bad romance

Bucky was either terrible at flirting or out to murder him, Tony decided. It was honestly a toss-up as to which it was at any given moment.

Bucky liked to plant himself in the common room to clean his numerous guns and knives. It was bad enough that Tony found that unfairly hot, but the bedroom eyes Bucky gave him while cleaning were enough to make Tony blush (almost; Tony hadn’t blushed since MIT and he would be damned if some deep-frozen assassin got him to). He liked pet names, too, constantly calling Tony doll or kitten in his hoarse voice that did things to Tony, especially over the coms on missions where he was, more often than not, killing something. Then there were the casual touches that lingered just a second too long to be friendly during training, adjusting Tony’s stance by a fraction or nudging him into place with the hilt of a weapon.

It really shouldn’t have been attractive, but it was, so Tony was locked in a game of gay chicken with the most prolific assassin in history.

Tony really did have the worst luck.