Work Text:
Steve, Sam, and Thor were at the gym, and Clint and Natasha were God knows where. Bucky was sitting at his desk, headphones covering his ears, but he still had the volume up way too loud. He was reading Self Help Book for Russian Ex-Assassins (by Natasha, probably). He’s been having some anger issues lately. Not to mention the only thing more metal than his taste in music was his prosthetic arm. It’s literally a piece of fucking metal.
Bruce and Tony were supposed to be studying, but as usual, they were just goofing off. They had already stolen one of Steve’s art pens and vandalized his frisbee, along with a couple of his t-shirts. Unfortunately, Bucky’s prosthetic arm was about to be the next victim. Bruce and Tony were sitting on the couch behind Bucky’s desk, plotting the demise of his favorite band sticker, the one on his left shoulder. The one he bought all those sleeveless shirts for. He was so fucking proud of his metal arm and all his stickers that Tony and Bruce thought it was about time they put an end to it.
“You’re sure this isn’t a little too far?” Bruce whispered, even though Bucky’s music was so loud they could hear it from halfway across the room, leaving no chance that he could hear them.
“Pffft! No. There’s already a shit ton of obscenities on his arm. Do you think he’ll even feel it?”
“What? How would I know? We don’t even know what happened to him!”
“True… ” Tony frowned down at the ground, considering the possibilities.
“Fuck. I’m gonna do it anyway.”
“Tony-!”
But he was already creeping up behind Bucky. Tony uncapped Steve’s pen and looked up again to make sure Bucky didn’t notice. He wrote BOOBS on his arm, and even dotted the o’s.
Bucky turned around in his chair.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Uhmm, decorating?” Tony grinned.
Bucky looked down at his arm.
“YOU SON OF A - ”
Bucky tackled Tony, and the impact of their bodies made a sick crunch as they hit the floor. Bruce burst out laughing.
“GIVE ME THE FUCKING MARKER!” Bucky yelled as he pinned Tony to the ground and grabbed the pen out of his hand.
What a dumbass, drawing on my fucking arm like that, Bucky thought.
“Shit, man! I’ll just buy you another sticker!”
Too late, motherfucker, my knees are on your shoulders.
He drew a bull’s eye on the middle of Tony’s forehead.
“Not the face! Don’t touch - ”
“When do you even fucking study?!” Bucky demanded.
“Honestly, I don’t, I just memorize it all the night before - “
Bucky scrawled DUMB and F – across Tony’s face, nearly carving it into his skin.
“Jesus! Do you really have to - ”
“I HOPE YOU FAIL YOUR FUCKING MID-TERMS!”
“Geez, will you cut it out?!”
He even dotted the fucking o’s.
Bucky scribbled a Hitler moustache on Tony’s face.
“Let me go, dammit!”
Bucky ignored him. He drew a dotted line on Tony’s neck and wrote PLEASE CUT.
“Dude, get off of me!” Tony yelled, trying to break free, but Bucky was using his fake arm to hold him down, and where the fuck did he get that thing, anyway?
Bruce was still laughing.
“All the times you make fun of my fucking eyeliner… and my fucking stubble…”
Bucky colored in dark circles around Tony’s eyes, and repeatedly stabbed his face, giving him a crappily drawn-in 5 o’clock shadow.
“Wait, what? And what the hell are you doing? Jesus! That hurts, you know!”
Bucky jammed the marker in his ear.
“OW!”
He stood up, finally letting Tony go, and walked back to his desk. He sat down in his chair with a loud thud.
“Don’t fuck with me, Stark.”
“Yeah, note taken.”