Chapter 6
Having your mind blown after watching a Disney movie as a kid, and then having that same, mutual feeling appear as a much older person is a whole buzz of serotonin that Bucky didn’t even know could exist in copious amounts.
FRIDAY put on a film that had to do with a little fish getting lost while his dad eagerly searched for him. He forgot the name after being mostly tuned in on the popcorn bowl and Clint’s commentary after every scene, but he enjoyed it. A lot. And there were so many comparisons he could make about finding himself all over again and Steve’s odd kin to the father fish, that he completely lost track of the overall story.
Whatever, it didn’t matter. He’ll just have to watch it again at a later time.
Like expected, Tony fell asleep against Bucky’s shoulder, who was squished between Steve for half of the movie and complaining about how warm he was. Seriously, super-soldiers burn hotter than any fever Steve ever had, and that’s saying something.
“Y’think Barnes’ll like Wall-E?” Clint asked through a handful of popcorn while Natasha scowled at him disapprovingly.
“Wall-what? Is that another one of Tony’s robots?” He asked.
Steve shook his head and grinned softly. “No, that’s DUM-E, Buck. And i’m sure he’s not named after a Disney character.”
“So... what is it, then?”
“Trash robot saves humanity, falls in love with better-looking robot gal, humanity gets saved, blah blah blah cute movie ends.” Tony piped up from his side. Everybody looked at him with varying expressions of agreement and confusion, to which he grinned at proudly.
“We’re watchin’ that sometime,” Bucky smiled, tightening his grip around the engineer. “I call dibs on making the popcorn next time. You guys’ seriously don’t know how to share.”
“I barely had a handful!” Steve protested.
“Did to! You have like, five!”
“Jerk.”
“Punk.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Natasha ordered. Everybody went silent—opposed to Steve, who glared over at him with a challenging look and mouthed something out that Bucky didn’t really understand.
Tony sighed, Clint snickered, and now that it was silently deemed as time for bed, everyone went their own ways, cleaning up whatever messes they’ve made or had the inclination to clean. Peter was a really messy teenager, Bucky learned.
That were a lot alike, in that way, and Steve couldn’t have agreed more.
~
“Everybody knows,”
“Knows what?” Bucky asked, turning to the voice he suddenly got startled by. He was in the hallway by his bedroom door, about to sprint in and change into much more comfortable sweats, when suddenly someone came up behind him. It was Sam standing there, arms crossed, an amused expression on his face that immediately signaled what he was talking about.
Bucky groaned. “We haven’t labeled anything yet, but—”
“You two are a thing.” Sam finished.
He gave a short, weak shrug, metal arm re-calibrating at the sudden rush of nerves. Bucky didn’t like being put on the spot—he already had enough to handle when it came to socializing for longer than four hours, and this whole thing wasn’t really helping that all too much. That fucker.
“Y’know, I’d say ‘I told you so’, but i’m almost positive I don’t need to,”
“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled lamely, and then gave a light shove to Sam’s chest as an attempt to direct him away from him and his room. “What do you want, anyways? If it’s to tease me, then move it to another time. I’ve got a good night’s sleep to get to.”
Sam backed up without dropping his expression and lifted his hands to show no harm. Oh, he’ll harm him alright. “Nothin’. You go have fun with your dysfunctional boyfriend. Just keep it PG, please? Other people in this building exist and wouldn’t want to hear—”
“OKAY!” Bucky shouted, bright red, shoving at Sam until his back foot clipped the top to the stairs. “You owe me that tub of ice cream you keep locked in the freezer. I know your secret, bird-brain, don’t make me tell Tony.”
When he was satisfied with the amount of fear showing on Sam’s face, he let go, turning and heading back to the room as a loud “I’m holding you against that deal!” echoed behind him. He’s going to tell Tony anyways—or at least steal some ice cream of his own—but it’s not like anybody else will know that.
Except Natasha, who somehow managed to scare the hell out of Bucky a few hours later when he was scouring the kitchen in need of a late-night snack.
He was in nothing but a simple pair of sweatpants that hung lower than he liked, chest completely exposed because who the hell needs to deal with a shirt at three in the goddamn morning? Not him, that’s who. His arm is just—out there, and he can’t really find it in him to care at the moment. Ice cream was more important. Ice cream could solve all of his problems.
At least, he really liked to think so.
“I don’t share, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Bucky grumbled, searching through a few drawers to find a spoon. Where the hell is everything?He’ll have to get on Tony’s ass later to better organize the kitchen—or Clint’s. Whoever decided that a can-opener belonged in the fridge next to the lunchables.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Natasha replies smoothly. She holds up the spoon Bucky was looking for and watches as frustration flashes across his face. “Looking for this?”
“Yes,” Bucky grit out, setting the tub of ice cream on the counter as a sign of defeat. Nat takes one look at him, gets a spoonful of chocolate ice cream, then proceeds to hop off from where she was sitting on the counter to rummage through the fridge. “Where did the whip cream go?” She asks, brows quirked, looking over her shoulder accusingly.
Bucky didn’t touch the damn whip cream. He might’ve forgotten it even existed in the first place, but now it made more sense as to why he felt like there was a missing gap in his newly-constructed, nightly routine.”Dunno,” He says, shrugging. “Can’t find anything in this place anymore.”
Natasha hums in defeated agreement, closing the fridge and lingering there for a moment, painted nails providing a contrast against the smooth, metallic surface. She matched with Clint—Bucky knew that much. Whether or not they were a thing… that was still up in the air, and he decided to let them keep it at their own pace, unlike how he and Tony did.
But brightly-colored nails on an archer and former Red Room operative? That had to be the most ridiculous and entertaining thing he’s seen all week; and now he wants to join, too. He’ll get Peter on it sometime later. They were good friends like that.
Unlike Natasha.
Don’t get Bucky wrong, he admires her in a way that nobody has ever managed to match with, and they’ve got a bit of history with his Winter Soldier side, but he wouldn’t consider them “friends.” If anything, Nat was the cool, collected person in the building and Bucky was the hundred-year old idiot stumbling around and looking up to her with a sort of vigorance that his 1940’s, Brooklyn self would lose his mind over.
The point was, she’s badass and smart and a little terrifying, and whatever title they have for their level of interaction is fine by him. Friends? Alright, that’d be nice. Mission buddies? It fit more better, but Bucky wasn’t allowed to go on a mission for another year, so that’ll be postponed until Fury gets his head out of his ass and recognises that he’s perfectly fine to fight.
And it’s not even about his point of trust in Bucky or the code that lived in his veins like a trained live-wire, he just… didn’t like him, it seemed. Steve’s had this conversation with him before, and it ended in a night full of ice cream and Bucky’s slightly reddened face as he held back from marching right up to Fury’s office, demanding what his deal was, and then probably getting kicked out of the place.
Kinda like how this night was going, although replace Steve with Natasha and give him the frustration of suddenly being devoid of whipped cream. Tony’ll order some tomorrow, he’ll make sure of it.
“Just so you know,” Natasha warned, brushing her hair back with her hands and stalking towards the hallway on the route to her room. “The jar of cherries in there is mine, and I won’t hesitate to make your life a living hell if you even so much as look at them, Джеймс[James].”
Bucky pulled a face for two reasons: he didn’t like cherries in the first place, so that was an easy dodge, and hearing his real name overall made him cringe. “I wouldn’t doubt that for a second.” He said, spoon hanging out of his mouth.
She seemed pleased with his answer and left with a little smirk and wordless goodbye. Bucky waited until the sounds of her light footsteps died out, before shoving the spoon back into the container (Sam’s going to find out anyways, so the fuck it) and heading up to his room, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
All he needed was a few hours of sleep, maybe even a shower, and he’d be perfectly fine to go for another day full of interaction. It was simple, and he nearly felt like a new person when he settled into bed and immediately started drifting off. Whatever, he’ll think about it in the morning.
~
When he wakes up hours later, eyes squinting at the sudden light entering his room, he groans softly and evaluates his situation. There’s sun streaming through his windows and a new TV hung on his wall, playing on low volume. Since when did he ever open his curtains? And better yet, what’s with the basket of items by his door?
Bucky gets up, groaning, stretching his arms up into the air until he feels satisfied with the distinct pops of his bones. And then he just stares for a while because this can’t be a dream, can’t it? Tony’s known for giving things away like plants pouring oxygen, but seriously, it’s been two days at best. He doesn’t need to be spoiled, and especially if it involves food. Did he see waffles there? Jesus Christ, he’s going to kick his ass later.
All complaining aside, he does get up to check it all out. There’s a little Iron-Man plushie (of fucking course), a bottle of wine (not surprising), and a few things he already listed off when doing his far-away evaluation. He lifts the basket entirely and sets it on the bedside table. He then stares blankly again, unsure of where to start or what to do. He could feel the asset prickling at the back of his head, and it makes his skin bloom with goosebumps, pushing that voice away until he could actually see straight.
One act of kindness and he’s almost having a panic attack. Great. Good job, Barnes, you’re really getting ahold of yourself lately.
There’s a knock at his door that has him almost jumping out of his skin. “Jesus Christ,” Bucky bites out, throwing the closest blanket around his shoulders and getting up to amble over to the door. “What’re you—”
“Hey!” Tony greets, grinning, cutting him off. “How’re the waffles? They’re all the way from Belgium. Got ‘em flew in sometime last night when Happy had his vacation trip to beat up a guy.”
Bucky blinks, staring, coming to himself only when he notices that Tony’s staring right back at his mouth. “Just woke up,” He murmurs, stepping to the side to offer the other in. “If you couldn’t tell,” he adds after a moment. Tony’s already inspecting the TV on the wall, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s a good kind of expression he’s wearing, or an annoyed one. Either way, the engineer looks like he’s solving a puzzle that nobody else could see. It’s cute, is what it is.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Tony shrugged, looking back over at him. “Certified gifts from iron-Man are hard to genuinely come by, unless you’re a sick kid in the hospital or a hundred-year old man who’s birthday is on july fourth. Does this TV look off to you? I think it might be—”
“Yeah, I know.” Bucky interrupted. He rubs a warm, flesh hand over his face and gently kicks the door shut, going over to sit back onto his bed. “It’s… Its nice, Tony,” He winces, “But you don’t have to do all this. I don’t need you spoiling me as if that’s the only thing I want out of you.” His eyes glance up enough to catch how steadily the engineer's eyebrows were raising on his face, and he pulled a face because that was an emotion he knew.
“So you don’t care?” Tony asks, cautious if not for the amusement.
“I don’t need these things, is all i’m sayin’.”
He seems to contemplate it for a moment. It gets the anxiety in Bucky’s veins running like no other, and he turns to look back at the basket, lips quirking slightly. It’s an awful pretty thing to look at; someone must’ve put a lot of dedication into making sure everything was exactly in the right place.
“What do you need, then?” Tony finally asks, and it takes a whole lot of unwanted effort not to blush furiously.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a provider, Barnes. It’s what I do. I get in a relationship, I drink too many cups of coffee, and then leave expensive, overzealous things for people I care about because it’s just how I function.” He pauses when the metal arm whirrs quietly, and then walks over to the bed, just inches apart from the wide-eyed soldier. “I’ve had more fun with you than I’ve had in a long, long time, and that’s saying a lot for a guy with a million options on his hands.”
Bucky waits a beat, then says “You,” softly, grasping at Tony’s hand. It’s smudged with some oil and if it were a different time, he would’ve chuckled. “I want you.”
It’s been a day—a long one, yes, and completely over with now that it was morning time, but a day nevertheless. It just doesn’t feel like that. He’s had an ever-growing crush on Stark since nearly choking him out a few months ago, and now they were acting like a complete couple and he had the audacity to consider it love.
And it wasn’t like being rushed was a bad thing, per say. They had time on their hands for as long as the days stretched out until the next big, world-threatening thing comes crashing down; it didn’t mean that they should take their time. For all he knew, he could just be snagged away by a HYDRA team while everybody else is off on a mission. It’s unlikely, yeah, but how would he feel then, knowing that they could have had something more in a short amount of time?
Tony seems to agree. He can’t read his thoughts (thank god), but those soft brown eyes do see something in Bucky that he’ll never be able to understand. Bucky smiles, lifting up his hand and kissing the palm, watching as he blushes prettily.
“Alright,” Tony sighs, as if it was answer he was looking for; agreeable as ever. “You’ve got me, then—right after you try these waffles because holy shit—”
Bucky laughs and grins and pulls him down into a sweet kiss until Tony has no other choice than to join him on the bed, hands gripping onto both metal and non-metal shoulders tightly. They stay like that for a while: two idiots cuddling on the bed and watching some guy—Gendron Roomsey? Whatever the fuck that chef’s name was—yell at a cook on a much lower volume. And then he gets the fantastic idea to kiss down the length of the engineer’s neck and, well, FRIDAY has the decency to lock the bedroom door when things get a little more heated.
He’s real thankful for her; he’ll have to kiss Tony extra hard for the genius behind that.