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The Avengers Tower hummed with its usual rhythm of activity—muffled conversations, the clang of weights from the gym, and the low hum of JARVIS running diagnostics somewhere in the background. Tony Stark, genius inventor, billionaire, and at 25 the youngest member of the Avengers, strode into the communal area with a nonchalant confidence that was as much performance as it was genuine.
He knew how people saw him. The flashy genius with the quick wit and sharper tongue, always one step ahead of everyone else, always moving too fast to catch. Tony had cultivated that persona carefully, but he knew better than anyone how much of it was armor. Beneath the bravado, he was still the kid who’d lost his parents too young, who’d been left scrambling to fill the void of people he thought would always be there.
But he’d had Steve.
Tony stopped short at the thought, his chest tightening as it always did when he thought of the man who had stepped into his life months before everything fell apart. Steve Rogers—Captain America, the legend his father had idolized. He had been unfrozen mere months before Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths, and he’d stepped into Tony’s life like a figure out of a storybook. Where others had seen Steve as the icon, the hero, Tony had simply seen the person: kind, unyieldingly good, and endlessly patient.
For Steve, Tony had been a reminder of everything he’d lost—a boy with the same quick grin as the kids Steve had once played ball with on Brooklyn streets. For Tony, Steve was the man his father had always admired, but more importantly, someone who cared for him in ways Howard had never managed. Their bond had formed quickly, unshakable, and when the unthinkable happened, they had clung to each other.
Steve had been Tony’s lifeline in those bleak early days, and as Tony grew up, their relationship had deepened into something complex and fiercely protective. So when Steve asked Tony to join the Avengers, to use his genius for something greater, Tony didn’t hesitate. Not because Steve asked, but because Steve believed in him.
And Steve had believed in Bucky Barnes too.
Tony’s stomach twisted at the thought. Bucky had joined them weeks ago, his Hydra conditioning stripped away but his past still lingering like a shadow. Quiet and unreadable, he moved through the Tower like a ghost—always present but somehow untouchable. Tony couldn’t figure him out, and that drove him crazy.
But it wasn’t just curiosity.
Tony had spent his life surrounded by larger-than-life personalities—brilliant minds, powerful heroes—but Bucky had something different. A quiet strength. A gravity. And when Bucky smiled, those rare, fleeting moments when his defenses dropped, it was like the sun breaking through clouds. Tony wanted to be the reason for that smile. He wanted to make Bucky look at him—not just see him, but notice him.
It wasn’t just a crush; it was something deeper. Tony was used to being seen as the genius, the troublemaker, the youngest on the team, but with Bucky, he wanted something real. He wanted Bucky to look past the snark and the gadgets and see him.
That thought lingered as Tony sat in his workshop late one evening, spinning a wrench idly between his fingers. Holographic schematics glowed faintly around him, but his focus wasn’t on the designs. It was on Bucky.
Tony leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. It wasn’t that Bucky ignored him; he just seemed indifferent, like Tony was no different than anyone else on the team. And Tony hated it. He wanted Bucky’s attention—not because he was a Stark and used to getting what he wanted, but because he needed to know if there was even a chance that Bucky felt something too.
"Subtle isn’t working," Tony muttered to himself. He set the wrench down and steepled his fingers, his mind racing. If Bucky wasn’t going to notice him on his own, maybe Tony needed to be more proactive. Not to manipulate him, never that. But to gently, persistently nudge him out of his shell. To get Bucky to see that Tony wasn’t just a kid or an inventor or Steve’s protégé. To see that Tony was someone worth caring about.
The thought felt equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Tony wasn’t used to putting his heart on the line like this, but the idea of letting this crush—the possibility of something more—fade away without trying felt worse.
“All right, Barnes,” Tony said, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “If you’re not going to notice me on your own, then I guess I’ll have to make it impossible for you not to.”
He reached for a notepad, his grin widening as he began scribbling ideas.
“Day one: Let’s see how you feel about me borrowing your hoodie.”
This wasn’t about making Bucky crack or breaking his walls down. It was about gently, playfully inviting him to lower them. It was about finding connection, step by step, day by day.
Day One: The Hoodie Incident
Tony wasn’t snooping, per se. He was merely exploring untapped resources, like the bottom drawer of Bucky Barnes’ dresser. It wasn’t like he’d gone in with a plan—okay, maybe he had, but only a loose one. His fingers brushed over fabric until they landed on something soft, worn, and distinctly unassuming. A black hoodie, its size suggesting it belonged to someone much larger than Tony, lay discarded and crumpled like it had been forgotten entirely.
Perfect.
Tony held it up for inspection, his lips quirking into a grin. “This’ll do,” he murmured, tugging the hoodie on. It draped over him like a tent, the sleeves swallowing his hands, and the hem nearly grazing his thighs. The faintest scent lingered on the fabric—cedarwood, leather, and something metallic, uniquely Bucky.
For a moment, Tony hesitated, burying his face in the hood and inhaling deeply. Warmth bloomed in his chest, a mix of longing and comfort. He shook himself sharply, forcing his thoughts back on track. He had a goal here, and it wasn’t to lose himself in fantasies about how good Bucky smelled.
He left Bucky’s room, heading toward the kitchen. “JARVIS, where’s Barnes?”
“In the kitchen, sir,” JARVIS responded smoothly.
“Good.” Tony squared his shoulders, reminding himself to keep it casual. Cool. Nonchalant. He pushed the door open, stepping into the room without sparing a glance toward Bucky.
He made a beeline for the coffee machine, his fingers quick and practiced as he set up his brew. The kitchen was quiet, save for the sound of dripping coffee and the faint rustle of movement behind him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the shift of Bucky’s figure. The man was leaning against the counter, a steaming mug in hand, his brow furrowed as he stared at Tony.
Tony didn’t react immediately, instead focusing on his coffee. He kept his movements deliberately unhurried, trying to project an air of disinterest. But he couldn’t help sneaking a glance.
Bucky’s expression was… curious. His gaze moved slowly, taking in the oversized hoodie that hung off Tony’s frame. His brow furrowed deeper, and as he raised his mug to his lips, something flickered in his eyes—a strange mix of confusion and amusement.
“What’s up, Tin Man?” Tony asked, aiming for teasing as he turned to face Bucky. He leaned casually against the counter, coffee mug in hand.
Bucky’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk. He nodded toward Tony’s chest. “That hoodie,” he said, his voice low and steady. “It’s mine.”
Tony lifted the hem slightly, feigning surprise. “This? I don’t think so. Found it in my wardrobe.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, setting his mug down on the counter. He crossed the room in a few slow, deliberate steps until he was standing in front of Tony. The height and size difference became glaringly obvious as Bucky loomed over him, the hoodie making Tony look even smaller.
“You sure about that, doll?” Bucky asked, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against the hoodie’s drawstring. “Pretty sure I wore this yesterday. How’d it end up in your closet?”
Tony’s breath hitched at the casual, deliberate tug Bucky gave the string. The smirk on Bucky’s face was infuriatingly confident, his blue eyes sharp and knowing.
“Must’ve wandered over there on its own,” Tony quipped, trying to maintain his composure. “Clothes have a mind of their own sometimes.”
Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, his smirk widening. “That so?”
Tony shrugged, sipping his coffee to hide his flush. “Weird, huh? Anyway, looks better on me, don’t you think?” He tilted his head, trying to reclaim the upper hand.
Bucky’s gaze lingered for a moment too long, the air between them charged with unspoken tension. Then he stepped back, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful.
“Guess it does,” he said finally, his tone almost too casual.
Tony blinked, caught off guard by the shift in Bucky’s demeanor. But before he could respond, Bucky turned back to his coffee, leaving Tony standing there, hoodie sleeves too long, heart pounding harder than he’d like to admit.
As he left the kitchen, he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to work.
Day 2: The Subtle Encroachment
Tony had spent most of the morning tinkering away in the lab, bouncing between various projects, and avoiding Bucky. But after a few hours, he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of wanting to be close to him. He wasn’t sure exactly why—perhaps because Bucky had always kept his distance, silent and unreadable. Maybe that was the allure, but Tony couldn’t stop himself from feeling drawn in.
Eventually, he decided he’d push things a little further. But, of course, he needed to be subtle.
Bucky was curled up on the couch in the living room, nose buried in an Asimov novel, the world quiet around him. It was the perfect moment for Tony to sneak in and see if he could get under Bucky's skin—without seeming too obvious about it.
Tony entered the room and spotted him almost immediately. Bucky didn’t even look up from his book, his concentration absolute. Tony stifled a grin, pleased at the opportunity.
Without making a fuss, Tony casually walked over to the couch, sitting down a comfortable distance away from Bucky, his back to the armrest. He pulled out his Stark Pad, pretending to work, his eyes glancing at the screen but also occasionally flicking toward Bucky.
The minutes passed, and Bucky seemed completely absorbed in his book. Tony couldn't help but notice the way Bucky’s jaw tightened when he was in the middle of a particularly tense passage, or the way his shoulders relaxed when the narrative gave him a moment of reprieve. There was something so... captivating about it all, and Tony couldn’t resist trying to get closer, just a little bit.
Tony shifted slightly, stretching his arms above his head in an exaggerated yawn, making sure it was just loud enough to break through the silence. He reclined a little, positioning his legs on the couch at an angle, his feet just a few inches away from Bucky’s space. At first, there was no reaction. Bucky didn’t even look up.
Perfect.
Tony took a moment, pretending to be deep in thought, before deciding it was time to escalate things. Slowly, he extended his legs further, deliberately moving them until the soles of his feet brushed against the fabric of Bucky’s jeans, his right thigh to be exact.
Tony could feel the warmth of Bucky’s body through the thin layer of fabric, and it sent a small rush of adrenaline through him. He glanced at Bucky, but the soldier still hadn't reacted. His eyes were still glued to the page, his face impassive.
Tony couldn’t help but pout just a little, noticing how little effect his move had on Bucky. His lips pressed together in a slight frown before he quickly glanced back at his Stark Pad, pretending to focus entirely on it.
He stretched his legs again, now with the soles of his feet fully resting on Bucky’s thigh, just inches from his body. This time, Bucky’s reaction was slower—he blinked at the point of contact, his expression unreadable. For a split second, it was almost as though Bucky didn’t know how to process it, like someone unused to physical contact from others.
Tony, still pretending to be oblivious, kept his gaze on the screen of his device, but he could feel the heat of Bucky’s stare. It wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for, but it was still something.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky glanced down at Tony’s feet and then back up at him. His gaze softened for a moment, his eyes betraying just a hint of confusion.
“Do you mind?” Bucky asked, his tone calm but with a touch of hesitation, as though he were trying to figure out if Tony was doing this on purpose or if it was some unintentional accident.
Tony, ever the quick-witted, didn’t look up from his Stark Pad. “Not at all,” he replied with a casual shrug. “You can stay just as you are. No need to move.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but there was no anger or irritation in his voice—just quiet amusement. He didn’t say anything more but simply reached over and grabbed the blanket that was draped across the back of the couch. Without hesitation, he tossed it over Tony’s legs, as if to cover the growing proximity between them.
“There,” Bucky muttered, voice low. “That should keep you warm.”
Tony looked down at the blanket now covering him, feeling an odd mix of frustration and affection. His feet were no longer resting on Bucky’s thigh, and though the warmth of the blanket was welcome, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed.
But then, just as Bucky began to stand, Tony shot him a pout, unable to hide his disappointment at how little progress he'd made.
With a smirk on his face, Bucky gave him one last glance over his shoulder. “Enjoy your… work, Tony,” he said softly before turning and leaving the room.
Tony sighed, sinking back into the couch. He hadn’t gotten the reaction he’d wanted, but he couldn’t deny the small thrill of having been so close to Bucky. Even if it had been fleeting, the game was far from over.
Day 3: The Maintenance Session (Revised)
Tony's workshop was his sanctuary, a place filled with tools, unfinished projects, and the ever-present hum of machinery. Today, he was engrossed in a new tech prototype that had been giving him some trouble. But as always, there was a small part of him that kept an ear out for any interruptions.
When the door to the workshop opened, Tony didn’t immediately look up. He was used to people dropping in, though he figured it was probably Bucky. It was almost time for Bucky’s monthly maintenance check, and Tony had already set aside the time for it. He didn’t mind—if anything, it gave him an excuse to see Bucky up close again.
Sure enough, the unmistakable heavy footsteps of Bucky Barnes echoed through the room, followed by a soft thud of him setting something down on the workbench.
“Hey, Stark,” Bucky’s voice rumbled. "Time for the usual maintenance."
Tony glanced up, feigning indifference, but there was something in the way his heart picked up its pace when his eyes met Bucky’s. Bucky wasn’t just a soldier or teammate; there was something else there, something Tony had been trying to suppress, but it always crept up on him when Bucky was near.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said casually, his fingers tapping restlessly on the edge of the workbench as he turned to face Bucky. “I’ve got you covered. Take a seat. Let me just finish this up.”
Bucky nodded and unbuckled his jacket, walking over to the workbench and sitting down with a quiet grace. He didn’t waste time getting his arm into position, which was the only part of the maintenance Tony could work on—since Bucky’s prosthetic was firmly attached, there was no need for it to come off.
Tony’s eyes briefly scanned Bucky’s arm. Even with the enhancements, the vibranium was still a marvel in itself. Tony was proud of his work, and he wasn’t ashamed to say so.
"So, the usual?" Tony said as he leaned over to grab a few tools.
Bucky raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, just the usual. You know the drill." His voice was steady, but there was an odd undertone to it. Something... unspoken.
Tony nodded and settled into position, hovering close to Bucky. He could already feel the heat from Bucky’s body, and that familiar tension threaded through the air between them. The first few minutes of work passed in silence as Tony carefully adjusted a couple of the wiring components in Bucky’s arm.
As Tony worked, he didn’t think much of it—just his usual routine, trying to fix anything that might be wrong. But when he reached for a small tool to adjust something, he found himself leaning closer to Bucky, his face only inches from the soldier’s chest.
His breath hitched for a moment, and before he could stop himself, his hand brushed against Bucky’s shirt. Just for a second, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him. He quickly withdrew his hand, his pulse spiking.
Bucky didn’t seem to notice. He was staring ahead, but Tony could feel the proximity, could feel the pull of Bucky’s presence like gravity, as if everything in the room was just waiting to explode.
Tony’s breath caught in his throat as he had to lean closer again to adjust the wiring on the inside of Bucky’s prosthetic. This time, as he moved, his body naturally pressed against Bucky’s side for a brief moment. It wasn’t intentional, but Tony couldn’t help it—he just wanted to stay close.
The worst part? He didn’t want to pull away.
As he fiddled with the wiring, Tony let his hand fall down to rest on Bucky’s thigh—lightly at first, just enough for Tony to keep steady while he worked. But as he lingered, the warmth of Bucky’s leg seeped into his hand. Tony’s mind raced. He could feel the tension building again—tighter and tighter with each passing second.
Bucky stayed still, his body tense. He was giving Tony space, but Tony could tell he was feeling something. There was a slight shift in the air. Tony glanced up, and before he could stop himself, their eyes locked.
Bucky was staring directly at him. His expression wasn’t angry, or annoyed—it was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that Tony couldn’t quite place.
And just like that, Tony felt a blush creep up his neck. He hadn’t meant to get this close. He hadn’t meant to linger. But he didn’t know how to stop. It was too easy to fall into this. Too easy to enjoy the warmth and quiet intensity of Bucky’s presence.
"O-Oh," Tony stammered, suddenly feeling the weight of their proximity. He quickly looked away, slightly flustered. "I—uh, I was all up in your bubble there, snowflake. Sorry about that."
Bucky blinked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "It’s fine, Stark." He didn’t seem upset, just... amused?
There was a pause as Tony awkwardly pulled his hand back, feeling his heart race. He hadn’t gotten the response he’d expected—or at least, not the reaction he thought would come from being so close to Bucky. But there was something in Bucky’s gaze, something that Tony didn’t understand but felt deep in his chest.
Tony’s fingers itched to reach out again, but instead, he simply nodded and tried to return to his task, hoping his growing fluster wouldn’t betray him.
"So, uh," Tony said, breaking the silence, his voice higher than usual. "Everything looks good with your arm. Just needed a little tune-up. Should be good for another month."
Bucky shifted in his seat, his posture relaxed now. He slowly stood up, and Tony felt a little sad to see him move away, despite how awkward the moment had been.
"You know," Bucky said, his voice softer now, "you're not so bad at this, Stark." There was a playful edge to his tone, like he was trying to tease, but it only made Tony blush more.
“Thanks,” Tony mumbled, not able to meet Bucky’s eyes as he went back to gather his tools.
Before Bucky walked out of the workshop, he paused by the door and glanced back at Tony. There was something lingering in his gaze, something Tony couldn’t fully decipher.
"See you later, Stark," Bucky said with a half-smile, his eyes lingering on Tony for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and left.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Tony stayed frozen in place for a beat, his heart still racing. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, which was damp with sweat. He hadn't quite planned for the encounter to go like this—but in a way, it was a success.
Tony smiled to himself, but it was more of a pensive, frustrated smirk. That wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, but damn, I’m getting closer. Bucky’s... reacting, right? He has to be.
He shook his head, trying to refocus. I’ll keep going. I’ll make him notice me. Even if it means my head explodes from all my blood rushing to my cheeks.
He didn’t care. He had a plan, and he was going to see it through. Even if he had to play it cool, even if his heart was going to break out of his chest with every move.
Day 4: Playful Flirtation in the Kitchen
Tony had spent the past half-hour setting everything up. He knew exactly when Bucky would be finished with his workout—thanks to J.A.R.V.I.S. discreetly updating him, of course. Over the past few days, Tony had learned a few things about the quiet soldier. After his training sessions, Bucky was always starving, and he’d go straight to the kitchen to grab something to eat. The thing was, Tony had already planned to be there first.
Tony had even set a little trap. By the time Bucky finished up his workout, Tony had the pot of water boiling on the stove, the pan heating, and his mother’s famous pasta with meatballs recipe almost ready to go. The pasta was his comfort food, something his mother had passed down to him before she passed. He wasn’t the best cook, but when it came to her recipe, he could still get it right.
As he stood at the counter, putting together the meal, Tony thought about the subtle game he’d been playing. It wasn’t just about teasing Bucky anymore. The more he saw the way Bucky reacted to his closeness, the more Tony realized he wanted something more—he didn’t just want Bucky to notice him. He wanted him to want to be near him, to look at him the way Tony had been looking at him for months.
Tony smirked to himself. Today, he was going to turn it up a notch.
Just as he was about to add the meatballs to the pan, he heard the familiar footfalls of Bucky entering the kitchen. Tony looked up and immediately shifted into his playful mode.
"Hey there, cyborg," Tony called out with a grin, turning toward Bucky as he grabbed a handful of parsley and chopped it up. "Making myself a bite to eat. You want some too?"
Bucky gave him a small, tired smile, but Tony could see that he was clearly looking forward to food. "Sure, why not," Bucky said, and took a seat at the kitchen island.
As Tony worked, he made sure to keep up a constant stream of chatter, though it wasn’t really about anything important. The way he moved around Bucky, carefully “accidentally” brushing against him as he passed, was part of the plan. Every time Tony leaned over to grab something from the other side of the kitchen, he made sure to stay just a little closer than necessary, his body brushing against Bucky’s arm or his side.
Bucky didn’t pull away, but he didn’t exactly acknowledge the proximity either. Tony knew that Bucky wasn’t one to easily show his feelings—he was always so composed, so reserved. But Tony could tell that the quiet soldier was noticing him more with every move he made. He just had to push a little more.
"So," Tony continued, picking up a spoon and stirring the sauce. "You’re always so quiet when we’re working together, Buck. You know, I’m starting to think you just don’t like me." He shot Bucky a teasing glance, the words playful but with an undercurrent of something else—something he couldn’t quite name yet.
Bucky chuckled softly, but his eyes stayed on the plate of food Tony was putting together. “No, just… focused,” Bucky replied, and Tony could see him glance over, the first real sign of something behind his eyes. Bucky’s gaze lingered a little too long on Tony’s face, and Tony felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He quickly looked away, trying to focus on his cooking.
"Uh-huh, sure. Focused on your food," Tony said, rolling his eyes dramatically as he slid the pan of meatballs onto the counter next to Bucky’s plate. He made a point of brushing his hand lightly along Bucky’s shoulder as he did, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Bucky didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Tony thought he saw Bucky’s posture relax just slightly, like he was allowing himself to enjoy the moment. It was a victory—small, but noticeable.
As they ate together, Tony continued to talk, mostly about random stuff—nothing too personal, but enough to keep Bucky engaged. The conversation flowed easily, mostly one-sided with Tony doing the talking, but Bucky would respond in short, to-the-point answers, nodding and adding a comment here or there.
"So, when’s the last time you had a meal this good?" Tony asked with a grin, offering Bucky a second helping.
Bucky paused for a moment, then glanced up at Tony, his gaze softening slightly. “Before the war, I think. My mother used to make something similar,” he said, and Tony could almost hear the nostalgia in his voice.
Tony smiled, feeling a tug of something deep in his chest. “Well, I’m honored that my cooking can come close to your mom’s recipe," he said, trying to keep the tone light.
Bucky smiled back, his eyes meeting Tony’s, and Tony felt the weight of the unspoken words hanging between them.
After they finished eating, Tony cleared away the dishes, and Bucky stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a soft groan. Tony had to fight the urge to stare at how easily Bucky’s muscles flexed, the way his broad shoulders made him look even more imposing, especially when standing so much taller than Tony.
"Thanks for the meal, Stark. It was good," Bucky said, turning to leave the kitchen.
Tony wiped his hands on a dish towel, trying to maintain his usual cool, but something about Bucky's casual demeanor kept making his heart race.
"No problem, Buck. Anytime," Tony said, putting on a grin. As Bucky passed him, Tony tried to keep his cool, but there was something about the way Bucky stood so close—too close—that had him holding his breath for just a second too long.
As Bucky walked past, Tony had barely enough time to look up before he felt a hand ruffle his hair—Bucky’s large hand messing with his usually perfectly styled hair, and it made Tony freeze, momentarily stunned by the softness of Bucky’s touch.
“You're a sweetheart, Tony,” Bucky said with a grin, his deep voice low and sincere, before giving Tony one last glance and heading toward the door.
Tony stood there, blinking in shock. He could still feel the warmth of Bucky's hand on his hair, his heart thudding in his chest. He was standing so tall, so broad, and Tony could barely meet his eyes without feeling the height difference between them.
When Bucky threw him that casual wink before leaving, Tony couldn’t help but blush. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to cool down the heat in his cheeks.
"Well, that wasn’t exactly how I planned Day 4 either," Tony muttered to himself, his lips curving into a smirk. He couldn’t help it. It was a success in its own way. Bucky was noticing him more than he let on.
Tony watched Bucky leave, standing there, still feeling the lingering heat of the interaction, even as Bucky’s footsteps grew fainter. He had a feeling Bucky’s comments, his touch, and that damn wink meant more than just friendly banter.
Day 5: Movie Night
Tony knew exactly how to time his entrance. The Avengers were having one of their usual movie nights, a regular tradition to unwind after missions. Steve was off on a mission, which meant Bucky would likely be left to himself. Tony had already made sure of it by asking J.A.R.V.I.S. to let him know when Bucky left the gym and when he’d head to the common room.
He waited until the last possible second to join, the faint sound of laughter and chatter from the living room making him smile. He had a plan, and tonight, he was going to make sure Bucky noticed him.
As Tony entered the room, he confirmed his suspicion: Bucky was sitting alone on the couch, looking relaxed but distant, his eyes fixed on the screen. The rest of the Avengers were scattered around, each in their own space—Clint in an armchair, Natasha sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, Sam and Bruce occupying the other couch, and Thor settling in the last armchair.
Tony made his way over to the couch, choosing to sit next to Bucky, just a little farther away at first. He knew he was playing the long game here, so he kept his movements casual, letting the movie play out as he pretended to be fully absorbed. He kept an eye on Bucky, aware of the space between them, and waited for just the right moment.
The movie dragged on, and slowly but surely, Tony scooted closer. He didn’t make a show of it, but bit by bit, he inched towards Bucky, making sure they were no longer separated by much space at all. Finally, their thighs were touching. Tony let the moment hang there for a while, savoring the small victory of having closed the distance.
Then, he went for the next move. A fake yawn. He stretched dramatically, arching his back and letting out a theatrical sigh, as if the exhaustion of the day was finally catching up with him. His head drifted to one side, and with a dramatic slowness, he let it fall to Bucky’s shoulder, pretending to fall asleep.
Bucky tensed immediately under him, clearly caught off guard. But, Tony wasn’t just going to leave it there. He waited, keeping his breathing even, playing the role of a sleeping Tony Stark perfectly. After a few long seconds, Bucky shifted, his arm carefully wrapping around Tony’s shoulders, as if to accommodate him, allowing Tony to lean into his warmth. Tony could feel the muscles in Bucky’s arm flex as he did so, and his heart raced, but he didn’t move. This was it—the closeness he’d been hoping for.
Tony soaked up the heat from Bucky’s body, feeling the soldier's breath against his hair. For a moment, everything was perfect. He could pretend, for just a little while longer, that they weren’t playing this game of push and pull. He kept his eyes closed, knowing he’d made the right move.
The movie came to a close, the others slowly getting up and murmuring to one another as they left the room. Tony remained still, pretending to sleep, savoring the warmth and the quiet moment with Bucky. He didn’t want it to end. But just as the last person left, Tony felt Bucky’s voice—low and quiet, just for him.
"I know you're not asleep, Stark," Bucky whispered, his breath warm against Tony’s ear. "If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked."
Tony's heart jumped in his chest at the sound of his name, so soft, so intimate. He opened his eyes and met Bucky’s gaze, his breath catching in his throat. There was something different about the way Bucky looked at him now, a quiet challenge in his eyes, but with no anger, no frustration—just curiosity.
Tony lifted his head off Bucky’s shoulder, unable to help the sly grin that crept onto his face. "Oh, I want your attention, Barnes," Tony said, his voice low, teasing. He gave a small shrug, trying to act casual, but his pulse was racing. "In fact, I'd like it all the time, if possible."
Bucky’s smirk deepened, and before Tony could react, he was pulled onto Bucky’s lap with a swift movement. Tony gasped slightly, surprised by the sudden intimacy, but there was something about the way Bucky held him that made him feel safe, like he was exactly where he belonged.
"Well, doll," Bucky murmured, his smirk turning into something more genuine, his grip tightening around Tony’s waist, "you've got it."
And before Tony could say another word, Bucky kissed him.
It was slow at first, like Bucky was savoring it, testing the waters. But Tony couldn’t help himself—he kissed back, the heat between them building as they pulled each other closer. Bucky’s hands were warm against his back, his body a solid presence that made Tony feel like he was floating all at once.
When the kiss broke, they stayed close, their foreheads resting together, both breathing heavily. Tony had to bite his lip to keep from smiling too wide.
"Well," Tony murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was... a bit more than I expected for Day 5."
Bucky chuckled softly, his fingers tracing along Tony's arm. "You’ve been making moves all week, Tony. Guess I just had to let you catch up."
Tony blinked, his chest swelling with pride. It seemed like five days was enough to get past Bucky’s walls after all. And as Bucky held him, Tony realized that maybe this was only the beginning.
He could definitely get used to this.
THE END