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Bucky is an ass man. Always has been, always will be. In fact, he's pretty sure that if there is one thing even Hydra's conditioning wasn't able to take from him—of all the dumb, useless things—it's that.
So it's only natural that when Tony strides into the room, be it in his tight, well-fitted undersuit or baggy but somehow incredibly flattering sweats, Bucky's eyes want to drop down to what he's pretty sure should be insured as a national treasure.
It's only the fact that Bucky is convinced Tony wouldn't like Bucky ogling his behind that keeps him from doing it. Even if it seems like few people besides Bucky care about that. Even if it means he has to stare at the ceiling, instead, because even from a peripheral, Tony's ass seems to have its own gravitational pull when it comes to Bucky's eyes.
Bucky knows what it's like to be objectified against his will, to an extreme extent so, and he's not going to do the same thing to someone else now. He realizes that this probably says more about his own issues than anything else, but his therapist told him it's okay to feel things, and this is definitely something he feels.
"What are you doing?" Steve asks from next to him, breaking through his thoughts and also his complete and utter focus on the ceiling, quizzically looking at Bucky over the newspaper in Steve's hands.
Bucky sighs mournfully and goes back to aiming his eyes towards the ceiling before they have the opportunity to stray.
Which is why he completely misses the smirk on Tony's face, as well as the fond rolling of his eyes.
(Steve doesn't.)
(Bucky does catch Steve's long-suffering headshake, and promptly rewards it with a not-that-light punch to his shoulder.)