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[shield]

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[futurist]

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.

[shield]

[ 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? ]

[futurist]

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?

[shield]

[ 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. ]

[futurist]

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.]

[shield]

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. ]

[futurist]

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.

[shield]

You know, not everyone can get their jeans tailored. [ People with giant dicks and modest bank accounts exist, Tony. ]

I prefer the term 'incident.' Fire makes it sound like something burned down, which, for the record, nothing did.

[futurist]

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.

[shield]

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.

[futurist]

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.]

[shield]

It's only the area where you've set the fewest fires because you've started so many fires elsewhere. That's not the winning argument you think it is!

[ 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?

[futurist]

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.]

[shield]

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. ]

[futurist]

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).]

[shield]

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. ]

[futurist]

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?

[shield]

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. ]

[futurist]

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.)]

[shield]

[ Practically anything, but Steve isn't about to admit that out loud.

As the coffee brews, he takes a look inside the medicine cabinet. He returns to Tony with a steaming mug and two ibuprofen for the pain Steve can still feel in his own hand. ]

Only time can tell. [ There. That's a safe, cryptic answer. ]

[futurist]

Oh my god, I'm going to nominate you for sainthood. [The sound Tony makes isn't that far off from the kind he makes in bed (or wherever else he happens to be having sex), and only becomes more explicit when he takes a drink of the coffee.] Fuck, that's good.

[He washes down the ibuprofen with another gulp of coffee, then sets the mug down to pick his bowl of cereal back up and finish it. Tony looks a little bit like a kid in his cuffed sweatpants, feet swinging from the counter, but it might be best not to mention it.]

[shield]

Coffee machine did most of the work. [ Steve mumbles humbly before shoving half a Pop-Tart in his mouth. His face feels hot, and he knows if he looked in a mirror, his cheeks would be a bright, burning pink. Still, he is grateful that Tony's orgasmic noises didn't shoot straight to his dick this time. ]

[futurist]

Pretty sure the Pope doesn't canonize machines. Which, if you ask me, is sheer prejudice.

[God, Tony loves the way Steve blushes. He wonders if it'll stop from prolonged exposure to him - he hopes not, but on the other hand, it does mean prolonged exposure to Steve, which seems like a pretty decent trade-off. Of course, he might die of heart failure before that happens, too. But maybe in twenty years, Tony'll be old and grey(er) and Steve will still look like he's thirty and he won't bat an eyelash at Tony's lecherous old man behavior.

It's a fucking pipe dream, but it sounds nice. Tony makes a face at the soggy cereal remnants in the bottom of the bowl and turns back to the coffee.]

Starting to think I should've had you irish this u- [A sudden terrible realization hits Tony, and he just grins.]

[shield]

What? [ Tony's grin gives off a worrisome aura that almost makes Steve afraid to ask. He's probably better off knowing than not, though. Probably. ]

[futurist]

Oh, nothing.

[Tony's airy tone of voice is enough to indicate that he is 100% up to something, and that Steve should definitely be concerned.]

Just thinking, that's all.