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The sound of feet on tile, muffled by the low hum of an episode of Star Trek draw Bucky’s attention. It pulls him from his semi-asleep state, but he doesn’t bother to move. It’s late, and he knows the sound of Tony’s footsteps, knows he’s been in the workshop for over seventy-two hours. He sinks further into the couch, eyes trained on the TV, expecting the genius to walk straight past or sink into one of the armchairs. Instead he finds a weight settling on top of him, a head burrowing under his t-shirt and cold fingers curling around his bare sides.
His first thought is just how cold Tony’s hands are against his heated skin.
Almost automatically he wraps his arms around the smaller body, shifting to better accommodate the added weight atop his own. Soft puffs of air tickle his ribs, growing deeper as the seconds tick by and Bucky finds Tony pliant beneath his hands. He takes the moment to splay his fingers out over the equally muscular and soft back, measures how many of his hands could fill Tony’s back.
The TV is turned low, Bucky sending a smile of gratitude up at the ceiling, aiming it for the AI. He keeps his eyes on the screen, tracing gentle patterns between Tony’s shoulder blades until he finds himself drifting into a comfortable darkness.
He’s talking to Bruce about breathing exercises and meditation when he feels someone burrowing beneath his hoodie, familiar calloused fingers coming to rest at the base of his spine. There’s a breath where Tony’s shoulders are tense, as though expecting to be pushed away or ridiculed, only relaxing once Bruce picks up the conversation again.
It’s after Bruce has retreated to his lab that Bucky slowly shuffles over to the couch.
Bucky’s become used to manoeuvring Tony onto the couch without jostling him too much until they lay sprawled across it, a blanket keeping the two of them warm. He’s sure the Avengers (mostly Clint) have an abundance of photos of them asleep like this, but can’t bring himself to care. If letting Tony rest, warm and safe means possible embarrassment and/or blackmail material, Bucky is willing to make the sacrifice. And, really, he doesn’t find cuddling with Tony embarrassing at all.
It’s all worth it when he gets to witness a sleepy, doe-eyed Tony Stark emerge from beneath his shirt with hair sticking up and cheeks slightly flushed.
The first time they kiss, Tony rests his chin on Bucky’s stomach after a nap, staring up into blue eyes that are equally as sleepy as his own. There’s a comfortable silence between them, Bucky rubbing gentle circles into Tony’s back with his metal hand, his plump lips upturned. The lights are low and its well past midnight and Bucky is the only thing that matters when Tony crawls up Bucky’s torso like a cat to meld their lips together.
And, huh, Bucky’s lips are as soft as they look.
That information is filed away to be thought about later because right now, all Tony can think about, all he can feel is Bucky. Bucky Barnes and his blissfully soft lips, Bucky Barnes and his gentle, grounding hands, Bucky Barnes and his warm chest pressed so concrete against Tony’s own. Bucky is so real in his arms.
Bucky tenses and it takes him a moment to comprehend that yeah, this is really happening. His body relaxes when his mind catches up to him, and he finally, finally returns the kiss, hands finding purchase in Tony’s hair and against his back. It’s gentle, almost hesitant, but the absolute adoration in Tony’s eyes along with the feel of his mouth and body, the sound of his arc reactor humming between them knocks the air out of Bucky’s lungs in the best way.
He’s almost disappointed when Tony pulls back, the shyest, most brilliant smile on his face as he presses his forehead to Bucky’s, eyes falling shut as he basks in the warmth blooming in his chest.
Bucky doesn’t know what to do as his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest, continues to just stare at the man in his arms. He imagines what it would be like to wake up every morning to Tony Stark’s face, what it would be like to watch him fall asleep every night. He wonders if the nightmares that have him struggling to free himself from Bucky’s t-shirts sometimes are worse when he’s alone at night, wonders if Tony ever reaches for him only to remember that he’s alone.
He starts buying his t-shirts and sweaters a size too big, smiling and shrugging when Steve asks. The number of crewnecks in his closet increases, and even though he finds himself feeling quite warm around the tower sometimes, it’s worth it when Tony makes a soft sound of approval when he burrows beneath Bucky’s navy crewneck.
Nobody’s fazed when Tony turns up to dinner late and goes straight to hug Bucky from behind, arms slipping beneath his t-shirt to rest on his stomach. A kiss is pressed between Bucky’s shoulder blades and a soft greeting whispered against his back. A small smile lifts Bucky’s lips as Steve loads a plate with food and slides it over to them. He leads Tony into the seat beside his own by the hand, which earns him a quiet whine from the sleepy genius.
It’s a little after dinner when Bucky finds Tony burrowing under his shirt, fingers cold as usual where they curl against his skin. The soft puffs of air against his ribs tickle, make Bucky squirm a little bit until he’s in a fit of giggles when Tony’s fingers dig playfully into his sides. Neither of them notice Steve take a photo or Clint nudge Natasha, too wrapped up in each other to care about anything else.
It’s much later when Tony is sprawled across Bucky, stuffing his face with buttered popcorn and ranting about gays in space that Bucky has a realisation. He nods and hums where necessary, too busy watching the expressions that flit across Tony’s face to pay full attention to the movie they’re watching or the words that are flying from his mouth.
The realisation is more like an understanding, really, because things finally begin to fall into place. Because when Bucky sees Tony, lit by the TV and his Arc Reactor, when he sees him, talking and eating and frowning, he comes to the understanding that what he feels is love. It’s not the same love that he feels for Steve or felt for the Howling Commandos, it’s a whole different kind of love. One that fills him to bursting with hope and fear and something. Something that gives him the overwhelming urge to protect Tony from the world around them and sometimes Tony himself.
The feeling only grows within him, filling every nook and cranny of Bucky’s soul, overflowing until it consumes him, a fire burning bright at his core, flaring up and warming him at every touch from Tony.
They never talk about it, sharing kisses and holding one another, indulging in the companionship and finding a home in each other’s arms. Bucky is, admittedly, afraid that if he speaks, this thing that he has with Tony will fall away. He’s afraid of the love that burns deep within his soul not being reciprocated by the one he loves. It keeps him awake, some nights, after holding Tony for hours only to return to his empty suite. His cold, empty bed feels nothing but uninviting, and Bucky wishes he had Tony there with him, breathing steadily against his skin.
Bucky doesn’t understand why, feels hurt even, when Tony flees just as their kisses start to become something more. The insecurity that comes with the hurt washes over Bucky, beating him like waves against the shore. He finds himself drowning under the weight of his self-doubt, anxieties eating at him until he finds himself, one night, standing outside Tony’s workshop, feet bare and hair dishevelled. His eyes are puffy, brows furrowed and baby blues filled with hurt and confusion.
They stand in silence, seconds ticking by as they stare at one another.
“Was it something I did?” It’s as if something inside Bucky breaks, the dam he’d been forging giving out and the sea inside him becoming a tsunami. “I don’t understand what I did wrong, Tony, I-I’ve been tryin’ my best to take care of you, y’know, and I thought you were enjoyin’ the kisses as much as I was, then you ran away and-and I don’t know what to think.” The words tumble out, as do the tears that well up in those baby blues that are so full of everything.
His breaths are heavy when Tony pulls him in, hand cradling the back of his head, guiding it to his shoulder. He murmurs into Bucky’s ear, shushing him and telling him he did nothing wrong until he no longer trembles and the tears stop.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, James.” Tony cups Bucky’s cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet. Bucky can see guilt in molten chocolate eyes. “I just… I thought maybe I was going too fast. Didn’t want to push you, didn’t want you doing anything you weren’t ready to do just because I want it.”
The way Tony says his name is like fuel to the fire that burns within him, and Bucky realises that they’re both idiots. He realises they’d both been tiptoeing around one another as if afraid they’d break. When he looks into Tony’s eyes, he can see the love there, unmasked, Tony’s very soul laid bare for the man he loves. Bucky can’t help the laugh that forces its way out of him, his hands coming up to cup Tony’s own. “We’re both idiots.” He decides, satisfied when Tony huffs indignantly, “I’ll have you know I’m a genius, Buckaroo.” And then they’re laughing together, clinging to one another as if it would kill them to let go.
They kiss that night like they’ve never kissed before, tasting, exploring, basking in the love they pour into the kiss, making up for the times they hadn’t been in each other’s arms.
Bucky sleeps in Tony’s bed that night, with Tony fitted against his chest, their legs intertwined and soft, warm breaths puffing against his collarbone. Bucky sleeps with Tony in his arms that night, and it’s the best sleep he’s had in years, mind blissfully silent for once.
That is, until the Avengers have to assemble.