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rough-n-randy-rando · 5 years

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Edd and Flow, Day One

For a town that neither shrank nor grew noticeably, any business that had opened within the last five years was considered new. Java Hut was one of those businesses. About the size of two shipping containers stacked on top of each other and crammed between The Candy Store and Toomey's Tattoos, it was usually a busy place. The very first weekend of summer, with everyone having taken off like they were on the lam, it was almost completely empty.

There were only three people keeping the place warm: Eddward Vincent, known locally as Double-Dee; Barb; just Barb; and a trucker just passing through. Barb, Just Barb, 65-year-old owner of Toomey's, was taking her break and enjoying another romance novel she'd saved from the Goodwill. The Trucker was deeply contemplating the selection of doughnuts to pair with his pitch-black coffee. Eddward Vincent was behind the counter, offering helpful dietary and nutritional advice on each item in an attempt to help him make up his mind.

"I'm not a fancy guy, just something sweet, but not too sweet, gotta watch my weight." The trucker slapped his belly, which thumped like a drum, and laughed. "Ah, hell, gimme the Maple Bar, I'm treatin' myself."

"Excellent choice, sir, one moment." Double-Dee pressed a button and enjoyed the impressed look on the man's face as the doughnut was cycled on a conveyor belt and slid into a waiting paper bag, then lifted to the counter by a spatula/elevator device riveted to the display case.

"Now that's nifty, this from Japan or somethin'?"

"No Sir, it's a design of my own!"

"Well waddya know, we still make 'em smart here in the States after all." The man handed over a five and waved off the change. "Put it to college and remember me when ya win the Nobel or somethin'."

"Thank you, have a wonderful day."

After the trucker left, Barb whistled at Double-Dee and pointed to her lipstick-stained coffee mug. "Mind topping me off, Sugar, story's getting good and I'm remembering how old I am, need a jolt." As Double-Dee obliged her, she set her book down and looked him over. "You know, this town's dead as Tombstone and yet here you are slaving over an empty store." She took out a small compact and checked that her hair, grey with dyed black streaks, was still tied back and nothing was out of place. "Handsome, hardworking boy like you should be out making trouble, breaking girl's hearts; don't you have some doe-eyed cheerleader fawning after you somewhere?"

Double-Dee blushed and replaced the pot of coffee. "Yes, well, I'm set to graduate soon, and degrees sadly don't pay for themselves, Mrs. Sebastopol."

"Baby Doll, it's Barb, Just Barb."

"Mother told me to always refer to adults with respectful titles."

"Well I'm not your mother and I'm not royalty so just call me Barb."

Double-Dee sat at a stool near the end of the counter closest to Barb and smiled. "Alright, 'Barb'."

"See, wasn't so hard, not like your momma's gonna come through the door over there and start beating you with a wooden spoon or nothing."

"A very colorful scenario, 'Barb'."

Barbara pushed her winged-frame glasses up her nose, "You still didn't answer my question."

Again Double-Dee blushed and he gave a nervous laugh in response. "W-well, ah, I suppose I haven't… found the… right person."

"Gotta take time for romance, Darling. That's how I met my James." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her heavily tattooed arms. "Met him while he was on Liberty in San Francisco, Fleet Week, I was working at a diner called Pinecrest. He was with some of his buddies and at the border of drunk, saying he was the 'responsible one.' He was five-six, barely came to my chin, but he was all muscle, with hands like baseball mitts and a face like Gene Kelly. And that uniform, woof. Asked me out as he was carrying one of his buddies to the Cab."

The shop's door rung as it opened, ripping Double-Dee away from San Francisco, Pinecrest Diner, and the diminutive but immensely attractive Mr. Sebastopol. Kevin, dressed in a mechanic's coverall and his signature cap, halted a few steps in and seemed as though he suddenly wanted to leave. He'd come with the specific coal of 'casually' running into the dork, making as much small talk as possible with the dork, and being as close as possible to the dork. And now, he felt the urge to sprint home, and get as far away as possible from the dork.

"Oh hello, Kevin, forgive me I was hearing the most wonderful story."

Barb stood and drained her coffee in one big swig, inhaling sharply through her teeth afterwards, "Stuff's cold. My own damn fault." She pinched Double-Dee's cheek and gathered her things. "Should be getting back to work, stop bothering you with my memories." When she saw the disappointment on his face she checked her watch. "It's a slow day anyways, maybe I'll close up the shop and come bore you with the rest in an hour or so, how's that?"

"Please, 'Barb', I do not wish you to inconvenience yourself just for the sake of my curiosity."

"I own the damn place, nothing inconvenient about it." With that she took her leave, stopping at Kevin to give him a friendly punch in the arm. "And you, when are you coming back to finish up your work, eh?"

Kevin was glad it was the summer, that he was in a thick coverall, and that he'd just walked a half mile on a whim, because his new nervous sweat was easily masked by all the exertion. "Yeah, hah, great to see you too, Barb."

Barb gave him a quizzical look, then licked her thumb and wiped away a smudge of grease on his cheek. "Take a shower at some point today, Red."

And with that, Barb, Just Barb, made her exit, leaving the two with only open air and a cabinet full of doughnuts between them.

"Coffee!" Kevin blurted out, aware he sounded like he was trying to talk over someone. It was possibly his own thoughts both encouraging and dissuading him to do something, damnit.

Double-Dee jumped at the near-order and crossed to the machines, fretting and fumbling over the cups. "What size, wh-what kind?"

"Coffee?" His brain was screaming at him.

"Yes, Kevin, what kind, what size?"

"Hot… Hot Coffee. Sm... Medium."

Double-Dee calmed slightly, recovering from the surprise. "Is house blend fine?"

"House. Fine, finefinefine." His brain had stopped screaming because it was dead.

Double-Dee went about pouring a medium house coffee utilizing a set of hydraulic arms and claws that quickly, safely, and efficiently delivered the steaming-hot drink straight to Kevin, an accordion-style arm presenting it. "That'll be two dollars and fifty cents, please."

Kevin fumbled one-handed with his wallet and deftly dropped it to the floor as he pulled out a five. He stood there, coffee in one hand, bill in the other. Double-Dee cautiously walked around the counter and stooped to get Kevin's wallet. Kevin's body finally made some kind of connection to his mind and he stooped after as well, his chin meeting the back of the ravenette's head.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, dude!"

Kevin instinctively brought his hands down to pull Double-Dee up, and accomplished slapping the other teen in the face with a five-dollar bill and spilling half of his piping-hot coffee on him as well. Double-Dee stood up abruptly and this time it was his head in the role of attacker, slamming Kevin's mouth shut with a loud CLACK as his teeth became reacquainted. Kevin was knocked off balance and fell backwards, causing him to grab at the air with his now empty hand, snagging Double-Dee's beanie. Double-Dee, with lightning reflexes, grabbed onto his hat and held for dear life, being pulled along, then down, with Kevin.

The two came to rest a coffee, grease and sweat-stained pile. Double-Dee's head was resting on Kevin's chest, and Kevin was holding onto the other boy like they'd just finished making love.

"You, uhm… you okay, Double Dweeb?" 'Yes, good, save face insult him AND ask after his well-being' his inner voice hissed.

"This has been a rather…" Double-Dee rose slightly and shifted into a sitting position, straddling Kevin, his hair disheveled and emerging from under his now wet hat, "… Interesting encounter."

Kevin felt blood rushing back to the brain in his head, as well as his other brain just below the waist. He heard the bell on the door ring and craned his head to see who had entered to witness his shame.

"You know it's against company policy to bang in the store on the clock, right?" Lee Kanker stepped over Kevin and made her way to the rear of the store, calling over her shoulder, "Double-Dee, clean that up will ya, I'm going to change."

Double-Dee looked at his watch, then at his coffee-stained clothes, and the coffee-stained floor, and the coffee-stained redhead he was mounted on. "Messy, messy, messy, these stains will be aggravating to remove." He stood and cautiously leaned over the counter to press a button, summoning a robot that looked like a filing cabinet crossed with a mop bucket that set about cleaning the ground, letting out an annoyed beep each time it found the way obstructed by a still prostrate Kevin. "Please get off the floor, Kevin, it's very dirty, then again I suppose you're rather messy yourself." He extended his hand.

Whatever mix of bravado, sheepishness, and utter stupidity had previously been rattling around inside him was gone, and now Kevin, neutral and defeated, took the offered hand and rose.

"Thanks for the Coffee." Kevin turned on his heel like the failed JROTC cadet he was and strode out, breaking into a dead sprint the minute his foot hit the sidewalk.

Lee came back and took a seat behind the counter, flipping through a Playgirl magazine and putting in headphones. "He had a hard-on."

Double-Dee spun around, his face turning crimson. "Excuse me!?"

Lee ripped out one of the pages and stuffed it in her bra, "Kevin, rock hard."

Double-Dee was speechless. He attempted some kind of response, smoothed out his soaked apron, tucked his loose, wet hair back under his hat, composed himself, and strode towards the rear of the store.

"Be proud, it's a compliment" she called after him, tearing another photo of a near-nude man out and putting him with his compatriot.

Meanwhile, Kevin, winded and his heart thudding in his ears, was about to turn back into the cul de sac when he tripped and gorilla-rolled across the sidewalk, coming to rest on his back. He laid there, staring up into the sun, wishing for it to burn him to a crisp, when a familiar face came into view.

"Kevin, why are you splayed like a fresh pelt on a tanning board, and why do you smell of a Peruvian/Chilean blend?"

"Rolf, bro, I couldn't tell you to save my life." He was pained at the truth in that. He was barely able to contemplate or come to terms with his own feelings, let alone begin to try and play out other people's reactions to them. "I just… I got it bad for someone."

"It? Bad? What, Worms? Rolf has cure for this pestilential malady! Come, we'll ferment some of Victor's milk and pickle a dozen of Gertrude's eggs, you'll be purged and fit enough to harvest an entire field in no time!" Rolf lifted Kevin up bodily and placed him on his feet. "You do not seem as though you are bothered by things which creep and crawl on your insides, tell Rolf your worry so that he may tailor a solution."

"I like someone, dude." It might have been the need to tell someone something, even if it wasn't everything; it might have been the dizziness from getting hit in and falling onto his head consecutively in the span of a few minutes; or it might have been the loneliness that went hand in hand with his recent thoughts, but he let fly. "I don't know why, or, I think I know why, but I don't know what to do, how to do it, you know what I mean?"

"No, Rolf does not understand this."

Kevin let out a sigh. "Forget it, man."

"Rolf does not understand this 'not knowing', this 'why.' If you feel the rustlings of the undergrowth of your heart you do not turn and run like some child without hair on their chest; you declare yourself to your desired, you build a home for them, and plant many a fertile seed so as to leave no doubt of your prowess and virility."

Kevin felt a second wind in him, his friend's words echoing in his head. "I don't know about the planting seeds and whatever but yeah, YEAH, that's what I'm gonna do."

"Ensuring a bountiful harvest is important to courtship, flat-end-of-bread Kevin, now you are saying things that Rolf cannot approve of."

Kevin embraced his friend and took off running back towards Java Hut.

"If you do have worms tell Rolf, he already has the milk and eggs!"

Back at the shop, Barb was engaged in commentary of the men in the magazine with Lee, Double-Dee emerging from the back clean and dry.

"There you are, I thought you'd changed your mind and taken off to avoid my story."

Double-Dee chuckled, feeling refreshed after he'd utilized his patented solo-shower kit. "I wouldn't miss the conclusion of your story for anything, 'Barb'"

"Oooh, juicy gossip?" Lee leaned towards Barb expectantly, Double-Dee sitting beside her at a respectful distance.

"Just talking about my James."

"I remember him, short guy, like my Eddy."

Barb sighed and nodded, reached into her purse and pulled out a much-loved photograph in a cloudy, plastic sleeve. She pulled the photo out and held it so they could see. Barb was young, thin, and naked, a yellow sundress thrown over her shoulder. Double-Dee blushed, Lee whistled. Besides her was a stocky, muscular man with his arms crossed and wearing only a smile, his impressive equipment on proud display. Double-Dee giggled nervously, and Lee nodded in approval. While Barb's skin was an empty canvas, James was a mosaic of Marine iconography, Catholic imagery and more than a couple Japanese geishas in demure and lewd poses.

"He gave me my first ink, our second date." She lifted her arm so they could see her armpit, a wide-hipped hula girl winking back at them. It had clearly gotten a few touch ups over the years, the most well-cared for tattoo out of her many. "The photo's from our first date, Baker Beach. He left for Vietnam a few days later and swore he'd kill anyone and anything to get back to me, even 'the poor bastard who makes the mistake of marrying you before me.' He was a romantic."

"Marriage, after a couple of dates?" Double-Dee was amazed.

"Did you not see what he was packing? I'd have married him on the spot." Lee let out a lecherous laugh and high-fived Barb.

Barb wiped away a tear, smiling at her photograph and other fond memories. "You just know. It's corny, it's old fashioned, but, we did, and so I think anyone can. Plus, he came back in one piece, so I knew he'd be tougher than anything that came our way."

"What happened to Mr. Sebasto… James?" Double-Dee winced as Lee smacked his shoulder.

"Cancer. Had to be something that mean to take my James down. The only thing he couldn't beat with his bare hands." Barb laughed and wiped her eyes again. "No I don't dwell on that. I had him, he was mine, not everyone gets that chance, that blessing."

The door to the shop didn't open so much as it exploded inward, the bell snapping loose as it rung. Kevin stumbled in, soaked to the waist in sweat, coffee stains still on him. Everyone in the shop stared at Kevin, but he only had eyes for, and on, Double-Dee.

"Kevin, you're in even shoddier a state than when you left, what happened!?" Double-Dee sprung from his seat and moved to Kevin, putting his hands on his shoulders and meeting his gaze, assessing him for heat injuries.

"Plant… fffffertile… seeeehhuuuuh." He didn't fall into Double-Dee's arms so much as collapsed into them, then onto him.

"Oh dear, not again." There was no helping it, the pair fell to the ground. "Some assistance, please?"

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

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Helping Hands

Chapter Thirteen: All Hands and the Cook

“Oh, lord,” Christine Everhart said, not looking away as Bucky squeaked in surprise and held the shirt he was getting ready to put on in front of his legs. He wasn’t totally naked behind it, and that was a good thing, but really. “He’s shy.”

Tony’s photographer friend leaned in the door, watching him with appraising eyes. Not as if she found him attractive, but like she was planning on selling him to the highest bidder and was wondering just how much she could get for him.

“Sorry,” Tony mouthed at him, looping his arm around Christine’s waist. “Let the man get dressed. In the meanwhile, did I tell you I had a bottle of that Italian wine you’re so unreasonably fond of? And tell me, how’s your sister? She never did…” Still talking, Tony deftly moved Christine out of Bucky’s line of vision.

Bucky scrambled into the rest of his clothes: jeans, tank, and button down shirt left open. He was still blushing furiously and mortified that this was the case. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then through his hair, and ended the gesture with his left hand cupped against the back of his neck, feeling the heat of his skin. The new arm Tony had given him still amazed him -- the way he could actually feel the texture of his own hair, the subtle changes in heat and cold. His handwriting would never be particularly good -- he was left-handed in a mainly right-handed world, after all, and his penmanship would never have been considering pretty even before the bombing -- but he could write and have it be readable, and his signature looked like it might actually be a name.

Which was good, because Bucky didn’t think he’d signed his name so many times before in his entire life combined. The Stark Industries employment paperwork, bank paperwork, Steve’s school paperwork, photography releases, contract addendums, legal forms… Bucky’d gone to bed the night before with an ache in his shoulder and dreamed of being chased around by legal teams waving more forms at him. He’d woken up, breathless, and it had taken him a while to realize where he was.

Tony’s penthouse was ridiculously enormous; four bedrooms in addition to the master on the second floor, two swimming pools (one was for Tony’s personal use, on the deck off the master bedroom, and the other was a full olympic-sized pool on the main “downstairs” deck), a spa/sauna room with a jacuzzi, a personal movie theater, fully stocked bar, and a formal dining room that seated eighteen. (Thank god Tony prefered smoothies for breakfast and usually drank them standing in the kitchen, with Bucky and the kids at the island bar, because Bucky wasn’t sure what sort of appetite he would have had in that sterile dining area.) And that wasn’t even including the lab-slash-workshop that took up almost two and a half times the space of Bucky’s entire apartment.

That first night, installed in the bedroom directly under the master, which had its own sitting room and deck, Bucky had waited nervously in the dark, for Tony to come visit. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like Tony, because he did, and it wasn’t that he didn’t find Tony attractive, because even he couldn’t lie that convincingly to himself. But after what had happened in the ‘shop, and the piles of paperwork to pretend to be Tony’s boyfriend for a few months, not to mention Bucky opening his mouth and falling in -- what the hell was he thinking, trial relationship? With Tony Stark?

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Tony could have put him in the same guest area as the twins and his son, but hadn’t. Which made it seem all the more likely that Tony had been planning a late night seduction, and Bucky couldn’t for the life of him work out how he should feel about that, never mind what he actually did feel. Bucky had lain in that huge, excessively comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting with mixed dread and anticipation, but Tony had never showed up. Around four in the morning, Bucky had finally conked out.

It was, he decided, a good thing he’d lost his job, because he wasn’t given enough time as it was. After Clint’s visit, he’d signed the paperwork, and then all the real work had started. Visits to Steve’s school, getting the bank accounts set up, getting registered with Stark Industries security (“make sure you wear your badge in all the public areas of the Tower”), the tour of that building and the areas of it where he was allowed (Tony’s office, the public areas, and the full-scale workshop) which had included an introduction to Tony’s friend Bruce, and then he’d been handed over to Chel, a dark-skinned, exceptionally beautiful woman who was the apprentice to Tony’s stylist, and who had since shown up daily with packages of clothing and a rather exasperated attitude about how Bucky did not know how to stand, walk, or breathe in ways that would do justice to the wardrobe she was creating for him.

Finally, he got his blush under control and went back into the main entertainment lounge. Christine was leaning against the bar, sipping a glass of golden wine and flirting with Tony, her hand on the sleeve of his expensive suit.

Christine considered him, then shrugged. “The suit was nice,” she said, referring to the earlier sets of photos, “but casual is a good look, too. I have to admit, Tony, he’s very pretty. I can’t believe you dug him up in Brooklyn, of all places.”

Tony’s smile was apparently sincere, all wide angles and sparkling teeth, but somehow it didn’t seem to Bucky like it quite reached his eyes. “What can I say, Christine? I know quality when I see it,” Tony remarked, picking a non-existent piece of lint off his sleeve.

How Christine might have responded to that, Bucky didn’t know, as the door opened and Wanda came in, Steve holding her hand with one of his. His other hand held an ice-pack to the side of his face.

“Daddy,” Steve said, suddenly starting to cry. He ran for Bucky, who opened his arms and snatched up his son.

“What happened?” He peeked under the ice pack, where Steve’s eye was already swollen and a little red.

“He got in a fight while we were at the park,” Wanda said. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Bucky, I just looked down at my phone for five seconds…”

“Steve?” Bucky looked down at his son, trying to ignore the way Christine had reached for her camera with glee, circling them and snapping photos.

“Harry Osborn called Mary-Jane a bad name, and then, when Peter told him that was mean, he pushed Peter onto the sidewalk. Peter was cryin’, Daddy. I had to do somefin.”

“We’ve talked about fighting, Stevie,” Bucky said, though privately, he couldn’t blame Steve. He’d met Harry Osborn before; that kid was a freaking goblin. Mean and cruel and prone to excessive teasing, especially when he supposedly liked someone, Harry had gotten away with some incredibly terrible behavior under the guise of boys-will-be-boys.

“He called Mary-Jane the n-word, Daddy,” Steve protested, the tears a little less hurt and a little more indignant now, “an’ pushed Peter down and made him cry. He’s a bully!”

“Yes, he is,” Bucky agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that hitting him was the right thing to do. You could have gotten your cousin, or told another adult.”

Steve crossed his arms and looked stubborn. “Like you did when those men were going to hurt Mr. Tony?”

“Kid comes by it honestly, Buck,” Tony said, not quite laughing. Bucky inhaled sharply.

“I’ll thank you not to interfere with my parenting, if you don’t mind,” Bucky said. “Stevie, honey… you’re right, I did do that. But I also got shot doing it. I just want you to be safe, okay kid? Harry Osborn is a lot bigger than you are.”

“He’s bigger than Mary-Jane is, too,” Steve pointed out.

“You’re right,” Bucky admitted. “But fighting should be the last resort, not the first one. Okay? Please, for me, do you think maybe you could try a different solution next time?”

“Okay,” Steve said, which Bucky figured would last for about ten minutes, then squirmed to be let down. Wanda apologized again, then took Steve off to the guest rooms to get cleaned up.

“Next time?” Christine asked, her camera still clicking.

Bucky sighed. “There’s always a next time,” he said.

Tony, the bastard, at least waited until Steve was out of earshot to laugh in earnest. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, hero,” he said.

Bucky squirmed inwardly. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with Steve. Honestly, Harry Osborn was a menace and his father was just as bad. Both of them could use a good smack. But it seemed wrong to encourage the kid to fight, especially, he thought with a wince, as frail as Steve was.

“All right, all right,” Christine said. “Take the shirt off and go lean against that pillar. I want to get some good shots of the arm, and a little beefcake goes a long way.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but did what she said, found himself in the sun, holding the button-down with two fingers over his shoulder while Christine prodded and positioned him like he was a floor model.

You’d think, even in a home the size of Tony’s, it would be hard for the man to avoid him.

Which wasn’t really what Tony was doing, but after a few days, it sort of felt like that. It’s not that Tony wasn’t around, because he was, even with having to duck into SI on a daily basis (Tony did not, apparently, have anything like a regular schedule, since he went in to SI on Saturday and twice on Sunday, but also missed Wednesday to go to the food pantry and slept in most mornings until at least eleven.) Even so, he spent a lot of time in the penthouse.

Tony discovered that Steve didn’t know how to swim (lessons were expensive, and the old arm was water resistant -- meaning Bucky could shower -- but was not submersible, so Bucky couldn’t have taught Steve himself, even if he could afford passes to the pool) and took it on himself to teach Steve.

Bucky had mostly laid on one of the deck chairs, soaked up sun, and watched. Bucky had gotten in the water once and discovered that the new arm was a lot lighter and that he actually could swim, if he had to. It would still be work, however, and not quite so much fun. That said, he made one hell of a rooster tail when he swiped the limb over the surface of the water and absolutely doused Tony as revenge for encouraging Steve to practice kicking in his direction.

Tony had delivery brought in every night; Bucky hadn’t eaten anything at all out of a can or a crinkly package in several days. It was blissful. Steve, on the other hand, hadn’t exactly been pleased, but he was a picky eater, and luckily, Bucky discovered that his son had a weakness for lo-mein noodles that Tony was happy to indulge.

So, yeah, it wasn’t like Tony was absent. After the first couple of days, Bucky stopped feeling like Tony was going to pounce on him at any second and started wondering if he actually would. Bucky felt oddly rejected. The closest they’d come to acting like they were in a relationship was the one night that Tony had queued up Brother Bear in the movie room for Steve, and then fallen asleep. In his sleep, he’d leaned against Bucky’s arm, and gradually ended up snuggled up with his head against Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. Clothes might not make the man, but the new threads did make him look good, he had to admit it. He dragged his hair back into a sloppy bun and used the plastic jar of hair wax to give his bangs some shape, then steeled himself. Time for some desperate measures.

Tony was in his workshop, hunched over his computer, looking like a futuristic mad scientist -- he had a lab coat, even if he wasn’t actually wearing it. The music pounded low and fierce, heavy metal with throbbing bass and intense drums and a lot of screaming lyrics.

“Hey,” Bucky said, leaning in the doorway.

Tony startled, then moved his mouse. The music died and he turned in his chair. “Hey, yourself,” he said. As if he couldn’t help it, Tony did a slow rake, starting at Bucky’s feet and traveling the length of his body, eyes appreciative.

That was a relief, at least. He was starting to think he’d imagined -- or lost -- Tony’s interest. Somehow, that was a worse thought than being Tony’s contracted love-slave. Well, love-indentured servant. Something like that.

“Something I can do for you?” Tony asked when his eyes finally landed on Bucky’s face.

Yes. You can kiss me drunk and fuck me stupid. Bucky shook the thought away before it could escape, then attempted a soft smile. “Um. Kinda thought this whole… “ He chewed his bottom lip, trying to figure out how to say it any other way. This was why he didn’t date; he was so fucking bad at it. “We’re… like supposed to be dating, right?”

Tony spread his hands. “That’s the cover story, yes.” Tony’s gaze darted to Bucky’s face, then he glanced at his computer, if there was something more compelling there, and Bucky’s stomach tied itself in a Gordian knot of nerves.

“So… shouldn’t we… erm. Date?”

“Sure,” Tony said. “I’ll have Pepper get you a copy of my social engagements. A couple of those, and we’ll be set for publicity photos, plus the article Christine’s doing. It’ll be fine, don’t --”

“That’s not what I mean,” Bucky said, pushing through it, because if he was going to be rejected, he was going to goddamn well earn it. He tipped his chin up and took a few steps closer, coming to a halt just at the edge of Tony’s workstation. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Tony said, slow and deliberate. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” There was no stopping him. He took Tony’s hands and bent down, capturing Tony’s mouth with his, stopping the words that were meaningless protest. He tasted Tony’s lip, felt the rough edge of his beard and mustache against his skin. He reached a hand up and cupped the side of Tony’s face, his thumb brushing over Tony’s jaw. “What if I do want to?”

“Uhhh…” Tony pulled back, his eyes wide and soft. “I admit, it hadn’t been part of recent calculations. You…”

“I’m an idiot,” Bucky said, his thumb stroking down Tony’s jaw and over his lower lip, red and swollen from kissing.

“Nonsense,” Tony said, sharply. “There are perfect geniuses out there who don’t want to date me. Bruce, for instance. You’re hardly unique in that…”

“Do I have to kiss you until you can’t stand up before you’ll believe me?”

Tony gaped at him. “Um… no? But I wouldn’t mind if you tried it anyway?”

Bucky’s blood heated. That was, finally, a clear invitation. And a challenge. He hoped it wasn’t desperately obvious that he had almost no idea what he was doing and was criminally out of practice. Hell with it. Bucky threw the life-preserver overboard and jumped. He put his knee between Tony’s legs, resting it on the chair, and tipped him back, slanting his mouth to take possession. “I want to,” he said, just before his lips came down on Tony’s.

No gentle kiss, this, no tender exploration. He took control of Tony’s mouth, branding him, tasting him, devouring him. Tony’s hands came up and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders, pulling them closer. Bucky kissed Tony hungrily, like a starving man, and rumbled with delight as Tony opened under him, drawing him in. Tony’s hands were everywhere, touching, stroking down Bucky’s back, along his waist, up under his shirt to brush feather-light against his belly. Bucky sucked air, his skin shivering and his muscles jumping wherever Tony’s fingers left trails of sensation.

The chair rolled backward under his weight until they were up against the desk and Bucky leaned in further, tipping the chair all the way back, practically climbing into Tony’s lap, wanting to feel the warmth of the man’s body against his, wanting, wanting…

Bucky pulled back a little, so hard, so filled with desire, that he needed to breathe. He rested his forehead against Tony’s, panting. Tony struggled to sit up a little, then pressed his mouth to Bucky’s jaw, his throat, and came back to his mouth, stealing a quick kiss. And then another, coaxing and enticing until Bucky groaned in response. He crushed his mouth to Tony’s with raw need that suddenly raged out of control. He searched Tony with his tongue, a primitive sound coming up from his throat as he tugged at Tony’s clothes with frantic hands, eager to get his fingers against that skin.

Tony arched into Bucky’s touch, so graceless and effortless that Bucky was undone. “Shit, shit,” he murmured, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Think you kissed me senseless, there, instead.” He laughed, weakly, and was relieved when Tony chuckled.

“I’m hardly unaffected,” Tony said, panting and falling back against his chair with a soft whump.

“So,” Bucky said, pushing himself out of the chair and half-sitting on Tony’s desk. “Date?”

Tony rolled his tongue around in his mouth a moment, then looked up at Bucky from under his thick lashes. “Depends. Which answer will get me more of those kisses?”

As always, @tisfan

Come see me on A03

#winteriron #prompts #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #tisfan #helping hands au #kisses #tw: bullying #kids fighting in playgrounds

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