Work Text:
With everything Tony Stark has done for him: the retro-framing, the Hydra de-triggering treatment, the therapy, the pardon, the foundation created under his name, the arm, it seemed only fair that Bucky return the favour in whatever way he could.
Granted, it would never be to the same magnitude, but Tony seemed to appreciate it nonetheless.
Whenever Tony absolutely had to interact with people he didn’t like, Bucky would always make sure that he was at Tony’s eight, cocking an unimpressed brow beside an equally unimpressed Colonel Rhodes.
At first, Bucky tried to be discreet about murder-staring Tony’s opponents into submission without his notice, and for a while Tony was willing to play along, right until he got bored of it. Then he’d glance at Bucky from the corner of his eye and wink.
Into the third month, Tony would clap both he and Rhodes on the arm before leading them away, and if the warmth of Tony’s hand on the small of Bucky’s back didn’t light the Super Soldier up from the inside, he’d be lying.
Then came the debriefings and the team meetings with the Rogues, a particularly difficult time for Tony regardless of the snarky comments he threw around like confetti.
As good as Tony was at playing a role, Bucky would always be able to catch the barest tremor in the other man’s hands.
While Bucky couldn’t exactly glare the rest of the Rogues into compliance – Captain Danvers frowned at displays of aggression though thankfully she treated both sides of the table equally – Bucky did his best to ground Tony when he could.
Whether it was a subtle brush of their fingers on the table, or outright holding his hand beneath it. Which was frankly, the best for both of them. When Rogers would go off on a tirade about family and together after all he'd done and hadn't apologized for, Bucky would be this close to leaping over the table and socking him, and if anything, Tony holding Bucky's hand was him doing his part to keep the peace.
The other stuff that came with that though, no compromise necessary.
“You’re an absolute treasure,” the self-proclaimed genius-billionaire-philanthropist declared before bounding into the living room and practically throwing himself on the couch beside him. Tony wiggling the rest of the small distance until his head rested on Bucky’s stomach, jostling the textbook that was propped up against his thigh.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, sweetheart,” he said, adjusting only slightly to the added weight, metal fingers carding through the other man’s dark hair of their own accord. “But what I do this time?”
“What didn’t you do?” Tony asked with a dramatic sigh, loosening his tie and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as he did so. “Breakfast, coffee and that murder-stare of yours against my foulest enemy, I could cry literal tears of joy.”
Bucky sighed. See?
The man literally had the world at his feet: The Accords were a success thanks to his hard work, he had allies across the world – enhanced and civilian alike – that respected his contributions and input. Not to mention he successfully launched Resilience-Tech, a subsidiary of Stark Industries that worked at revolutionizing prosthetics, and after all of that Tony was just grateful someone was nice enough to feed him and glare at people he didn’t like?
“Doll, that’s literally an everyday thing.” When Tony only waved it off, Bucky added, “And your foulest enemy, really? I thought you got along fine with Barton.”
“Only on Tuesdays, and only when forced.”
Bucky snorted, but also couldn’t blame him.
Barton continued to be a pain in the ass after his return from exile, and that was before Laura had the divorce papers signed. At the very least Tony remained professional in the face of Barton’s anger, and there was nothing Tony seemed to enjoy more than smiling innocently as Barton got slapped with disciplinary warnings from both Fury and Captain Danvers.
“Fine, but still your foulest enemy?” he paused. “Is that a bird joke?”
“Got it in two, Tasty-Freeze.”
“I hate you.”
Tony laughed, a sound that was almost as good as that sweet little moan he gave when Bucky's nails ran over his scalp. “Hate me a little more, just…right there, ah, there’s the one!”
Huffing through his nose, Bucky swallowed his smile. “You’re like a goddamn dog, Stark.”
“Better than a rabbit,” he retorted, gesturing vaguely at the discarded bowl of salad on the centre table. “You going on a health kick, Winter Wonderland?”
As if, Bucky inwardly snickered. He’d lived through rationing, there was no need to exist exclusively on greens, not when cheeseburgers and pizza happened to be a phone call away. “You should talk, with those fucking smoothies,” he teased, combing through Tony’s hair in the opposite direction just to annoy him.
Tony pouted and shot big brown eyes at him. Bucky rolled his eyes, doing his damnest not to be moved.
“The salad's Peter’s, he needs his greens.”
It was Bucky’s turn to pout when Tony reached up to poke a finger at his cheek. “You’re such a mama-bear, puddin’.”
“Can it,” he grumbled, playfully biting at the offending finger. “Someone has to make sure he eats right.” When Tony only hummed, Bucky continued, “And since you made Parker the poster boy for the Stark Internship, he should set a good example for the other kids.”
“He’s already doing his homework, and you’re making sure he eats his greens,” Tony waved off. “Also, a little bird told me that you had some words with Barry Allen about him.”
“That kid needs to keep his nose in his math book, or so help me God,” Bucky exhaled, not even finding it in himself to be embarrassed at being caught giving the shovel talk to a seventeen-year-old.
“Calm down you overprotective goat,” Tony laughed as he ran playful fingers over Bucky’s denim-clad thighs. “You’ve got a test in two days, and I know this textbook’s just been decoration.”
Scowling at one of the closest cameras, Bucky grumbled, “You said you wouldn’t tell, Fri.”
“Sorry Sarge, Boss didn’t want to bother you if you were studying, and since you weren’t…” He could practically hear the AI shrug, if that was something she could do, and he shook his head with another barely-there smile.
“The sass on you, you get it from your father.”
“I do,” she chirped, cheerfully proud.
“Keep at it, sweetpea, and I’ll send you to community college,” Tony threatened half-heartedly.
Bucky retorted, “I’m already in community college.”
Tony’s snorts become giggles, and the smile that threatened to ruin his reputation in the Tower tugged incessantly at Bucky’s lips. Couldn’t exactly put the fear of God into the rest of the Tower’s residents with dopey-cow-eyes, could you?
Fortunately, he was saved the reputation-ruining when Rogers walked in.
Bucky was careful to keep his body relaxed under Tony.
No one seemed to kill Tony’s good mood faster than Captain America, which was a feat really. Bucky was responsible for the deaths of Tony's parents, and here they were, lazing on the couch with less than a foot of distance between them, amongst other things. Bucky for one didn’t want to let up that they had an unwelcome visitor.
You’d think with the way the Rogues treated Tony they’d at least have the decency to keep off his private floor. And seriously, what the hell, Friday? Bucky couldn’t help but think, throwing a glare at one of her cameras in accusation before realization dawned – and oh.
Rogers brought flowers.
Before Bucky could raise a brow, and Rogers could open his dumb fucking mouth, Tony teased, “I don’t think you’re studying.”
Bucky huffed out an agitated breath, metal digits running through the soft dark hair again, a single finger curling around a wayward tuft tickling Tony’s ear as he willed Tony’s soothing presence to keep Bucky from launching himself at Rogers with teeth bared.
Tony’s eyes stayed closed, a smile teasing at his lips while the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled, clearly content and none the wiser.
“Says who?”
“The murder stare, I can feel it,” Tony hummed, “Is it number fifteen? That’s my favourite.”
“You have a favourite?” Bucky asked, baffled but also, of course you do.
“I have a favourite everything,” Tony predictably replied, turning from his side to face the ceiling, his shoes clicked together as he flexed his feet at the edge of the couch. There really had to be a limit to how adorable a forty-something-year-old man could be.
“Like?” Bucky pressed, hoping that a glare Roger’s way would be enough to send the man off.
Instead, Rogers continued to watch them, fist tightening around the bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“I don’t know,” Tony huffed as if he could see Rogers' meager peace offering. “Give me an example.”
When Rogers still hadn’t done anything to make his presence known to a clearly oblivious Tony, Bucky resolved to ignore him completely no matter how betrayed and upset Rogers' expression was.
“Pie?”
“Apple,” Tony answered, “in this house, we’re goddamn patriots. Try a little harder.”
“Color?”
“Red, if that wasn’t clear from the armor.”
“I read somewhere that you chose that color so kids wouldn’t be scared of you.”
Tony scowl didn’t hide the fact that the tips of his ears pinked. “Well I had to do something, the Iron Man suits are walking tanks. Speaking of, we should do something about your get-up, how do you feel about a Hello Kitty backpack?”
“I already said no to the Dora the Explorer one," Bucky reminded, "why would I say yes to Hello Kitty?”
“Because you’re my murder kitten, kitten,” Tony teased, winking at him. Bucky’s eyes rolled up good-naturedly.
“Do you have a favourite room?”
“The ‘Shop, obviously,” Tony scoffed. “Barnes, do you not know me at all?”
“I thought it would be a toss-up between that and the bedroom.” Tony wiggled his brows suggestively, and careful not to look at Steve across from them, Bucky winked. “Moving on, do you have a favourite …pillow?”
“That would be you, Super Soldier.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Seventy years of Hydra conditioning, and you reduce me to a pillow? I'm offended.”
“Ain't my fault you're comfortable, boo-bun,” Tony decreed.
“The fact that you’re near my crotch should make you rethink that.”
“And yet…”
“Wow really, in front of my salad?”
At that, both Bucky and Tony looked up. Standing in the hallway that led to Peter’s room in the Tower, the teenager stood, looking like any other kid who walked in on their parents.
Squinting at him, Bucky asked, “That’s from some kind of vine, isn’t it?”
Peter, oblivious as always, grinned, angelic. “It is, you’re getting better, Mr Barnes.”
“Pete,” Bucky sighed, “What did I tell you about calling me that?”
“To not to,” the teenager parroted dutifully.
“So?”
“I didn’t want to accidentally call you ‘Dad’,” he informed as if that too was a completely normal thing, and in his defense, it was.
Not that Rogers knew that. From his pale complexion and the flowers that had practically wilted in his hand while he stood in the doorway.
Peter, having collapsed on Bucky’s other side on the couch, the discarded bowl of salad on his lap, finally noticed the other Super Soldier and tilted his head curiously. “Who’re the flowers for Steve?”