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English
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Part 1 of Nice to meet you, where you been?
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Published:
2017-04-07
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2,100
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1/1
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Did it hurt when you fell?

Summary:

HEIGHT DIFFERENCE AUS (let's be honest, rdj/tony stark is a short cinnamon bun)
“You were trying to reach for a box of cereal and a whole shelf’s-worth of cereal boxes fell on you here let me help”

Notes:

*Appears two years later with a Starkbucks in hand* "'Sup?"
Un-betaed, all mistakes are still mine, do not own Marvel, etc.
(pun intended, btw)

Work Text:

You can find it on tumblr too and the prompts are here

 

After the fifth egg in a row broke outside the bowl, Bucky realized two things: one, they were out of eggs and two, he was trying to make pancakes in the middle of the night. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he accidentally caught a glimpse of the kitchen clock.

 

“Well, shit,” he mumbled, his gaze returning to the egg whites and yolk that dripped from his fingers. For a moment he wondered how much of a mess he must have looked like, standing in the middle of the small kitchen in his pajamas, hair pulled back in a messy man-bun- shut up, punk, it’s how samurai used to tie their hair back!. There were egg bits dripping from his trembling hands, and, yes, it might have not been his brightest idea to make pancakes at 3am.

 

The whole week had been Hell- he experienced phantom pains the whole day, his scars ached from the colder weather and his last nightmare had been particularly vicious, partially because of the anniversary of losing his arm and there was no way on Earth he was getting any sleep tonight. So he decided to make breakfast, because why the Hell not? He usually found the process of cooking very grounding. There was just something very soothing in having the precise measurements and clear instructions to follow.

 

I guess I’m shit out of luck, he thought bitterly as he rinsed his hands. His morning had barely started and he already wanted the whole day to end.

 

Finally cleaning the yolk from between his the crevices of his prosthesis arm, Bucky leaned against the counter, staring wistfully at the bowls with ingredients for his special pancake recipe (aka his mother’s secret recipe). He might have decided to make them in a zombie-state of mind, but now he found himself wanting to finish what he started.

 

“Fuck it, I’m going out,” he declared to no one in particular as he picked up the hoodie he discarded earlier, collected his wallet and keys. There was one 24-h shop just around the corner of his and Steve’s apartment building. It would not be the first time the cashier there saw Bucky in his pajamas in the ungodly hours of the morning.

 

He really needed to rethink his life’s choices.

 

The boy behind the counter barely lifted his face from where he had buried it in his textbook. He raised his eyebrow at the Captain America pyjama bottoms before giving a distracted wave in recognition, and went back to studying.

 

Bucky resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes at the kid and instead headed towards where he knew the egg cartons were. He passed by a hooded guy, who was fiercely typing something on a piece of electronic that could as well be alien technology.

 

Who the fuck wears sunglasses at night? This guy apparently.

 

Bucky scolded himself with a, Thou shall not judge, and picked up his eggs. He was distractedly rubbing his shoulder with the hopes of easing the ache and contemplating if he should buy milk while he was at it when he heard the guy groan out a loud, “Fuck!”

 

He turned around to see the person from a moment ago staring longingly at something far above him on the aisle. Bucky just now noticed that the man was on the shorter side and was about to offer him some help when the guy huffed, shook his hips like a cat about to launch itself at its prey and jumped.

 

“What the-” Bucky didn’t even get to finish before there was a loud crash and the short man, along with the whole shelf’s worth of cereal boxers, came crashing down.

 

Bucky quickly sprinted to the scene, eggs forgotten, to lift the shelf and reveal the man underneath, who blinked owlishly. They stared at each other for a long moment, but can you blame him, that man was both drop-dead gorgeous and adorable as fuck at the same time. That combination should be illegal.

 

His hood had fallen off his head, revealing a soft-looking bed hair, dark doe-like eyes with pretty lashes peeking from behind askew red-tinted sunglasses and he had a ridiculous, but meticulously groomed beard that somehow suited him perfectly.

 

“I might have not thought that one out,” the man mumbled, his eyes locking with the ex-sniper’s.

 

Suddenly he grinned like he was high on something and purred, “Damn, they don’t make them like this anymore.”

 

Love at first sight was YA books nonsense and something that happened to other people, normal ones at least, but lust at first sight? That shit was primal, and if it had happened a few years ago, Bucky would have totally wined, dined and bedded the man. Except that did not seem likely to happen, as they had an audience in the form of the cashier.

 

“Mr. Stark, are you alright?” the boy asked, worry tainting his voice, “Should I call for an ambulance?”

 

Bucky was just about to answer for the other man when he shot up, frantically flailing his arms around, “Of course I’m all right, don’t call an ambulance! You should call the firemen, because there’s a hot guy standing over me.”

 

Bucky cringed on the other man’s behalf. The boy seemed reluctant to leave them alone, but the guy waved his hands again, “I’ll put the stuff back up, scout’s honour.”

 

“I’ll help him,” Bucky assured the cashier as well. He highly doubted the man had ever been a boy scout.

 

The cashier still looked torn between going back to his studies and cleaning up the mess, but after throwing one longing look at his books, he made up his mind.

 

Meanwhile, Hot fella had started picking up the boxes, looking flustered.

 

Later, Bucky would chalk his next words up to sleep deprivation and the effects of lust-at-first sight.

 

“Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Cause you have a pretty sweet ass.” The moment the words left his mouth Bucky wanted to bang his head against the wall. Repeatedly. What the fuck? Why the fuck did he blurt that out? Only he would hit on a fella who just knocked down an entire aisle and probably has a concussion with the worst pick-up line ever. He used to be good at that.

 

“Yes,” the shorter man winked, shoving the cartoon boxes into their rightful place. “Want a taste?”

 

Damn, Bucky had not been prepared for this and felt his face warm up. Great. He was still just standing there, in shock, and had to remind himself to close his open mouth, before bending down to pick up his share of cornflakes, “That was horrible.”

 

The other man just wiggled his eyebrows.

 

Short, dark and handsome flirting back somehow made the whole situation less awkward, but right then Bucky faced a new problem. The problem was that Bucky hadn’t been laid since God knows when or hadn’t had an honest long-term relationship, which tended to be a side effect to PTSD, and here comes this guy outta nowhere that could’ve been used as a prime example for his type. Give him a short brunet/brunette with an attitude and he was a goner, and right in this moment, his dick instantly perked up at the thoughts of tasting this fella.

 

“Bucky Barnes,” he offered his hand. His ma would have slapped the back of his head if she knew how rusty he had let his people skills become. “Just so you know what to scream. Do you have a name or can I call you mine, doll?”

 

He already made a fool of himself so he might as well just go all the way. And this fella seemed willing to play along.

 

“Tony, but honey, you can call me whatever you want,” the smaller man purred and did something downright criminal involving his teeth and his lower lip, before taking his hand. His metal one, Bucky realized a second too late.

 

He froze as he watched those whiskey eyes take in the complete package, lingering on the left side of his body and he knew they had reached the point of no return. Out of habit he stood a little taller, squared his shoulders, bracing himself for the inevitable fallout. Because there always was an awkward fallout.

 

However, Tony threw him off yet another time when his expression only shifted into one of child-like excitement, his eyes positively sparkling.

 

“Mind if I take a look?” he looked like a kid on Christmas morning and Bucky knew he would feel eternal guilt if he was the one responsible for erasing that smile, so he just nodded.

 

“Amazing,” Tony whispered, forgetting about the aisle for a second and examining his arm, turning it this and that way, murmuring under his nose. “It’s one of the first models, isn’t it? How fast is the response time? Do you experience sensory input like perception of pressure and temperature?”

 

Bucky felt himself smile again as the guy continued to gush over his prosthetic. “You two need some alone time?”

 

Tony looked up at him, head tilting to the side, “I think I’m in love.”

 

Bucky’s eyes followed Tony’s tongue as it darted out to wet his lower lip. Before the ex-soldier could gather himself together enough to not say anything that wasn’t along the lines of “Me, You, Fuck, Now,” the guy tilted his head a bit to the side, almost as if in challenge.

 

“So… You come here often?” he asked nonchalantly as he turned back to his task at arranging the aisle.

 

Bucky spluttered even more. “That is painfully cheesy,” he answered, before joining Tony in his task.

 

“Depends, did it work?”

 

“Only if mine did,” at Tony’s expectant expression he continued, “Did it hurt? When you fell from the shelf?”

 

It was the shorter man’s turn to snort, “It was five minutes ago, you gotta learn to let it go!” before bending down to pick up the last few boxes, which gave Bucky a perfect view to his ass. It was indeed the sort of ass Bucky could happily commit the rest of his life to worshipping.

 

This thought was followed immediately by mental smack to himself for the permanent bad porn reel in his head.

 

“But where’s the fun in that?” he asked, feigning innocence.

 

Tony stared at him for a long time before smiling. “You’re going to be quite a handful, aren’t ya, soldier?” he asked, sliding the sunglasses back in place.

 

“Definitely more than a handful. Wanna see?”

 

He was pretty sure he used to be smooth, once upon a time, and wondered what the hell had happened to him- well, getting your hand blown off by a landmine tended to fuck you up, but let’s not go there.

 

At least it made Tony laugh. As it turned out Tony’s laughter was even better than his smile. Bucky almost kinda wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to make him laugh again.

 

“I’m keeping you.”

 

Bucky blinked, “Are you intentionally using the creepiest line from the whole Casper movie?”

 

Tony’s eyes twinkled with amusement as his sunglasses slid down a little and Bucky’s heart hiccupped when he saw little crow feet forming around them. Nobody should be that pretty.

 

“Just ask him out already, Mr. Stark!” His attention snapped out of his trance and his face grew even hotter when he realized he’d been staring at Tony’s face for solid two minutes without saying a word.

 

Without missing a beat, Tony chastised the cashier, with a good-natured tone that hinted to an amount of familiarity between the two, “Shoo, Underoos. Don’t you have a test tomorrow you should be studying for?”

 

The boy yelped and hid between the shelves again.

 

Bucky wanted to yelp too, because when Tony turned back to him he was spotting a painfully shy expression that made him want to wrap up the smaller man in soft blankets- and no, it was not his mother hen nature, thank you very much, punk.

 

“So... wanna go out sometime?”

 

Bucky was sure he must look stoned as Hell with how big his smile was in that moment, “How do you feel about coffee, doll? Cause I like you a latte.”

 

“A man after my own heart,” Tony laughed again- and, God, he was never gonna get tired from hearing this.

 

Yep, there might be hope for my skills, Bucky thought as he watched the smaller man add his number to his contacts.

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