“Do you trust me?”
Those four words are dumb. At least, Bucky thinks so. Tony asking if he trusts him is like asking Bucky if he needs air. The answer is always going to be a resounding, “Yes.”
Tony is good with his hands; Bucky had figured as much even before finding out that he had built a miniature Arc Reactor in a cave. It’s in the way the Iron Man armors look. It’s in the way Tony solders mechanical components or tinkers with his cars.
It’s even in the way Tony always takes his time tying the rope around Bucky’s wrists, methodical and sure. He can break out of it with ease if he wants to, but with Tony, he never feels like he needs it. It’s in the way Tony’s fingertips dance along his skin, over his ribs, before finding purchase in his hair.
Tony grasps Bucky’s face lightly, angling his head up so he can capture his lips in a kiss. Bucky groans when Tony licks his way into his mouth, the taste of him heady and familiar.