Bucky Barnes sat and watched the two aggravating superheroes argue like the children were. The sexual and romantic tension between them was enough to drive a sane man up a tree. And Bucky? Well, he wouldn’t exactly call himself sane on one of his best days. He may have been out of Hydra’s hands for a year, and in Steve’s and the Avengers for 9 months of that, but the sanity ship had set sail the day he befriended a red, black, and blue little Steven Grant Rogers in a Brooklyn alley. By the time a red, white, and blue - and not so little- Steve saved him from Hydra’s clutches the first time, ship Sanity was just a speck in the distance. Seventy years of brainwashing and torture later, that ship had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, never to sail again.
No, Bucky doesn’t kid himself. He’s built himself a rickety little boat with a patched-up sail; it may leak and he may have to keep a bucket handy, but the damn thing floats.
So, anyway, Bucky would not call himself a sane man. Therefore, it is entirely not his fault and completely to be expected if he cannot put up with this ridiculous bullshit any longer.
With a nod to his inner monologue, Bucky rose and walked the ten steps it took to place himself right in the bickering duo’s bubble. Caught up in their argument over… something (what? It started out about an ill-considered joke half an hour ago. Last time he tuned in, he’s pretty sure he heard the word bagel in there), the two idiots didn’t even notice his presence. Bucky raised his hands, metal towards Steve and flesh towards Tony, and with one decisive movement, effectively cut off their bickering… by shoving their faces together.
There was a moment of blessed silence before Steve broke it, mumbling against Tony’s lips, eyes wide, “Um...Bucky?”
Expressonless and monotone, Bucky stated, “Kiss.”
“Uh, yeah, no, I think we got that part,” Tony volunteered, lips dragging against Steve’s mouth.
Bucky looked at him, wordlessly asking what they were waiting for.
At their concerned looks, Bucky just huffed and pushed their heads together a little harder. The two winced - Tony for actual, pain-involving reasons, thank you, and Steve for oh-shit-my-boyfriend-knows-about-my-feelings-for-another-guy reasons - and turned their eyes to each other. Nervously, Steve raised a single brow in question. Equally nervous and just as silently hopeful, Tony shrugged and licked across the man’s mouth. At Steve’s surprised inhalation, Tony’s latched onto the other’s bottom lip, nipping lightly, before Steve got with the program and started participating.
At some point, their eyes closed and their hands found hold on each other’s bodies. At some other, more distant point, they actually stopped. At an even further point, they smiled shyly at each other and stepped back. With that move, they noticed that they hadn’t actually been held against each other for the majority of that kiss. Quickly, they both turned to Bucky, who stood with a light smirk, arms folded loosely across his torso. Eloquently, Tony ventured, looking between the man he had just made out with like a teenager and that very same man’s boyfriend slash instigator of said teenage make out session, “... Um…?”
With a roll of his eyes, Bucky grabbed his boyfriend by the collar, dragging Steve into a long and bruising kiss. When Tony started to leave, Bucky’s arm shot out to latch onto the man’s wrist. Eventually breaking the kiss with Steve, he turned to the other, who was shuffling in place uncomfortably and looking a little hurt in the eyes. Bucky rolled his own and pulled his arm straight back behind him, forcing the genius up against his chest. Tony searched his eyes, just inches from his own, for a few seconds before lunging across the minimal distance and tasting the other’s mouth.
A minute or two later, Bucky stepped back from the kiss. Tony’s lips chased his own for a second, before the man caught himself and leaned back. Anticipating another ‘um’ to come from either of the two, Bucky turned and swiftly walked towards the elevator. Collar and wrist still in his grasp, Steve and Tony were dragged bemusedly in his wake.
“JARVIS, Tony’s floor.”
Bucky cut him off, “Your bed is biggest.”
“Agent Romanov, you asked me to inform you when ‘those duraki finally get their heads out of their collective asses’.”
Natasha looked up from her game of chess with Bruce and grinned, “James shove Steve and Tony’s faces together?”
A whine came from the couch, “Aw, Stuckony, no. That was our story.”
Natasha threw a grape at him, rolling her eyes when he caught it in his mouth, “We are not calling them that.”
“Phiiiiiiil,” Clint whined, hoping for backup.
“I agree with Natasha.” Clint pouted and crossed his arms, though he did not move from where he rested: laying lengthwise on the sofa, back against his lover’s chest, and safely bracketed by the man’s limbs.
Natasha threw a grape at Phil in reward, the man catching it in his hand and popping it in his mouth, before turning the page of the book held in front of Clint. He bent forward to kiss his archer’s hair. Placated, Clint snuggled back into him.
Bruce moved his bishop. “I’m feeling a little left out over here,” he joked with a chuckle.
Clint perked up. “Well, you’re always welcome to join us, Doctor,” he purred.
Bruce turned red and sputtered, “I...I meant the grapes…”
Natasha smiled, holding the bowl towards him, “You’re welcome to that, too.”
Bruce’s face got brighter as he grabbed a handful, choosing to keep quite this time.
Phil smiled and turned the next page.