Chapter Text
“Barnes, huh,” the security guy says, looking over his ID. “First day on the job?”
Bucky doesn’t deign to reply to that. He’s using all of his willpower not to pace around the tiny office room, and he keeps glancing through the tiny glass window in the door to make sure no one creeps up on him. The guard hands his ID back and he nearly snatches it out of the man’s hand, manages to keep himself somewhat calm.
“What kind of job are you doing for Mister Stark, anyway? Meeting didn’t say.”
“It’s,” Bucky says, and his voice comes out rusty with disuse. “It’s, uh. Classified.”
“Right. Do you have any weapons on your person?”
“...yes?”
Credit to him, the guard doesn’t seem particularly shocked. To be fair, Bucky looked in the mirror this morning - he knows he looks like he’s about to murder someone, scowl set on his face and wings puffed just enough to be intimidating. He likes looking that way. A lot of people avoid the guy with the murder stare and that’s what he wants.
“In the tray,” the man says as he pushes it over.
Bucky pulls out two handguns from his waistband and sets them down in the tray. Then he retrieves the extra ammo out from his coat pockets, and the bowie knife that sits in the small of his back. A set of brass knuckles joins them after a second, and he also puts in a taser that he keeps for special occasions.
By now the security guard is looking more alarmed and Bucky steps back neatly, waits for him to take the tray. He’s eyeing off Bucky like he’s a bomb about to go off and Bucky looks at the poster behind him, tries to figure out what the StarkTech Cube does. Bucky’s not familiar with a lot of this new-fangled technology but it is interesting, if nothing else.
“Okay,” the guard says. “Here’s your card, take the elevator on the left side, tell the robot voice who you are and it’ll take you to the meeting room.”
“Robot voice?”
“You’ll figure it out. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Bucky says, doesn’t mention that he’s still got a knife hidden in his boot. He’d have to be naive to give the man all his weapons, and he’s a lot of things but he ain’t that.
The walk to the elevator is uneventful. The elevator itself is ridiculous; some kind of futuristic, glass thing with soft white lights glowing on the floor and the ceiling. It feels like he’s a goldfish stuck in an expensive bowl, and he’s kind of desperate to get out even though he’s only just walked in.
Bucky’s still trying to figure out if he’s made a huge mistake in taking on this job.
“Good evening,” a voice says above him, and Bucky’s hand snaps to where his gun used to be. “How may I help you today?”
Robot voice. Right. “I, ah. I’ve got a meeting with Tony Stark?”
“Hm,” the voice says, is silent for a moment. “Mister Barnes?”
“That’s me.”
“Welcome to Stark Tower, Mister Barnes. I am JARVIS. We will be going to the penthouse suite for your meeting with Sir.”
Penthouse, huh. Not a meeting room. Bucky tries not to look too nervous about that - god knows if the magical robot voice can tell he’s getting worried. He isn’t planning on giving anything away if it can. He tucks his hand into his pocket instead, puts on a false-casual face as the elevator starts moving.
“So, uh,” he says. “What’s he like? Stark, I mean.”
“Sir is… a unique presence,” comes the reply, which isn’t much of an answer. The dry humour in the voice is oddly amusing though.
The elevator dings and the door slides open.
Bucky thinks about leaving. He hasn’t been paid yet. Hasn’t even met his new boss, it wouldn’t matter if he just escaped. Maybe he’s not ready for this after all. It’s a little late for that now, unfortunately, and he’s pretty sure the robot voice would notice if he tries to vault out a window or run down a staircase.
He takes a deep breath and walks into the wide, white room.
There’s a grimy-looking man with remarkably pristine black wings, fiddling with the air-conditioning unit in the corner, muttering to himself about things Bucky has no hope of understanding. He’s once again relieved that his job is just to punch people without any thinking required.
No sign of the guy he’s supposed to meet, though.
What kind of a sociopath has all-white furniture? He drops down on a couch gingerly, lets his wings fan out so he doesn’t accidentally sit on his feathers. The cleaning for this place must be ridiculous. Good thing Tony Stark is the richest man in New York, because otherwise this would be more mad than it is already. Bucky hopes he doesn’t have any mud on his clothes.
“God, I hate rich people,” he says under his breath.
“Me too,” the air-conditioning man says. “Especially that Tony Stark guy. What an asshole.”
Bucky glances over at him. The man’s got a smear of grease on his forehead and his AC/DC shirt looks old enough to evaporate. “You know him?”
“Wish I didn't,” the man answers, gets to his feet and wipes his hands off on his pants before offering one to Bucky. “Probably because I am him. You’re Barnes, I take it?”
This is Tony Stark? “I - what?”
Tony sighs and lets his hand drop, sits in the couch opposite Bucky. He does indeed get grease on the white fabric and Bucky cringes, but clearly Tony doesn’t give a shit. Now he’s directly in Bucky’s eyeline it gets so much weirder because this man is apparently a high-class rich boy and also a dirty mechanic.
At least the mechanic aesthetic works with his wings. Bucky tries to ignore other people’s, most of the time, but Tony’s are sleek and dark and a little mesmerizing. He shifts and the sunlight catches off them, a soft rainbow sheen over the top of each feather like an oil spill. Suitable, considering. It’s definitely unique.
“I assume you’re here because you’re willing to take on the job,” Tony says.
“I’d rather know what the job was, first,” Bucky answers. “You didn’t explain it that well. Someone’s trying to kill you?”
Tony lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. There’s been some evidence of foul play. Best not to take the risk, right? And people say you’re one of the best.”
“Is people Steve Rogers?”
“How’d you know?”
Fucking Steve. Bucky loves him like a brother, but why’s he got to stick his nose in everything? Nosy bastard. Bucky doesn’t need his help getting jobs, he’s doing just fine on his own without catering to the guy with the biggest eyesore of a building in the city. Bucky must make a face because Tony raises an eyebrow curiously but he doesn’t ask when Bucky doesn’t elaborate.
“I’m going to need a copy of your schedule so I know when and where to be,” he says. “And my weapons.”
“I can give you both of those,” Tony says. “But first there’s a… problem. Not a problem, a stipulation. Is that what you normally wear when you’re on duty?”
Bucky looks down at his black tactical gear, underneath his coat. He can’t find anything wrong with it. “Yes?”
“See, the problem is this. You look like a guy who gets paid to beat up people,” Tony says, leaning forward. “I don’t want whoever’s after me to know I’m onto them, and I definitely don’t want them to know I’ve hired a bodyguard. That’s why I contacted a completely unknown guy with a mysterious background instead of a security firm.”
“Alright,” Bucky says, a little dubious. “I can guard you from another building with a decent vantage point - my rifle skills are good, I can-”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” Tony interrupts. “I was thinking maybe I magically acquire a nice new boyfriend who I like toting around to show off at all the events I go to, and he stays right by me without raising any suspicion.”
“You… want me to be your boyfriend?”
“I want you to be my fake boyfriend,” Tony corrects.
Right.
Bucky should’ve jumped out that window after all.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here,” Bucky says flatly.
Here happens to be a nearly-empty coffee shop in Brooklyn. Bucky’s been here a thousand times and he never gets quite used to the inches of grease on each table. The coffee’s hot and the fries are fantastic and there’s never a crowd though, so Bucky’s not inclined to change his favourite spot. He fits in here.
Tony Stark does not. He’s traded in the greasy mechanic look for a suit that probably costs more than Bucky’s ever spent in his life. Bucky kind of hates it. He’s got to admit it looks pretty damn good, but only in the depths of his mind, not out loud.
“Good,” Tony says, waves a hand at the waitress. “Give me the most unhealthy burger you’ve got and a chocolate milkshake. You having anything, Barnes?”
Bucky gestures to his cup of coffee without commenting.
The waitress walks off once she’s written down the order and Tony leans back in his seat, watches Bucky. “Probably shouldn’t call you by your surname if we’re supposed to be going out. What do you prefer? James? Jim? Jimbo? Jimmy?”
“If you call me Jimmy I’m walking out of here and you'll never see me again,” Bucky says. “James is fine.”
“Alright, James it is. So you’re onboard with this?”
“I’m considering it,” Bucky says. “Don’t know why you’d think this is a good idea, but I’m considering it.”
“Well, in any case, here’s your paycheck upfront,” Tony replies, sliding a slip of paper over the table. It gets stuck in the grease and Bucky has to peel it off with the nails on his right hand, tug it up and inspect the messy scrawl on the front.
Oh.
That’s… a lot of zeroes.
“I’ll get my bags,” Bucky says. And sure, he was already planning on doing this because he hasn’t had a decent job since he lost the arm but the money sure does sweeten the deal. Especially that much money. His heart might’ve stopped for a second.
“Great,” Tony says. “I’ll set up a spare room in the penthouse for your stuff. And seriously, don’t dress like you’re on the hunt.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky answers.
He really doesn’t.
Tony doesn’t seem particularly concerned about his lack of comprehension. His food chooses that moment to arrive, and the waitress has included a serve of fries for Bucky with it. Bucky slides her a bigger tip than usual - may as well, if he’s getting paid as well as this check says he is.
Tony tucks into the food like he hasn’t been fed in weeks.
Bucky’s kind of concerned, honestly.
“So,” Tony says through a mouthful of cheese and meat. “Tell me about yourself. I know you’re upsettingly hot, own way too many knives, and you think this whole cool guy in leather thing is working, but who am I dating?”
“I-” Bucky starts, and then feels his face heat up as he realizes Tony just called him hot. He’s got barbecue sauce on his nose. “Are you gonna be like this the whole time?”
“Mhm. Yep.”
Oh, god. Think of the money.
“Now that is an improvement.”
Bucky looks down at the soft blue sweatshirt he’s wearing. It was a gift from Maria; they did a secret santa exchange one year back when they were all working together, and it’s one of two items of clothing he owns that is not black. (It’s also baggy enough to conceal his weapons.)
He’s taken the ‘don’t look like a bodyguard’ instruction as best he can. It’s impossible to change some things but he’s covered the left arm in a sleeve that makes it look like skin and meat instead of cold steel, and he’s tied his hair up in a loose ponytail, even smeared a few drops of multicoloured paint on his jaw and pants to support the lie that he’s a local artist.
(Steve’s rambling about Monet comes in handy. He’s got enough knowledge to back it up.)
“Uh huh,” Bucky says. “Where are we going?”
“We have to be seen in public being lovey-dovey together, so… hang on.”
Bucky stiffens as fingers brush his wings. His knee-jerk reaction is to break Tony’s hand for it, but he can’t do that. Think of the money. Instead he grits his teeth and tries to distance himself from the sensation of someone else touching the twisted feathers against his back. It’s weird. He hates it. His heart is beating a million miles an hour.
No one’s touched him like this in years.
No one else is ballsy enough to try, and maybe there’s something to be said about Tony Stark’s lack of fear towards Bucky.
“You had a-” rather than elaborating with words, Tony holds up his finger, which has a piece of shredded paper attached to it. That was it?
“Oh,” Bucky says. “Thanks?”
Tony’s now casting a considering look over his shoulder though, and it puts Bucky on edge even more. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin with nerves - his wings are tucked as tight against his back as they can be, but considering the tertiary feathers reach down to his calves it’s not much of a hiding spot.
“Those are a mess,” Tony says. “Like. Seriously. You want some help with them?”
“You’re offering to groom me?”
“We are supposed to be in a relationship, Jamesy. Anyway, it reflects badly on me if you go out like that. Makes it look like I’m neglecting you. I'll make it good.”
“I-” Bucky starts, stops. He’s probably right, but-
Tony’s phone chooses that moment to let out the first few bars of TNT blast out into the world. Bucky very bravely does not flinch at the loud noise even though he’s buzzing with anxiety, and Tony glances at him curiously before he reads whatever’s on the display.
“Alright, I gotta go downstairs for a sec,” he says. “Why don’t you take a minute to unpack?”
“I have to come with you,” Bucky reminds him.
“Oh. Yeah, okay. Come on then.”
Bucky lets out a tiny sigh of relief.
“Want to hold hands?”
“I… ugh, fine,” he says, ignores the weird squirming in his stomach when Tony’s rough hands curl around his.
“So, let’s get down to business,” Tony says cheerfully. “What’re we doing today, boys?”
“We have several orders of business,” a stressed-looking young man says, from his spot in the corner where he looks like he’s being slowly swallowed by stacks of paper. He starts flailing through the sheets of paper trying to find whatever it is he’s looking for and it’s vaguely worrying, from an outside perspective. Can an employee get lost in their own paperwork?
“Who’s your… friend, Tony?”
“This is my boyfriend, James,” Tony says without missing a beat, kicking his feet up onto the desk. “We’re getting serious, so I figure I’d introduce him to what I do around here.”
Bucky offers a small wave and tries to contort his face into something more comfortable. The bald man who asked about him is giving Bucky an expression that’s somewhere between a welcoming smile and a murderous grin. It’s unsettling as all hell. Did the guy eat a lemon? Bucky decides to dislike him just because he can.
“Are you sure you want young James here delving into things right away? We could find him some information pamphlets to look at instead.”
“He’s fine,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Has he signed a non-disclosure agreement? Given the work we do here, it’d be-”
“One, we’re not doing anything that we need to hide from anyone,” Tony says, “and two, if you can’t trust the man in your bed, who can you trust? You’re fine, aren’t you, James?”
“I’m great,” Bucky says. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Good,” Tony says, tips his face up towards Bucky. It’s like he’s waiting for something, and - oh, yeah. They’re supposed to be in a relationship, so it makes sense that they do relationship things.
This is what he’s being paid for. It doesn’t make the squirming in Bucky’s stomach go away as he leans down, lets his eyes flutter shut for a second as his mouth meets Tony’s. The kiss is short, just a quick press and then he leans back again, but Bucky’s still a little bewildered by how soft Tony’s lips are.
“Alright!” Tony says. “The sooner we get to work, the sooner we break for lunch. Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”
It’s mean to dislike someone based on their accumulated wealth, Bucky reminds himself. It’s unreasonable and rude, and he doesn’t know what goes on in their life beyond the scope of his own existence.
But fuck, he hates rich people.
He’s ignored most of what the people here are saying in favour of scanning the windows and doors for security breaches. There’s nothing. There’s been nothing at all since he’s been here to suggest an attempt on Stark’s - Tony’s life at all, and Bucky’s puzzled by it. Maybe they’ve figured out that Bucky isn’t actually Tony’s boyfriend.
Bucky’s doing his best.
It’s… uncomfortable. He’s draped across Tony’s lap despite the awkward size difference, still holding hands with Tony’s thumb stroking idly across the back of his hand. The rich people (he can’t be bothered learning their names and he doesn’t care) are swirling their wine around and smelling it. Whatever’s going on in their lives, Bucky doesn’t give a shit.
He’s trying not to have feelings about the way Tony’s touching him.
The woman sitting on their right seems to have some kind of a thing for staring at him. It feels like she’s contemplating eating him alive, and Bucky’s not a fan of stabbing a woman because she’s giving him the creeps but he’s considering it right now.
“You’ve snagged yourself a cute one, Tony,” she purrs. “Where do I find myself a cute toyboy like this?”
“Maybe if you set up a wanted poster,” Tony says. "Hot men, no standards, call today."
“I thought maybe you’d share yours? You do spend a lot of time working. Perhaps I could… entertain him.”
Even if Bucky was not very much against entertaining women in the first place, he would not want to entertain this woman. Good god. He’s going to leave and let Tony get killed if he agrees to this deal, or humours this woman in any way. No amount of money is worth this.
“Sorry, I don’t share,” is what Tony says, though. It’s the flattest than Bucky’s heard him sound, and even though when Bucky checks he’s still smiling easily, there’s a threatening tinge to the air now. His wings are arched above them like a looming shadow and his hand tightens slightly on Bucky’s and Bucky-
Yeah, he doesn’t know how to feel about this. His stomach’s doing that weird thing again.
“How come we’ve never heard about you before now, James?”
“I, ah,” Bucky answers slowly. “I’m not so good with people.”
“Artists are usually like that, aren’t they? Mysterious creatures.”
“Sure are,” Tony says. “Took me weeks to even get him to come to the Tower.”
That’s actually true. But it’s also because Tony’s secretary kept texting a burner phone he’d already ditched. Shit happens and to be fair, Bucky thought this job was a hoax for the first few days.
“I’m glad that he did,” the woman says, giving him a look.
“And now we have to go,” Tony says abruptly. “My apologies, we have an art exhibition to go to.”
“Thank you,” Bucky mutters to him as they walk around the room, to the protests of the people still inside.
“They’re insufferable. What makes you think I did it for you?"
They end up in the basement of the Tower later that night.
Tony wakes up in the middle of the night with an idea already forming in his brain, and Bucky takes his crossword with him. Whatever threat is after the man, Bucky doubts they’ll get past the security of the underground level without alerting him first. He can afford to have his attention diverted for the few seconds it takes to figure out what the answer to two down, eight letters is.
None of the machinery down here makes any sense to Bucky. He doesn’t even know how his left arm works, not really. It’s cool, he can admit that much, but engineering isn’t his strong point. He’s happier just punching people and finding security flaws. And doing his crosswords, of course.
Tony settles in at his crowded workbench and Bucky drops onto the couch nearby, kicks his feet up on the arm. It’s more comfortable than he’s been in days - he sits on the floor when he watches Tony’s room at night, and most of his time is spent standing or sitting on upsettingly expensive furniture.
This couch couldn’t have cost more than twenty bucks. Bucky decides it’s his new favourite place.
Tony tinkers for a while, and then he must decide that the silence is unacceptable. “Do you ever sleep?”
“Do you?”
“...yeah, okay, fair. Still. You sleep even less than I do. I don’t think I’ve seen you close your eyes once since you got here.”
“I’m being paid to guard you,” Bucky says, crossing out the clues for seven, up. “Can’t do that if I’m unconscious.”
“You don’t get tired?”
“Not as much as you’d think. Anyway, if you die I don’t get paid,” Bucky replies. He glances up to find Tony looking at him, something weirdly intense in his expression that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “What?”
“Nothing. Go back to your crossword, grandpa,” Tony says, turning back to the stack of wires and screws on his desk.
Bucky’s actually finished with this particular puzzle, so he closes his book and sets it on the ground where he won’t stand on it. It’s gotta be one or two in the morning, and while there’s no windows down here the air feels calmer at this time, quiet.
Tony’s humming something under his breath as he works, and despite his complaints apparently Bucky’s getting used to the company because he finds himself relaxing against the patchy fabric of the couch. He also doesn’t sleep around the people he’s guarding because they make him nervous - and Tony does make him nervous, usually, but there’s something about dirty-mechanic Tony Stark specifically that’s disarming.
He’s just going to chill out for a second.
Just a second.
He opens his eyes to a robot trying to give him a pillow.
More accurately, the pillow hits him in the face and that’s what wakes him up. It’s startling enough that his wings flap out from where they’re tucked against his back, bump the robot and nearly knock it over. It beeps at him once and then drops the pillow before trundling off.
Bucky glances at the clock and realizes he’s been asleep for a solid four hours. Shit. What kind of a bodyguard falls asleep on the job?
Luckily Tony hasn’t moved an inch from where he was sitting before Bucky fell asleep, but still.
“Have you taken a break at all?”
“Why d’you care?” Tony asks, swivels around in his chair.
The dark circles under Tony’s eyes are big enough to eclipse the sun. There’s cans of Red Bull strewn all around the area and a pot of coffee steaming gently in the corner. No sign of food other than a small tub that once housed blueberries, and Bucky’s pretty sure Tony hasn’t eaten properly for the last twelve hours.
Somehow his wings are still immaculate.
Bucky tucks his own tight against his body again.
“Take a break, Stark,” Bucky instructs.
“I’m busy,” Tony says distractedly, swiveling around again.
Bucky sighs. It’s probably hypocritical to force Tony to sleep when he doesn’t like doing it himself, but Tony doesn’t have to stay awake. Besides, his job is to keep Tony alive, and the biggest threat to Tony Stark right now appears to be Tony Stark himself. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face and looks around, tries to figure out some way to get him in bed.
“What if you take a quick nap,” he tries when he notices there’s a mattress tucked in one corner. “Couple of hours, and then you can go back to what you’re doing.”
“You’re as bad as Pepper. I thought I hired a fake boyfriend, not a babysitter.”
“Whatever,” Bucky says, off-kilter from his nap and affronted by the concept of being a babysitter. He has an adult job now. “Look, have some food at least.”
“Food doesn’t get delivered down here,” Tony replies absently.
“If I go upstairs to get something, will you at least eat it?”
“Yeah,” Tony says. “Maybe.”
He’ll take it.
Bucky levers himself off of the couch with some effort, tries to half-heartedly fix his hair. The plates of his left hand get caught on the strands instead and he winces, tugs at it. He loses a few hairs to the removal. Ugh, whatever. Tony’s gone back to working so he doesn’t even notice Bucky’s dilemma.
“Lock the place up while I’m gone,” he instructs. “Highest security you can do.”
“Barnes, I’m not-”
“I already have the correct measures in place, Mister Barnes.”
“Now you’ve got the robots against me,” Tony grumbles.
“Good,” Bucky says as he walks off. “You need a whole team on your ass.”
The elevator is silent.
It’s the first silence he’s had since he got here, and it’s glorious. Bucky lets out a quiet sigh and leans against the back of the elevator, lets his eyes close again briefly. It’s a lot to deal with, even when the deal is sweetened by all that money in his bank account. He isn’t used to being around people this often, regardless of how he’s starting to feel about them.
Tony’s… not as bad as he expected.
Bucky wishes that whoever wants to kill him would make the attempt already so they could be done.
Honestly, the hardest part of this job so far is remembering not to feel things when Tony touches him. He doesn’t know if it’s attraction or disgust, some unnameable squirming sensation in his stomach every time a hand brushes against his, or when he thinks about the scratch of Tony’s goatee against his face.
Ugh. He’s doing it again.
For a second Bucky thinks that weird clinking noise is his own faulty brain, and then the elevator grinds to a halt. He glances to the side and sees the display informing him that he’s between the first floor and the second.
That’s not good.
“JARVIS?”
“There appears to be an unidentified object in the elevator shaft,” is the reply. “Security cameras are also disabled.”
Uh oh.
The hatch on top of the elevator cracks open.
Bucky sees the flash of black and purple out of his eye too slow, manages to get his left hand up a sheer millisecond before hard steel hits it and bounces off. He’s quick enough to dodge the boot that follows, ducks down into a crouch and spares a glance at the instrument on the ground as a dark shape drops into the elevator with him.
It’s an arrow.
The attacker swings a bow at him and Bucky grabs it, uses the momentum to tug it behind him. A solid, warm body hits his and Bucky tosses the bow aside, grabs their wrists and pins them to the cold glass wall. He’s pretty sure he only gets away with it because they let him.
Now they’ve stopped, he can see freckles on tanned cheeks, butterfly stitches on one eyebrow and scruffy blond hair, speckled brown feathers arched out against the glass and steel. He’s breathing fast and so is his companion as they stand there pressed up against one another.
“Barton,” Bucky says.
“Barnes,” Clint returns with a sideways grin. He twists out of Bucky’s hold easily, shoves him down onto the cold elevator floor.
Bucky hits the floor with a soft thump. It doesn’t hurt enough to complain about, and especially not when Clint comes with him, settles on his lap and then leans down to kiss him. It’s so familiar that he melts into it automatically, parts his lips for the sure swipe of Clint’s tongue.
His body’s still pumping with adrenaline from the suddenness of it all and he rolls them over again, catches Clint’s hips and holds him against the floor without missing a beat.
“I missed you,” he breathes against Clint’s mouth. It's - too much of a confession.
“Good,” Clint says, fingers tugging at the fine strands of hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. “Makes the welcome back sex better.”
As weird as it is, it’s more normal than this whole venture as Tony’s fake boyfriend is.
Bucky decides the best route is to keep kissing Clint so there's no more talking.
It's more desperate than he normally is when Clint appears, but he needs it. It's not like Clint cares. All the fake shit sinks away and he’s just Bucky, just a messy guy who protects people for money to make up for the people he killed for free, wearing his black clothes and kissing an on-again off-again assassin who’s seen the worst of him and decided random sexual encounters are a good idea anyway.
It feels so good being normal again.
“Mister Barnes, should I call emergency services?”
“Nah,” Bucky answers distractedly. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’ll handle it alright. Hey, I don’t think we’ve ever fucked in an elevator before,” Clint says. His face is a little flushed and his wings are sprawled out wide against the floor. They’re too big to fit, really, enormous, gorgeous things that tangle and bump up against Bucky as he tries to get them comfortably situated.
“You’re testing me, Barton,” Bucky mutters, but he still kisses Clint again, lets his fingers trail down the rough vest down to the noticeable tent in his pants.
“Food took a while,” Tony remarks. He’s not working anymore.
Instead he’s sitting with his arms crossed like he’s been waiting for Bucky to walk in, and all of a sudden Bucky feels like a teenager that’s been caught sneaking out of the house. It can’t be obvious what he’s been doing; he’d checked himself in the surface of the door and he’d looked more or less the same as he had when he’d left.
There’s no way Tony could know.
It doesn’t matter anyway.
“There. Eat,” Bucky says, dropping the paper bag on the desk, out of the mess of metal parts.
“Nah,” Tony says. “Think I’m gonna take that nap after all.”
“Couldn’t you have decided that before I went upstairs to get you something? Christ, Stark. I swear you’re doin’ this on purpose.”
“I’m not paying you to complain,” Tony says, and it’s still in the same tone of voice he always speaks in but the words still sting a little. It’s… mean, almost, and Bucky would be fine with it if Tony hadn’t been overly friendly the whole time he’s been here.
Bucky wants to ask what the fuck that’s about, but. Well. It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s right. Bucky’s not being paid to do anything except play nice and shoot anyone that looks like a threat. He’s not being paid to be Tony’s friend, or to have an opinion on anything.
Tony drops on the mattress and pulls a blanket over himself, his back to Bucky. Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be, Bucky’s at least getting some food out of this venture. He grabs the slice of apple pie out of the bag and fishes around for the plastic fork, thinking about what he’s going to do with all that money he’s being paid.
Maybe get another motorcycle - he hasn’t had once since he lost the arm, even when it was replaced. He wonders if Clint would want to have sex on it. Probably, knowing how Clint is. Should get a nice red accent on it. He wonders if Tony likes motorbikes.
It doesn’t matter if he does, really. Once this job is over they’ll never see each other again.
Maybe he could get his own place and convince Clint to stay for more than five minutes. Bucky’s been mostly into one-night stands since he got back on American soil, but that’s mostly because he’d been rattled and unable to put up with the idea of someone in his space that wasn’t Steve.
He’s gotten better since then. (He hopes he has, anyway.)
Clint’s an exception to the rule, anyway.
“Mister Barnes,” JARVIS says. “Mister Stane is upstairs. He wishes to speak with Sir.”
“He can book a damn meeting at a reasonable like everyone else,” Bucky mutters back.
“Very well, Mister Barnes.”
Tony remains in a shitty mood for the entire day; Bucky would blame it on the lack of sleep but Tony seems to always be running on the minimum amount of hours rest.
There’s still a small amount of hand-holding and he gets a kiss on the cheek during lunchtime, but something about it feels cold. Tony doesn’t speak to him at all when they’re alone and Bucky’s confused by it, if not a little hurt. (There’s no reason for him to be hurt by it, he’s actually getting some real peace for once.)
It’s obvious something’s wrong though, so when they get up to the penthouse at the end of the night and Tony slams shut the bedroom door in his face without saying anything, Bucky kicks it open again.
Tony flinches.
Bucky’s too pissed off to care. “What the fuck, Stark?”
“What? You’re the one breaking my doors down for no reason, Barnes.”
“Alright, we’re talking about this,” Bucky says. “What crawled up your ass and died, huh? You were fine before this morning. Now you’re acting like a dick."
“Fine. You want to know what my problem is?”
“Yes,” Bucky answers, exasperated. He stays where he is as Tony stalks over to the computer on his desk, starts typing something in. Is it Google? Have StarkTech stocks gone down or some shit? Bucky’s not equipped to console Tony over something like that.
Instead Tony shoves the screen in his face and Bucky’s confronted with a crispy-clear photo of Clint’s lips parted in an ecstatic moan, halfway through moving so he can push his dick into the heat of Bucky’s mouth. The Bucky in the photograph has his eyes closed and his pants down around his knees, one hand tangled in Clint’s mess of feathers and the other out of view of the camera, although Bucky knows it’s wrapped around his own dick.
It’s. Very damning, for sure.
“JARVIS said the security cameras were disabled,” he says, unable to tear his eyes away from Clint’s fingers pulling at his hair. It had stung so good, and he gets distracted until Tony snatches the laptop from him.
“The security cameras were disabled,” Tony says. “Not the personal cameras I keep for emergency surveillance.”
“Were you watching me? What the fuck."
“I was making sure no one tried to get rid of my bodyguard to get to me,” Tony snaps. "I don't want you to die."
“I-” Bucky starts, stops. Why is Tony so angry about this?
“This is fantastic,” Tony says, starting to pace around the room. “No, really, the tabloids are going to love this. Tony’s Stark’s boyfriend’s boyfriend. Surprise!”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bucky answers defensively. “Wait, why does it matter? No one saw except for you, and you’re not going to go around showing it to people. Are you?”
“No,” Tony mutters.
“Then there’s no need for you to have a problem!”
“My problem is that we’re supposed to be dating and I don’t know who the fuck that guy in my elevator is!”
“...it’s fake dating, Stark,” Bucky says. “We ain’t married. We’re not even in a real relationship. Did you forget that?"
Tony makes a disgruntled, frustrated noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t answer. It’s more emotion than Bucky’s expecting from him - it’s strange, is what it is, for him to be this upset over Bucky having sex with someone else when they don’t even sleep in the same bed. It also raises more questions; did Tony watch the whole thing?
If he took that screenshot, then he’d watched a fair amount of it. Did he watch Bucky press a tiny line of kisses up Clint’s thigh? Did he see Bucky goading Clint into leaving marks so there’d be something to touch and look at later? Did he notice, right before Clint left again, the way Clint had gently bumped his wings against Bucky’s, letting the feathers tangle and catch for just a second?
“What do you want here, Stark?”
“It doesn’t matter. Also, your boyfriend’s hiding in the vents. Shouldn't have made them big enough for humans,” Tony says. He lifts one hand and there’s a beep before the ceiling shifts and Clint falls from it, neatly dropping into a crouch with his bow in one hand. He’s covered in a fine layer of dust that shakes off his wings and onto the immaculate floors, gives them both a sheepish kind of look as he straightens up.
“Hi,” Clint says to Tony.
Tony blinks at him, then looks at Bucky dubiously like he’s not sure what to do but he doesn’t want to let on. “Hi.”
Bucky glances at Clint, but he doesn’t seem particularly worried about being sprung. As Bucky watches he shakes out his wings, lets them spread out now that he’s got the room. Even messy and dirty it’s quite the sight, especially because Clint’s body language is pretty showy to begin with, and he catches Tony looking as well.
“Use the doors next time,” Tony tells him.
Clint tips his head to the side, all inquisitive interest. “I tried that. Your guards don’t like me.”
“That’s because they don’t like strangers with ancient weapons barging in,” Tony says, waving at Clint’s bow. “If you want to see your boyfriend while he’s supposed to be my boyfriend, the least you can do is not fuck with my cameras.”
This whole thing sounds confusing when he puts it like that.
“We’re not dating,” Clint says. “We just have sex on a semi-regular basis. And go out for lunch. And watch a lot of movies when we’re both in the same - Bucky, are we dating?”
“I think both parties need to know they’re dating for it to count,” Bucky answers.
They frown at each other.
“Eh,” Clint says, shrugs and looks back at Tony. “Either way. You’re dating this guy now?”
“This guy,” Tony repeats, sounding appalled. “Do you know who I am?”
“We’re just pretending to be so I can watch him without raising suspicion,” Bucky cuts in.
Clint nods thoughtfully. “Shame. He’s cute.”
“You know what? He can stay,” Tony says. “You never tell me I’m cute.”
Bucky presses his hand to his face and tries not to get a headache.