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Drive It Like You Stole It: A Bodyswap

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“That’s not even Latin,” Steve hissed, ducking back from the melting purple slag they were taking cover behind. “That’s not even Latin, you asshole!”

Bucky dragged him away from the next blast and behind the concrete traffic median. The dickbag on the neighboring overpass shouted something Bucky didn’t understand, and a hot wash of bright green glitter hit the cement, splashing over the edge as they dodged away from it.

Steve had gone fully red-faced with pedantic altar-boy fury. “Did your computer forget how to Google Translate?” he bellowed, sticking his head up and over. Bucky yanked him down again. “What are you even trying to say?”

Bucky tried to shake the sparkles off the grenade he had been planning on lobbing over the divider. “It sounded like Latin to me,” he said reasonably, pursing his lips and frowning at the explosive. It dripped a sparkle, and a puff of purple smoke curled up where it hit the concrete.

“That’s because you spent Sunday school flirting with Sarah Cunningham,” Steve accused, bobbing back up to throw his shield and ducking back down to dodge a shining ball of blue light. “You wouldn’t know Latin if it came up and kissed you on your ugly mug.”

“I’d sure know it if Sarah Cunningham did, though.” Bucky grinned, struck by the memory. “That gal really knew what she was doing.”

Steve gave him a dirty look before he jumped up, caught his shield, and swung it around to deflect something white and bubbly. Bucky squinted again at the grenade, then shrugged and pulled the pin. Even if the magic had done something to it, it was better that it took effect near the other asshole and not him. He threw it over the wall, then chucked the pin after it just in case.

“I’m surprised you don’t know Latin now, though,” Steve panted as they waited out the explosion. “I mean, you know Hmong now.”

“Don’t be so Eurocentric,” Bucky huffed, nose in the air and left hand searching for his final grenade. Hadn't he put it in his pocket? Shit, which pocket? He had like, twenty-three.

Steve mm-ed in response, peeking around the rubble. Bucky paused and considered Steve’s mood this week. He turned to Steve. “Sarah had nothing on you, though,” Bucky assured him. “You know that. You know I love you.”

Steve gave him an unimpressed stare. “Really. You’re checking in to make sure you didn’t hurt my delicate feelings now, with dumb fight banter in the middle of a glitter battle that’s leveled three buildings.”

“Especially when you wear such tight pants nowadays,” Bucky continued thoughtfully, as though Steve hadn’t said anything. “I mean, shit, I’m lucky I can keep my eyes on what I’m doing.”

Steve snorted, but couldn’t hold his smile. Bucky grinned too, pleased, and finally found the pocket he’d put the grenade in. He pulled it out and weighed it in his metal hand. “Dammit, that last spell fucked with this one, too.” He shook it, holding it up to the light.

The ensuing pink explosion caught him full in the face.


Up until that moment, Peter Parker had mostly assumed that “keep an eye on the self-righteous supersoldier assholes” was actually Mr. Stark code for “stay out of my hair for a while.” He was okay with that-- Colonel Rhodes had explained to him, once he’d found out that his best friend was apparently arming teenagers, that ‘Tony has a lot of feelings and it’s best to stay out of blast range when he’s feeling them, since he tends to do stupid things like arm teenagers.’

Peter was also pretty a-ok with being an armed teenager, honestly, but Colonel Rhodes assured him that things could get a lot worse, and Peter did watch the news, so he had figured that being somewhere else while Mr. Stark’s long lost frenemy was gallivanting semi-legally across the United States for some reason was for the best. If Mr. Stark wanted someone to spy on the superfriend who had spurned him for his dad’s murderer, metaphorically, Peter was up for the job, especially since he didn’t want to wait around until Mr. Stark started ordering Peter to put frogs in Captain America’s bed or hotwire his motorcycle to electrocute the Winter Soldier’s dick or something instead.

And Colonel Rhodes had said what Mr. Stark had actually meant was “I can’t go make sure my friend is safe because of laws and also feelings, so please make sure he doesn’t die,” so there was that.

Not that Peter could do much in any given situation where Captain America was likely to die, but he guessed it was the thought that counted.

So Peter had been watching from a distance, as ordered, not engaging, as ordered, and ‘not going off half-cocked with your mask on backwards like a toddler in a gunfight that gets everyone killed’ as ordered, when he saw the Winter Soldier take the explosion right between the eyes. The pink glitter surged outwards and engulfed both supersoldiers.

This was not keeping Captain America from getting hurt. Peter, of course, panicked.

He at least had his mask on right when he started frantically webbing his way over, very much half-cocked, definitely with no plan other than ‘oh no save them now holy shit’ when the glitter suddenly swirled and was sucked out of the air like Captain Rogers had pulled out a dust-vac or something. He and Sergeant Barnes shook their heads, staggered slightly, then seemed to get a really good look at each other and did identical double-takes.

This was not the weird part.

The weird part was when Captain Rogers got a really unsettling look on his face, this creepy furious scowl like he was mad at his own teeth, and then reached over and jerked a rifle off of Sergeant Barnes’ thigh. Sergeant Barnes stumbled a little, giving him an offended look, and Captain America leapt over the median and jumped across the sheer 30 feet of empty air to the other traffic bridge while screaming “Mother fucker!!!” at the top of his lungs.

There was a fraught moment where he must have misjudged the jump and fell a little short—he snagged the edge of the highway on-ramp with one hand and Peter caught his breath—but apparently one handed pull-ups were something a supersoldier was fine with despite weighing maybe 300 pounds counting all his gear. He vaulted himself up over the edge and smashed the shocked magician in the face with the butt of his rifle.

“Bucky!” Sergeant Barnes yelled at him, leaping after, but Captain America was already hefting the magician in the hand not leveling a rifle in his face.

“How—how—how—” the magician stuttered, scrambling ineffectually at his bag of tricks. “How are you even walking? You’re in a completely different body, you shouldn’t be even—”

Captain America cocked the rifle with his holy shit teeth. “You little shitpurse,” the national icon who starred in all Peter’s worst detention videos growled. “I am balls deep in this fucking body four goddamn times a day, and the times I’m not I’m thinking about it. You really—”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Sergeant Barnes complained, vaulting onto the asphalt beside him. “Come on, that kid of Tony’s is listening in over there.”

“You were losing your tiny mind over this guy’s Latin not two minutes ago.” Cap shook the magician a little at Sergeant Barnes, like you would a magazine you were taking a point from in an argument. “I feel like a body swap is a little bit more of a big deal—”

The magician finally managed to pull something out of his bag and tried to smash it in Captain Rogers’ face. Sergeant Barnes yanked the shield off the Captain’s back and swung it to clap the enchanted whatever right into the guy’s nose instead, where it burst into a pink cloud of glitter. The force of it made Captain Rogers lose his grip at the same time it made the guy jerk away, and the magician flailed his arms, stepped on the hem of his own robe, and toppled right off the overpass.

Captain Rogers looked over the edge. “Huh,” he said, craning to look. “Guess the fuckface didn’t have anything for flight in that bag.”

Sergeant Barnes pinched the bridge of his nose.

Peter looked around at the scene. He had the sinking feeling that Mr. Stark was going to somehow blame him for the totally destroyed overpasses, the spattered magician, and the news helicopters showing up to chase Captain America and the Winter Soldier back underground again.



“Well,” Steve said, dropping Bucky’s body onto the couch and his head back against the armrest. “Shit.”

It wasn’t…great that they’d killed the magician for a lot of reasons. One, because Steve generally tried to limit casualties as much as he could. Two, because they’d spent maybe the last month trying to track the guy down and figure out what the hell he was using and where he got it from. Three, because there were certain legal agreements that kept Steve in the country and Bucky out of a tiny concrete box.

Four, though, and the big one, was because Steve was pretty sure there were actual space aliens involved. Again.

What was his life.

“Shit is right,” Bucky said, shrugging out of Steve’s uniform and staring at his hands for a while. Bucky, Steve knew, was not too worried about killing the magician. He tended to take a pretty laid back approach to things now that infinite incarceration and unwilling code-word-induced murder sprees were off the table. Nothing else really measured up. “What the fuck. How did I never notice how big these were?”

Steve ignored him and tried to get comfortable. He twisted, wriggled, and pulled two knives out from under him. “I thought I’d gotten all these off,” he complained, leaning over to toss them into the pile already occupying the side table. “Every time I sit down there’s another sticking me in the ass.”

“Nah,” Bucky said, distracted, still looking at Steve’s hands. “You got maybe half of them. Hell, even I forget where I stashed one or two most days.”

“It’s like rabbits,” Steve told him, annoyed. “It’s like mice. I think they’re making more every time I roll over.” He sighed and started patting himself down for whatever was poking him in the ribs. “Well, at least I can cancel that awful interview coming up with a clear conscience. That’s an upside, I guess.”

Bucky looked up from Steve’s hands at that. “What? I could do that. I could just go.”

Steve sat up to look at him dubiously over the back of the couch.

“What?” Bucky protested, spreading his arms and looking hurt. “Why not?”

Steve continued to stare at him.

“I am great at interviews,” Bucky said. He tried to flip his hair, miffed, but in Steve’s body he didn’t have much. Instead he looked like he was trying to dodge a gnat. “I’m amazing. And how hard could it be to interview like you? All I gotta do is talk about responsibility and then go off on yet another tangent about what it’s like getting used to the 21st century.”

“That is not my fault.” Steve gave up on getting rid of his knife mice without stripping and started in on Bucky’s two bajillion buckles with a sigh. “They ask me that at every single interview. I don’t just decide ‘hey, you know what everyone wants to hear about? Having to refrigerate eggs. I’ll just go on about that for the full fifteen minutes.’ They ask for it. I have to keep thinking up new things to complain about.”

“The most important thing to get right about the future,” Bucky chirped in the singsong he always used when pretending to be Steve. It was really weird coming out in Steve’s actual voice. “Is not mixing up the slick and the hand soap. That’s a real concern everyone should have, right there.”

Steve threw a couch cushion at his head.

“They look the same, you see.” Bucky ducked and gave Steve his most earnest, wide-eyed doe expression. On Steve’s face it mostly just made him look a little sick, but to be fair, it looked like that on Bucky too. “Clear. Slippery. Pump bottle. It’s a menace.”

You’re a menace,” Steve told him. “It was one time, and I just ended up with greasy hands. It’s not like I put hand soap on your dick.”

“One time that will last forever,” Bucky assured him, staring at his hands again now that Steve had reminded him of them. “Or at least until my amnesia brain makes me forget it. Shit, your hands are really big.”

“You were pretty pleased about the size of them last night,” Steve muttered, rolling his eyes and finally getting one arm free of Bucky’s leather bodysuit.

Yeah I was,” Bucky agreed. He extended his arms, or rather Steve’s arms, and looked himself over. Then he started unzipping the athletic gear Steve wore under the suit.

Steve left him to it, concentrating on the leather origami required to make it out of the tac gear monstrosity Bucky always insisted on. He wiggled his way out of the jacket and got it tangled in about four separate holsters and sheaths strapped in and around it. This was going to take all night. “How did I undress you before this?” Steve complained, hopping a little to shake a strap free. “I’ve gotten you naked in ten seconds flat before, but change the point of view and suddenly I can’t get your jacket off without tying myself in knots.”

“Mmhm,” Bucky hummed, sounding distracted again, and Steve looked around at him.

Bucky was standing in the kitchen half-naked, one hand cupped around each of Steve’s pecs, staring down at them even as he pushed them up like a pair of actual tits.

“What,” Steve said, dreading the answer, “are you doing.”

Bucky ignored him. He gave the pecs a good grope and a squeeze while Steve watched, then flicked a nipple and let out a surprised little ‘ah’ sound. “Holy shit,” Bucky managed, and did it again. It was apparently so overwhelming his knees wobbled a little.

Steve glared at him. “Are you fondling my chest. Covered in glitter. Standing half naked in the kitchen at two o’clock on a Sunday,” he demanded.

Bucky didn’t even look away from what he was doing. “You mean that to sound ridiculous,” he said, rubbing a nipple in a way that made both of them catch their breath. “But that would probably sound like a great idea even when we aren’t switching bodies. Holy shit, Steve, this feels amazing. No wonder you light up like the goddamn Macy’s at Christmas when I play with these.” The last word trailed off in a little moan, and he sank back against the counter.

Watching Steve’s own body get itself off when Steve wasn’t actually inside was incredibly weird. Steve had absolutely no idea why it was turning him on, but he was pretty annoyed that it was. “James Buchanan Barnes. It is the middle of the day, we have both been cursed by an evil magician, and the blinds aren’t even down.”

“Does it feel like this every time,” Bucky demanded, arching into his own touch, nearly knocking himself silly on the cupboards. Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh my god. Come here and do the thing with my ears you like, I wanna see what it feels like from this end.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Steve complained, finally getting free of Bucky’s thigh holster and pretending he wasn’t sporting a growing erection already. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bucky reached into his underwear. “What about the thing I do with the head of your--nnng,” he cut off, lurching forward as his eyes fluttered shut, breathing hard. His knees almost went right out from under him, and yeah, Steve could see that, if he was doing what Steve thought he was doing. “Oh my god. Oh my god. I am never going to make fun of you for this again. Oh my god

“Yes you are.” Steve’s mouth had gone dry, watching.

“Yes I am,” Bucky agreed, gasping heavily and slumped over the kitchen counter. “But I will understand. Oh my god. That feels amazing. Come here and do the ear thing, champ, please.”

“I am not,” Steve declared grimly, “going to chew my own damn ears in the kitchen half done up in your stupid weapon-and-buckle Rubik’s cube of a costume.”

“I can see you tenting my Rubik’s cube from here, baby,” Bucky said, breathless and leering, and Steve flushed. “You think I don’t know what my own body looks like when I’m trying to hide a stiffy? Really? What is it,” he asked, slowing down and making a show of things. He slid the waistband of Steve’s underwear down and hooked it under his balls, Steve’s dick hard and red and on display. “Is it like fucking in front of a mirror? Is it seeing yourself get off that’s getting you hot, sugar?”

“You’re—“ Steve blurted. “I—it’s you.” He swallowed. “You’re getting me all—and I don’t usually get to watch you get me all—”

Oh,” Bucky smiled, and stroked one big hand up Steve’s dick and back down. Steve stared, letting out a tiny involuntary sound. “Got it. Yeah, I am definitely ‘getting you all—’ here. Your body’s going off like a pot of hot popcorn.”

Oh,” Steve breathed.

“Look at you,” Bucky purred, licking his lips, spreading his legs, and dropping his head back again like he was overcome. “I’m wrecking you, sweetheart, you are gone, and all I had to do was play with your tits and touch your dick a little.”

“Ngflrgl,” Steve managed. Bucky was doing that twisty thing at the glans that Steve loved, just really, really loved, and he could almost—Steve could almost feel it and—

Oh god.

Bucky started making these noises, and distantly Steve could tell Bucky was trying to sound like him—did Steve actually sound like that when he was wound up, Jesus, he sounded like—and then Bucky made this ‘ah-ahhh!’ sound, this stuttering, gasping breath, and he was coming, all over his chest and his stomach and his neck, moaning and sighing and, and—

“You asshole,” Steve managed, hoarse and hot and so hard it hurt. “You dick. You just came on my uniform.”

“I just came so hard on your uniform, Stevie,” Bucky gasped, jacking Steve’s dick a few more times, his whole body jerking along with each pull. “It was amazing, and I’m just spanking it in the kitchen.”

“Those are eating surfaces,” Steve said, trying to blink past the brainless lust clouding out everything else. “You’ve been sitting bare-assed on the counter I make sandwiches for Natasha on.”

“And it took until now for you to even notice, buddy.” Bucky hopped down, looking a little wobbly still. “I know you, and I know that body. One eyeful of this,” and here Bucky cupped Steve’s dick in one hand and a pec in the other. “And that dick you’re attached to is fucking ready. Come and ride it.” Bucky stroked it, and it was already filling up.

Steve swallowed. Lust in Bucky’s body was different than his, welling up slower, but strong and deep. It suited Bucky, matched the steady and relentless way he loved, but Steve wasn’t used to it. Steve was used to sudden, searing flares of arousal, and out of necessity he’d gotten really good at blinking past those flashes and soldiering on, since no one would have been too happy if Steve asked everyone to please pause the war every time Bucky or Peggy did something attractive.

Steve would have had to pause the war a lot.

Bucky was breathing fast again already, completely distracting himself from teasing Steve. “Baby,” he groaned, “Oh my god, I’m going to the bedroom whether you’re joining me or not. Where did we leave the purple thing last time? We washed it, didn’t we?”

“I have no idea.” Steve was pretty proud of himself for forming words. This was horrible. The want wasn’t bang and gone. It was this heavy flood of warmth in his gut, growing and rising and slowly taking over. The tips of his fingers started tingling.

Bucky staggered towards the bathroom, still pumping Steve’s dick, and swung by Steve for a deep, distracted kiss on the way.

The banked warm glow in Steve’s gut finally burst into flames and Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Bucky moved to continue on to the bedroom and nearly flew backwards off his feet when Steve yanked him back, crushed his own body full of Bucky to his chest, and tried to get back inside tongue first.

“Sweetheart, yeah,” Bucky moaned, loud and rapturous, when Steve pulled away enough for him to speak. “Yeah, I love it when you kiss me, too.”

Steve couldn’t answer. Instead, he did the ear thing, and then Bucky couldn’t talk either. He tried; Bucky let out some garbled loving nonsense, but it didn’t matter. The tone of it alone had Steve swimming with want, gasping with it, and Bucky laughed, low and deep and familiar despite using Steve’s voice to do it.

“Baby,” Bucky finally managed. “Baby.”

“I love you,” Steve said against his skin. “You’re right. This is a great idea. I don’t know why I was so weird about it.”

“Because it’s completely weird, Stevie,” Bucky laughed again, pulling Steve towards the bedroom. He fell on the bed as soon as they got there, reveling in it, spread out and arched to show off Steve’s body. “That’s why it’s so hot. C’mere, help me find that toy you love, I’ll let you watch me dial you up.”

“Oh holy Christ.” Steve’s voice came out of him strangled, tight. He was surprised he could see straight. “Yes. Please.”


For internationally hunted men given an uncomfortable admission back into the country, Peter mused, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes sure didn’t do much.

Peter was hanging upside-down from a tree, listening to Maroon 5 from his ipod with one headphone, swinging gently back and forth with Mr. Stark’s eavesdropping earpiece in the other ear. He was so bored. So far the only things the two supersoldiers had gotten up to were hanging out at home, hanging out at home some more, driving off to beat up some Hydra and following the magician around before accidentally knocking him off an overpass, then hanging out at home again.

Peter thought about the Lego model that currently sat unfinished on his desk and decided maybe he shouldn’t judge.

He swung a few more times, idly, Mr. Stark’s earpiece picking up diddly squat. After he’d sat through an hour and a half of men he’d forgotten were older than anyone he knew arguing about inflation, Peter had switched it off of active listening and turned it over to pick up incoming and outgoing signals only, but what if they were talking about secret sedition and treachery plans? Peter couldn’t have said, exactly, what sorts of plans counted as sedition and treachery, and anyway if he listened to Colonel Rhodes he was probably supposed to not screw up ‘whatever those amped-up Energizer bunnies’ had going, but it could be important.

He scrolled the clickwheel on the side of the earpiece and tapped it a few times.

“Parental controls engaged,” it announced. “Rerouting transmission to designated guardian.”

“Wait, what?” Peter asked.


“Playing prohibited content now,” Friday said, and suddenly a large black window popped up over Tony’s entire workspace. “Heat vision engaged.”

Tony was about six energy drinks and two semi-legal medical stimulants deep in the zone on his current project, so he spent a good thirty seconds typing commands into an unresponsive system before he really twigged to what was going on. He pushed his goggles further up on his forehead and peered at the display.

“Did I program you to do this?” he asked, doubtfully.

And, yeah, just pop up whatever he’s looking at I guess,” Friday played Tony’s voice back for him. Past Tony sounded deeply distracted—probably just as focused on whatever else he’d been doing as Present Tony was now. “What? No. Just put it up, I’ll deal with it then.

“This whole recording me to play back pointedly thing is really getting out of hand.” Tony clicked through to listen and wished Peter could stop looking around quite so much—the heat vision was all over the place. “Jarvis never recorded me to win arguments.”

Friday played a soundbite of Pepper sighing at him.

Tony was going to snap back something really sarcastic when Peter finally stopped swinging his head around like an anxious poodle and he figured out what he might actually be looking at.


Bucky Barnes had finally taken about 8 inches of smooth purple plastic up his ass, Steve watching like he was going to swallow his tongue the whole time, when he caught sight of the blinking light on his phone that meant that fucking Spider Infant was listening in on them again.

God fucking dammit.

Steve was going to be hard to refocus. Bucky knew his body—it took a little while to ramp up, but once it was up he was gone. Steve would be totally brainless. On the other hand, the sheer horror of the situation might be enough of a bucket of cold water to jolt him out of it for a minute or two.

Bucky, on the other hand, felt like he had fallen in a goddamn box of fireworks. Every time he moved sparks went off behind his eyes, he couldn’t get control of his breathing, and Steve’s body had come four times already and wasn’t showing any sign of stopping anytime soon.

Fucking Spider Infant.

“Steve,” Bucky hissed, and Steve barely paused, glancing up at his face and peppering kisses across Bucky’s knees and thighs. It felt so good, fuck you Spiderminor. If it had been anyone else, Jesus. “Steve,” Bucky tried again, more insistent, shoving him with his foot. “Steve, the phone.”

Steve blinked, heavy lidded and slow, brown hair falling in a curtain around his face. “What?” he mumbled into Bucky’s skin, his voice buzzing along Bucky’s new nerves, and it was only through picturing Colonel Phillips looking at them both with deep disgust that kept Bucky from giving up right there and diving right back in.

“The phone, Stevie,” Bucky said, voice breaking only once because of his absolutely masterful self-control. “That fucking bozo is calling about the goddamn bathroom renovation.”

Steve frowned, the codewords needing to circle his brain a few times to gain any traction, but once they did Steve’s reaction was immediate. His eyes went wide, he whipped around to grab the phone and yanked his other hand off his dick so fast Bucky would have thought it had burned him. “What? Now?”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky rasped, trying to desperately to hold still, since every time he moved the enormous purple dildo up his ass shot off more sparks in his head. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m really gonna do it, I can do it if I try.”

“No, you’re not going to kill him,” Steve scolded, turning back to him and gripping Bucky’s knee with his free hand to ground himself. Steve closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and swallowed. “It’s not the contractor anymore,” he said, voice grinding out like he was willing his dick to fall off right there. “It’s…an old friend.”

“What?” Bucky snatched the phone from him. The sudden movement pressed the dildo up against his prostate and he almost lost the ability to breathe. “Who?” he gasped, barely able to see the screen. He blinked and squinted. Then his eyes got wide. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING M—

“Buck!” Steve nabbed the phone back and slapped a hand over Bucky’s mouth. Bucky was furiously, horrifically even more turned on. “He doesn’t know we…have a better answering machine!”

“Please can we pick up the phone and tell him to fuck off,” Bucky begged through Steve’s fingers, trying to sit up and blinking back tears as everything in him moved and Jesus Christ, Steve’s body was a pop rocket. He gasped and fell back. “Please Steve.”

“We promised a lot of people a lot of things,” Steve said, which wasn’t as hard a ‘no’ as Steve probably wished he had given, but it was a lot more than Bucky wanted.

“Steve.” Bucky closed his eyes and tried not to clench anything. “Steve, what if we just…kept regrouting the bathroom. He wouldn’t know.”

“What?” Steve blurted, horrified. “What if we—Bucky, no.”

“He’s not gonna know we’re regrouting the bathroom, Steve!” Bucky pleaded, unable to keep still anymore. He squirmed, and a choked-off moan almost made it past his teeth. “He won’t know. We can just—”

“Are you kidding?” Steve stumbled backwards, trying to find his balance. “We’re not handling it now! My dead grandmother would figure out we were regrouting the bathroom, Buck. No.”

“Fine, okay.” Bucky swallowed, thickly, and tried to pull himself together. After a moment, he gestured helplessly at the fucking dildo, sticking out of his asshole like a magenta party balloon. “What am I gonna do with this then? Am I gonna take it out with him on the phone? Or am I gonna leave it in??”


Tony stared at the still of Captain America’s prone heat signature, the Winter Soldier’s standing bent over him.

He stared at it for a long time.

“They’re naked, aren’t they,” he finally said.

“Inconclusive evidence.” Friday sounded prim. “But likely.”

“They know we’re listening, don’t they.” Tony ran a hand over his mouth. “They know we’re listening and every time they talk about regrouting their bathroom they mean sex, don’t they. There’s something up Steve’s ass right now and I’m listening to him talking about it. Aren’t I.”

“Again, this is the likeliest explanation.”

Tony closed his eyes. “Wow. This automatic viewing was a huge mistake. I think I might go put out my eyes now.”

What? No. Just put it up, I’ll deal with it then,” Friday played again.

“I can’t believe I programmed you this way,” Tony groused. “Fix this.”

“Resetting preferences,” Friday said sweetly. “Future transmissions to save directly to Tony And Pepper’s Shared Video Drive.”

“What? NO.”