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“What the hell, Stevie,” Bucky whined to his best friend. “How the fuck am I supposed to impress a fucking genius billionaire?”
Steve, No Help At All, Charter Member, had the fucking gall to laugh at him. “You don’t,” Steve said. He didn’t quite finish that up with Why would you even want to, but Bucky could see it dancing on the tip of his tongue.
Good thing for Steve they were already sparring, which meant that Bucky had gloves on and Steve was wearing protective headgear. Both things were actually pointless, if Bucky wanted to do damage. Bucky calmly analyzed the situation, found a good three dozen openings that Steve gave him in the first five minutes alone, and took exactly none of them. Right up until the very end, when he lightly tapped Steve in the nose with his elbow. (Okay, so the Winter Soldier version of lightly gave Steve a bloody nose and a split lip, but hey, Bucky wasn’t above cheating. Never had been.)
“Look,” Steve said. He wasn’t even mad, he just had his head tilted back and an ice pack over the bridge of his nose, even though everyone had already told him that didn’t help. “You think I know what to do to win the girl. I’ve talked to like two in my entire life.”
“Tony’s not a girl,” Bucky growled. He was quite aware of how very male Tony was. He couldn’t help but trace the lines of the man’s body with his eyes, couldn’t help leaning in a little closer to catch a whiff of that masculine scent, sweat and cologne and a tang of metal and fire.
“Probably even less help there, pal,” Steve said. “I dunno, you were always a hit with the dames back in the day. How different can it be?”
Clint snorted, the next time he’d passed Bucky in the hall and tossed a women’s magazine at him. Ways to win the heart of your lover, teased from the cover. Bucky didn’t even ask how Clint knew. There was no percentage in that play.
#1 - Write a poem
Tony spent most of his time in his workshop, surrounded by iron and steel, by fire and wire, by electric and circuits. With rare exceptions, no one else was allowed in, unless Tony was already there -- Pepper had an access pass, but these days she rarely used it. Rhodey, because Tony was never sure when his bestie was going to be in town, and it was just easier to let Rhodey come in and get his attention than to be sure that a reminder would pry him out of his headspace and out for a dinner meeting.
So why was there crumpled paper in his wastebasket? Tony never used paper. Even when Pepper had things for him to sign these days, they were always on tablets or another device that he could use a thumb print and scribble in the air with a light pen.
Tony fished the paper out of the trash; balled up and torn. He spread it out on his workbench, matching the pieces together. Hand-written, even. The letters were black and spiky, written with that backward slant that indicated a left-handed writer.
Tony
I am afraid of forgetting
I am afraid of myself
I am afraid that I'll hurt someone
I am afraid that someone will be you
I am even afraid you'll forget me
I am afraid of the cold
I am afraid of the dark
I am afraid that blood is on my hands
I am afraid that it's never mine
I am even afraid sometimes it's yours
I want to know love
I want remember who I am
I want your touch
I want your kiss
I even want your love
I want to know who I am
I want to remember who I was
I want to have a future
I want to have dreams
I even want to be with you
Most of all…..
#5 Pick Wildflowers
Five days running, Tony had opened the door to the penthouse and found a little bouquet of daisies, tied with a silver ribbon, laying across the hall.
Daisies didn’t smell like anything.
They were small, white and yellow.
The petals were not quite firmly attached; a few of them always fell off when he picked up the packet. They weren’t cultivated, either. Mandelbrot only knew where his unseen admirer was getting them from. There were aphids crawling on the stems sometimes. The petals were somewhat gray from being exposed to roadside air.
Every morning Tony brought them back into the penthouse and found a little cup full of water to put them in.
The sixth day, he left a little note pinned to the floor where the flowers had been left.
and while never saying a word
who was anything but dumb;
since the silence of him
self sang like a bird.
Most people have been heard
screaming for international
measures that render hell rational
—i thank heaven somebody’s crazy
enough to give me a daisy
Ee cummings
The seventh day, someone left roses.
#19 Watch an old Movie
Tony would have thought it was Steve who selected the black-and-white films, but Steve really had almost no interest in movie night at all. He sat with everyone else, because it was expected and because Steve had some pretty firm beliefs about team-building activities, but whenever it was Steve’s turn to pick the films, he usually selected something from the Oscars awards list, like he was going through in reverse chronological order. According to Tony’s mental map, he was going to have to skip Steve’s turn in about a month, because he was not going to watch Forrest Gump again. That movie was terrible the first time.
Bucky, on the other hand, kept picking all the old films. City Lights, Notorious, Roman Holiday, Camille.
And the man put off body heat like nobody’s business. There was something about a super-soldier’s metabolism, Tony theorized, but Bucky was like a portable furnace. Tony didn’t like to admit it, but he was getting older, and it started casually enough, just sitting next to the man was enough to keep him warm.
Then he was leaning against Bucky, sharing popcorn. No one sat on Bucky’s right, that was Tony’s spot, long before Tony even recognized it. Bucky was so warm, and soft. And one night, while they were watching Philadelphia Story, Bucky’s arm went around Tony’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. He played with the ends of Tony’s hair, fingers dangling loose and warm over Tony’s neck.
#34 Rooftop picnic
“Hey, Tony,” a soft voice grabbed his attention and Tony looked up from where he was analyzing a three percent improvement in arc-reactor efficiency. “You hungry?”
“Hmmm?” Tony stuck the screwdriver in his mouth. He didn’t actually need a screwdriver, but he had a tendency to fiddle while he was thinking and the screwdriver often seemed to end up in his hand, or in his mouth, or sometimes drumming it against the countertop. He went through a list of food that he thought he’d eaten in the last few days; an orange for breakfast was the last thing he could remember and looking at the clock, he wasn’t sure if that was this morning or yesterday morning. He did sort of get into the zone sometimes.’ “I could eat.”
Bucky gingerly took the screwdriver out of Tony’s mouth and put it down next to his toolbox. “That can’t be hygienic,” Bucky commented.
“Pfffft,” Tony dismissed this concern. Really, Bucky should have seen his working conditions in Afghanistan. On second thought, and third, and maybe seventh as well, he probably should not. Bucky had gotten a little wild around the eyes when Steve had off-hand mentioned Tony’s captivity at the hands of Ten Rings, and Steve hadn’t even gotten into some of the more gruesome parts of that memory.
Tony had to admit, he was surprised by that; given what Bucky had gone through with Hydra, he’d almost been expecting a bout or two of trauma-Olympics where a room full of people competed for who’d had it worst and everybody lost.
When Tony went to push the button for the common kitchen, Bucky reached past him and thumbed the rooftop access.
“What’s up, Bambi?”
Bucky made a soft scoffing noise and rolled his eyes. “It’s a surprise, genius,” he said.
The landing platform had a small table and two chairs set up; a simple peaked tent had been arranged, dripping with white Christmas lights, over the table.
A whiff of spicy Thai food came from silver platters arranged on the buffet to the side.
“What is this?”
“Dinner,” Bucky said, offering Tony his arm. “Some genius you are.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “I know dinner. But… dinner, or… you know… dinner?”
“Whatever you want it to be, Tony,” Bucky said, all wide-eyed sincerity and earnest eagerness.
“Are you…” Tony wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “Are you --”
“Courting you?” Bucky suggested. “If… yeah, kinda, I guess. If you… wanted to, I dunno. I…”
Tony’s eyebrow shot up. “Is this a date, Barnes, it’s a yes or no question.”
James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the most feared ghost-story assassin in the last century, stared down at the tips of his boots and scuffed his foot in the gravel that covered the roof of the Avenger’s Tower. “Yes?” He looked for all the world like a high school junior that was trying to work up his nerve to ask out the homecoming queen.
It should not have been cute.
It should have been damn near terrifying.
It was fucking adorable.
“A date,” Tony said, again, slow. Rolling the word around in his mouth like he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to taste like.
“Yes,” Bucky said again. “I’d… would you like to have dinner with me, Tony?”
Tony rested his fingers on Bucky’s offered arm. “Yes, yes I would.”
#50 Do what comes naturally. Slowly.
Tony snuggled, wrapped around Bucky’s body like a cuddly octopus. “I want to see this list of yours,” he said.
Bucky blushed. He’d finally confessed, let Tony drag it out of him with torturous kisses and teasing touches, that he’d gotten his ideas from a glossy magazine. But Bucky had his number now. He kissed Tony’s temple and worked his way down with soft nuzzles until he was nipping at Tony’s throat. With all the wicked promise he felt in his heart, Bucky ran his hands up Tony’s body. “Shall I read it to you?”