Really, when you get down to it, everything is Bruce’s fault. At least, that’s how Bucky sees it, and he’s not shifting on the notion, not even a little bit. Except, to be fair, it is also Steve’s fault.
Because, yoga. Right? Yoga is a thing Bruce does to help himself relax, and control the Big Guy. So, over breakfast one morning after Bucky had spent the entire night sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed watching him sleep instead of actually sleeping himself—it might be worth noting he hadn’t slept for about four days at this point in the story—he had a moment. Just a little one.
“Wow, how high strung are you?” Tony asked, trying to wipe the milk off of himself with a wad of paper towels.
He’d walked in the room when Bucky hadn’t expected anyone to walk into the room, and he’d thrown the first thing at hand, which was the milk, and so the milk was all over Tony. Steve and Bruce were staring at him, and he was shaking, and looking down at his hand trying to understand what had just happened.
He felt kinda sick to his stomach, because what if it hadn’t been milk?
So he let out a string of profanity in Russian, which probably didn’t help.
“Bucky, I think Tony’s right. Maybe you need to find a way to relax?” Bucky glared, and Steve added, “Just a bit.”
“I’m plenty relaxed,” Bucky snapped, unintentionally bending the spoon in his other hand.
Tony shook his head. “Yeah, we can all see how relaxed you are.”
“Tony.” Steve had this way of saying Tony’s name that resulted in the engineer just coming to heel like a well trained dog, even if he always did it with a tiny furrow between his brows as if he didn’t understand why he’d responded that way. “You could try something physical. Go for a run with me and Sam, or maybe use the punching bags.”
Bucky rolled his shoulders, and snarled. Yup, totally well adjusted and relaxed guys snarled all the time, sure they did. The thing was, “unless you’re getting shot at, running is agonizingly boring.”
Tony erupted in laughter, even threw in a little clap over this. Steve scowled a bit, but it was half hearted at best.
“And punching things just makes me want to punch more things. It’s the opposite of relaxing, Stevie.”
Bruce nodded, his face full of the sort of understanding that deflated Bucky’s panic and bad mood. “I do yoga. You could join me this morning. See if you like it.”
“Great idea, Bruce,” Steve declared, and just from the way he smiled, Bucky knew there was no point in arguing. “We’ll all join you.”
Tony looked up from where he was ringing his shirt out (while still wearing it) over the sink. “Excuse me?”
Some nonverbal communication took place between the two men, which seemed to involve a lot of nodding, eye widening, raised eyebrows, and eventually an exasperated gasp from Tony, who threw his hands up.
“Fine. Guess I’ll go change. For yoga.”
Which was really and truly the first time Bucky found himself noticing Tony’s ass.
The thing was, he’d noticed Tony. Everyone noticed Tony, it was impossible to not notice Tony, because Tony was noticeable. His mannerisms, and his sense of humor, and the way he dressed, and his stupid pretty eyelashes.
Bucky had never spent the better part of an hour with Tony’s ass directly in front of him though, covered only with clinging, stretchy material clearly invented by the gods to accentuate the magnificent curves of Tony’s glutes.
Oddly, Bucky found himself so transfixed by Tony’s ass that he didn’t even realize he’d zoned out on it, not until Bruce placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and arched an eyebrow in question. Everyone else was in down dog, and Bucky was still standing in mountain pose, captivated by Tony’s magnificent, perky bottom.
Tony made some adjustments, which caused his butt to shift, and Bucky blinked, and shook his head, feeling his heart lurch painfully in his chest.
“Uh, I think I need to sleep,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. “S’been a couple days since I’ve done that.” Bruce cocked his head to the side a bit, then nodded. “Can we, um. Try again? Maybe just us next time?”
Tony must have heard them, because he did some elegant, compelling shifting to come out of the pose, muscles clenching and releasing before spinning around to face them. There was something in his expression Bucky couldn’t quite place, there and gone in a flash.
“You should stay,” he suggested, corner of his mouth twitching, but his voice was kind. “I’ll go.”
Steve came out of his pose, and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “What’s going on, fellas?”
“Nothing,” Tony said, forced cheer in his voice. He smiled apologetically at Bucky for some reason. “I was just… Pepper. I’m gonna be late.”
Steve seemed suspicious, but gave Tony a little pat on the shoulder. “See you later?”
“Yup. Thanks, Bruce.”
And with that, Tony was gone and Bucky was doing yoga again, only feeling stressed out and confused. He had the strangest feeling he’d somehow unintentionally hurt Tony’s feelings.
To his horror and delight, it was impossible to un-notice something as noticeable as Tony’s magnificent hindquarters.
Horror, because he wasn’t sure how Tony would feel about Steve’s weird one-armed mostly deprogrammed former assassin friend staring at his butt all the time, and delight because, well, Tony’s derrière was delightful.
Perfectly perky, rounded and firm, like a ripe, juicy peach or… like a… a…
“Bubble butt,” Clint explained, taking a sip from his beer. “I think it’s all the crouching and squatting he does while working on the armor.”
Bucky covered his noise of appreciation and finished off his own beer, setting the empty bottle with the others before grabbing a fresh one.
Tony’s suit jacket was thrown over the back of a chair, and he was in his slacks and a vest, one hip jutting out as he argued with Pepper, phone pressed against the side of his head. The lightweight, expensive fabric absolutely clung to those globes of Tony’s, and maybe Clint had also noticed, and snorted, and made the bubble butt comment.
“I added all these weighted squats to my workout, but I’m nowhere near Tony’s level of ass mastery.”
Bucky almost choked on his mouthful of beer. Clint didn’t seem to notice. He’d hopped up and was looking over his shoulder, as if trying to see his own butt.
And, of course, Tony had finished up his phone call and wandered over, eyebrows arched. “Do I even want to know?”
Clint grinned. “Just talking workouts.”
Steve, Sam, and Natasha wandered in just as Clint was shaking his booty in front of Bucky, who wasn’t sure how this had become his life.
“The butt thing again?” Natasha asked, sounding weary. “Let it go, Clint.”
“Look, though,” he said, wiggling his hinder again. “I’m making progress!”
Bucky wanted to run away, because he just knew this was going to end in tears. Probably his own.
Tony had turned around, so now he had a view of his ass again, along with Clint’s, which was fine, but nowhere near Tony’s level.
“Oh,” Sam laughed, “it’s like that, huh? Let’s line ‘em up.”
Then there was Steve’s and Sam’s asses on view.
“Bucky?” Sam arched an eyebrow.
So, in hindsight (ha!) Bucky realized Sam was saying his name because he expected Bucky to join the lineup in order to have his butt judged in comparison to the others by Natasha.
Only, because he was still staring at Tony’s ass, he opened his mouth and started talking, because he thought he was being prompted for feedback.
“I mean, sure, Stevie, not too bad,” Bucky forced himself to look away from Tony’s ass for a moment, “Clint, at least you tried, Sam I’ve seen worse, but Tony,” like a moth to a flame, he was drawn back to Stark’s bottom. He spoke reverently, like he was in church or something. “Just. Fantastic. Perfect, even. Round, and firm, so you just wanna grab a handful and squeeze.”
It was suddenly very quiet. That was when Bucky realized that he wasn’t supposed to be judging, but was supposed to be participating. Also, he’d been staring too long, and maybe thinking a bit too much about what Tony’s ass looked like without the suit pants blocking the view, and as a result his own pants were feeling a bit too tight.
Steve had turned back around, was looking at him with a question in his eyes, while Clint shrugged and flopped back down, saying, “hard to argue with that.”
“I’ve seen worse?” Sam huffed. “Gimme a beer. Seen worse. Come on.”
Tony and Steve were doing one of those silent conversation things again. Bucky was pretty sure he used to be able to do that with Steve. Back before. Now Tony did it, and he thought Steve was trying to project innocence, while Tony just frowned.
He twitched when he felt Natasha’s hand on his shoulder, looked up and found her smiling sweetly down at him. “It is a spectacular ass,” she said in Russian. Bucky felt himself blush, but then… well…
Why the hell was he so worried anyway? Steve had given him the whole run down of how things had and hadn’t changed since their day, and these were his friends, his de facto family. There was no need for him to hide the fact that he found the male form as enticing as the female. So he returned Tasha’s smile, and tried to relax.
Only, Tony hadn’t actually said anything, just smiled stiffly and taken a seat, which was a shame. Bucky wondered if anyone would notice if he chucked all the furniture off the balcony, so that Tony had to stand.
It only got worse. The internet also liked Tony’s ass. There were even a few blogs dedicated to it. He felt like the world’s biggest creep, but it was impossible to stop looking once he’d started, and there were years’ worth of press photos that dedicated fans had dug through, cropping and zooming and focusing on that booty.
“If only they knew,” he sighed, forcing himself to close the laptop and walk away.
Pictures were one thing, but up close? It was a daily struggle not to fall to his knees and worship Tony’s caboose. And not just because it was hot as hell. There was something soothing about looking at his tush. Bucky didn’t understand how, or why, but it was like he’d found his muse, or…
Whatever was going on, the sight of Tony’s bottom was calming, relaxing, made him feel warm and fuzzy. And yes, tight in the pants, too.
“Earth to Bucky,” Clint sighed, throwing a piece of dinner roll across the table. “Stop ogling Tony’s ass for two seconds, and pass the damn potatoes already!”
Tony blushed, and sat down, staring first at Steve, then at Bucky, who just smiled back, and winked, and gave Clint his stupid potatoes.
“Which is when Falcon will… Barnes!”
Bucky jerked to attention. “Hm?”
Steve gave him an exasperated look, while Fury managed to channel two eye’s worth offuck you into one, and leveled it all right at Bucky.
“Stark, sit down or something so Barnes actually pays attention for a change.”
Tony slowly removed his hands from his pockets, which was a shame. The hands in the pockets had caused the fabric of his work pants to stretch taut across his shapely ass, and Bucky had been lost in deep, deep admiration.
Perhaps a little pink in the cheeks, Tony repositioned himself so he was standing off to the side, his ass now out of sight.
Stupid Fury. Now Bucky had no choice but to pay attention to the plan.
Bucky’s hands were fisted at his sides as he struggled to breathe, panic washing over him. Tony noticed, of course, because he noticed things, and so he was out of the Iron Man armor in a flash.
“Hey, in through the nose,” he suggested, voice calm and even.
The HYDRA troops they’d run into had all focused on Bucky, seemingly intent on bringing him back in, maybe even putting him back in the chair, and… Bucky grit his teeth, and whimpered.
Tony turned to look for Steve, which was when Bucky sighed, the tension instantly washing away. Tony’s flight suit—or whatever it was he wore under the armor—was even more of a gift than the yoga pants. It clung to him everywhere, and… mm. Yes.
Stark must have heard his sigh, was shifting to check on him again, which was bad. As soon as his ass was out of view, the panic returned.
“Wait,” Bucky gasped. Unable to help himself, he grabbed Tony’s hips, and made him face front again. “Perfect. Sorry. I’m so sorry, it’s just. Gah. It helps. Sorry.”
He waited for Tony to make a joke, or storm off, but he actually clenched his muscles, and, “Hnng,” Bucky groaned, all thoughts of HYDRA leaving his mind.
“Would it, um,” Tony cleared his throat, looked over his shoulder. “You can touch. If it’d help.”
Bucky managed to drag his eyes away from Tony’s derrière in order to stare up at him. He expected a smirk, or something, but Tony just looked ever so slightly embarrassed and a lot understanding.
“Hey, panic attacks suck, believe me, I know,” he babbled, looking away again.
Steve and Clint were still with the Hulk, while Natasha prepped them for take off. Bucky had no idea where Sam and Thor had gotten to. So. Just the two of them. And an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Tentatively, reverently, Bucky reached up and held his palms over Tony’s ass, not touching, not yet. Tony shifted again, and Bucky could see the play of muscles, and felt a bead of sweat run down his back, between his shoulder blades, sending a shudder through his body.
“It’s okay,” Tony said softly. “I don’t mind.”
Bucky ghosted his hands over Tony’s butt, barely touching, his pulse thundering in his ears. “God, it feels even better than it looks,” he groaned, taking two big handfuls and squeezing.
To his surprise, Tony moaned, pushed into the contact a bit. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Bucky agreed.
He stroked, kneaded, squeezed, dragged his thumbs down roughly, then traced the very beginning of the swell with his fingertips, feeling where thighs segued into ass, then felt brave enough to grab hold of each rounded globe and push them ever so slightly apart. Tony made a noise at this, a sort of quiet, desperate sound that went right to Bucky’s groin.
“Okay, confession time,” Tony said softly. “I might have told Steve a while back that, uh, that I thought you were hot, and so when the whole staring at my ass thing started, I thought he’d told you and um, that maybe you were teasing me.”
“Tony, it’s so firm,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his thumbs back and forth, not actually processing what had been said. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against one of Tony’s. “Everything is right in the universe.”
Contentedly, he sighed, and wrapped his arms around Tony, hugging him, cheek still pressed against Tony’s bottom. Which is when he noticed the suspicious matching firmness around the front of Tony’s pants. Backtracking, he finally heard what Tony had said.
“You think I’m hot?” he asked hopefully.
“Seriously? You’re smoking hot.” Tony shifted a bit, his voice all low, and throaty, and wow. “You should let me take you to dinner. If you’re interested is more than just my ass. The rest of me is a little, er, much. At times.”
Feeling extra brave, Bucky placed a kiss against Tony’s butt, then stood up, and spun him around. “I like all of you. Guess I just got a little fixated.”
“It is a nice bottom,” Tony conceded, but he looked relieved.
“The rest of you is nice, too,” Bucky continued. “More than nice. You took a chance on a crazy one-armed assassin. Not a lot of people would do that. So, ah, yeah. I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
They were still smiling stupidly at each other when Steve finally showed up, the rest of the team behind him.
“You might want to let go now,” Tony whispered, turning a little pink in the cheeks.
Bucky squeezed, and sighed happily, using his grip on Tony’s ass to pull him in closer. “Nah. I’m good like this,” he answered contentedly.
And since his team was the best, no one even said anything the whole flight home.
Well, except Clint.
“Seriously, how do you get it so perky?”
“I’ll never tell, Barton,” Tony answered. From where they were standing, no one could see that Tony had his own hands full of Bucky’s bottom. “Not bad, Buck, not bad at all.”