Work Text:
It was an offhand comment, is what it was;
"Nice fingers."
But oh dear, did it sit and stir and stir in Bucky's head like a damned blender.
First off, Tony didn't mean it like that. It wasn't a come-on or whatever.
It was a regular evening spent in the workshop where Bucky plays fetch with the bots while Tony does his thing, and the only difference that day was that Tony had needed an extra hand that wasn't mechanical.
Something was stuck in the gut of one of his fancy motorcars and Tony had called Bucky for help.
"Need a hand here, snowflake. If you don't mind."
And Bucky hadn't minded. He had simply marched to the rescue, wiggled his fingers into a tight invisible tube and yanked out the wire for Tony.
"Ah! Thank you."
And it could have ended right there. Just. Ended. And Bucky would have slept in peace.
But Dum-E helpfully thrust a dirty towel towards him to clean up and Bucky accepted it gratefully, beginning to scrub the grease off of his right digits when Tony commented;
"Nice fingers."
The thing was, oh the absolute wicked thing was, Tony wasn't even looking!
At least he wasn't when Bucky's head snapped up and oh, Bucky's head snapped real fast and hard alright.
And he wasn't looking.
He was squinting at the dismantled engine until Bucky had probably burned a hole into his skull because then he turned, and the bastard, he fucking winked.
Why fingers?
Why wink?
Those are the two main questions going around in circles in Bucky's head like a fucking whirlpool and it has been four fucking days since he heard it.
And it apparently has driven Steve insane because he's trying really hard not to punch the door down to Bucky's bedroom right now.
"What!?" Bucky yells from inside the cocoon he'd made for himself with his comforter and blanket.
It's muffled but Stevie can go fuck himself.
"Can you come out?" Comes the angry boom.
God, Bucky wishes valiantly he was still scrawny even if not so sickly. Nobody should be allowed so much power. Especially Steve Rogers.
"Fuck off!" He yells back, dreaming of a smaller Steve. Small enough for Bucky to squish him into mush.
"Come out!" Steve barks and Bucky immediately jolts upright.
It's an unfortunate reflex reaction to Cap's command voice. A fucking pathetic misfortune.
"Whaddaya want?" Bucky demands, yanking open the door.
Whatever Steve wants takes an abrupt backlog to the incredibly judgemental once over he gives Bucky.
"Jesus," Steve lets out. "When was the last time you showered?"
"None of your business," Bucky hisses, stomping back to his bed.
He knows how he looks.
Well, not really. But kinda.
The sad end of the sour blanket trailing behind him gives sufficient idea.
He's un-showered, with haphazard greasy hair probably made worse by all the cocooning he'd done, which he's still walking in - yeah.
He gets it. He's a fucking disaster.
"What happened?" Steve asks, voice considerably softer.
Bucky glares at him. He'd rather the yelling. "Nothing. What happened with you? Why're you here?" He snarls.
Whatever kindness that had possessed Steve immediately evaporates at that remark. He scowls.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you've been missing team dinner three nights in a row and that Tony's giving me looks like I've kidnapped you and stuffed you somewhere he can't find?" He shrugs, pocketing his fists, marching to the closed window.
"Or the fact that this place reeks like a fish market?" He yanks open the curtains, turning around to face him.
Bucky definitely snarls this time, scuttling away from the sunlight.
"I don't know, Buck, why don't you tell me?" He asks, with a too wide smile. Too calm tone that makes Bucky show him his teeth.
Steve rolls his eyes and orders Miss Fri to dim 40% of the light. Then he waits until Bucky's done blinking and tosses him a new shirt that he pulls out from the drawer. And a pair of pants. And a pair of underwear.
"Go shower," he orders.
"You're not my ma," Bucky grouches.
"You're damn right I'm not. You know what would’ve happened if she was here." His stupid voice follows Bucky until he slams the bathroom door shut.
He scrubs himself raw, muttering curses at suds and soap and the tiles lining the wall. Then he pulls at the towel, patting himself dry and walking up to the mirror. There, he sees his face and his hand up his neck and everything comes to an abrupt halt.
He blinks, focus zeroing in on his flesh hand. It's the same hand Tony had commented about.
And he puts it up against the mirror, until his palm is collecting mist beneath it and he stares.
The towel slips down to the floor, but Bucky disregards it for his fingers.
He flexes them. Then he straightens them.
Then he pulls them away from the mirror and he inspects: palm side up, palm side down, flexed, fisted, extended, adducted and abducted.
"Are you drowning in there?!" Steve's stupid loud voice shocks Bucky into his senses.
"Jesus Christ," he exhales, heart racing a mile a minute as he looks at his hand one more time -2
"BUCKY!??"
"I'M COMING YOU MORON!"
The moment he steps out; all dried up and freshly, albeit hurriedly clothed, Steve barely spares him a glance, stuffing chips into his face in front of the TV.
"Is that what you say to the ladies?"
"What?" Bucky blurts, arm paused mid motion into throwing the wet towel at Steve's head.
The punk grins, all chips and teeth, and with an overly high-pitched tone, he moans, "I'm coming, you moron."
Bucky slams the wet towel with extra force into the back of Steve’s head.
"Ow!" Steve whines, clutching his head. Baby blue eyes look up at him, wide like a puppy and Bucky scoffs at him.
He's not fooling Bucky any more than he'd already done.
"That hurt," Steve pouts, gaze following Bucky who stalks to the kitchen for a drink.
His puppy eyes never falter even as Bucky glares at him over the glass of water. Eventually, Bucky says, "Quit it, you look ugly."
That gets him a venomous look.
Helping himself to the rest of the bag of chips, Bucky plops down next to him and keeps his eyes carefully fixed on the TV.
He feels Steve's stare at the side of his head, burning a hole, but he's too determined in his will. Not to mention, he'd dealt with this since back when his brain was still a baby bundle of neurons making new memories.
"Buck," Steve calls warningly, voice levelled low and rumbly.
Bucky soldiers on, munching on his chips. Frankly, he doesn't even know what he's watching.
Even a super soldier powered kick to his thigh doesn't move him.
Until Steve brings out the big guns. (Because he knows Bucky's got a thing for Tony and he's also a little piece of shit.)
"I'm gonna tell Tony it's his fault."
And that's when Bucky lunges for him.
The chip bag falls, spewing its remains onto the floor, crunching under the two scuffling super soldiers' feet.
"You- can't. Tell. Him. That!" Bucky, huffs and puffs from the headlock Steve's got him in.
"Why not?" The punk asks, equally winded from all the force he's exerting to imprison Bucky. "Did he do something?"
"He didn't. Do - Fuck! LEt me OFF!"
"No!"
"Fuck. OFF!"
"Tell me what happened."
"NO!"
"Yes."
"No -"
"Okay. Wrong timing. Didn't even come in. Bye-bye." A new voice interrupts and they both spill out onto the floor catching the tail end of Tony's back disappearing at the door.
"Wait! TONY!" Bucky scrambles, throwing a particularly vile look at Steve before bolting out after him.
He catches Tony just before the elevator door closes.
Wedging his metal hand in between them out of pure desperation (and dumbfuckery, according to Steve when he hears about it later).
He's panting, wild-eyed and peculiarly giddy as he rasps out, "Hold on."
Tony looks at him like he's a ghost descended from the ninth realm.
For a moment, Bucky has this insane fear that he's looking like a disaster from four days of no-shower. And then he remembers that he'd just showered and that immediately eases his mind.
Maybe Stevie is not so much of a little shit.
(Or not. That thought is forever for reconsideration according to future events. There's no need to make hasty decisions here)
"You wanna come in?" Tony jerks his head to his side, "Or you want me to come out? But you're blocking my path so..."
Bucky immediately retracts his hand, "Sorry."
He thinks about asking Tony to come back to his apartment but the image of Steve and his dumb face propels him into the elevator instead.
It's kind of awkward. The elevator door closes and Tony taps thrice at his penthouse button. Then he turns to Bucky, clears his throat and asks, "Anywhere in particular?"
"No preferences," Bucky replies stiffly, internally screaming at his own words.
No preferences? Jesus Christ. What is he? Heading to some government office?
But Tony doesn't comment on it. Which is... suspicious. Because Bucky expected Tony to at least snort. But -
He sneaks a look at the man, abruptly snapping his attention elsewhere when their eyes meet.
His face heats up. His neck feels warm and his palms are getting clammy.
What the fuck. Bucky thinks to himself.
This is not how they roll.
They're easy and comfortable. Each snarky comment met by another equally smart one. They laugh and they joke and they are shameless.
Yet, here they are. Awkward.
God, it's painful. Bucky doesn't know what to say and by the way Tony's fingers tap, tap, and tap against his thigh, neither does he.
Eventually, the elevator opens and it's the workshop.
The bright, glass-walled, blue tinted, metallic and sleek workshop that is Tony's space and has somehow, in the span of those slow six months he's been brought out of HYDRA's clasp, become Bucky's space too.
A shared comfort man-cave.
Without the stench and yucky things. But all fun and - Bucky breathes in, eyes landing on Dum-E at the near corner - a home.
Tony clears his throat and Bucky realises neither of them has stepped out of the elevator.
But in that moment, the rush of warmth from his sudden realisation only pushes him to round up on Tony in the elevator.
Heart half guilty in his chest for making Miss Fri work unnecessarily, he asks, "Would you step out with a fella?"
Tony, in all fairness, blinks at him.
Bucky waits, shrivelled patience trying to shush his heart into a calmer beat.
Finally, when Tony opens his mouth (not that it has been decades, just a few seconds have passed) both the words and voice that come out are not his.
"You're so horrible at this. I'm ashamed."
Bucky groans, letting his body fall against the wall and his head roll away from Tony.
"Friday, cut off the video feed and tell Spangles to fuck off, please. In those exact words." Tony orders flatly.
Bucky curses Steve and his unborn children and grandchildren and great-great-great - (you get it) in his head. Silently.
"You were saying?" Tony asks, softer.
More approachable and - if Bucky would stop doubting himself for a second, he’d notice - nervous.
What Bucky took from that though, is that this is his second chance and he is not gonna mess it up.
Squaring his shoulders, he straightens up, looks Tony in the eyes and asks without a stutter;
"Would you step out with me?”
"Sure," Tony grabs his wrist. "Let's step out."
For a moment, it's too good to be true, until Bucky realises what Tony has just done;
Pulled him out of the elevator; literally stepping out.
Of the fucking elevator.
And he saunters into the shop like nothing was wrong. Leaving Bucky to cradle his head in his hands and just scream WHY in his head.
Why me?
Why is this happening?
Why are they torturing me?
Etcetera.
"I can't believe -," he starts, walking into the shop himself.
But Tony interrupts breezily, "Will you grab that wrench for me?"
Bristling, but still patient, Bucky grabs the tool and marches towards the man. "I can't believe you just did that."
"Thank you," Tony accepts it, plopping down on his chair and spinning around so he's facing the work desk. Back towards Bucky.
"Did what?"
Bucky inhales. And exhales. "I asked you to step out with me -,"
"And I graciously stepped out with you."
"From the elevator!" Bucky throws his hand out in frustration.
Tony swirls around, poking his gut with the end of the wrench, effectively pushing Bucky a step away from him. "You weren't specific, Buckaroo."
Before Bucky could grab him so he stops spinning around, his back's already facing him again.
"Fine." Bucky huffs, dropping the hands he brought up to mime strangling Tony. "Go out with me -,"
Tony spins around again, like a fucking wheel on caffeine. "Aw, snowflake, I didn't think all those times we spent crossing China and Japan were nothing to you."
This time, Bucky does catch him.
But Dum-E, the ever-clumsy fuck ton of baby slams into his side and his grip slips making it convenient for Tony to turn away again.
"Not now, big boy," he bats him off, hissing at the back of Tony's head, "I'm facing the test of time."
Dum-E beeps apologetically, whirring away to god knows where.
Internally, Bucky marvels at how easily the awkwardness from earlier has turned into this stupid shit show.
Which, by the way, is miles superior compared to nervous jitters and stutters. Waaay more familiar to how him and Tony roll anyway.
It makes his heart fill with fondness.
It's dying to strangle Tony until he gives up the whole dumb pretence he's pulling, but still - fondness.
"You're deliberately making this difficult for me," Bucky tugs at the back of the chair, a slight warning before he pulls it around so Tony's facing him.
Grumpily.
"I'm working."
Bucky pulls an impressive face back at him.
"I asked you a question first."
"And I answered." Tony challenges, chin jutting upwards.
Bucky leans down until they're an inch away from their noses brushing. "Go out with me. On a date."
Whatever he expected, he hadn’t even dreamed of what happens next.
Tony kisses him.
Yanks him in by his collar and - A kiss. Quick, chaste, but a kiss nonetheless.
It makes Bucky touch his lips and wonder if that even happened for real or...
"How's that for an answer?" Tony asks, chest puffed out proud, smirk pulled wicked across his face.
Bucky's stupidly smitten with him.
"Weak," he exhales.
It turns the smirk into a frown and his whiskey brown eyes squint while Bucky simply leans back in to steal a proper kiss from him.
Slow and soft. Tongue and all. Wet, warm and dizzyingly indulgent.
"That's better," he leans back, but not too far. Keeping his breath still mingling with Tony's as he smiles, "Be my fella, why don't cha? I'll teach you more of that and others too if you accept."
"Teach me?" Tony pulls away.
Dark eyes glinting something new, end of wrench poking beneath Bucky's pec, keeping him at a distance.
"You're gonna teach. Me. A playboy?" He quirks a challenging eyebrow to Bucky's eye roll.
Okay, this isn't happening, Bucky decides. At least, not without a chair.
He hooks an ankle around an empty one and pulls, plopping down once it has rolled up to him.
Bracketing Tony with both hands around his armrests, Bucky stares at him.
Or, in his head, he's giving the infamous "Bucky's smoulder" but like, whatever.
Tony scrunches his nose in distaste.
"I've been around too, you know. In my days -,"
"Oh god, here it comes," Tony mutters and Bucky stops.
"What?"
"Your whole, ‘in my days’ speech," Tony says in a deeper, grumpier, older sounding voice for mockery.
When Bucky gives him the 'what the fuck?' look, Tony sighs, "I already hear it from one fossil and it never ends. I don't want you to start getting on the same bandwagon too. You both already share too many wagons together." He grumps.
"God!" Bucky recoils, "Please don't compare me with that piece of shit."
"Why?" Tony asks with a chuckle "Aren't you both proud of sharing a crib and all? A century old friendship, yada yada?" He shrugs, playing it cool.
And he would have passed except for the twitchy way his fingers move which Bucky has come to learn, is a nervous giveaway.
There's a snarky retort at the tip of Bucky's tongue which he holds back in favour of grabbing those fingers and cradling them in his hands.
Tony who's been all quick pulses of energy until now goes silent and still.
Bucky takes that moment to breathe. He looks at the hands in his and he marvels.
Strong fingers; neither too long nor too short. They're well-proportioned to their body. Tony keeps them clean but he can’t hide away the years of scars littered across them. Some tucked in between the webs of his fingers and others along the bases of his wrists. They're proof of his hard work. His workmanship.
They tell decades old tales of his craft.
Also, of his clumsiness.
Bucky knows for a fact that the dented skin at the lateral side of his left hand was not from work. Accident, yes. But the kind where Tony sleepily shoved his hand into a blender at the crack of dawn in his attempt to make himself a late-night snack.
"What's bothering you?" He asks, looking up from where his head is still tilted down.
Tony opens his mouth, predictably to deny, but something makes him pause and splutter. Then he stops and inhales sharply.
"What if this doesn't work?" He lets out, his voice too soft, but levelled and there's not even a single stutter that gives how serious he is about it.
"This. As in...,"
"This," Tony squeezes his hand. "Us." I don't want to break it, he goes without saying.
Bucky for once, thinks about his response before he clears his throat. Tony's hands are still in his and he intertwines his right fingers with Tony's left.
Tony, his sweet, snarky Tony, worms his right fingers in between Bucky's metal ones and gives a squeeze.
"I thought we were taking it a day at a time," Bucky murmurs, gaze still fixed on their clasped hands. "That's how we try, right?"
He looks at Tony when he asks. Because he remembers that night awfully well. When Tony stumbled upon him at the staircase, hunched into himself, shaking and Tony had crouched down to his level and said;
"Breathe, snowflake. One deep breath at a time."
And once the lump in Bucky's throat had dissolved. Once Tony had stopped counting his every breath with him - for him - he'd pulled him up onto his feet, walked him to his kitchen in the penthouse, offered him water and a seat at his island and said with careful nonchalance;
"One day at a time, James. That's how we try."
And it's been like that ever since. One breath at a time. One old memory a night and one day at a time.
Bucky lived, Bucky survived and Bucky thrived.
Therefore, he asks the man who said those magic words to begin with.
And the man looks up, meets his eyes and something in those honeyed brown gives.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah. It's one day at a time.”
-
One day at a time works just fine.
In fact, it's so fine that Bucky starts grinning to himself at the most inconvenient places.
On one such instance, he was at the market picking fresh plums out of the batch when the lady who had to have gotten used to his grumpy face asked him: "What's wrong?"
That pulled an abrupt scowl down on his face and Bucky grumbled at her to keep the change.
Back at home, he found two extra plums in his bag instead of the usual one and Bucky, typically, scowled at them.
This time when he gets caught, it's the spider kid who rushes in like a storm and immediately scurries out upon seeing his face.
He redoubles, inches closer and closer until he's too close to Bucky, whose thoughts are somewhere else.
And he asks, "Are you okay, Mr Winter Sir?"
Needless to say, Bucky flips him over onto the couch, straddles the cause of his surprise and is ready to strike when -
"Did you just scream?" Stevie thunders out of nowhere, sauce coated ladle in one hand and a very ugly apron around his neck.
Bucky hates that he looks positively bright like he'd found the gold at the end of the rainbow.
But the spider kid is apologizing profusely beneath Bucky so he lets go of him first.
"I didn't scream," he addresses Stevie next.
"Did you scream?" Steve asks the kid who shakes his head rapidly then slowly starts nodding after receiving Bucky's murder squint.
"I knew it was you," Stevie wags the ladle at Bucky's face. "You used to wake the entire building up when you had nightmares, remember?" He beams. All bright and sunshine stupid.
"Will you just shove yourself wherever you came from?" Bucky snaps at him at the same time as the spider kid asks in renewed excitement; "You did?"
"He did!" Steve confirms, pulling in a huge breath to retell who knows what other embarrassing stories he got of Bucky to a kid who is probably going to call him Puny Barney behind his back after this.
"I'm warning you, Stevie." Bucky rumbles.
"Or what?" The dumbfuck smirks, standing akimbo in his punk ass weird grinning-orange apron.
Bucky levels him with a glare which he doesn't take for threat so he puffs his chest out and says, "I'll ask Tony to send a compilation of all the times you've farted and burped to Sharon."
The quicker the smirk falls off of Steve's face, the slower the vicious smile grows across Bucky's.
"You wouldn't," Steve scowls at him, shoulders drooped and stance wilted.
The spider kid looks utterly befuddled as to his entire existence in the scene between Steve and Bucky. He stutters something about getting out and hops out of the couch.
Bucky plops down onto it without a second thought, incredibly satisfied with himself.
"Keep telling that to yourself, Stevie. Remember when I switched your undies with Becky's and you didn't even notice?"
Something clatters onto the floor and Bucky turns to look at it.
It's the spider kid. Bent at the waist with a hand outstretched to reach for his fallen phone.
He looks properly chastised and ashamed, like he'd rather be a fly right now.
A single glance at Stevie tells Bucky the color of Bolognese.
He addresses the boy with a scowl, "Get outta here boy." The poor kid takes that as his cue to bolt, phone clutched safely to his chest.
"Run before the boogie man catches you!" Bucky yells after him.
"You're gonna pay for that." Stevie threatens him once the coast is clear.
Bucky beams at him.
But he should know that Steve Rogers keeps his promises all too well.
-
It all comes to a full circle when Bucky ends up in the workshop with Tony cradling his hand in his.
Okay, stop.
Now, let's rewind.
What happened was, Bucky, ever confident in his safety inside the tower went about his own way one Friday morning.
You know, the usual:
He woke up with a scowl which blew into a sunny smile when he remembered there is Tony in this grey cloudy world.
Then he checked outside the window, asked Miss Fri what's new with the world, asked her what's new with Tony, how the bots are doing as he picked up a new set of clothes and walked into his bathroom.
Then he showered, brushed his teeth, did the do and stepped in front of the mirror. He admired his own hands which is weird but he's trying to like the things that Tony likes in him. So, there was that.
And that was when everything went bad.
Now, Tony glares at Steve and then at Bucky as he harrumphs and grumbles, "How old are you guys?"
"Clearly I'm older cause it's his stupid idea -,"
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know you were checking yourself out in the mirror."
"I JUST FINISHED A SHOWER STEVIE. THAT'S WHAT EVERYONE DOES!"
"AND I OPENED THE DOOR JUST LIKE I DO EVERY -"
"NO. YOU DON'T. YOU WANTED TO PRANK ME!"
"WELL I'M SORRY I BROKE YOUR PINKY!"
Steve screams.
So loud that the bots scamper away and Tony is face palming in shame.
"You're damn right you're sorry. You fucking broke my pinky." Bucky grumps.
"It's just a pinky. Tony'll fix it just fine." Steve says for the billionth time that day.
Bucky gives him the dirtiest look. "Fuck you." He spits.
"Alright kids," Tony puts a stop.
"Cap, you're gonna have to leave. I need our murder muffin to be as calm as possible for this and you're not helping."
Steve huffs, "It's not my fault that he's a child -"
"You say that again," Bucky dares, readying for another fight.
Tony pushes him back into the chair and flicks a finger at Steve. "Out." He orders.
Bucky hears Steve grumble something too indecipherable under his breath to pick up. "I'm gonna send that video to Sharon!" He yells after him anyway.
"I hate you!" Steve's bellow echoes in his leave.
"Children," Tony smacks his shoulder. "Both of you. And I thought Rhodey and I were the worst."
"What are you talking about? You and Jimmy are terrible." Bucky sniffs.
Tony gives him another glare before gathering Bucky’s left hand and the tools for the job.
Bucky's familiar with this, so he relaxes in his seat and trusts Tony to fiddle with the plates and wires of his metal limb.
"He's lucky it's not my right hand," he says once Tony's slotting the plates back into their places.
Tony's curiosity is limited to a distracted hum and a mumbled, "Why?"
Bucky feels his cheeks warm up but he soldiers on. Three dates and counting, he tells himself. There's no shame in telling Tony about it.
"Because you like it," he says. Tries to play it cool and shrug it off.
But Tony looks up and the way he doesn't look away tells him that his attempt failed. His single quirked eyebrow is a non-verbal "Do I?" which makes Bucky's neck as red as Steve gets under the summer sun.
"You said 'nice fingers', remember?" Now that he's saying it aloud, he feels so ridiculous he wants to dig a hole and bury himself six feet under.
Tony tips his head right and waits. But Bucky has got nothing else to say.
The silence collects like winter flurries; a single layer and another and another when Tony inhales and asks;
"Do you really believe that any damage done to your body - fingers or whatever - is going to change the way I feel about you?"
His face is a vision of genuine curiosity. As if he couldn't believe what he had just heard from Bucky and would really like to understand him better.
Bucky, ashamed as he is, ducks his head but manages a gruff, "It won't look the same if it's broken."
Tony's soft snort is the only immediate response. Followed by more silence during which Tony slots the last of those metal plates in, wipes his hand clean and puts his tools away.
Then he taps Bucky's cheek twice until his grumpy boyfriend looks up and he tells him, "When I said 'nice fingers' I was genuinely complimenting the way they look."
His voice is steady and calm. Not like he's explaining but just having a mild conversation with Bucky.
At the same time, he picks up Bucky's right hand and starts tracing each finger with his index which is very distracting.
"They are... Very aesthetically pleasing," he smirks up at Bucky. Then his smirk flats out and he murmurs, "But they're also a part of you. So, I may have just micro-focused my liking of you onto your fingers."
"What?"
"Oh, you know," Tony bats off, "I may or may not have meant 'nice you'," he makes a vague circular motion in the air to encompass the entirety of Bucky's frame, "when I said 'nice fingers'."
"Micro-focusing," Tony continues, placing a distracted kiss on Bucky's hand before letting go. "You know how it gets after you've been obsessing over something or someone and you start zeroing in on tiny little things about them?"
Bucky runs through those words a few times in his head. Just to make sure.
Tony gets half of his work desk clean in the meantime. And even manages to scold Dum-E for dropping the wrench.
"So you... don't like my fingers?" Bucky asks, face screwed up like he'd just tasted lemon.
Tony gives him a disappointed look, "I like your fingers just fine, sugarplum. I also like you."
Now, Bucky knows he's 100 years old. He also knows that he'd been a big ladies’ man when he was younger and stupider. Now he's an ex-assassin and a recently appointed spider-terrorist.
But when he hears those words coming from Tony - and he's pretty sure Tony just admitted to obsessing over Bucky - no matter how he said it, it just splits his mouth so wide from one ear to another that it hurts.
"I like you too, Tony" he tells him. "The-microfocusing-level like."
He thinks he likes the shade of red Tony gets right then.
He also likes Tony's mouth; the way it splutters to form a reply but fails and the way his fingers fidget and oh!
Fingers.
Which reminds Bucky -
He takes Tony's hands and brings them up for a kiss.
"Nice fingers," he winks.