imaginetonyandbucky:

He Shoots, He Scores

Tony checked his
watch and tapped his foot some more. Swear to god, he was gonna give this
asshole another five minutes and then he was out the damn door. He only agreed
to the blind date because Nat was getting on his case regularly, and he thought
if he did one date, maybe she’d leave him alone.

Probably not,
Tony considered. Variable reward system. Her nagging him had gotten him to
agree to one date after six weeks. Next time, she’d nag for eight weeks.

Ug.

The door opened
again and Tony’s gaze went to the newcomer, checking him against the
description he’d long since memorized.

Dark hair,
broody. Leather jacket and boots. Hot.

Dark hair, head
bowed, moved to the bar like he was parting the Red fucking Sea, check.

Leather jacket
and boots. Check.

Hot. Check,
write the fucking check.

Smoking hot.

The guy went
straight to the bar and ordered a double whiskey and a beer chaser. He was
halfway through the beer when Tony raised his chin to the bartender and
signaled. That guy, those drinks,
on me. It was a complicated
series of hand gestures, but Tony was a good tipper and the bartender knew it.
So he’d taken pains to get to know Tony. Either that, or Tony was going to end
up footing the bar tab for the entire night.

Which might have
been okay, too.

The bartender
leaned close to Walks in Beauty (and wow, he was so hot that Tony was doing the
mental Byron, so bad, he was sunk already… Maybe he should have taken Nat up on
a date earlier, because she shoots, she scores, Raven Tresses was on his way
over.)

“Shove over,”
the guy said.

“Huh?”

“Need t’ put my
arm up,” the guy said. “M’ shoulder’s killin’ me and if I sit on th’ other side
with my arm up, everyone’s gonna stare.”

Tony was about
to inquire further when his gaze fell on the man’s sleeve. Which was empty.
Huh. Nat hadn’t mentioned that, and then Tony had to wonder if she’d done it on
purpose because she didn’t want Tony to form expectations, or because she
thought Tony wouldn’t want to date someone who was missing a limb.

“Sure, sure,”
Tony said, and he slid over in the booth. The guy practically fell in the seat
next to him and groaned as he stretched out the stump; from the dent in his
sleeve, it looked like his arm ended about two inches over his elbow.

“I got a
prosthetic,” the guy said, “but it’s fuckin’ heavy and I hate wearin’ it.
Thanks for the drink, hot shot.”

“You want
another beer? Or cheese fries or something? Honestly, the whole buying someone
a drink is old hat. I’m trying to expand my repertoire,” Tony said.

“Been a while
since anyone even bought me a beer,” the guy said.

“Well, that’s
just short sighted,” Tony said. He waved over one of the waitresses. “Ang,
bring – cheese fries okay? Yeah, that, and another beer, and a scotch? Thanks,
love.”

“Sure thing,
Tony,” she said, and bounced off.

“Yeah, okay,
you’re Tony Stark,” the guy said. “Not really where I’d expect to find you.
Not… razzle-dazzley enough for you.”

Tony was almost
affronted. “Razzle-dazzley?”

“You know,
matching dancing girls and glitter bombs and flying cars,” the guy said. “That
seems more your speed than pickin’ up a sad sack who’s down an arm an’ a job.”

Tony made a
noise of sympathy. “Rough day, huh? Well, you know who I am, what’s your name?”

“Bucky Barnes,”
he said. “An’ yeah, it’s been for shit today.”

Bucky? Bucky,
really? Well, that would explain why Nat hadn’t given him a name. Tony wasn’t
so shallow to turn down a date with a guy with one arm, but he might well have
turned down a date with a grown man who went by the name Bucky.
Of course, all she would have had to do was show him a damn picture…

Angie came back
with booze and fries; she truly was an angel. Bucky scooped up a handful of
fries, dredged them through the ranch dressing, and stuffed them in his mouth,
chasing it with a hefty swallow of beer.

“Tell me about
your crappy day,” Tony invited.

“You serious?”
Bucky stared at him for a moment, then taking something in Tony’s expression as
permission, went into it.

They drank beer
and went through a truly epic number of fry baskets. Bucky talked about getting
laid off from Hammer Industries, and Tony told ridiculous stories about his
interns at SI. Bucky complained about the way his prosthetic fit, and the
muscle pain that he had in his shoulder all the time from wearing it. Tony
suggested they go get a couples massage as a later date. Bucky talked about his
roommate, who was a starving artist who’d just actually managed to get a booth
at a local festival and sold a few pieces, which meant they weren’t going to
starve to death before Bucky’s unemployment came in.

“What did you do
for Hammer, anyway?”

“Tech support.
Even a one armed guy can answer the phone,” Bucky said. “I misunderstood th’
purpose of their tech support, though. We have– had.
Had a minimum of calls transferred to sales. I thought I was s’posed to help
people fix their damn stuff.”

Tony made
another mental note to see if he could get a recruiter to call – if Tony
offered the job directly, Bucky would probably turn it down, but a third party
recruiter could probably get Bucky to at least go in for an interview. Poaching
off Hammer was its own reward.

Tony talked
about some recent developments in his research departments, which included
printable organs.

“Y’ should make
patterns for print ups of prosthetics,” Bucky suggested. “The one the VA
cleared me for weighs a ton and it’s not very adjustable.”

“That’s a…
that’s a damn good idea,” Tony said.

“Enlightened
self-interest,” Bucky said, waving his stump awkwardly.

They moved on to
music and movies, with a vast venn diagram of matching preferences when a short
guy with truly ridiculous sideburns stomped up to the table. “You Tony?”

Tony blinked and
leaned back to look at who was accosting them. Dark hair. Broody. Leather
jacket and boots.

He glanced at
Bucky, back at the guy who might have actually
been his blind date. He squeezed
Bucky’s knee under the table.

“No,” Tony said.

After the guy
stormed off, muttering about only being two hours late, and what did people
expect these days, Bucky turned to Tony. “What was that about?”

Tony ran his
tongue over his teeth. “I… I’m so sorry,” he said. “I thought you were the guy
my friend set me up with. But… you’re not, are you?”

“No, I’m just
the guy you’ve been buying drinks for all night?”

“Yeah, I think
that was her pick,” Tony said, and he squeezed Bucky’s knee again. “You’re my
pick. He shoots, he scores! Come on, let’s blow this place before he comes
back.” Tony raised a finger for the tab.

“I ain’t givin’
up th’ best date I had in ages to someone who can’t be bothered t’ show up on
time.”

“Best date, huh?”

“Well, so far,”
Bucky said. “I expect more razzle-dazzle next time.”

Tony was
grinning. “You want it, Buckaroo, you got it.”

---

Also a fill for @tonystarkbingo for square K1: image of Tony Stark saying “Razzle-Dazzley?”