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Tony holds the shard of cosmic cube up to the sky.
“I wish I was a real boy!” He calls out.
Nothing happens.
“Dammit.” Tony hangs his head.
“What would you do if it’d worked?”
Tony turns to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Do you mean, big picture? Or first thing?”
Bucky shrugs. “Either. Both. You really want a body again?”
Tony might not have a physical heart, but he feels the clenching around where it would be all the same.
“Yeah. I think I do.”
Bucky hums and nods. “Okay, then. What would you do first?”
Kiss you, Tony wants to say. Hold you. Show you how much I care for you.
“Probably order a milkshake,” is what he actually says.
“Oh.” Bucky sounds almost…disappointed?
“What were you hoping for?” Tony asks.
Bucky flexes his metal arm, the servos whining softly. Tony should ask about that, if it’s normal or if he needs maintenance.
“Well,” Bucky admits, “I was hoping you’d go more for something a little…romantic, maybe.”
Tony freezes. “What?”
“It’s stupid, just me reading things that aren’t there, forget it,” Bucky says quickly, clearly trying to backtrack.
“No, wait a minute. Are you asking - and I hope you are - are you asking I’d hold your hand?” Tony winces at his choice of words.
Bucky’s eyes widen. “Well, uh…yeah. Among other things.”
“Other things, like…” Tony knows he’s pushing, he knows this is walking a thin line between asking and teasing, but he has to be sure.
“Tony, I’ve wanted to kiss you since you threatened to liquefy my brain.”
Now it’s Tony’s eyes going wide.
“You mean that,” Tony whispers.
“Well, yeah.” Bucky says, his hand - the flesh one - lifting up to tug at his hair. “I know, it’s kind of awkward, between the whole,” he gestures at Tony, “being an AI thing, and then this thing with Steve - I don’t think that’s really Steve, but whoever that is…I’m just…I mean…” He trails off, staring helplessly at the sky.
Tony takes a tentative step towards him, then another one. He closes the distance between them and cautiously takes Bucky’s hand - the metal one - in his own.
“Bucky? First thing I do, when I have a body again, I’m going to kiss you. Because I want to, okay?”
Bucky tilts his head to meet Tony’s eyes. “Yeah?”
“Better than a milkshake, that’s for sure.”
The first thing Tony does when he returns is not kiss Bucky Barnes.
In fact, from the looks of things, Tony doesn’t even remember that they’d been friends, let alone discussing dinner dates and kissing and trying to make a life together after overthrowing Hydra.
Okay, yes, Tony had greeted him with a blinding smile and for a moment, Bucky had thought…but instead of pulling him into a kiss, Tony had given him an awkward half-hug and said he was glad to see him.
Bucky took it to mean that Tony hadn’t remembered that part. Maybe he restored his memories from a different backup…but then, he’d known about everything else that happened, right? So why did this detail not make it?
Unless…unless Tony had deleted that whole conversation. Maybe he’d thought more about it, and realized how bad of an idea it was, and decided to erase it so he wouldn’t be tempted to make such a mistake with Bucky. It’s understandable, Bucky reasons with himself. He’s hardly a catch, between the cybernetic arm and the 60-odd years of being a KGB assassin. Maybe Tony looked at the evidence he had and decided to do the smart thing. Tony is a genius, after all.
So Bucky does what he does best, throws himself into his work and pretends that he’s not hurting. Whether he’s successful at that second part is debatable, but Clint Barton is the only person to see him fail. Then again, Clint wouldn’t be able to stop himself from poking at Bucky in a weak moment, so maybe Bucky is doing a better job of hiding the pain than he thought.
Or maybe, Bucky thinks to himself later, as the Red Room facility burns, Clint just has blinders on.
Natalia certainly knows better than to be involved with Bucky. Of course, Tony would come to the same conclusion, when he’s had the time to review the data and analyze it.
When Sharon calls to tell him he’s been reassigned, it comes as a relief. The move back to Shelbyville is a surprise, but a welcome one; his hometown is comfortable, even after decades away.
Even more surprising is the kitten who shows up on his doorstep one morning, popping up from the doormat and strolling right into the house like she owns it. Bucky considers taking her to the animal shelter, thinking his job is not conducive to responsible pet ownership. This lasts until he picks the kitten up and realizes two things: first, that her eyes are the same shade of blue as Tony’s, and second, he’s fallen in love with her just as quickly.
Tony pulls up to the unassuming two-story house and puts the car in park. He takes a moment to steel himself, wondering why he’s here, in Indiana of all places, to fix tech that any one of a dozen or so technicians could handle.
The answer, of course, is that it’s not just tech, it’s Bucky.
A bead of sweat trails down Tony’s neck and he sighs. Not only did he drive out to Indiana, he’d done it in July. Hopefully Bucky’s house has air conditioning.
The garage door rises as Tony is pulling his tool bag from the trunk.
“Tony!” Bucky’s voice is bright, although Tony can hear the strain underneath that tells him just how bad the arm is.
“Hey, Bucky,” Tony returns the greeting, walking right into the garage and proceeding to lay out his tools on the work table he finds there. “How bad is it?”
Bucky grimaces, and Tony wants to kick himself. It’s been months since they’ve seen each other, when Tony helped attach the new arm after learning Black Widow was back from the dead. And that came months after Tony, himself, came back in a real body - and failed to keep the promise he’d made Bucky. Bucky hadn’t said anything, and for a while Tony thought maybe the former assassin had just changed his mind about them. But Tony isn’t an idiot, he can see the tension in Bucky’s features whenever Tony sticks to the cool, detached persona. Maybe in New York, when there were always paparazzi and bystanders with smart phones hoping to go viral with some superhero footage, that behavior could be excused.
But here? In Shelbyville, Indiana, population 20,769, and in this garage where it’s just the two of them? Tony could at least show some emotion. He might’ve fucked up their reunion, but he doesn’t have to keep fucking up their friendship.
“The elbow joint is fractured, and there’s a lot of damage to the plating,” Bucky explains, pointing to the spots where the arm looks like it had been squeezed until the metal buckled.
“Please tell me you’ve already disconnected the pain receptors,” Tony says as he slips his goggles on, beckoning Bucky closer.
Bucky grunts as he takes a seat on the work table. “I probably wouldn’t have made the ride home if I hadn’t,” he confesses. “I’m sorry to make you drive all the way out here, Tony, I really thought-”
“Hey, no,” Tony stops him. “None of that. I wanted to come out here and check on you myself. I don’t trust just anyone with this, you know.” Tony continues his examination of the damaged plates. “What did this, anyway? Looks like Hulk used your arm as a stress ball.”
“One of Chicago’s finest,” Bucky sneers.
“No shit?” Tony pops the first plate from the arm. The wiring underneath seems intact, thankfully. “That is some grip they had.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, so Tony just continues his work on the arm, removing the damaged panels and checking the wiring underneath. The elbow joint is indeed broken, but Tony has enough spare parts to rebuild the arm twice over. He should probably leave a spare behind, but he’s selfish enough to want a reason to visit again.
“Okay, good news,” Tony announces when he finishes his analysis of the damage. “I can totally repair this here.”
“What’s the bad news?” Bucky asks warily.
“It’ll take a while. So, why don’t you try to relax, and tell me the story of why James Buchanan Barnes decided to move back to small-town Indiana to do the kind of work that results in this kind of damage,” Tony nods towards the arm. “Seriously, I finished my audiobook on the drive out here, and you’re more interesting, anyway.”
Bucky doesn’t often let himself get philosophical with other people. He tries to keep that strictly to his journals and his therapist. But with Tony, as ever, he finds himself opening up more than he does with anyone else. Tony was the one who made him Captain America, after all. And Tony certainly knows the value of a second chance.
By the time he’s finished talking, Tony is securing the new plates on his arm, a smile playing across his lips. He’s close, close enough that Bucky considers what might happen if he leaned forward right now, caught those lips in a kiss. Would Tony push him away? Would he reciprocate? Might it jog some memory locked in Tony’s mind?
Before he can convince himself one way or the other, Sharon shows up with iced tea and the talk turns to the logistics of their operation. Bucky manages to invite Tony to the festival downtown, throwing out the promise of fireworks in a bid to keep Tony in town a few more days. Sharon’s expression tells Bucky he’s being anything but subtle, but Bucky can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Tony is here, in Bucky’s hometown, and Bucky knows he might not have another chance so he’s going to take it.
“I do like fireworks,” Tony agrees, and Bucky’s heart accelerates.
Sharon rolls her eyes and mutters something about dinner, slipping back into the house. Tony finishes his repairs to Bucky’s arm and begins packing up his tools.
“Are you going to introduce me?” Tony asks, nodding towards the cat.
Bucky smiles, reaching over to scoop Alpine up from her perch on the cabinet counter top. “Yeah. Tony, I’d like you to meet Alpine. Alpine, this is Tony. He’s our friend, so no claws, okay?”
Alpine deigns to sniff at Tony’s hand, before giving an unimpressed look and wriggling to get down. Bucky loosens his arms to let her escape, brushing his shirt afterwards in a futile effort to remove any stray hairs.
“She just showed up one day, decided I was her human,” Bucky explains. “And it’s nice, you know? Having someone to look forward to seeing when I get home every day.”
Tony watches Alpine stalk a cricket across the driveway, grimacing when she pounces. “She seems to share your skill set, too.”
“She’s a cat, Tony. Cats hunt.” Bucky stretches his arm, testing its range of motion. “This is so much better, thank you.”
Tony’s gaze snaps back to Bucky. “Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help.” He closes his toolbox and latches it. “Did Sharon mention dinner?”
“Yeah, come on in. I’ve got to do something upstairs real quick, but make yourself at home.” Bucky opens the door to the house and gestures for Tony to go first. He calls to Alpine, who comes running, zipping between his legs rather than around them to get inside.
After waving at Sharon and Tony, the latter of whom is perched easily on the kitchen counter, Bucky makes his way upstairs to the spare bedroom. The yoga mat is already out; either Sharon used it this morning for her workout, or she rolled it out for him. Either way, Bucky is grateful. He gently shuts the door and makes his way to the mat.
Bucky hates that he’s left Tony downstairs, but it’s part of his own self-maintenance: any time work is done on his bionic arm, he needs to meditate and re-center himself. He needs to actively remind his brain that all the nightmares about to rise to the surface are in the past. He is no longer a prisoner, no longer a weapon.
He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.
“Would you like some more tea?” Sharon asks.
Tony glances at the glass in his hand. “Sure. Hey, is it okay that I’m here? Should I have sent a tech instead?”
Sharon raises an eyebrow at him while she pours iced tea into the glass. “When was the last time you let one of your technicians do anything regarding Bucky’s arm?”
“True,” Tony concedes. “I just wonder if maybe I shouldn’t be here.”
Closing the refrigerator door with more force than necessary, Sharon exhales audibly. “Are you not interested in him?”
“What?”
“Tony. You are one of the smartest people in the world. And I know that isn’t limited to science and engineering, you know when someone is interested in you. Romantically. Like Bucky is.” Sharon rubs at her brow, as though staving off a headache. “If you’re not interested in him, tell him. Then start sending one of your techs instead of driving halfway across the country and giving him false hope.
“And if you are interested, tell him. Tonight would be good.” Sharon holds his gaze until he looks away.
“I fucked up, Shar.”
Sharon snorts. “I figured.”
Tony hangs his head. “I am interested. More than, really. I owe him an apology.”
“I can make myself scarce-”
The trill of Tony’s phone cuts Sharon off. Tony’s heart sinks; it’s one of Friday’s priority codes. He’s needed back in New York.
“Fuck.” Tony closes his eyes. “I can’t- I have to go. I have to, I don’t want to.” He looks up at Sharon. “He deserves better than me.”
Sharon nods in understanding. “Go. I’ll let him know. But, Tony? You do need to tell him. Sooner, rather than later.”
“I know. And I will.” Tony stands reluctantly. “Will you try not to let him get killed before I come back?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Bucky pretends he isn’t disappointed that Tony took off for New York. He isn’t sure Sharon buys it, but the call from one of his most recent rescues gives him an excuse to flee. Sharon stays strictly business when he’s on a mission, for which Bucky is grateful.
One of the reasons Bucky uses his motorcycle for missions is that riding requires all of his attention. He can’t set cruise control and relax while the radio plays top 40 hits and ads for local car dealerships. He isn’t able to let his mind wander to Tony’s abrupt departure, and whether Bucky should have given in to the impulse to kiss him earlier. It’s 370 miles to the Wisconsin hamlet he’d helped set Terry up in, a six-hour drive that Bucky will make in just three, because all he has right now is his bike and the road beneath him.
This is the hardest part of his job, Bucky thinks as he listens to Terry complain about life in a small town. The initial rescue, that’s the part Bucky finds easy. It’s any other extraction mission. But when the people he rescues are confronted with having to make a life for themselves after they’re out of Hydra, or AIM, or whatever fringe organization they’d gotten tangled up in, things get a bit uncomfortable. Sam would really be better suited to this part of it, Bucky thinks. Sam’s the social worker. Bucky is still the soldier.
Being a soldier has some benefits, though, Bucky concedes to himself as the first burst of gunfire catches Terry in his chest. Bucky is able to block the next rounds from hitting the bartender, and directs everyone to safety. And his precaution in wearing a tactical vest under his t-shirt proves a prudent choice, when he’s not quick enough to dodge the next round.
It’s surreal, to see someone dressed up in his oldest uniform, probably not much older than he was back when Steve recruited him. Bucky wonders if he’s hallucinating, if his vest didn’t work and he’s actively dying in this no-name town in rural Wisconsin. But there are clues that he isn’t watching himself: the rifle is an M16, the boy is wearing tactical pants, not shorts, and Bucky never carried that much ammunition with him. Or a machete.
No, not just a machete, Bucky realizes in horror as the blade carves through his arm. The kid has a vibranium blade, and he’s rendered Bucky’s arm practically useless.
It hasn’t even been six hours since Tony repaired it.
And it will take at least that long to drive back to Shelbyville. Between being down an arm and carrying an unconscious passenger, Bucky can’t take any risks. He sticks to the speed limit and country roads, hoping to make it home before the sun rises again. In the dark, they’re two people on a motorcycle. In daylight, it will be obvious that the kid is both trussed up and, well, a kid. Getting pulled over by the police will not help anyone.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe,” Bucky assures him.
“You know I’m going to kill you the first chance I get, right?”
Bucky bites back a laugh. Plenty of people, hell, entire governments have tried to kill him, and he’s still here. Although this kid did come a lot closer to succeeding than Bucky would like to admit. That doesn’t happen by dumb luck, this kid has been trained. By Hydra. Which means someone will come looking for him soon.
“Soon” turns out to be about ten miles down the road, where a spike strip slides out too late for Bucky to do anything but try to dump the bike without destroying it. It takes him a few seconds to stand, although the kid’s handler is one of the ones who likes to hear himself talk. The entire fight takes more out of him than it should, and for a moment Bucky debates just letting the kid go.
Then he remembers why he’s even here, and neither the busted arm nor the bullet in his leg are a concern to him. The Hydra goon is a bloody mess on the pavement, and he can see the kid is still alive. Still alive, bleeding profusely from his shoulder, and scared.
Bucky calls the one person he trusts to help.
“Tony…hey…gonna need an evac favor.”
“Gonna need an evac favor. Got a…gunshot victim…”
Tony is suiting up before Bucky finishes talking. He pinpoints Bucky’s location and grabs a med kit before taking off.
“All right. I’ve got your coordinates,” he tells Bucky as he’s flying over New Jersey. “I’ll be there in ten.”
He would be there faster, but Bucky asked for discreet attention, and going hypersonic over a populated town is the opposite of discreet. He’s still flying as fast as he can until he reaches a mostly-uninhabited spot over Pennsylvania, when he pushes the thrusters to hit Mach 7. Somewhere below and behind him, a few dozen people wake in confusion from the sonic boom. Tony doesn’t care.
Bucky needs him.
He lands in the middle of a country highway somewhere east of Indianapolis and immediately opens the med kit. Bucky is crouched by the side of the road, his metal arm dangling uselessly, his other arm stretched awkwardly to put pressure on his upper thigh. A smaller figure kneels beside him, hands pressing against their shoulder.
“You said you had a gunshot victim, Bucky, but I see two of you,” Tony chides softly as he pulls two boxes from the kit.
“I’ll heal,” Bucky grunts. “I’m more worried about him.”
Tony drops down to one knee and hands one of the boxes to Bucky before opening the second one. He flips up his face plate to meet the boy’s eyes.
“Hey, kid. We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay?”
The boy watches him warily.
Tony sighs and holds out the box. “Okay, these are nanites. Tiny robots, they’re going to do most of the work, and you won’t have to visit a hospital. Sound good?”
At the boy’s nod, Tony taps a button on the side of the box and holds it up to the kid’s shoulder. There’s barely any light to see, but the way the boy jerks in surprise tells him the nanites are in the right spot. When the indicator light on the box blinks, he replaces the cover and turns to Bucky.
“I’ll heal,” Bucky insists.
“Yeah, you said that, but I can tell your arm is busted and your leg is bleeding, and if I know you at all you’re hiding a few more injuries under that glower.” Tony taps the button on the box in Bucky’s hands and opens it. “Where’s the worst of it?”
Bucky sighs and shifts his weight to one side. “My thigh. Asshole over there-” he jerks his chin towards a body in what might be a pink suit “-shot through the kid to hit me.”
Tony’s jaw clenches. He hates seeing Bucky hurt. “Anything else?”
“Some road rash; it’ll heal by the time we’re home. Maybe some broken ribs. And my bike is toast.” Bucky closes his eyes.
Tony glances back to the road, feeling a pang when he sees the wreckage of the Indian. Bucky loves that bike. Tony remembers the way his eyes lit up when he learned it was part of his gear issue, when he was Cap. Tony loved that he could make Bucky smile like that.
“We’ll fix it up,” Tony tells him. “After we fix you up. I’ve got a quinjet incoming, it’ll get us back to your place.”
Bucky opens his eyes and smiles. “Sounds good. How’re you doing, RJ?”
Tony blinks, then realizes RJ must be the kid. He looks over in time to see the boy give a thumbs-up before slumping over, unconscious. Tony catches him before he hits the gravel, setting him down gently.
The quiet hum of a quinjet in stealth mode fills the air, and Tony stands, reaching down to help Bucky up. The rear hatch opens, and Tony steps inside to grab a stretcher. He can carry the kid easily in the suit, but it will be safer to use the stretcher, even with the nanites doing their job.
After setting RJ securely in the passenger space, he hefts the wreckage of Bucky’s motorcycle. Bucky gives him a grateful look before turning back to monitor RJ. Tony closes the hatch, and nearly startles when the lights come on and he can see the kid’s uniform.
“Okay, Buckaroo, where did you find this kid?”
Bucky huffs a laugh. “He tried to kill me.”
The sky opens and rain starts pouring shortly before they make it to Shelbyville. Sharon meets them in the back yard with a golf umbrella, which she uses to keep RJ mostly dry as Tony carries him inside and to the guest bedroom. Bucky checks that the quinjet isn’t obvious from the street - even stealth mode isn’t invisible, after all.
Satisfied that the average passer-by won’t determine something is amiss in his yard, Bucky limps inside, peeling what’s left of his jacket carefully over the mangled remains of his arm, then stripping the rest of his gear and leaving it in a pile in the garage. He grabs a pair of pajama pants and an undershirt from the basket of clean laundry sitting on top of the dryer, then heads to the kitchen for coffee. He pours two cups, adding cream and sugar to his own, and finally takes stock of his wounds.
The scrape on his right knee, sustained in the wreck, is fully healed. The bullet wound to his left thigh is sore, but the bleeding has stopped and the nanites have repaired the tissue damage. The skin is shiny and pink, and might leave a scar, but Bucky has plenty of those. He runs a kitchen towel under the faucet and starts scrubbing at the dried blood.
“Here, let me do that,” Tony says, coming into the kitchen and taking the towel from him. “Grab a seat.”
Bucky releases the towel and shuffles to the table, easing himself into a chair and propping the bionic arm on the tabletop. “There’s coffee,” he tells Tony, gesturing to the mug sitting on the counter.
Tony grabs the cup and downs half of it in one gulp, setting it on the table next to Bucky before pulling another chair close. He’s removed the armor, leaving him in a sweat-stained blue t-shirt and dark sleep pants.
“You put the suit on over your jammies?” Bucky asks.
Tony glances down at his clothes, then back up, a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, you did call at three in the morning. And it sounded urgent. I figured getting to you was more important than getting fully dressed.”
“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly.
“Anything for you, Buck,” Tony replies just as quietly. He starts gently scrubbing the blood and grime from Bucky’s leg. “You know that.”
Bucky’s breath hitches. Tony lifts the towel up, a questioning look on his face. Bucky shakes his head and forces himself to relax. He isn’t hurt. At least, he isn’t in pain, right now. He’s just surprised that Tony sounds so sincere. Anything for you. Does he really mean that?
He must, Bucky admits. He’s traveled all the way here twice in as many days, just because Bucky needed him. But is that just because Bucky is part of his team? Tony will do a lot for his teammates, after all. Gear upgrades, uniforms, legal fees - but this is none of those things. Sure, Tony will cover MEDEVACs and hospital stays, but when was the last time Tony was the responder, not the dispatcher?
Tony finishes cleaning his left leg and moves to the right. “This healed up pretty quick,” he comments as he wipes the dirt away.
“It was just a scratch,” Bucky says.
“And you said something about broken ribs? Was that from the accident, or…?” Tony jerks his head up, indicating the second floor of the house, where RJ is being looked over by Sharon.
Bucky sighs. “Yeah, that was when the kid shot me. Can we not talk about it right now?” He straightens in his chair.
Tony lifts his hands as though in surrender, dropping the towel next to Bucky’s arm. “Okay. We don’t have to.”
“Thank you.” Bucky slumps in his chair again.
Tony grabs his coffee and gulps the rest of it, moving to the coffeemaker to pour another cup. He chuckles, and Bucky glances over to see Tony turning the mug in his hands, probably reading the phrase printed on the side: “Please cancel my subscription to your issues.” Sharon had given it to him when they’d set up shop here, along with a new journal and pen, and a list of vetted psychologists. Bucky had even spoken to a couple of them.
“Hey, Tony?”
“Hmm?” Tony is drinking his coffee far too fast, for having just poured it.
“How much, um, that is, do you. Do you remember anything from before? When you were an AI, I mean.” Bucky wants to punch himself; he could not have worded that more poorly.
Tony tops up his coffee mug and returns to the table. “I remember everything,” he says softly.
Bucky nods, fixing his eyes on one of the severed plates in his arm. He can’t bring himself to look at Tony when he asks this, he doesn’t want to see whether it’s pity or disgust that fills his eyes. “Why did you change your mind?”
Tony goes very still. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the raindrops pelting the windows. Then, Tony inhales shakily.
“I didn’t.”
Bucky slams his eyes closed, unwilling to let the tears escape. He doesn’t want Tony to see this, not yet.
“If you didn’t change your mind-”
“I panicked. I second-guessed myself, and then it was awkward, and then you had that mission in Chernaya, and then I-” Tony sighs. “I fucked up.”
Bucky risks a glance at Tony. He’s also looking at a spot somewhere along Bucky’s ruined arm, his hands forming fists so tight his knuckles are turning white. Bucky reaches out with his good arm, fingers smoothing over Tony’s and coaxing them to uncurl, then intertwining so they’re holding hands.
“I thought maybe, you just didn’t remember. Maybe you downloaded from a different backup, or something,” Bucky says softly.
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Tony tells him, squeezing his hand gently. “There is no version of me that would forget you. Or what you mean to me. I’m so sorry that I made you think otherwise.”
Bucky swallows, looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, shining with unshed tears, like Bucky’s.
“Can we try again?” Tony asks.
“Try again?”
“Yeah,” Tony says, scooting his chair closer to Bucky. “I promised you something when I got back into a real body, and I haven’t delivered yet.”
Bucky’s pulse accelerates. He blinks quickly, watching Tony leaning in as he nods. “Yeah. I think we can try that.”
“Good,” Tony breathes against Bucky’s mouth before pressing him into a kiss. Bucky melts into it, warmth spreading through his body. His lips part and Tony kisses him deeper, tongue darting in to sweep against Bucky’s. His eyes fall closed, and when Tony pulls back an involuntary whimper escapes. Tony presses another, gentler kiss to his lips, then rests his forehead against Bucky’s.
They rest there, breathing each other in. Bucky licks his lips before asking, his voice barely above a whisper, “Better than a milkshake?”
Tony laughs, leaning back in for another kiss, before replying. “Way better than a milkshake.”