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Bucky Barnes living in the same building shouldn’t be that much of a problem, Tony thought with a certain degree of misery.
And yet, somehow, it was.
Only not for the reasons most people would think of. Frankly, not for the reasons Tony first thought of either.
Yes, there was the whole “used to kill Howard and Maria” thing.
And the “we almost beat the living shit out of each other” thing.
Then the “you wanted to rip out my arc reactor and I shot off your arm” thing. Topped with some “Steve chose you over everything and everyone and I am not dealing well with that” sprinkles.
Yeah, all that and somehow - because this was Tony’s life so of course, it couldn’t be that simple - that still wasn't the reason why James Buchanan Barnes was proving to be A Problem.
No, Tony sighed to himself as he watched coffee drip into his mug, the problem was in Bucky’s sad puppy eyes, said eyes framed by a face that had obviously been designed by Michelangelo himself. And in the slight slouch of his shoulders, the shy smiles he wore whenever he thought no one was looking and the carefully blank face whenever someone was.
It was in his funny habit of looking up at the nearest camera when talking to Friday. His amazement whenever he had to come down to Tony’s lab, eyes bright and delighted, and Tony would remember Howard’s drunken tales, slurred words that were more aimed at a whiskey glass than at him. The odd hours he kept, the closed-off paths he chose; the reverence with which he’d trail fingers along the glass windows, metal tips chasing the beams of sunlight.
Tony was absolutely enraptured by the man, by the way he never seemed to back down when Tony tried to stare him down. By the smirk playing in the corner of his lips, by the way laughing would cause his body to shake and his eyes to crinkle. By the way he refused to stay down, to bend and break under the weight of what had been done to him and by the weight of the deeds he’d been used for.
Tony had always felt drawn to beautiful and broken things and while Bucky was very much a person, the beautiful and broken parts still applied. He would never try to fix Bucky, no; it was Bucky’s job to do so. But just being able to witness how Bucky picked up all the paper pieces that had made James Buchanan Barnes, then the hard cut glass shards of the Winter Soldier and remade them into the man Tony now knew? It was more than he could ask for.
And if sometimes he wondered what it would feel like, to let his own fingers trail up and down that metal arm with a purpose other than repairing it? If he sometimes wanted to test how that shy smile would feel under his own mouth or how words tasted on Bucky’s lips, well, that was no one’s sad little business but Tony’s. No one needed to know and Tony wasn’t going to do anything about it.
He almost got away with it too, this little ridiculous crush of his.
Almost.
Because all Rhodey had needed was one look at him when they ran into Bucky in the greenhouse on the roof one warm day. All he’d needed was a second to decipher why Tony stopped walking, stopped talking. One look at how Tony seemed glued to the spot, drinking in the sight of the infamous Winter Soldier with soil-stained fingers and a daisy tucked behind his ear; at how captivated Tony was with the way Bucky carefully moved around the herbs Bruce always wanted, how he pulled the weeds carefully from between the flower beds. One look and Rhodey knew something was up.
And while he had no way of knowing the exact extent of how funnily Tony’s heart skipped a beat, like some overly jittery jive dancer, he was blessed - or was it cursed - with the knowledge of how Tony ticked.
He apparently drew the right (and the worst) conclusion right then and so he groaned, low and quiet.
“You have got to be kidding me.” He dragged Tony back before Tony could say anything, his hand a steady, solid grasp on his shoulder.
“What?” Tony spluttered with indignation, trying to throw one more look as he was led away. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Yet.” Rhodey clucked his tongue and shook his head when Tony started to protest, “You didn’t do anything yet. No, don’t give me that crap, here, Tones. You looked like you were about to cry right there and then. Jesus, really, Barnes? Of all available people?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honeybear, you know I only have eyes for you.”
There were moments where Tony managed to lie and deflect Rhodey’s insights like a pro (granted, most of those times were when Tony was actually dying ), but judging by his crossed arms and the tilt of his head, this clearly was not one of those.
It was worth a shot either way or so he hoped.
“I said not to give me any of that bullshit,” and uh-oh, that was the Colonel voice.
Tony sighed, leaned against the wall-length mirror in the elevator as he weighed his options. Not that there were many, to begin with, but feigning innocence was still on the table. Only, Rhodey was Rhodey and with twenty or so years of friendship, Tony knew this battle was doomed before it started.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a long, long breath.
“Look, sweet pea, it’s nothing. We’re not… I’m not going to do anything, ok? We’re finally all good, everyone actually, not just me and Bucky, and I’m not gonna ruin it just because I sort of want to wrap my legs around his shoulders.”
It said something about both the quality and the type of friendship they had that Rhodey’s faced merely flickered from incredulous to slightly disturbed and back again when he heard that little gem of information.
“But, why Barnes?”
Another splutter, a frantic wave of one hand.
“Have you met him??” Tony squeaked, voice an unattractively high pitch. “Have you talked to him? Underneath all that swoon-worthy murder vibe, there’s snark, honeybear, grade A snark. And he’s smart and so curious and he asks the good questions. And you know, he’s the only one of this bunch of assholes who gets my coffee right, I don’t even know how he’s able to replicate it,” he rambled, ignoring the muttered comment of “ a miracle indeed” and continuing, “and he has a ton of shitty Steve stories, that’s always a plus. You should see how Steve gets all red and tries to stop Bucky from talking - did you know the good old Captain was a regular dumpster diver back in the day…?”
“Tony--” Rhodey started to say something but Tony was on a roll now so he continued, steam-rolling over his best friend because once he got started he was never going to stop.
“And besides, he’s doing really good, all things considered. I mean come on, seventy years under the collar of being a murder cube and the guy’s weeding Bruce’s flowers and looking mighty adorable as he does? Was that a daisy, by the way? I think it was a daisy. See, he’s just so much more. That’s what I meant, you know, that he’s doing so good after all he went through? And...”
He ran out of breath then, finally, and just stared at Rhodey who was now looking less surprised and more amused than anything else, a shit-eating grin slowly tugging his lips upwards.
And, uh. Uh-oh. That’s, yeah, that’s never a good thing.
“What?” Tony asked defensively, shoving his hands into his pockets.
He was going to strip Friday’s code. There was no other way to explain why the goddamn lift was so slow; it was her, meddling.
“Seems like quite an assessment you’ve made there,” Rhodey threw out, casual, as the door finally pinged open and they stepped out into the astonishingly empty kitchen. This had to be a turn in Tony’s bad luck, or so he thought until Rhodey helped himself to a ruby red apple and looked at Tony just a bit too casually. “So when are you going to ask him out?”
“What, no, I-... no. ” Tony spluttered again and oh dear God and all the saints, several PhDs down the road and he was reduced to this. “Are you insane ?” he all but hissed, pointing at his supposedly best friend with a spoon. “No one is asking anyone out, nope. Not me, not him. Wait no, of course he can ask other people out if he wants to, I have nothing against that or anything, but no mutual asking out is about to happen, don’t be ridiculous.”
Tony felt oddly tired and slightly out of breath, staring Rhodey down.
His best friend held his gaze easily, taking a slow, crunchy bite. Luckily Rhodey didn't say anything after that; he didn’t call Tony out on his bullshit out loud.
There was no need to.
They both knew Tony was pretty much fucked as it were and it wasn’t in a fun way either.
Bucky’s biggest problem with Tony Stark was that… Well, that he was Tony Stark .
It wasn't exactly about the press persona he threw up whenever the whole team was out and about or the flashy grins and purring words that held no heat. It wasn’t even the slightly manic way Tony sometimes looked at Bucky’s arm like he was dying to learn and touch and deconstruct it.
Or even the infamous coffee-induced ramblings and the sleep deprivation, the horrid nicknames and the refusal to sugarcoat the truth. It was clear that Tony was done with taking shit and sitting down for it; nowadays, he bit back, putting all his brilliance and life-earned knowledge to good use now.
It was a thrill, to experience that.
Those were all things Bucky has been more or less warned about - Steve and Nat had covered every little aspect of Tony Stark they could, when they were on the quinjet on the way home, trying to prepare Bucky for what may await him.
Tony, Steve had said, could be a handful on the best of days.
But it turned out they’d failed spectacularly in their portrayal of the man because they’d left out the most important bits.
Like the fact that a room tailored to his needs had already been waiting for him, not as spacious as the rooms prepared for others, but with blinds in the windows and sparse furniture. How the clothes had all been in muted colors and the fabrics were so wonderfully soft on his skin.
Or the fact that Tony was actually a complete human disaster underneath that pretty, polished facade. How their first proper meeting had begun with Tony face-planting into Bucky’s chest because he'd been sleep-deprived and coffee-strung to the point that he could barely see properly and somehow managed not to notice Bucky standing right in front of him. He'd blinked up at Bucky, said he was nice and warm, had given him a pat on the cheek and dragged himself away in search of God knows what.
How he’d lose himself in time and work to the point where the sight of a confused Bucky entering his workshop - he’d just followed the soft blinking lights, he didn’t mean to impose - would cause a dopey, sleepy smile to dawn on his face and an outburst of scientific jargon Bucky had no idea how to decipher to spring to life.
How Tony would show him the projects and designs for his gear - if Bucky was willing - and how thoughtful each design always was. How tailored everything would be to fit everyone’s needs (not just his; Bucky'dnever been selfish enough to think things revolved around him).
Tony was a good person through and through, Bucky knew that firsthand.
During the first or second week of Bucky’s stay, there was the Thing where Tony walked up to Bucky one afternoon, took a good look at him - eyes hard as glass and lips a thin, thin line and for a second, Bucky really thought Tony was about to do the stupid thing and clock him - before he sagged in on himself. The Thing where he reached out, patted Bucky’s shoulder clumsily and muttered, “We’re fine, Murder Cube. Stop skulking in the shadows already,” before yelling at Clint to get his ass into the workshop for some tests.
Nat and Steve had somehow managed to forget to mention that Tony Stark in his natural habitat was nothing short of a marvel.
And Bucky? Bucky was not prepared for that .
He had a dim recollection of all the fancy tech from Leipzig and Berlin - a thrill of a memory of a bullet stopped by hand and then the burning heat of a battle - but when he entered the workshop for the very first time, his heart stopped and his breath was lost. He wanted to spend hours upon hours in there, quietly hidden in some corner so he could watch and absorb everything that was laid out before him.
A crash had broken his fascinated focus, though.
“No, Dum-E, no, I swear to Thor’s ass I will scrap you, no, no ! You put that….”
No one warned him how adorable Tony Stark could look, covered head to toe in foam, hands dirty up to his elbows. How Bucky would be rendered speechless as he watched the genius spit and sputter, wiping the foam away from his face and smudging grease all over instead.
No one had ever told him that a laugh would bubble out of him at the sight of a bot spinning happily in circles while Tony looked at him, all mock offense and betrayal. Or at how Tony would take off his wet shirt, deliberately slow, and throw it straight at Bucky’s face while muttering hollow threats of scrapping Bucky’s arm the first chance he got.
Bucky sort of wanted to blame Steve for this, for the fact that he was currently on his way to the ‘shop with two mugs of coffee because he couldn’t fucking sleep and he knew Tony would still be there, high-strung and chaotic enough to distract Bucky and give him a purpose.
He knew they’d end up napping on that battered couch Tony has downstairs because Bucky would talk Tony into sitting with him and telling him about his newest project and Tony would do so happily, always so eager to have someone to talk to.
Bucky really wanted to blame Steve for giving him hope like this.
He wanted to blame Steve for his own liking of Tony; of the snark and the shamelessness and the pretty, brown eyes. For the fact that he and Tony were at that point of comfort where Tony tucked his feet beneath Bucky’s thigh during movie nights and goaded him into watching reruns of MasterChef at 3 o’clock in the morning.
He wanted to blame Steve for not giving him a warning of any kind that Bucky might end up liking Tony a little bit too much, to the point where a coo of “ heads up, Anna Karenina ” made him grin like a loon.
He wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead, he was so damn grateful - for a chance to experience that bittersweet pull of longing, to feel his heart flutter like this. To be able to smile when he made Tony laugh. To finally remember and believe he was capable of falling in the best way possible.
Bucky remembered more than not nowadays, remembered how easy it was to charm the girls back before he was deployed. Useless memories, those, if you were to ask Bucky, because why would he need to remember that? It wasn't like he was going to do anything about his feelings.
Besides, Tony was a tactile person. There had been more than one occasion where he'd fallen asleep with his head in Nat’s lap and he often hung off Clint’s shoulder when they read the gossip columns in some shitty glossy magazine. Steve got loud, obnoxious cheek kisses that made him splutter and blush because Tony always timed them perfectly and more than one debrief had been ruined by their laughter at the sight. For Tony, Bucky was just another friend to curl up next to.
And Bucky was glad to have Tony’s friendship - yes, he dared to believe they were friends - despite everything that had happened between them.
He was grateful to have found this family of murderous and chaotic misfits and humbled that he somehow managed to fit in with them. He fit in a world he was never supposed to see, with people he was once sent to kill by his side.
It was mind-blowing.
And if he sometimes felt brave enough to reach out unprompted, to ruffle Tony’s hair or to wipe grease or sauce off his cheek, if he remembered the way Tony smiled at him then? If he sometimes imagined what it would feel like to pull the man close, to look into his eyes and lose himself in the moment?
Well, it was nobody’s damn business but his.
“I’m sorry that Stevie lied to you.”
Tony whipped his head in Bucky’s direction so fast it was a miracle his vision didn’t swim.
Bucky was lingering in the doorway, looking surprisingly shy and small, all hunched in on himself. His hair was a mess that made Tony want to touch and pet it and his eyes were red-rimmed in a way that screamed of yet another sleepless night.
He blinked and actually registered what had been said and hell, no.
“We’ve been over this,” he said gently because yes, they had and yes, he and Steve were good, but it still fucking hurt. “Don’t, - come on, Bucksy, don’t do this to us.”
Bucky took a shaky breath in, loud and ragged as he ran a hand through his hair in a hopeless attempt at slicking it back. It made it even more of a mess and Tony’s fingers twitched .
He shoved his hands into his pockets instead, because Bucky was not his to touch like this, no matter what. Hugs were ok, he knew, but this was close relationship territory and after years of fucking up stuff with Pepper, let it be said loud and clear that Tony had finally learned a lesson or two.
“Can… can we ever get over this, though?” Bucky asked and Tony’s nails bit into the inside of his palms because he sounded so resigned, so broken and his eyes were full of unshed tears and oh, so this is how a heart breaks , Tony thought in a daze. “Can you and I, can we all?”
Bucky stared at his hands, clearly a second away from crying and yeah, no, not on Tony’s watch. He didn’t know if this would make things worse or not, but Bucky was suffering so, so clearly and Tony fixed things and maybe he could help fix this.
“No, Bucky, we won’t,” he said, walking up and Bucky blinked at him in pained confusion, lashes clumped together. His voice came out much more confident than he actually felt, but then again, Tony was used to that particular feeling. “Because we already did, you and I, yeah? We talked, punched it out. I don’t... We’re ok.”
Feeling particularly insane, he reached for Bucky’s hands and gently wound his fingers around Bucky’s wrists. He pressed a thumb into the right wrist, focusing on Bucky’s pulse. “You and I, the whole team. We’re ok and we’ll continue to be ok, even if we will all fuck up sometimes.”
Bucky took in one more shuddering breath and Tony’s chest hurt in some sort of sympathy phantom pain. He tugged him in the direction of the kitchen.
“Come on big guy, you look pretty rough around the edges and I know just the thing to help with that.”
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting on the floor in the common room, behind one of the sofas. The night view of the city spread out before them, a bazillion of blinking, blurred lights stretching as far as the horizon.
They sipped their drinks in silence, the smell of cocoa rich in the air and the mugs warm in their hands. They sat side to side, not close enough to touch but just enough that Tony hoped Bucky could feel his presence. Sometimes that was enough when you were feeling raw and stretched too thin.
“Never expected this from you,” Bucky said after a while, as he licked the chocolate residue from his upper lip and only because Bucky was still upset did Tony not do anything idiotic like lean in and do the exact same thing.
“What, comfort?” he asked instead, aiming for playful because that was the sort of thing he was used to doing, that was what everyone expected from him.
Bucky shook his head, hair dancing along the fine line of his jaw.
“No, just…” he raised his empty mug and threw a cautious look at Tony from underneath his lashes. “One might think the coffee addict is a mere facade, with how fancy this frou-frou was.”
Tony scoffed and nudged him with one elbow, “Rude,” he said with a gentle smile, “I am well-trained in all kinds of beverages, just so you know. Coffee, of course, is superior to almost everything.”
“Still, this is...” Bucky looked into the mug, almost pouty, like a kid that's been denied candy on Halloween. “Not something I’d associate with you, that’s all.”
Well, that, Tony couldn’t blame him for; one did not look at Tony Stark and think whole milk chocolate with mini marshmallows and chocolate powder . A shot - or a whole bottle, really - of whiskey was what people probably thought of when they talked about him. He shrugged then, swirled the remains of his own drink before drinking it all in one go.
“Ana used to do this,” he said out of the blue and for a second Tony didn't know who was more surprised that he mentioned his childhood memories - him or Bucky - but he’d always been the ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ kind of guy, after all, so he swallowed past the tightness in his throat and continued, “whenever Howard was, - well, you know, Howard , she’d sit me in the kitchen and we’d drink hot chocolate while she prepared things for the next meal or something.”
Tony traced the rim of the mug thoughtfully, dragging his teeth across his lower lip.
“Might be pretty silly, but ahh, I think I thought that, well, it helped kid Tony, maybe some sugar in a mug will help our resident brooding assassin for a moment. Yeah,” he huffed out a laugh, “even saying it out loud sounds silly.”
He was not exactly sure what sort of reply he expected. Maybe some weak snark or a perfectly flat jibe.
A sudden, choked-off sob was not it.
Bucky wanted nothing more than for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. As if he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough already, no, he had to go teary-eyed because Tony wanted to do something nice for him.
Feared assassin, indeed.
“Hey, hey,” Tony’s voice immediately turned both worried and gentle. He twisted himself so that he was facing Bucky. He hovered close, one hand raised as if to touch and hold as if he could stop Bucky from falling apart. “Hey, it’s ok. Come on now, you’re ok.”
“No, it's not,” Bucky mumbled, eyes burning with the sting of tears again; he felt all sorts of pathetic.
He took a deep breath, tried to steady himself but the nightmares always left him feeling stripped raw, as if his bones didn’t quite fit inside of his skin and muscles anymore, so he couldn't. It was like he'd been rearranged all wrong. And then there was Tony. Beautiful Tony with his kindness and willingness to share things Bucky had no right to, sharing childhood memories with the man who put it to a definite end.
“And you’re right, I should be ok by now, I’m... I’m good now. I’m safe, Tony. I’m not theirs, I’m me and... and…,” he choked on his words and Tony was there, right there , plastered against him, a smaller, warmer weight that Bucky wanted to curl into.
A kiss was dropped over the apple of his cheek, soft like a petal and fleeting like a dream, as Tony whispered almost apologetically in his ear a second later, “Yeah, I don’t think it works like that, Bucko.”
Tony’s fingers were achingly gentle when they threaded through his hair, beckoning him forward until Bucky couldn’t help but tilt his head to the side and just let the tears out.
Bucky cried into Tony’s shoulder, small pained whimpers escaping his mouth, but Tony simply kept whispering something into Bucky’s ear, a quiet lull of words that melded and meshed together into a simple sound. Low and soothing, it made Bucky finally feel warm and less jittery, like a nice, heavy woolen blanket had been wrapped around his sizzling senses.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes closing all on their own as he leaned more heavily onto Tony’s smaller frame. He wanted and he was exhausted enough to be selfish like that. “‘M sorry, Tony, I shouldn’t...I should…”
“Shh, shh.” There was nothing but endless patience in the way Tony hushed him amidst the slow passage of time. “Hey, come here, Bucky, it’s alright. I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go.”
Bucky’s mind was pretty fuzzy on the details but despite how ridiculous it sounded, how odd it seemed, he ended up maneuvered sideways in Tony’s lap, his arms wound around the breadth of Tony’s shoulders. Tony’s arms were wrapped around his waist and back, sure and secure, holding him in place and offering shelter; a safe haven Bucky never wanted to leave.
He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to break the moment, so he just held on tighter, pointedly ignoring the fact that his lips were a hair above Tony’s nose.
They were wound so close now, enough to share body heat despite their respective layers of clothes, and he could feel Tony’s fingers flex and twitch constantly over the small of his back.
“You’re so amazing,” Tony said after a while and there was something thick and choked - vulnerable - in his voice.
Bucky opened his mouth to disagree; he felt he was alright on good days, at best, but if anyone was amazing it was the man who was currently holding him.
Tony shook his head. “No, don’t, Bucky. You’re brave, ok, you’re so brave and so strong but you still get to break sometimes, that’s alright. And we’ll help, the team and Steve and I if I can, if you’ll let me because you’re one of the most strong, beautiful, amazing people I know and--”
Tony didn’t get any further than that because Bucky clearly experienced a moment of insanity and, ducking his head, he slotted their mouths together, effectively swallowing the jumbled words straight from Tony’s lips.
He could feel the way Tony froze beneath him, and for a split second, Bucky thought about jumping out the window so he wouldn’t have to face the humiliation that was coming his way. But then they groaned in unison and they were kissing clumsily. One of Tony’s hands somehow found its way under Bucky’s shirt and rested, warm and twitchy, on Bucky’s waist.
“I’m sorry,” Tony was the one to apologize this time and there was something akin to heartbreak in his eyes for some unfathomable reason, something Bucky didn’t have the capacity to think about because his lips were tingling and his heart felt like it could finally beat properly for the first time since forever. “I shouldn't have, I’m sorry, I…” he stopped himself and despite how miserable he looked, he kissed Bucky again.
And this time, instead of clumsy, it was gentle and slow; soft like the morning sun. It tasted of the hot chocolate they’d drunk and Bucky’s tears and a tenuous hope, Bucky thought, if hope ever had a taste. It was unhurried as if they had all the time in the world, as if nothing else mattered but them in that very moment.
When Bucky opened his eyes again, it was to Tony’s anguished smile.
In a moment of brilliance - one that could rival Tony’s - Bucky understood perfectly and reached out to brush metal knuckles against the apple of Tony’s cheek.
“Tony, Tony, don’t be,” he whispered with reverence, then traced the shell of Tony’s ear with his fingertips. He liked the weight of Tony’s name like this on his lips, soft and gentle and full of meaning. He couldn’t stop a smile from forming when he thought of how easily he could get used to saying it more and more. “Don’t be, cause I’m not.”
“You, what, how are you feeling, Buck?” Tony blinked up at him and he looked slightly dazed, and still so damn beautiful. His lips were deliciously red, like ripe raspberries begging to be bitten into and Bucky was tempted, but first things first.
How did he feel, indeed?
“I feel…” he paused, took a proper moment to assess himself.
He felt calm and warm, his heartbeat a steady thump and his mind blissfully quiet, even with the exciting buzz that ran underneath his skin.
Happy , his tired mind supplied, he felt happy.
“I feel like we should go to sleep now. I feel like you should come to wake me up in a couple of hours so I can make you your goddamn coffee in that horrid way you like it and so I can give you a long, proper good morning kiss. Right in the middle of the kitchen. Preferably with everyone present, I’d love to see Wilson choke on his breakfast.”
“Rude,” Tony said again. He sounded pretty tired and Bucky could relate; it was closer to dawn than not but there was a new light in Tony’s eyes and his smile finally looked less like an open wound and more like a gleeful grin. “You are so terribly rude to your teammate.”
“And you, Tony?” Bucky murmured and felt brave again. He pressed their foreheads together and pushed his fingers into Tony’s hair. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Tony’s because somehow that was the only thing that was stopping him from gushing over the fact that they fit so well against one another. “What’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?”
“Thinking about how Rhodey’s gonna be insufferable. So is Steve, while I’m at it. And that instead of making plans for the morning or talking about our dumbass smug friends, I’d really, really like to kiss you again.”
“Certified genius, right there,” Bucky grinned and Tony surged up, closed that almost nonexistent distance and kissed Bucky’s smile.
Sunrise found them kissing still, languid and infinitely gentle, Bucky still in Tony’s lap, knees on both sides of Tony’s thighs. They were probably at the point of half-consciousness, high on their lack of sleep and the thrill of what had suddenly surged to life between them. Tony kept whispering sweet, over-the-top promises whenever he was not busy kissing Bucky’s laugh from his lips.
The sun hit Tony’s half-lidded eyes just right, the angle good enough that it turned them amber and painted the man’s skin golden.
Bucky didn’t even try to think anymore, just kept himself busy with pressing his lips to the tip of Tony’s nose, the apple of his cheek. He muttered endearments into the crinkles around Tony’s eyes, spilled sugary words in a hush-hush voice straight into Tony’s ear.
Wherever Tony touched him back, he’d feel so warm and grounded; anchored in their new gold-lit reality and loving embrace.
They kissed and touched - exploratory, gentle and unhurried - as if drinking in each other and the possibilities that opened in front of them The sound of heavy footsteps didn’t matter, nothing did, just the bubble of time and space they had created, and--
“Son of a bitch, Friday, warn a guy, Jesus, my eyes!”
Bucky swallowed Tony’s laughter with delight before they looked in the direction of the voice. Sam cussed up a storm, a hand over his eyes as he tried to run away from the sight they made. He crashed into a wall as he stumbled away, but even that couldn’t divert Bucky’s attention away from Tony for longer than a second. He wondered, for the length of a breath, if anything ever could, if anything ever would.
“You almost got your wish made true there, Buttercup,” Tony threw at him casually, his smile bone-tired and viciously red. There was the telltale irritation of stubble burn around his mouth and by the tingle of his own lips, Bucky was dead-certain he was sporting a matching one. “I think Sam’s officially scarred for life. Wanna wait for Steve to come down as well?”
“Darlin’, you know the way to my heart.” The low drawl was interrupted by a small yawn and something flickered in Tony’s expression, something undeniably soft and tender and Bucky’s heart seemed to bleed in the best way possible.
“Yeah?” he asked, and it came out so shy, so hopefully uncertain that Bucky wanted nothing more but to keep Tony forever.
He gently placed one hand over where the arc reactor used to be, metal smooth over a threadbare tank top that hid a myriad of scars and a heart of gold. He could feel its erratic thump as it reverberated through his palm.
He wondered if he knew the way to Tony’s heart as well, only to realize he didn’t need to because, by some miracle, he was already there. Because he always had a place in Tony’s heart and Tony ended up in Bucky’s as well, even if they’d both been a little bit dumb about it.
“Yeah,” he breathed out into the warm air between them.
Tony’s eyes glimmered gold and his smile was brighter than the sun itself and if Bucky ever thought he had fallen before…? It was nothing compared to right there and then when he took a willing leap and flew.
He leaned in, kissed the sunlight on Tony’s lips and tasted the hope for a better tomorrow.