WinterIron one shots

May the best assassin win

Word count: 4287

Summery:  Bucky likes tony, but he finds out his feeling are not requited when Natasha seems to have the genius all to herself.

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Bucky took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans, checking his reflection in the mirror for what was probably the twelfth time in the last twenty minutes.

He could do this. He was a battle-hardened assassin who had stared down Nazis, aliens, and that weird, creepy tentacle thing Thor's ex-girlfriend had sicced on them all last week - he could ask Tony Stark out without throwing up, no matter what his stomach was telling him.

Because after months of struggling with his growing feelings for Tony, of wanting and pining and hoping, Bucky had finally been given a sign that his feelings might not have been quite as unreciprocated as he'd originally thought.

It had been just earlier that day, while Tony had been working on Bucky's arm.

Thanks to all of Tony's little tweaks making it run smoother, the arm rarely ever needed maintenance these days, but the latest threat to New York - an honest-to-God fire-breathing dragon - had left the skin along the metal seam of Bucky's shoulder puffy and tender, with a painful burning sensation that made it hard to move. Tony had thought it might have been a burn from the metal touching his skin, but had offered to look at it anyway, and Bucky - always eager for any excuse to spend time with Tony - had taken him up on it.

It had turned out to be burned, just as Tony had suspected, but Tony had had some sort of cream that he'd said would help with the irritation.

"Leftover from my arc reactor days," he'd explained, rubbing a generous amount into the skin around the metal. "I'll set you up with a jar. It's antibacterial, and I know you super-soldiers claim to be resistant to, well, everything, but every little bit helps."

Bucky had only been able to nod, too busy willing certain areas of his body not to get too excited by Tony's proximity, and then ended up shuddering anyway when Tony rubbed a particularly sensitive spot.

"Ah, sorry," Tony had said, moving his hand away immediately. "I probably should just let you-"

"No," Bucky had rasped, grabbing Tony's wrist before he could think better of it. And then Tony had looked up, his face just inches away from Bucky's, mouth parted and right there. Bucky had felt another shudder make its way down his spine, and then he'd found himself leaning forward, eyes on Tony's mouth, heart skipping when he realized Tony wasn't moving away -

The clatter of the jar of cream hitting the floor made them jump apart.

"Hell," Tony had hissed, face red as he bent over to pick it up. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying - uh, you know what? I'm going to go get you some more. You just... yeah," he'd squeaked before scampering off to another corner of the workshop.

Bucky had taken off before he could come back - too terrified and embarrassed to stick around - but after a few hours of wallowing in self-pity and replaying the whole incident in his head, he'd had an epiphany:

He'd almost kissed Tony. No, scratch that - he'd almost kissed Tony, and Tony had almost kissed him back.

Bucky didn't think he'd imagined it - there'd been a spark of something in Tony's eyes, and whatever it was, it hadn't been rejection.

"JARVIS, where's Tony?" Bucky asked, clearing his throat and - once again - checking his reflection. Maybe he should put on a different shirt, something sleeveless. Tony always seemed to appreciate his biceps.

"Sir is currently in his bedroom," JARVIS answered, surprising Bucky. It was only eight o'clock, and Tony was almost never in bed before midnight, if he could be persuaded to go to bed at all.