Chapter Text
Tony found his attention pulled away from hour thirty seven of his latest engineering binge by the ringing of his cell. His eyes, bleary from welding tiny circuitry, darted about his work space in search of it and found it next to a coffee cup graveyard. He nearly knocked it off his work bench when reaching for it, but he managed to catch it right before it tipped over the edge. Squinting at the screen, he tried to read the number before giving up and just hitting the answer button; how many people could it actually be at… whatever hour of whatever day was now?
“I only have time for this if you bring me coffee.”
“Steeeeeve.” Whoever was on the other end of the line sounded both masculine and very drunk. “He did it againnnnnn…”
Tony wasn’t Steve, but he found whoever Steve’s friend was to be amusing. “Who did what now?”
“Stark. He did it again.” Tony’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach, but before he could reply the guy continued, “Yoga pants, Steve. He was wearing yoga pants in class today. It should be illegal to put that ass in yoga pants. Wars could be waged over that ass in yoga pants. I almost decked a freshman for ogling him in the hall, but the guy straight up walked into a door before I could do it because he was watching Stark’s ass instead of where he was walking.” His tone turned wistful. “He’s already miles out of my league. I don’t need everyone else recognizing how amazing he is. I might actually get the courage to talk to him one day, and it would be all for nothing if competition got there first…”
Niggling in the back of his mind was a faint memory of someone, probably Rhodey, physically steering him to and from his classes, but since Tony’s nose had been buried in his tablet running calculations he couldn’t begin to guess which ones he’d had that day. A glance down confirmed that he was indeed wearing yoga pants. Sue him; they were comfortable.
“So,” Tony said, pretending his face wasn’t on fire. “Did you call…” He thought for a moment back to the very beginning of the call. “...Steve for a specific reason, or just to gush about Stark’s ass?”
“It’s a glorious ass.” Oh sweet baby Tesla, he sounded like he was pouting. “I could write my thesis about how perfect it is. ‘Cept I’m in mechanics, not biology. Or, or geometry.” There was a thud on the other side of the line, like he’d walked into something. “I think I need you to pick me up. The world is blurry.”
Tony had no idea why he found a drunk stranger who wrong-number called him endearing of all things, but he found himself packing up his work table anyway. “I’m gonna need an address to do that. And a description for once I arrive.”
“But… Steveeeeeeee. You know me. We wen’ to kindergarten together. We’re roommates. I look the same as I did this morning, except more drunk.” There was a long pause. “Oh. I changed clothing. Wan’ed to look hot for the party. I’m in my skinny jeans and that one shirt, an’ my leather jacket.”
That description was gonna have to be enough, Tony guessed. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the lab door. “Still need an address.”
“Oh, righ’. It’s…”
— — —
Bucky would admit cheerily to anyone who asked that he had passed tipsy several hours ago and was likely five steps beyond hammered. Maybe ten, going by how wobbly everything had gotten. He was slumped under a counter to avoid being trampled while waiting for Steve to arrive, so he thinks he could be forgiven for not immediately noticing a stranger was trying to get his attention.
“Hey. Hey, Barnes. Over here, buddy.”
He let his head loll in the direction of the voice and found… Someone. A very blurry someone.
Bucky squinted. It did not help. “Who’re you?” he slurred.
“I’m offended,” the mystery blur person replied, dramatically reeling back. “After that lovely little monologue, I thought you’d know me instantly. Do you only recognize me from behind or something?” He turned around and wiggled his ass in Bucky’s face – an ass Bucky would recognize anywhere, blurry and spinning or not.
“Where’d you get Tony Stark’s ass?” he demanded. “You hav’ to give it back. It’s a na-shun-al treh-zhure. Tha’s like, like stealing Mount Russ… Mount Ruz… that big mountain with the faces of the dead guys!”
“Boy, you’re sloshed,” the blur muttered, reaching out fuzzy limbs towards Bucky. “All right, buddy, up an’ at ‘em. We’re gonna get you to a nice bed so you can sleep this off.”
“‘M not Buddy; m ’Bucky,” Bucky mumbled. Bed sounded nice, but the floor wasn’t so bad. He closed his eyes.
“Hey, no, wait –”
Bucky didn’t hear what he was supposed to wait for; he was already asleep.