and Bucky offering to teach him privately, Steve is pretty sure that he isn’t just trying to use Steve’s clientele to get more publicity for his business or anything like that. It seems Bucky’s offer is genuine, and that makes Steve feel… well, it makes him feel really damn good, frankly.
When Bucky rattles off his number, the digits sear themselves into Steve’s brain in the same manner they would have if they were the code to switch off a nuclear bomb to save the planet.
“So I’ll be hearing from you?” Bucky asks, biting his bottom lip.
“Definitely,” Steve replies, with feeling. “Today. As soon as I get home.”
“Alright. That’s great, Steve. Looking forward to it.” Slowly, Bucky starts to walk backwards in the direction of a bike that’s leaning against a nearby tree, keeping his eyes on Steve all the way.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Me too, Bucky. And thanks again for today.”
“Thank you, for coming to our rescue,” Bucky grins. “It was very heroic, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary.”
Steve huffs a laugh. “Anytime. You ever need rescuin’ for real, you know where to find me.”
“Big, ugly tower, right? With the A at the top?”
“That’s the one.” And then, feeling bold, Steve adds, “Or you could just, you know... give me a call.”
Bucky’s smile grows so wide, it makes his eyes scrunch up and his nose crinkle adorably. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Oh my god, they’re so cute,” one of the women hisses at her friend. “I’m dying over here.”
Steve only picks up on it because of his enhanced hearing, so he doesn’t respond other than blushing furiously again, but he certainly agrees with the lady that Bucky, at least, is awfully cute.
All the way back home to the Tower, Steve feels like he’s flying. His feet barely touch the pavement, high on life and on the prospect of seeing Bucky again as soon as possible, if he’s got any say in it.
Perhaps an impromptu outdoor yoga session with a dash of love at first sight wasn’t what Steve expected when he woke up just a few hours earlier, but all in all, it’s not a bad morning. Not bad at all.