I'm never going to be able to hide anything again. Every time I stub my toe, you're going to be there hovering to make sure I'm all right.
[Part of him insists that maybe having someone to take care of him wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, especially not if it's Steve. But Tony's also stubborn enough to think about all the times he's lied about minor injuries on missions - things Steve might sideline him for, like bruised ribs - and consider the repercussions of that.
But despite his complaining (which might have a note of fondness to it), Tony doesn't pull back. Instead, he keeps his hand where it is and continues to let Steve doctor him.]
You think this is permanent? [ The question comes out of curiosity. Genius though he may be, Tony's disdain for the mystical arts is well known, so Steve is prepared to take any and all of Tony's preliminary theories with a grain of salt.
After spraying something for the pain over Tony's palm, Steve finally gives him back his hand. ] There. All better. [ He can't help the sappy grin that crosses his lips as he says it, so he tries to hide it by turning away to busy himself storing away the first aid kit. ]
Dunno, I'll have to - [dramatic sigh, ugh] call Strange.
[Just because he and the sorcerer are on marginally better terms now than when they first met doesn't mean that Tony enjoys the thought of being lectured about an invisible force that doesn't have the decency to obey a single goddamn scientific law. It's like being stuck with himself, a fate worse than death.]
Hopefully we can talk him into doing a house call.
[Tony does his best to rinse his slightly numb hand off in the sink. Which, okay, fucking hurts anyway, but he can't just walk around with a bloody hand all day. He can't even hide in Steve's room and let him fuck him all day, although the idea has merit. Zero good hands tends to limit his contribution to sex, and Tony really doesn't want to risk ripping his stitches. They'll have to get Rhodey to stitch him up next - or, worse yet, Sam - and he's really not ready for that talk yet.]
We should probably put clothes on and eat something at some point.
Shouldn't be too big of an ask for someone who travels by portal. [ Steve says with a shrug, truly naive to the extent of Strange's grouchiness. At Tony's suggestion, he shoots a look between them, lightly startled to remember they're both still naked. Between Tony's injury and their unexplained mystical connection, Steve almost managed to forget that other earth-shattering development between them.
He peeks around the bathroom door until he gets a line of sight on the digital alarm clock. (Purely ornamental; Steve has never once had to set it.) ]
Yeah, good idea. The super soldier hunger pangs are gonna start any minute now, and I think you've suffered enough.
God, if I get your appetite for food, you're going to have to roll me everywhere. Think of my girlish figure.
[And then you won't want me anymore, Tony thinks, although he's pretty sure their arousal feedback loop is the only reason why Steve wants him to begin with. And, hell, it's a solid reason; Tony had just been stupid enough to hope that maybe they could end up being something more.]
I'm stealing a shirt and a pair of pants.
[Will they fit? No. But his clothes are dirty, and he needs to wear something.]
You hate my shirts. And my pants. [ It's a goodhearted grumble, punctuated by the fact that Steve is already exiting the bathroom to rummage through his drawers. It takes him a minute or two to find what he thinks might be the least offensive articles to offer Tony— a plain white t-shirt and gray sweats. ] These okay?
That's because you buy them in bulk from Costco. In the wrong size.
[As proven by the fact that the t-shirt still doesn't fit Tony when he pulls it on, though it doesn't have that painted on look that it would on Steve. The pants are too big - and how Steve manages to have pants that are too big for him and shirts that are too small is a mystery, though having seen him naked does help explain the former. He rolls the bottoms up and tugs the drawstring tight.]
I gotta wear something to breakfast, and your clean clothes are the most presentable option.
[ There is something achingly domestic about how Tony looks wearing his clothes. It makes Steve wish that this thing between them were real and not just the consequence of some mystic bond. He hasn't processed that fully yet, and doesn't really want to. It's no fun finding out that Tony is actually just reflecting Steve's own feelings back at him. It could get ugly, unraveling all that later on, which is all the more reason to want to stay in this moment. ]
You're going to breakfast in those? I thought you just needed something to make it back to your room and get your own clothes.
[ The implied question is clear: does Tony really want everyone to see him in Steve's clothes? They've both heard enough jokes about staring into each other's eyes; are they going to feed that fire? ]
Never let it be said I didn't fully embrace a walk of shame, Steve. [There's a pause as he hastily considers the words that just came out of his mouth, and then Tony adds:] Not that there's anything to be ashamed of. It's just, you know, what the kids say.
[More like what the kids have been saying since Tony was a kid, but look, all slang is new to Steve.]
Anyway, who even knows if anyone's in there to see us?
[ He knows that the kitchen gets the most traffic of almost any facility in the compound, so Steve isn't sold on the idea that no one will see them. But if it doesn't matter to Tony, he doesn't see why it should matter to him. As long as he doesn't read into it too much. Tony is used to everyone knowing intimate details about him; it probably says more about him than it does how he feels about Steve. ]
Alright. After you, then.
[ In true gentleman fashion, he hurries to hold the door open as they exit his room. ]
Incidentally, the reason why I hate your clothes is because they do your ass no favors. Especially sweatpants. You might as well be wearing mom jeans, Christ.
[They don't do Tony's ass any favors, either, and that's just sad.]
I'm also shamelessly taking advantage of your two good hands to fix breakfast, by the way. Even if it is just a bowl of cereal. [Because he's not sure he trusts Steve to make much else.]
So, just to be clear, your problem with my clothes is they're not slutty enough? [ Actually, when Steve hears himself say it out loud, it tracks perfectly. Tony flirts as easily as he breathes, so Steve always shrugged off mentions of his ass. Looking back, Tony was probably being more serious than Steve ever gave him credit for. ]
That's not fair. I can toast a mean bagel. [ Just don't let him fidget with the toaster settings. ]
Steve, I can tell if we need to turn the heating up by looking at your chest. The t-shirts aren't the problem.
[Hey, there's a reason why Steve's ass looks a lot better in uniforms designed by Tony. He definitely takes that area into consideration - after all, he has to look at it, doesn't he?]
Yeah, no, we do not let you near the toaster for a reason. I haven't forgotten that fire.
Pretty sure that you could get tailor-made jeans by offering to model them. Too bad you're about seventy-five years too old to be an Abercrombie & Fitch model.
[Tony just shakes his head.] Nuh-uh. There was open flame, it was a fire. That is the definition of fire. And I say this as someone who's started many, many fires over the years.
I've spent enough time in front of a camera, thanks. [ In fact, posing for demanding photographers is one of the things Steve misses least about being the national face of the war effort. ]
Kitchen fires are expected, [ Steve argues as they continue down the hall, finally nearing the kitchen. ] You start fires in places no fire should be.
Kitchen fires are not expected! In fact, I can safely say that is the area of the house where I've set the fewest fires. See, Steve, we don't cook on an open flame surrounded by rocks anymore, so people don't start as many fires in the kitchen.
[By this point, Tony is gesticulating expansively with the hand he didn't cut open earlier, and as they enter the kitchen, he deliberately points to the electric stove which has no open flame.]
Ooh, definitely the cereal. I know how much you like Pop-Tarts.
-hey, have you ever thought of switching to a Corn Flakes diet? I mean, you seem to have an issue with, you know, being horny all the time. [It's a joke, he doesn't mean it, he likes the horny.]
What's the connection between Corn Flakes and horniness? [ As he goes about pouring Tony's cereal, it occurs to Steve that they could have bypassed a significant amount of animosity if he'd only felt comfortable admitting a reference went over his head. ]
The Kelloggs' guy - and I'm pretty sure this is before your time, even - invented them as part of an anti-masturbation diet. He thought that bland foods minimized sexual arousal. Same thing with the guy who created graham crackers. Of course, I'm not sure enough graham crackers exist to suppress your libido.
[He pats Steve's shoulder fondly with his scarred hand, having somehow managed to take a seat on the cabinet (which he regularly tells the others not to do, but shhh).]
Wow. And I thought Catholic nuns had the market cornered on anti-masturbation ministry. Although... is that why the body of Christ is flavorless? [ Sure, he could have called them communion wafers, or even sacramental bread, but those names simply lack the dramatic flair that Steve prefers.
His hands keep busy as he speaks, plopping a spoon into the bowl and handing it off to Tony, then ripping the silver foil around his Pop-Tart and taking a giant bite out of both at once. ]
Jesus crackers always tasted more like cardboard to me, personally.
[Technically flavorless, but somehow even worse than just being bland.]
At least Corn Flakes have some added sugar. [And now he's talking around the cereal in his mouth.] Don't suppose I could get you to start some coffee, honeybuns?
Since you asked so nicely. [ "Jesus crackers" gets a pure, straight from the gut laugh from him. Fortunately, Steve was raised Catholic: blaspheming is all but second nature.
He's less comfortable with the coffee-making, even as he goes through the motions, because it occurs midway that he doesn't have to ask how Tony takes it. He can't remember when he committed that to memory. ]
What else can I get you to do if I ask nice enough?
[The delivery would be a lot sexier if Tony wasn't still talking through a mouth of cereal, but he's not trying to be sexy, he's trying to be ridiculous.
(Although a corner of his mind is very curious about the answer.)]
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[Part of him insists that maybe having someone to take care of him wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, especially not if it's Steve. But Tony's also stubborn enough to think about all the times he's lied about minor injuries on missions - things Steve might sideline him for, like bruised ribs - and consider the repercussions of that.
But despite his complaining (which might have a note of fondness to it), Tony doesn't pull back. Instead, he keeps his hand where it is and continues to let Steve doctor him.]
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After spraying something for the pain over Tony's palm, Steve finally gives him back his hand. ] There. All better. [ He can't help the sappy grin that crosses his lips as he says it, so he tries to hide it by turning away to busy himself storing away the first aid kit. ]
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[Just because he and the sorcerer are on marginally better terms now than when they first met doesn't mean that Tony enjoys the thought of being lectured about an invisible force that doesn't have the decency to obey a single goddamn scientific law. It's like being stuck with himself, a fate worse than death.]
Hopefully we can talk him into doing a house call.
[Tony does his best to rinse his slightly numb hand off in the sink. Which, okay, fucking hurts anyway, but he can't just walk around with a bloody hand all day. He can't even hide in Steve's room and let him fuck him all day, although the idea has merit. Zero good hands tends to limit his contribution to sex, and Tony really doesn't want to risk ripping his stitches. They'll have to get Rhodey to stitch him up next - or, worse yet, Sam - and he's really not ready for that talk yet.]
We should probably put clothes on and eat something at some point.
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He peeks around the bathroom door until he gets a line of sight on the digital alarm clock. (Purely ornamental; Steve has never once had to set it.) ]
Yeah, good idea. The super soldier hunger pangs are gonna start any minute now, and I think you've suffered enough.
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[And then you won't want me anymore, Tony thinks, although he's pretty sure their arousal feedback loop is the only reason why Steve wants him to begin with. And, hell, it's a solid reason; Tony had just been stupid enough to hope that maybe they could end up being something more.]
I'm stealing a shirt and a pair of pants.
[Will they fit? No. But his clothes are dirty, and he needs to wear something.]
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[As proven by the fact that the t-shirt still doesn't fit Tony when he pulls it on, though it doesn't have that painted on look that it would on Steve. The pants are too big - and how Steve manages to have pants that are too big for him and shirts that are too small is a mystery, though having seen him naked does help explain the former. He rolls the bottoms up and tugs the drawstring tight.]
I gotta wear something to breakfast, and your clean clothes are the most presentable option.
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You're going to breakfast in those? I thought you just needed something to make it back to your room and get your own clothes.
[ The implied question is clear: does Tony really want everyone to see him in Steve's clothes? They've both heard enough jokes about staring into each other's eyes; are they going to feed that fire? ]
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[More like what the kids have been saying since Tony was a kid, but look, all slang is new to Steve.]
Anyway, who even knows if anyone's in there to see us?
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Alright. After you, then.
[ In true gentleman fashion, he hurries to hold the door open as they exit his room. ]
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[They don't do Tony's ass any favors, either, and that's just sad.]
I'm also shamelessly taking advantage of your two good hands to fix breakfast, by the way. Even if it is just a bowl of cereal. [Because he's not sure he trusts Steve to make much else.]
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That's not fair. I can toast a mean bagel. [ Just don't let him fidget with the toaster settings. ]
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[Hey, there's a reason why Steve's ass looks a lot better in uniforms designed by Tony. He definitely takes that area into consideration - after all, he has to look at it, doesn't he?]
Yeah, no, we do not let you near the toaster for a reason. I haven't forgotten that fire.
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I prefer the term 'incident.' Fire makes it sound like something burned down, which, for the record, nothing did.
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[Tony just shakes his head.] Nuh-uh. There was open flame, it was a fire. That is the definition of fire. And I say this as someone who's started many, many fires over the years.
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Kitchen fires are expected, [ Steve argues as they continue down the hall, finally nearing the kitchen. ] You start fires in places no fire should be.
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[By this point, Tony is gesticulating expansively with the hand he didn't cut open earlier, and as they enter the kitchen, he deliberately points to the electric stove which has no open flame.]
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[ Steve shakes his head as he rounds the kitchen island to explore inside the cabinets. ]
So, what heat-free delicacy can I interest you in? Stale cereal or cold Pop-Tarts?
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-hey, have you ever thought of switching to a Corn Flakes diet? I mean, you seem to have an issue with, you know, being horny all the time. [It's a joke, he doesn't mean it, he likes the horny.]
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[He pats Steve's shoulder fondly with his scarred hand, having somehow managed to take a seat on the cabinet (which he regularly tells the others not to do, but shhh).]
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His hands keep busy as he speaks, plopping a spoon into the bowl and handing it off to Tony, then ripping the silver foil around his Pop-Tart and taking a giant bite out of both at once. ]
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[Technically flavorless, but somehow even worse than just being bland.]
At least Corn Flakes have some added sugar. [And now he's talking around the cereal in his mouth.] Don't suppose I could get you to start some coffee, honeybuns?
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He's less comfortable with the coffee-making, even as he goes through the motions, because it occurs midway that he doesn't have to ask how Tony takes it. He can't remember when he committed that to memory. ]
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[The delivery would be a lot sexier if Tony wasn't still talking through a mouth of cereal, but he's not trying to be sexy, he's trying to be ridiculous.
(Although a corner of his mind is very curious about the answer.)]
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