Tony grabs an empty bowl of chips from the coffee table and stands tall, stretching out. No one seems to notice as he picks his way through the sprawled Avengers towards the kitchen. If Bucky had been there, he would have noticed, but he left a few minutes ago and hasn’t returned yet.
One could argue that Tony is a little more aware of Bucky’s whereabouts than is normal, and Tony wouldn’t argue back. Bucky seems to be the axis around which most of his focus revolves these days. The tension between them is so thick, Tony figures he’d need one of his repulsor-powered laser rifles to cut it at this point.
Which is probably why it’s been several months of longing looks, lip biting, brushing hands, and pounding hearts with no action. Tony drops the bowl on the counter and pushes a button on the popcorn maker to start JARVIS making more. It’ll take a few minutes to pop, so he peeks in the fridge, but finding nothing of interest there, he decides he might as well pop to the bathroom so he doesn’t have to get up again during the second movie. It’s one of his favourites.
Tony exits the kitchen by the back door, and rounds the doorframe into the hall only to walk straight into Bucky. Bucky, impressively, doesn’t even wobble. He takes Tony’s entire weight colliding with his chest as if a mosquito had bounced off him, but he catches Tony by both elbows to keep him from stumbling back and falling on his ass.
They’re in a dark, narrow hallway, quiet, save for the distant, hushed chatter back in the living room. It’s far enough away that it might as well be another planet, because the only things in Tony’s world in this moment are Bucky’s eyes - which are fixed unwaveringly on Tony’s - and the two pressure points where Bucky’s hands hold his forearms fast.
Tony’s mouth goes dry which draws his eyes down to Bucky’s lips, which are slightly parted, and Tony wonders if he was going to say something. He doesn’t speak, even after several seconds that last decades. When Tony looks back up at Bucky’s eyes, he’s looking at Tony’s lips now, and Bucky’s tongue slides forward - not enough to lick, just enough to lightly press against his upper lip, as if imagining the taste of something delicious has awoken it.
Tony realizes he’s staring at Bucky’s mouth again.
The dance has been fun, these last few months, but Tony’s ready for it to be over. He’s ready for the next part - as terrifying as it is - when they find all the spaces where they fit against each other, the soft curves that snug together tightly enough to hide the joins between them, the jagged edges that will take time to erode, and the odd twists and divots that will take some gymnastic work to align with one another. He’s ready for the part where they talk with their mouths instead of just their eyes, building a new understanding, a new language, so one day they can be back to just talking with their eyes again, but saying so, so much more.
Tony is ready to fall in love.
His feet are on the edge of the precipice, and lust, and attraction, and teasing, and flirting have gotten him this far, but they won’t get him any further. He has to find the power to fling himself off, because if he backs away this time, it’ll probably be the last time. Bucky will take no for a final answer, and Tony is so full of yes it almost hurts, pressing against his seams until they’re fit to burst.
Tony shuffles closer and the movement presses his hands up against Bucky’s chest, his elbows still caught in Bucky’s firm grip, though he’s had his balance for more than a minute now. Bucky’s eyes go a little wider, his breath audibly catching. Tony says a quick prayer to the gods of gears and WD-40 that he’s not about to find himself shoved on his ass, the moment inordinately misread, and he rocks forward onto his toes, leans in.
He leaps off the edge, pressing their lips together. Bucky’s are warm and soft and immediately part to welcome him home there. It’s still a long way down to love, but falling is half the fun all on its own, and Tony knows where he’s headed. The view is nothing short of stunning.
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