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“Tony, what are those?”
Tony glances up at the sound of Clint’s voice, then follows the blonde’s gaze down to his own hands, more specifically the soft red and yellow knitted fingerless gloves on his hands. Tony grins like a little kid and holds them up. “You mean these?”
Clint nods, setting down the plate of food he had brought down to the workshop for their resident forgets-to-eat genius.
“Yeah, those. Who do you know that knits? ‘Cause I definitely can’t see Pepper with knitting needles in her hands.” The archer shudders, leaning against the worktable next to Tony and crossing his arms over his chest. “Nor do I feel comfortable knowing she could have something that sharp in her hands.”
Tony shrugs, smile going soft and fond and secret as he rubs the soft wool of the gloves over the exposed skin of his arms.
“Just a friend.”
Blonde eyebrows drop into a furrow as Clint narrows his eyes, and then shrugs as well. “Alright, Stark. Keep your secrets.”
That makes Tony laugh, and he chucks a crumpled up piece of paper at Clint’s face. “Thanks, Barton. Now I wanna watch Lord of the Rings.”
Clint smacks the paper away easily, and grins as he pushes the steaming plate of curry towards the older man before straightening up and heading for the doors to the workshop. “Sorry, not sorry. Isn’t it on your list of stuff to show Steve and Bucky anyway? Now you’ve got the perfect excuse.”
Tony scoffs, shoving a mouthful of Bruce’s signature curry in his mouth with a moan of appreciation, then turning back to the project he’d been working on before Clint interrupted. “You never need an excuse to watch Lord of the Rings, Clint. That is a masterpiece that should be viewed at all times, no reason required.”
The sound of Clint’s laughter carries out of the shop, cutting off as the doors close. He waits until FRIDAY gives him the notification that the archer has disappeared into the elevator before pushing the rolling stool away from his workbench with a hard shove and scooting across the shop floor. When he hits the wall that separates the main workshop from the garage, he stops the stool and leans to peek around the corner.
Two stormy blue eyes stare back at him from a curtain of long dark hair. Bucky’s hands are clenched around his knitting needles, a half done project forgotten in his lap. The sight makes Tony’s heart skip, and he slips from the stool with a soft sigh to come around the wall and kneel next to the other man.
He reaches out, taking Bucky’s left hand in both of his own and gently rubbing his fingers until they’re not holding the needle quite so tightly. Tony can visibly see the former assassin’s entire body relax when blue eyes catch on the gloves.
“You’re still wearing them?”
Tony smiles at the soft question, letting go of Bucky’s hand to wiggle his fingers in his face. He gets a tiny smile in return, and Tony secretly tucks the sight away as a victory. “Of course I am. This wool is softer than it has any right to be, and they’re shockingly good protection against calluses from all my tools. Plus you made them just for me. You should see the jealous looks on everyone’s faces.”
“Did you, uh… tell them who made them?”
Taking Bucky’s head gently in his hands, Tony tilts it forward so he can press a gentle kiss into dark locks. “Nope, your old lady secret is safe with me.” Bucky rolls his eyes in response, and Tony knee walks over so he can sit against the wall, pressed into the other man’s side. “So, what are you making me this time?”
“Who says I’m making something for you, brat?”
Tony gapes up at him, overdramatically mock offended. “How dare you, sir! Here I am, defending your secret against all potential mockery, and this is the thanks I get?” He continues to sputter nonsensically as Bucky chuckles next to him and picks his needles back up.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Bucky slowly working his way through a skein of sapphire blue wool and Tony watching intently. The movement of the needles and the comfortable quiet between them is soothing, and Tony lets his eyes drift half closed.
“Just a friend, huh?”
Tony’s eyes pop open, but Bucky’s still looking determinedly down where his hands are working. The question sounds casual, but he knows it’s anything but. So he leans even more of his weight against the other man and lifts his head to press a barely there kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Bucky’s hands falter for a second, and Tony grins at the dusting of pink that appears across his nose.
“Maybe a little bit more than a friend.”