Beautifully Imperfect
Getting to regularly see Tony Stark naked was easily one of the best things in Bucky’s life.
Don’t get him wrong: he loved everything about Tony, from his looks to his personality, but there was just something about getting to touch and explore Tony’s bare body that never failed to make Bucky feel blessed.
The James Barnes from before the war would have been smug, and a bit proud of himself for scoring someone as good looking as Tony, but the Bucky of today just felt a bit surprised, a bit pleased, and really, really inadequate.
It wasn’t like Tony was unmarred: the reactor was surrounded by scars, as was the rest of Tony’s body – a constellation of stories, from tiny reminders of silly mistakes to traumatic memories of his past. But Tony wore all of them well, like they’d been part of him since the beginning, reflections of who he was inside.
Bucky knew, logically, that his own scars were no different, and that they didn’t make him unworthy of being loved. His heart refused to believe that, though.
He’d let it slip one time, after a round of mindblowing sex that had almost been ruined by Bucky refusing to take his shirt off. “I really hate the scars around my arm,” he’d said, aiming for casual and ending up somewhere between nervous and self-deprecating.
Tony had been taken aback, understandably. Unfortunately for Bucky, Tony Stark was a mechanic – the mechanic, really – and when you showed him a problem, his first instinct would always be to try and fix it.
And that’s how Bucky ended up tied to their bed, completely naked, and with his really hot boyfriend sitting in his lap.
Tony shifted a bit, rubbing his ass on Bucky’s crotch and making him gasp.
“You feeling good, baby?”
Bucky nodded, lifting his hips to get some more of that glorious friction, but just Tony shook his head and moved away, laughing as Bucky humped nothing but air.
“None of that,” Tony reprimanded him, bending down to lightly peck Bucky on the lips. “Today we’re doing things my way.”
Tony leaned back, putting his mouth to work on Bucky’s body, licking and biting at the skin on his way down until his lips found a scar.
He stopped there, worrying at the spot for a second with his teeth before asking, “What’s the story behind this one, baby?”
With great effort, Bucky raised his head from the pillow, trying to see where Tony had stopped. “Ah,” he said, spotting the tiny, jagged line just below his navel, “that’s from an explosion. Shrapnel hit me.”
Tony hummed, kissing the spot once before moving away, mapping Bucky’s body with his mouth. He stopped again on Bucky’s lower ribs, nipping at a patch of rough skin there. “And this one?”
Bucky huffed a breathy laugh. “Got knocked straight on my ass when Steve picked a fight with some bullies. Scraped half my damn side on the rubble.”
Tony snorted, kissing the scar one more time before moving on.
They kept playing this game for what felt like hours. Tony would focus on every scar his hands and mouth could find, and Bucky would explain the story behind it while Tony left a trail of hickeys across his body.
By the time Tony had reached the thing that had prompted this whole experiment, Bucky was a panting, raw, oversensitized mess.
Tony’s lips trailed across the seam where Bucky’s flesh met his metal arm, and Bucky felt himself tense up despite the warm haze in his brain. His bound arms jerked with the instinct to cover himself up.
“And here?” Tony asked, his voice soft but steady.
Bucky gulped. “You know the story behind that one.”
Tony hummed, sucking a bruise just under Bucky’s collarbone, and said, “Humor me.”
Bucky opened his mouth, a snappish response already forming on the tip of his tongue, but when he finally did speak all he could manage was, “They’re ugly.”
Tony paused, and Bucky was too strung up and unbalanced to stop himself from trying to fill the silence, adding, “My other scars don’t bother me much. They’re all there because of something I did, some experience I had. But these are just…” he swallowed loudly. “These are just proof of how broken I am.”
“Hey, now,” Tony started, but Bucky cut him off.
“You- your scars mean something. Even the reactor, it… it’s part of your journey, part of what made you a superhero. But me? My arm’s just proof of my failures, of me not being good enough t-”
“Stop that.”
Bucky snapped his mouth shut so fast that he almost bit his tongue off.
Tony leaned back to look him in the eyes, a stern but sad smile on his face. “None of what you just said is even remotely true,” he said, and firmly placed a hand on Bucky’s mouth when he started to protest. “You should shut up now. Listen to me, ok?”
He waited for Bucky to nod before removing his hand.
“Baby, all of these scars are proof of how strong you are, of how many things you’ve survived. You were better than all of them: all your enemies,” Tony listed, trailing his fingers across an old bullet wound. “All your handlers,” as his nails scratched over whip marks. “And even death itself,” he whispered, gently touching the ugly, angry-looking scars around Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky took in a shaky breath, blinking to clear his vision, and Tony leaned down to kiss his forehead, then his eyelids, and finally his lips.
“Nothing about you is ugly,” he said. “All of them are memories of the journey that brought you to me. How could I not love them? They’re part of you.”
“Fuck,” Bucky said, choked up. “That’s the sappiest shit you’ve ever said to me.”
Tony grinned. “Good. Do you believe me now, James?”
“Put that mouth to work again, and I just might.”
And, with a laugh, Tony complied.