Chapter Text
Bucky
The arm was dead weight on his shoulder; the fucking stupid mole-monsters had practically ripped it off. Bucky couldn’t close the vents, couldn’t move it at all. It spat data at him, a mix of pain and sensation. There was nothing in his hand, but the palm was swearing to him that there was a handful of hair under the metal skin. He had to keep checking, because the fingers felt like they were moving, but every time he looked, they weren’t. It was freaking him out, but Tony had a hand on the back of his neck -- Tash was flying the jet with Steve running co for her -- and he had to stay calm for Tony’s sake.
They’d torn something deep in his chest; blood was pumping absently into the casing, dripping from his elbow into a makeshift bandage. The whole thing was pissing him off something fierce; he’d been in four fights since Tony had taken him in almost eight months ago, and he’d been pretty badly injured in two of them. Half. It was a shitty track record, honestly.
Maybe even worse than half, because Steve had beaten the living hell out of Bucky on the helicarriers, too. He’d call that one a draw, really, since Steve hadn’t been in great shape after, either. To be fair, the Winter Soldier was an assassin. The kind of out-in-the-streets melee he’d been experiencing recently was not what he was trained for. Not that he couldn’t handle it or anything, but he wasn’t supposed to be fucking noticed, he wasn’t supposed to be out in the open like that.
Avengers fights were just going to be bigger than what he knew. He needed more training, if he was going to pull his weight, training that focused on different priorities. And he had to do it fast, before Tony and Steve decided he was a liability. He’d bench himself, if he had to, because there was no way he wanted Tony to be in danger because the Winter Soldier couldn’t hold up his share of the work.
“<Stop worrying,>” Tash said, her Russian cadences calming him. “<In case you didn’t notice, Yasha, we all got fucking benched on this mission. Shown up by a teenage girl… it’s humiliating.>”
“<Personally, I’m relieved,>” Tony interjected with a smirk, then switched to English, because Natasha was already giving him the narrowed eyes that meant she was going to try -- again -- to fix his accent. “It means maybe I wasn’t quite as pathetic as I’d thought, the first time I met her.”
Steve looked over his shoulder, still rubbing dirt out of his hair in a huge cloud. “When was that, Tony? I completely missed reading any mission reports on that girl.”
“Couple of years ago,” Tony said. “Wasn’t a mission, really. Just got into a bit of a sticky situation, and she popped up out of nowhere and got me out of it. Still have no idea what she was even doing there...” He trailed off, staring into the middle distance as if trying to work out that lingering mystery.
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Boyfriend. With a huge diamond for you, I understand that much.” He slanted his eyes at Tony, shaking his head.
Tony’s head drooped on his neck. “So very not,” he groaned. “He just wants me because I said no.”
Bucky rested his flesh hand on Tony’s knee, trying not to check on the metal hand which was absolutely not crawling off his body, no matter what his nerves were telling him. “Damn straight you said no. Yes would have been a worse option.”
“Definitely. And I hadn’t even met you yet,” Tony pointed out. “Which means it’s an even worse option than I thought at the time! Just... a stunningly bad idea.” He considered. “Though at least he’s handsome. I have to give him that.”
Bruce was puttering around with the computer system, plugging in some samples and making adjustments. “Oh, look, I think I got it, Tony,” he said, throwing the hologram in front of them, with a chemical formula. “Should be able to shrink… Oh, well, wait, no that doesn’t work. We’d have to keep the temperature between 97.4 and, uh... 99.6 Celcius to keep the intra-molecular agents from bonding with the stabilizer and falling out into toxic particulate, and that’s going to make injecting them a little tricky.”
“Mm,” Tony agreed. “What if...” He grabbed a formula off Bruce’s screen and made it bigger, started manipulating symbols one-handed, the other hand not leaving Bucky’s neck.
Bucky checked his arm while Tony was looking at the chemical equations. Still there. Still not moving, despite the sensation. The wrist itched, like someone was tracing his skin with the veriest edge of a knife. He squeezed down on Tony’s knee a little, trying not to reach for it; wouldn’t do him any good. God. Damn, that was unpleasant. He couldn’t help breathing a little faster, though.
Tony looked over, and cocked his head, studying Bucky. “What’s going on?”
“Bad data,” Bucky said, clenching his teeth. Shit. “Phantom limb kinda thing. Damn thing’s not working, but something in there’s still sending info up into my skull. I think that damn spit is caustic.”
“I could’ve told you that; the shit managed to get through my high-grade environmental seals the first time we encountered them. You remember the slime; I’m positive we had that conversation. I had to do a whole redesign on the life support system after that. I didn’t realized it’d gotten in under your plating, though; why didn’t you say something right away?” He shifted on the bench to get a better look at Bucky’s arm. “How bad are we talking about, here? I can shut it down, but it’ll take a little bit, and we’re almost halfway back now, and it’ll be easier to do in the workshop. But if you’re in pain, I’ll make do with the toolkit on board.”
“It’s not that bad,” Bucky said. “More like weird. Itches. Burns. Feels like it’s movin’ when it ain’t.”
“Yep, that sounds pretty weird.”
“It’s… unpleasant,” Bucky admitted. He clamped his teeth shut again as the data shifted again, decided to interpret it as ice-cold insects scurrying over his skin. He was not going to give his malfunctioning nervous system the satisfaction of trying to brush them off and failing. God only knew how fucked up that was going to feel. “So, tell me, are all Avengers missions this crazy, or did I just luck out?”
“I want to say this is an anomaly, but then Cap would give me the Disappointed Face for lying,” Tony said. His thumb rubbed steady circles on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Get used to it.”
Jess glanced over at him. “Super weird for me, too,” she confessed. “And then Thor told me I looked like a valkyrie. I may get Trish to embroider that on a cushion for me, or something. Because awesome.”
Steve twitched. “Can you not use that word?”
Bucky startled, then narrowed his eyes in Steve’s direction. Steve had stopped brushing dirt out of his hair and was cupping his elbows with his hands, the shiver across his shoulders only barely noticeable and perhaps only if you knew Steve really, really well. Steve would probably slit his own throat before admitting to anyone that he, too, had bad, triggery sort of memories. Bucky nudged Steve with his foot and gave him a reassuring smile.
Steve didn’t return the grin, even the pained fake-it-til-you-make-it smile that Bucky knew was in his repertoire, but there was an ease to the tension in his shoulders. Maybe there was relief in knowing that someone else knew that you were scared. Knew, and was there for you, and wouldn’t say a word.
“Are you harshing on your lady-love’s buzz, mon capitaine? How rude.” Tony turned and pointed to Jessica. “That is awesome. Maybe whenever Clint deigns to actually tell us about his adventures in Asgard, he can corroborate.”
“There has got to be a word for this,” Bucky muttered, giving everyone something else to focus on while Steve got himself back together. He let go of Tony’s leg and brushed at the metal shoulder despite his resolve not to. No bugs. No relief, either. He shuddered. “Come on, Tash, fly faster.”
“A word for what?” Bruce asked, though his eyes remained on the formula that Tony was still manipulating. “Tony, if you do that, it’ll explode on contact with oxygen.”
“That feeling that there’s a bug on you that ain’t there,” Bucky said. He rubbed at his shoulder again and that was even weirder, because he couldn’t feel the pressure of his own fingers, even though he knew they were there.
“Creepy-crawlies?” Tony suggested, at the same time that Jessica volunteered, “Psycho-itches.”
Bruce glanced up. “Formication is the medical term,” he said. “It’s a nerve reaction, similar to pins and needles, when a… nevermind.”
Tony waggled his eyebrows at Bucky ridiculously. “Soon’s we get back, we’ll take care of your formication problem, and then we can do some fornication.”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “I should’ve known that was coming,” he said.
“Oh, god,” Steve groaned from the cockpit, slamming his hands over his ears. “Tony, stop.”
“None of you appreciate my rapier wit,” Tony pouted.
Bucky laughed, and that felt better, even though his arm was still arguing with him about what, exactly, was crawling on him. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”
***
Bucky was dreaming, and some part of him knew that.
He heard the gentle slap of water against the shore, felt hot beach under his legs. Above him, the sun was brilliant in the sky. A shadow crossed over him and he squinted up at a large, black horse. The animal nudged at him, hot breath spilling over his hair and down his neck, making him shiver.
Come, ride with me.
Bucky’d never ridden a horse before, but there was no fear or worry in his dream and he climbed on, racing like the wind down the beach, the animal’s hoof beats pounding like the pulse in his throat.
The beast brought him right where he needed to be. Only in dreams would there just be a huge bed out in the middle of the beach, white sheets and a canopy over the top, like something out of a laundry-detergent commercial... and a familiar, lean body asleep in the middle of it. The horse dissolved into sea foam and Bucky was on the bed without even a pause for breath, taking Tony into his arms and kissing him hot and wet and needy--
Everything jumped about three feet to the left; the brilliant sunlight vanished for the deep, cool dark of night, and…
Tony was in his arms, curled up, his legs tucked between Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky was so damn hard it hurt.
He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. It had taken hours for Tony to fix his arm and root all the remaining mole-slime out from between the gears and replace every gasket, an experience Bucky didn’t really want to go through again. Tony had not yet needed to strap him down for maintenance, but this time had been pretty damn close.
And then there had been a shortage of water-pressure because everyone on the team had disappeared into their showers. Ug, dirt and mole-slime and blood and… Bucky’d been crawling out of his skin by the time they got to the penthouse and threatening to shave his head if he couldn’t wash his hair that very second. Which he really didn’t mean, except that Tony had kinda flailed into a panic at the thought and pushed JARVIS into overclocking the jetted tub’s heating coils, poured a bath, and then washed Bucky’s hair for him. (Okay, so Bucky had teased him a little and actually gotten out the clippers, which Tony had not thought was funny at all.)
Tony shifted, hand light on Bucky’s neck, fingers coiling in his hair. Bucky absolutely would not have cut his hair, no fucking way, because there was very little he liked better than Tony’s fingers clenched there, pulling Bucky’s neck back and exposing his throat for Tony's mouth.
They’d gotten out of the tub, half falling on each other, and made it to the bed, where Bucky had… huh. Guess he’d fallen asleep. Given that Tony was curled around him like the world’s most aggressive stuffed animal, Tony probably had not been awake much longer. The spirit is willing, but the body is fucking exhausted.
Tony wiggled again, throwing one leg over Bucky’s hips and… oh, that was not fair, not at all, and there was no fucking way he was going to be able to get back to sleep now. Bucky twisted a bit, moved his arm down Tony’s hip -- thank god everything was fixed and he could, actually, move again, because that had been so damned uncomfortable -- to try to get a little space between them, but Tony muttered sleepily and pressed back up against him immediately, rubbing and… not fair. Not fair.
Tony was sleepy-warm and relaxed, pressed tight against Bucky’s body in a way that made the possessive beast in Bucky’s head purr with satisfaction. Mine mine mine. Tony's face was slack, skin rough with morning stubble, lips pouting just a bit, enough to make Bucky want to kiss him, tease them into a smile. And all of that would be unbearably sappy if it wasn’t for the way Tony’s morning wood was pressed insistently against Bucky’s thigh. If it wasn’t for the way Bucky’s own erection hadn’t subsided even a little since waking, aching with the need to feel Tony’s hand, his mouth, his cock, his ass.
Tony wriggled closer still, fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky couldn’t suppress the hiss or the way his hips rocked him against the pressure of Tony’s leg.
Tony hummed a little and rubbed his own cock against Bucky’s thigh -- tiny, reflexive thrusts that made Bucky’s mouth run dry with wanting.
“Christ, Tony,” Bucky whispered. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” He rubbed his thumb across the skin of Tony’s hip, back and forth.
Tony hummed again and leaned into the touch a little, hips undulating. Bucky nosed at the top of his head. “You awake, baby?” he breathed.
“Mm-mm,” Tony denied. His breathing was still shallow, his heart beating slow and steady, so he was at least mostly still asleep. But also skating close to the surface, if he was responding so readily to Bucky’s touch and words. Maybe...
Bucky moved slowly, not wanting to rouse Tony from sleep entirely as they rolled, Tony onto his back and Bucky half on top of him now, weight pressing Tony down into the mattress. Bucky nuzzled at Tony’s jaw, the soft spot just behind his ear, the curve of his neck, breathing deep the sleepy scent of him.
He wanted to suck, to bite, to mark, but that would rouse Tony too quickly, so he shoved the impulse aside, contenting himself with licking into the hollow of Tony’s collarbones, the faintest scrape of his teeth along the tempting curve of flesh.
He slid down and closed his mouth over Tony’s nipple. At the first flick of his tongue, Tony’s breath hitched and Bucky froze, glancing up to see the beginnings of a frown form between Tony’s eyebrows, and then it faded and he drifted back into sleep. Bucky couldn’t help a smug smile as he tongued Tony’s nipple into a hard peak, then delicately teased the other with his fingers until they matched.
Tony stretched, then settled again, one arm over his head, the other curling up against his belly. Bucky planted a line of kisses along that outstretched arm, tonguing at the soft, vulnerable skin at the crease of his elbow, tasting the salt and metal of Tony’s skin. Bucky drew Tony’s arm down, dedicated a few moments to kissing the inside of his wrist, the palm of his hand, the long, strong, heavily callused fingers. Despite himself, Bucky knew he wasn’t as patient as he often wanted to be, he hadn’t taken the time to really touch and taste and explore and learn as much as he should. The bonfire that burned between him and Tony raged out of his control more often than not, a searing need that had to be sated. He drew Tony’s index and middle finger into his mouth, sucked lightly and couldn’t help a satisfied smile when Tony groaned, curving his fingers in Bucky’s mouth, his palm scraping over the stubble on Bucky’s chin.
“Yeah, that’s good, Tony,” Bucky said, his voice pitched low and soothing. “You just relax there, let me take care of you, let me take care of everything. God, so beautiful, I can’t bear it.” He ran one hand slowly down the length of Tony’s body, letting his fingers drift over and around, gentle, raising trails of gooseflesh on Tony’s skin, then chasing after them with his mouth, warming and soothing.
Tony let out a low rumble and squirmed slightly under Bucky’s mouth. “Well, good morning to me,” he mumbled. His eyes stayed closed, but he groped with one hand until he found Bucky’s shoulder, and petted it with sleep-clumsy affection.
Bucky tipped his head, kissed Tony’s fingers, then slid down, feeling the drag of his skin against Tony’s. “Nothin’ to worry about, baby,” he said, fingers tracing the line of Tony’s hip, dancing along the sweet curve of of Tony’s perfect ass. “I got you. Got everything you need.”
“Got that right,” Tony said, sounding slightly more awake. “Best boyfriend ever. God, you spoil me.”
Bucky tucked his face against Tony’s ribs, pressing a kiss to his skin. “Sorry, babe, didn’t quite mean to wake you up.” He let his hand drift downward, skimming the sensitive skin along Tony’s thigh, fingers not quite making the stretch to brush against Tony’s cock.
Tony arched into it. “Worth waking up for,” he returned. “Besides, I don’t know how you could expect me to sleep through this, mmm...”
Bucky grinned. “You’ve been asleep through this for the last--” He glanced over at the clock. “--twenty minutes or so.”
“Yes, you’re very sneaky,” Tony said. “Sorry I missed it, though; sounds like quite the party.”
Bucky made a soft sound of agreement, his mouth coming down on Tony’s hip, giving in to his urges to suck and nip at the skin there. “Awake is good, too,” he said, when he pulled back. “But you’re responsive as hell when you’re sleeping. Sorry, couldn’t resist…”
“Nope, no sorry, you definitely should not --ah!-- not feel sorry for waking me up like this,” Tony said, breath hitching.
“You’re sure?” Bucky said, lightly teasing, dropping feather-light kisses along Tony’s stomach. “I can let you go back to sleep, babe… not a problem.” Totally a lie, Bucky knew. His not-problem was hard as a goddamn rock and pressing desperately against Tony’s thigh.
“The hell you will,” Tony growled. “Touch me, already.”
Bucky looked down at his hands, all astonishment. “I am touching you, babe.” He blinked rapidly at Tony, all fluttering eyelashes and bashful smile.
“You are such a troll,” Tony said with a huff of a laugh. “My dick, Barnes, come on...”
Okay, okay, so he completely deserved that, Bucky thought, dropping his head down on Tony’s stomach with a pained groan. “Greedy,” he muttered, feeling the back of his neck heating. Using one finger, he traced the line up Tony’s thigh, then brushed, just barely, the lightest touch he could manage, from balls to head and then pulled his finger back. “Like that?”
Tony actually opened his eyes and lifted his head to give Bucky an unimpressed look. “I mean, if you’re not interested, I guess I could go in the bathroom and finish up on my own...”
“You could,” Bucky said, then planted one hand in the middle of Tony’s chest. He gave Tony his very best smoldering look, then lowered his chin, took the entirety of Tony’s cock into his mouth, quick, all the way to the base, then pulled back very slowly and popped off. “Or, you can just relax for a few minutes and let me take care of you.”
“Oh, fffff--” Tony’s back arched and he grabbed at Bucky’s hair like he was holding on for dear life. “Okay, yeah, that’s... Good idea, babe. I’ll just...”
Bucky slid up, claimed Tony’s mouth with his own, kissing him slow, cutting off the endless chatter, tasting his lip, letting his tongue glide in, the rough feel of Tony’s beard against his skin. He slid one hand into Tony’s hair, fingers running against his scalp. “You’ll just what?”
“Just, oh... Bucky, god.” Tony chased after his mouth, kissing him again. “Mmmwhatever you want, soldier.”
“What I want,” Bucky said, in a low growl near Tony’s ear, “is all of you. Every bit of you. I want to eat you up like ice cream. As often as I can, for as long as I can, until there’s no part of you I haven’t laid claim to, no part of you I haven’t touched or tasted. Until you can’t imagine anyone else putting their hands on you.”
“Uh,” Tony said intelligently, and let his head flop back onto the pillow. “Yeah, okay. Man, if this is what I get when you find out random supervillains are trying to court me...”
Over my dead body. He didn’t say it, couldn’t say it; it wasn’t fair to Tony, it wasn’t realistic, and certainly it wasn’t sane. But the Winter Soldier never cared about sanity, and Bucky had gone ahead and truly incorporated what was left of that creature into his psyche, for good or ill. He hadn’t quite known what he’d done; given himself new compliance commands, given himself discretion, and then he’d given himself a mission. He had taken everything -- everything -- Hydra gave him, forced on him, and rather than ridding himself of it, he’d embraced it, encompassed it.
Protect Anthony Stark: not a mission, not a protocol, but the deepest, most desperate need of his heart. And he’d do that, protect Tony. From himself, if necessary. Dial it back a notch, soldier.
But then Tony whimpered underneath him, writhed, that wounded animal movement and needy supplicant sound and Bucky was gone. Shit fire and save matches, but that drove him crazy. It wasn’t even that he thought of Tony as less than. Tony was the ultimate in human -- humans were basically herd creatures, prey… but they were prey who’d forgotten that was what they were, that learned to bite back. Never quite got over their own audacity and had reshaped the world in their own image. And Tony was the epitome, the very best of those who were still human. He had literally remade himself in the image of gods, and this god-like creature was wrecked because of Bucky, what Bucky could do to him, desperately wanted to do to him. Because of what Tony desperately wanted Bucky to do to him.
“Oh, Tony,” Bucky said, inhaling, looking down at the man who sprawled, wanton and easy, on the bed. It didn’t seem possible that Tony could want him as much as Bucky wanted, needed, Tony, but even at a fraction, he was willing to take it. Bet the house and lose it all, if he needed to. He licked his finger and traced the tip over Tony’s nipple, watching his face intently, each little twitch and flutter. He teased it to a peak, then closed his mouth over warm skin, licking and sucking, each gasp and squirm making him harder, more desperate.
“Bucky, god, what you do to me...” Tony’s hands tangled in his hair, not directing but restlessly touching and stroking and moving, unable to remain still.
“Everything,” Bucky said, his voice rough with want. “Anything. Tony… I…” There were words, he was sure they existed, that poets and playwrights had spoken them, but he couldn’t find any, so resorted to the one thing he did know; the best way to draw those needy sounds from Tony’s throat. He slithered down Tony’s body, cupped his arms under Tony’s thighs and spread him open, his mouth going down to lick and tease at Tony’s cock, tasting him, swallowing him up.
He got those sounds, and more; Tony gasped and groaned and panted and whined, he pleaded and begged and praised, he chanted Bucky’s name like a prayer and offered himself as sacrifice. He wriggled and writhed and arched and squirmed helplessly, but his hands stayed gentle on Bucky’s head and face, an unspoken surrender to Bucky’s control. It wasn’t long -- or didn’t seem so, at any rate -- before his movements became jerky and his breathing turned into a series of hitched breaths at longer and longer intervals, and his muscles all drew taut. “Bucky, Bucky, babe, I’m-- oh, fuck-- close, please...”
Bucky shivered all over at the desperate sounds coming from Tony’s mouth, slowly drew himself off. “Do… you want to finish, or… I… wanna give you what you need, baby. Just say it.”
Tony whimpered at the loss of Bucky’s mouth. “I-- You, I need you.” He pulled at Bucky’s hair and half-sat to meet halfway, the kiss sloppy with desperate need. Tony groaned again at the taste of himself on Bucky’s tongue, and pulled away barely far enough for breath. “Fuck me, soldier.”
Bucky nodded once, then stretched over Tony’s body to fumble in the bedside table for the lube. “Roll over,” he said, slicking his fingers.
Tony took a deep, deep breath and nodded, untangling their legs and bodies to twist over onto his stomach and get his knees under him, pressing one hand against the headboard and resting his forehead on his other arm.
“So gorgeous,” Bucky breathed. He pressed one hand in the middle of Tony’s back, holding him steady, circled his pretty, puckered little hole with one lubed finger, teasing and tracing the circle until Tony was shaking under him, then pressed in, slow and easy.
“Bucky,” Tony breathed, “yes, god, more.” He pushed back impatiently, greedy and eager.
“I got you, baby,” Bucky said, twisting his wrist, searching for that sweet spot. He leaned down and bit the curve of Tony’s ass when he moaned. “I got it, don’t you sweat it. Gonna get you there, take good care of you.”
“I know,” Tony panted, “I know, you always do, you take care of me, I-- Bucky, fuck, please...”
“Wait for me, Tony,” Bucky said, then added a second finger, sliding in, scissoring once inside. “Want you to come ‘round me. Can you do that, babe, can you hold on?”
“I, maybe, I’m trying. Hurry up, though.”
“Okay, okay, here,” he shifted, sliding onto his back and nudging Tony’s leg over him. “You do it, then, baby. Come on, take it.” He slicked his hand and gave himself a few good pumps. He groaned into it, not able to look away from Tony, so wrecked and shaking over him.
“Yes,” Tony said happily, shifting a little to adjust his position, straddled over Bucky’s hips. He settled his weight carefully, trembling with need. He let his head fall back, sweat-slicked hair clinging to his face, and sank down onto Bucky’s cock, faster than Bucky would have taken it, heedless of the potential for pain in his pursuit of pleasure, so tight and hot--
“Oh…. oh, god, Tony. I… shit.” Bucky threw his head back, cords in his neck standing out, willing himself to stillness, heels pressed hard against the mattress, his teeth closing on his lower lip.
Tony grinned, but kept going, slow and steady, the muscle in his clenched jaw ticking. He didn’t stop until he’d bottomed out, then rested his hands flat on Bucky’s chest and leaned there, breathing through it as his body adjusted. “Oh, yeah, that’s... that’s just what I wanted,” he sighed. “Doing okay, honey?”
“You crazy, lovely bastard,” Bucky gasped. He laughed weakly, then groaned as the sharp movements jarred them both. “Christ, you feel so good, but I am going to die right now if you don’t move.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.” Tony lifted nearly entirely off, and then sank back down, a little faster this time. “I want it on the record that unlike certain wiseass supersoldiers, I’m not deliberately misunderstanding, here.” He grinned, even as he repositioned his hands and rocked up and back again.
Bucky slanted him a dark, wanting look. “Truly, you are the better man,” he said, deadpan serious, even as his back arched off the mattress and his thighs tightened.
“Not sure about that, but --nng, oh, do that again-- but I definitely want pancakes for breakfast.”
Bucky grabbed Tony’s hips, dragging him down harder. He snapped up to meet Tony on the downstroke, heaving out a lungful of air. “God, Tony…”
“Oh, fuck, more of that, that’s-- that’s perfect.” Tony looked down at him, eyes wide and dark with need, with wanting and love.
Keening, Bucky threw his head back, rocked his hips up, faster. God, god, like that, he wanted, needed… he let go of Tony’s hips, his fingers closing down on empty air. “Tony, god, please… I can’t… can’t wait...”
Tony’s breath stuttered and he grabbed at his cock, jerking it roughly. “Come on, sweetheart, let go, let me have--” His eyes squeezed shut and he clenched down hard as he came, striping Bucky’s stomach and chest.
Oh God. Bucky cried out, his back arching up, hips working furiously as all his bones turned to something the consistency and warmth of melted chocolate. “Tony, Tony…” His hands grabbed great handfuls of the blankets, giving him leverage to work his hips harder, thrusting up, so good, god. Tony was so hot and tight around him, and… he rolled his head back even further and screamed as he came, wanton and joyous.
Tony collapsed onto Bucky’s chest, panting, not even caring about the mess. “Well, that definitely raised MY bar for wake-up sex.”
Bucky panted for air, gasping like he was drowning. “You… that’s what you get, ruttin’ up against me half-asleep.”
“Oh, I see; this is my fault, is it?” Tony laughed weakly.
“Abso-fuckin-lutely, damnit,” Bucky said, groaning again as Tony wiggled on top of him. “Smug bastard, take the win.”
Tony lifted his head to kiss Bucky, tenderly. “Biggest win was bagging you, Buckybear. Nothing new there.”
Bucky snorted. “You had me at ‘this whole stalker thing is flattering.’”
***
“‘Tis a powerful artifact,” Thor rumbled, laying each piece out on the table in Bruce’s lab, carefully giving each one some space from the others. The three pieces strained toward each other, the magnetic fields in the room going absolutely haywire. “The Allfather will be most pleased at its return; the loss has been one of sore contention these many years. ‘Tis unknown how it was removed from the vault, although my brother, Loki, may well have been involved, before his death. Truth, I would not believe even Loki to be so careless as to allow items of this power to be so randomly distributed to petty mortals.”
“Hey, don’t underestimate us petty mortals,” Tony said. He unfolded the carrying case he’d built to hold the Verden Vøktoy, laying aside the layers of padded shielding that would protect the contents from being scanned or damaged -- at least by anything created by mere mortals.
“I do not, friend Anthony,” Thor said, looking surprised that Tony would think so. “Nor, in truth, did Loki, whatever he said. But those who have wielded these pieces, knowing not what cosmic forces they contained, are truly beyond contempt. It would be tantamount to giving a child access to your nuclear codes and then expecting peace.”
“Well, I can’t argue with you there.” Tony picked up the Sublunary Globe gingerly and felt it flood his consciousness with eagerness. Creation? Destruction? All the same. Tony shuddered and carefully nestled the globe into its place, and tried to ignore the despondent sensation it gave him as he released it -- the weird alien artifact equivalent of sad puppy eyes, he supposed.
“The tools of the colonists of the ancient ones, these were never meant to cause such destruction and pain as we have seen. But even the ancients did not know the powers they had unlocked. They destroyed themselves with the power and guardianship of the Verden Vøktoy came to Asgard, that we might protect -- and never use -- its power,” Thor continued, looking smug, proud, and just a little obnoxious.
“Yeah, well, someone fell down on that job, didn’t they?” Tony snarked. The Graviton Persuader, thankfully, didn’t come with so much personality, though Tony was uneasily aware of the way knowledge of its use began slowly filtering into his brain, the longer he held it, like dust collecting on an unused shelf, imperceptible at first and then suddenly noticeable. It had been instrumental in hurting and breaking Bucky, though, and so its allure was much easier to resist.
“They did,” Thor admitted. “We did. But the device itself is clever. Against a weak mind, much damage can be wrought. It wishes, above all else, to be used. That desire makes itself felt; we must needs take greater care in the future that it cannot be led to persuade another to take it up. Even the fine men of my father’s guard can be enticed. I shall make it my personal responsibility to ensure that yon artifact remains impassive in the future.”
“Well, this case should get it off Earth safely, at least,” Tony said. “I consulted with damn near every expert on-planet to make sure it’s impervious to heat, cold, broad-band light, magnetism, all kinds of radiation, psychic powers, and most kinds of magic. Supposedly. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Your expertise is worth a great deal, friend Anthony,” Thor said. “As is your ability to handle the device without succumbing to its call. Truly, Midgard has entered the age of light and it gives me great joy to witness it.”
Tony shrugged. “I get the feeling it would be harder to resist if we put it all together. Which is why your cosmic tinkertoy is going back to Asgard still in pieces.” The Starfire Sceptre was weirdly quiet when he picked it up, which was somehow more disturbing than the globe’s boundless enthusiasm or the Persuader’s sleepy depth.
“There is much truth to your words,” Thor admitted. “The power to create an entire galaxy is difficult to resist, even to one such as myself.”
Tony packed the rod into its compartment, and made sure all three pieces were secure. “If you want my advice -- and who wouldn’t? -- you’ll have whatever magic Asgardian box you make for the thing just go right around this one. Double the protection.” Tony sealed the container and pushed it along the table toward Thor.
“To be sure,” Thor said. “The Allfather is given toward some small amount of aggrandizement; each relic contained within the vaults sits on full display, as each is a token of his might and wisdom. It has led to no small amount of trouble in the past. I will certainly have firm words with the vaultkeepers, but my father’s will is not one that I can speak much against. ‘Tis a hard truth, is it not, to question the rightness of our fathers? Perhaps the havoc that my brother wreaked will persuade him to cool his judgement. And I shall put a quiet word in Heimdall’s ear, to better stand watch.”
“Good call.” Tony clapped Thor’s arm -- it was still like patting a brick wall. “Be sure to say hi to your dad for us all, and don’t be a stranger.”
Thor nodded, clasping Tony’s shoulder briefly. “I shall return in some short while, once I have again discharged my duties at home. And it is with a glad heart that I shall carry your greetings and regard to my father. He will, no doubt, be joyous to hear them.”
Tony tried not to laugh at that, because laughing at Thor was like kicking an extremely lovable and sincere golden retriever, but he was entirely certain that Odin would be no more than politely bored by greetings from any Midgardian. Ah, well, Thor had been raised to a brighter spotlight and a slightly different brand of diplomacy than Tony had. “Sure thing, big guy.”
Thor picked up the case, hefted it experimentally. “‘Tis good construction,” he said. “I feel not even the slightest echo of their influence. Fine work, my friend.” With that, Thor majestically strode out of the lab, cloak forming in the air behind him. When in the Tower, Thor generally was content to wear Midgard clothing, jeans and boots and tees, but when returning home, he always wore his armor. Must save a fortune on dry-cleaning bills, having it just magically tuck away like that.
Jane and Darcy were waiting for them on the roof -- Jane was taking advantage of access to the Tower’s immense databanks and processing power to run her current proof -- but the two of them were scheduled to fly to Beijing in a few days for a series of lecture tours on astrophysics in the Convergence. Darcy gave Thor an enthusiastic hug, and babbled a greeting to Thor’s hammer, which she playfully called “Mew mew.”
And then Thor and Jane were kissing with rather more enthusiasm than perhaps was wise, as the sky started to cloud over. Darcy rolled her eyes, walked over to Tony’s side and popped up an umbrella. “I always carry at least one, these days,” she said, by way of greeting.
“Smart,” Tony agreed, ducking under with her. “At least he doesn’t do this nonsense inside.”
Darcy gave him a slant-eyed look. “Oh, sometimes he does. But Jane’s yelled at him about it a few times, after he shorted out her laptop. Again. Nothing quite like waking up to your room being four inches deep in water; talk about loud-sex couples.”
Tony squinted up at the clouds. “How does that even... You know what, I don’t think I want to know.” He considered yelling at Thor and Jane to get moving, already, but suppressed it. Thor was the only one of the Avengers who was at all patient with Tony and Bucky’s clinginess before and after the rare occasions they had to go in separate directions.
Darcy laughed. “I stopped asking questions about ‘how’ after my boss ran over a god with her Jeep. Just safer that way.”
Finally, finally, Jane stepped back and moved away to give Thor space. The God of Thunder raised up his hammer and called out, “Heimdall, I desire to go home.”
The whumpas the rainbow bridge struck the roof of the Tower and scooped up Thor for his ride home was both deafening and near inaudible. The glitter of the bridge was blinding and Jane shaded her eyes to watch as the colors swirled upward, a deluge in reverse.
Darcy waved her arms enthusiastically. “Hi Heimdall! Hope you’re doing well!” she yelled after the bridge.
Tony watched the bridge until it collapsed again, then looked down at the smoking scorch-mark runes all over his roof. “No respect for my property,” Tony said, rather absently kicking his foot through the marks. “It’d serve him right if I just left this here. I wonder if that’d mess up the return bridge.”
Jane opened her mouth to say something and Darcy promptly stepped on her foot. “He doesn’t want to know, Jane,” Darcy said. “Save it for the lectern.”
Jane huffed. “Fine.” She turned to Tony, all seriousness, “She’s heard it a hundred times now, while I practice my lecture. But if you want, I’ll send you a copy of the recording.”
“Obviously, I want that, yes,” Tony said. “If you--”
“Come on, Bucky said he was making pancakes!” Darcy linked arms with her best friend, and then with Tony, using her best movie trailer voice. “And once again, the day is saved… thanks to… the Avengers!”