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Dr. Jonathan Fazar is an eighty year old cranky man with a gentle smile. He has been the Stark family ophthalmologist for decades. The downside to this is that he is less inclined than Pepper to put up with Tony’s nonsense. This morning, the good Doctor has flown down from Los Angeles for a house call because Pepper bribed him with New York pizza.
“I don’t need an eye doctor! I am fine, Pep - listen - Pep!”
“You have been squinting at paperwork for weeks!” Pepper yells back across the workshop.
“Well, it might be because the banality of using actual paper in a billion dollar technology company gives me hives - I mean, really what’s up with that - seriously -”
“Steve has been secretly increasing the resolution on all of your holo screens!”
“He has not! Did he tell on me, the tattletale?”
“You are popping Aspirin pills to poorly hide the headaches,” Pepper says far more gently. The lines on her face are deep today, clearly a sign of stress and being around Tony.
“And I am doing just fine so far!” Tony snaps, focussing on twisting his screw driver into the cavity of something that looks like a carburetor.
“Haven’t seen a Stark lie this poorly to themselves in a long time,” Dr. Fazar smiles, eyes twinkling over his half moon glasses. He is seated on the couch in Tony’s workshop, holding a big slice of pepperoni on a disposable plate.
“Eat your pizza!”
“I am older than your grandfather, Anthony,” the doctor bites into the slice. “Be nice, young man.”
“I don’t need an eye exam!”
“Too bad you’re getting one,” Dr. Fazar says. Howard Stark didn’t call him Fazar the unfazed for nothing. He drops the slice back on the table, wipes his hands with the napkin Butterfingers hands him and comes around to rub sanitizer and pull on gloves. “Now now, be good, dear.”
The diagnosis of slight hypermetropia is confirmed by Dr. Fazar. It turns out that Tony’s allergic to most contact lens polymers. Dr. Fazar writes him a prescription for glasses. Because he is Tony Stark, he fashions the lenses himself in the workshop from the finest Stark high-intensity polycarbonate blend he can gets his hands on.
Because he is Tony Stark, he throws the newly fashioned lenses into the simplest frames he can find, thick rimmed, simple and practical.
*
Steve has a simple, ill-advised crush on Tony.
He is a self-aware man, and he is aware of his own heart. He is on a team with some very attractive individuals. He is only human. Thor can turn anyone’s head, and does so frequently. Natasha is incredibly beautiful, and when she is really angry, she does that thing with her breathing which reminds him painfully of Peggy.
But Steve never thought his type would be mouthy, loud and arrogant. He should have known. He spent most of his teens mooning after Bucky Barnes.
Seriously. He has a type.
Mostly, he has been dealing. Tony has only exclusively dated women (from what he can tell) and it has been less than six months since Ms. Potts and he broke up. Steve doesn’t know the appropriate waiting time for something like this, and besides, it’s not like he is going to make a move.
He just - likes looking at Tony sometimes. At how happy he gets when his robots perform new tricks, or when he banters with Barton on the range, or when Ms. Potts smiles that special smile.
Steve just really, really likes hanging around Tony.
He hadn’t seen the glasses coming. At all.
Mean, mean glasses.
“They are hideous,” Natasha comments around the dinner table when Tony finally makes his way out of the workshop, due to Steve’s unrelenting team-dinner rule. “Really, Stark. You own several fashion brands. Your company has a fashion division. You employ a stylist.”
“They are glasses,” Tony says. “Hands off grubby! Hey, give them here - !”
Natasha has sneaked the pair off his nose and is examining them appraisingly. The frames are sort of oblong, not perfect rectangles, but with fancy top corners. Phil is by her side at the counter, seemingly focussed on a SHIELD briefing. Steve’s brain is lost somewhere in the clouds. He hasn’t breathed properly since Tony walked into the kitchen four minutes ago wearing the evil glasses.
“Nice frames, four eyes,” Barton says, his ass sticking out of the fridge as he rummages for a drink.
“Who cares about the frames?” Tony says. “The lenses are state of the art. My vision is next to perfect with these babies. Can give those miracle corneas of yours a run for your money, Legolas -”
“Keep dreaming!”
“Shut up Barton,” Tony soldiers on. “As I was saying,” he turns to Natasha. “Cap told on me to Pepper who made me see Dr. Faz, who by the way, completely has it in for me. I really don’t think he needed to prod at my eyeballs and dilate them for so long - the man is pure evil - what? Steve, what? Do I have something on my face?”
Steve struggles to find words. Natasha looks at him pityingly, which frankly, does not help.
“Nrrrgghh.”
“Cap?” Tony reaches forward, touching Steve’s forehead like he is feeling for a fever. “Did you get into the decontamination shower after that business with the alien insects yesterday? Hey, Agent! Did you put Rogers through decon?”
“I am fine, Tony,” Steve finally manages, finding his words again. “I am just - yeah, I gotta go. I am gonna - go do a - run! Yes, I am gonna run!”
“It’s nine pm!”
“Best time. Fresh air. Lots of - air. Running.”
“You can just say you think the glasses are ugly,” Tony pouts, calling to his retreating back. “I won’t be offended. Jesus Cap, are you incapable of not being nice or something?”
Clint walks around the counter and bops Tony on the head.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Enormous incurable stupidity,” Phil says, sipping his coffee.
“What?”
“Incurable.”
Rubbing the back of his head, Tony walks away from the lot of them. He needs a vacation. And coffee.
*
“Did you change your frames?”
“For Christ’ sake Barton!” Tony jumps three feet in the air. “Can you not - why can’t you fucking knock!”
“You have automatic sliding doors.”
“Jarvis,” Tony drops onto his stool by the workbench, holo screens floating around him, code flying through at high speeds that perhaps only Tony can comprehend. “You are supposed to be playing doorman and announce any visitors. This is the Fortress of Solitude, Jay. This is where the genius happens.”
“Sir,” Jarvis sounds tired. “Might I remind you that you had me on mute?”
“Right,” Tony goes back to typing on his holo-keyboards. “What do you want, Barton? I am busy.”
“You are literally building a better mousetrap.”
“If you must know,” Tony says. “I am working on some designs for Stark R&D that were due - erm, approximately two weeks ago. I might be rounding up.”
“From?”
“From six months.”
“Pepper after you?”
“She threatened to quit.”
“Again?” Clint hops on to some of the clear space by the edge of the workbench. “It’s what - the third time this month?”
“Fourth,” he corrects. “Anyway, I am busy. What do you want? If it is the new trigger explosive arrows, you’ve gotta wait till next week. It’s on my queue, isn’t it Jay?”
“Item number seventeen,” Jarvis provides.
“That’s fine,” Clint shrugs. “Did you really change your frames?”
“What? Why is this a deal now? Are you stalking my eyewear, Barton? I felt like rectangles. I like rectangles.”
“Is this because you think Steve didn’t like your old frames?”
“Are you even listening to me? It’s like talking to air around here -”
“This is because you think Steve didn’t like your old frames.”
“Shut up!” Tony says, forcibly putting his coffee mug down on the workbench. “This has nothing to do with Steve. At all. My glasses are my own. I change them for no man, or super soldier as the case may be. Did you know the serum makes it impossible for you to be rude?”
“It really does not.”
“It might be a forties thing,” Tony ponders out loud. “He ran away from me like I’d insulted his mother.”
“If you’d insulted his mother, he would have punched you, crush or not.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I like the new frames. Clean and rectangular.”
“Simple is beautiful, you know,” Tony says. “It’s the motto of my engineering. That, and explosions.”
“I love the explosions.”
“You will get your exploding arrows, jeez, I know what you are doing, stop trying to sweet talk me, Barton.”
“Have you shown Steve your new frames?”
“What is with the Cap obsession? I don’t hang around waiting for Steve to see my face,” Tony waves his hand, gesturing with his mug, spilling coffee all over the bench top. He largely ignores the spill and continues. “Cap can see them when he sees them. It’s not like I changed the frames for him. I don’t do things like that. I just - okay, did I think I might save him the trouble of pretending to be polite? Maybe a little -”
“Don’t hurt yourself, Stark.”
“Shut up, Barton. See if I make your arrows now.”
“Just write him a love letter or something,” Barton calls over his shoulder as he saunters out of the workshop, ducking just in time to avoid the coffee mug Tony throws at his head.
*
Because the universe hates Steve, the Foundation for Women in STEM honors Pepper with their annual Exemplary Woman Award that year.
One might wonder why this well-deserved recognition makes Steve miserable, and to the less-informed, it might seem like Steve was agonizing over the award itself. He is not.
It plays out like this.
Pepper needs a plus-one to the award ceremony, and Tony offers himself because he has ulterior motives. Stark copyrights and general patent laws usually prevent him from talking R&D with some of the other best scientific minds in the business, but over wine and coffee at a foundation gala, he can do as he pleases. Besides, it is time for his annual ‘try to lure Jane Foster to Stark R&D with promises of lab space’ speech.
Pepper refuses to be seen with him at a formal gathering if he is not clean shaven. Tony who is looking forward to talking wormholes with Dr. Foster thinks giving up his beard is a small sacrifice toward the noble cause of stealing all of Foster’s data from the last time Thor made a landing.
Which brings us to Steve’s current predicament.
"What is wrong with your face?” Clint asks Tony over his coffee mug in the kitchen at breakfast time.
“Pepper made me shave.”
Steve is pretty sure his eggs are burning. But he - erm, yeah - no - he can’t - Tony.
“Is that a euphemism I don’t know about?”
“Shut up,” Tony says, grabbing a fork and eating the omelette from the plate Steve had been loading up. “I have to go to a thing tonight, and she laid down the law.”
“Your face looks like a baby’s bottom.”
“I know where you sleep, Barton.”
“It does go with the glasses though. Wouldn’t you agree, Steve?”
“Mmrrgguuugga,” Steve manages.
“Right,” Clint laughs. “Steve needs to reboot.”
“Is he alright?” Tony asks. “He’s been weird this week.”
“Weird’s one word for it,” Clint laughs. “Aren’t you late for your thing?”
"Yes, I have a thing.”
“That you’re late for.”
“Steve, are you okay?”
“Brughaa.”
“Right,” Clint pours coffee into a to-go mug and presses it into Tony’s hands. “There you go. Get out of here, Stark.”
“You know, I really don’t think Steve’s alright -”
“Yeah, move it,” Clint nudges him bodily out into the elevator. “Steve, remember to breathe.”
Steve throws a salt shaker at his retreating back and takes a deep breath. Clint just shakes his head at the ungrateful bastards. What is it with people throwing utensils at him when he is trying to help them?
Goners, the whole load of them.
*
Tony has noticed that Steve only talks to him when he is not wearing his glasses.
Like, when he is having Jarvis read out energy values to him. Or when Tony is eating. (He refuses to eat with his glasses on.) So usually, at dinner time, Steve can stand to have a conversation with him.
And if Tony is trying to maximize the amount of time he spends without wearing his glasses, then it is not because he wants Steve to talk to him. Not at all.
Not.
At.
All.
Because that would be stupid.
And painful.
The headaches hurt when he tries to read without his glasses. Like he is doing now.
Curled up on the couch in the common room by Steve’s side, Star Wars playing on the television, Steve’s shoulder is warm and cozy, and a fantastic backrest, as he looks through his Stark Industries email on a tablet.
He is squinting, and his headache is never ending, but at least Steve is next to him and not bolting away.
Steve is laughing at R2D2’s antics. Tony decides the headaches are worth it.
*
Steve’s heart hurts when Tony wears the glasses and smiles at him.
He is so beautiful.
The glasses, and the clean-shaven cheeks - they make him look a decade younger. Like he is an innocent young man starting at a law firm. Steve doesn’t know any innocent young men at law firms, but he figures that’s what they all look like. He only has television as a reference to go on.
Tony is beautiful.
That thing he does with his eyelashes, when he is reading something, and then he looks out far into the distance, thinking, and he very slowly, gradually blinks, and his eyelashes fan out over his cheeks behind his glasses -
Yeah, Steve is not coping with how beautiful Tony is.
He remembers when - almost a lifetime ago, Bucky had to get glasses one summer, and - yeah, so Steve might have a problem. He has a type, yes, but he also definitely has the beginnings of a problem.
So far, he has been handling said problem by running away every time Tony wears his glasses.
As plans go, it is not much of one.
*
Tony gets very, very drunk because he has spent three weeks trying to fabricate a polycarbonate material which he is not allergic to.
He’s failed. Grandly.
Go team failure!
Clint is by his side, seated against the wall of the workshop on the floor, because in the Avengers Tower, one does not get drunk without Clint. Clint has issues too, but Tony is not allowed to talk about them. Agent will kill him with a taser if he did. It’s actually in the Avengers Handbook.
“Just wear your damn glasses, Stark!” Clint says when they are into hour two of the pity party.
“Contact lenses!” Tony declares, holding up his bottle of vodka like an award.
“Yes, but you are allergic.”
“I can make one un-un-unnnallergic.”
“Or you could wear your damn glasses.”
Tony hugs his vodka bottle to his chest, because he was unloved as a child. At least unlike Clint, he is honest about his issues.
“Steve won’t talk to me when I wear my glasses.”
“Have you ever wondered why? ”
“Because they are bulky and ugly and sort of weird and Steve has unresolved eyewear angst from the forties.”
“Unresolved eyewear angst? Seriously? How do you come up with this stuff?”
“With little effort and a lot of alcohol.”
“Maybe you should ask Steve why he runs away every time you wear your glasses.”
“That sounds like a stupid plan, Barton, why would I do that? I am not going to make him uncomfortable. It pains him when he has to be not-nice. Do you know that? It’s adorable, really, it’s like when Thor asks him what he thinks of his calligraphy and the time Thor broke all of the nibs -”
“Oh my God how do you talk this much when you’re this drunk?”
“It’s a gift, I never shut up - anyway, Steve can’t be rude - and I - stop laughing, Barton!”
“It’s hilarious how dumb the two of you are.”
“Shut up! Gimme my vodka.”
“We should put that on a t-shirt and start a club.”
“As long as you bring the vodka, I don’t care.”
“So what’s the plan then?” They pass the bottle between them, each taking a gulp. “Planning to blind yourself when he is around by reading without your glasses? Yeah, we are on to you, Stark. Phil, especially. How much longer before he tells on you to Pepper, you think?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Phil Coulson? Are you kidding me? He is probably drafting a strongly worded email right now.”
“Agent really needs to unclench, you know,” Tony says because he is too drunk to fear for his life. “Temme Barton, is he hot under all that D&G?”
“Man’s got abs,” Clint laughs because he knows that at some point, Phil will get a hold of this security footage, and also because he wants to brag about his man, so sue him. “And the things he can do with his mouth - should be illegal.”
“How much trouble are you gonna be in when he hacks the footage later?”
“You know about that?”
“I know everything that happens in my own goddamn building, Barton,” Tony says, slurring every second word. “I just let it continue.”
“He’s gonna kill me.”
“Private isnnnn he?”
“Very. Dunno how I landed him.”
“Beats me,” Tony agrees and Clint mopily leans on Tony’s shoulder.
“I wore him down,” Clint laughs, raising his hands and the bottle up in victory. “Over years and years of missions, I wore him down!”
“He can do bettaaa,” Tony sing-songs, because he and Barton just have that kind of relationship.
“I know!” Barton thrusts the bottle up in the air again and catches it before it can spill or break. “But I am not gonna tell him, am I, coz I get to sleep with him until he figures it out.”
“I wanna.”
“You can’t sleep with him, I’ll END you Stark!”
“Eww, not Agent Dad,” Tony says hugging Barton’s arm. “I want someone to sleeeep with too.”
“Ask Cap why he runs away from your boring nerd glasses.”
“Whats that gotta do with ssssex?”
“Maybe if you ask him, you will get to have some.”
“You mean, like - hate sex?” Tony asks, because he usually won’t go for it, but if he gets to see Cap naked..
“Denial, not just a river in Egypt.”
That’s how Phil finds them ten minutes later, arguing over rivers of the world and playing spin the bottle with each other.
*
They call a team meeting.
More accurately, Phil calls a team meeting sans Tony and Steve.
It goes something like this.
“Can we stop putting money into the pool? Yes, I mean you, Barton.”
Spoilsport.
*
Pepper takes Steve out to lunch.
Steve, understandably, is very nervous. She gets a salad and he gets three sandwiches from the deli down the street from the Stark Industries building.
They are just getting comfortable, and Steve’s got a mouth full of pastrami when she says, out of the blue, “So, you like Tony’s glasses huh?”
He doesn’t cough, but it’s a close thing.
“Excuse me?” he manages, after making sure food has gone down the right pipe.
“Tony’s glasses.”
“Yes ma’am?” He is very aware that his face is scarlet right now.
“It’s not that you weren’t exactly unaware of how smart he is,” she gestures with a hand, fork clasped between her fingers. “It’s just that he’s always been attractive, but now, with the glasses on, you remember that he is also a genius.”
Steve makes a noise which vaguely could mean yes. He can make no guarantees.
“There’s also the fact that you get to see him when he is at home,” she carries on, ignoring Steve’s attempts to breathe. “He isn’t wearing a suit or putting on a front for the media. He is in his greasy tank top, wearing his glasses and doing math. Am I right so far?”
Steve manages to nod.
“There’s also the fact that the real Tony is entirely unconcerned about his appearance,” she continues. “He would have paid a lot of attention to the quality of the glass and how well it improved vision. He would not have cared about the frames.”
Steve nods again, feeling slightly reassured by her smile.
“The worst part,” she digs into her salad, now looking at him sharply. “Is how oblivious he is of the effect he is having on you. Or on anyone else. Are you going to say anything at all, Captain?”
He just looks at her.
“Here, have a sip,” she passes him her plastic water cup. He obeys and gulps down some water. He isn’t sure what the etiquette is here.
“Pepper,” he tries. “I know - I mean - err -”
“We broke up almost eight months ago, Steve,” she tells him kindly, placing her hand over his on the table. “You can ask him out.”
“I - erm - don’t - he is -”
“Until you grab him by the collar and state it plainly, he won’t understand. And it will be months after that before he believes you. Just tell him you like the glasses and ask him out to Thai.”
“You think -”
“He will say yes.”
“How can you -”
“Steve,” she says gently. “He has headaches when he reads without his glasses. He’s been reading without them for hours because he wants to spend time with you.”
Realization dawns slowly. And then the horror.
“He told me he was wearing contacts!”
“He lied,” there is a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like she is trying very hard to not laugh at him. Steve appreciates the kindness. “He is allergic.”
She sees his expression slowly morph into the one she’s come to know as the brave soldier face. He rises from his seat and helps clear the remains of their lunch. He offers her his hand, and then kisses her politely on the cheek.
“Thank you, Ms. Potts. I know what I must do.”
*
“Keep them on,” he orders, stopping Tony’s movement to remove his glasses the moment Steve walked through the workshop doors.
“It’s alright,” he says. “I have my contacts in -”
“You are a filthy liar.”
"Steve -”
“I never said I didn’t like them,” he says, stepping right into Tony’s personal space and tilting his chin to look up at him.
“Whaaat?”
“The glasses,” he whispers gently. With one hand, he takes the glasses from Tony’s right hand, and gently turns them around. With both hands now, he brings them up to Tony’s face and pushes them up the bridge of his nose. “I never said I didn’t like them.”
Even now, as Tony looks at him confused and nervous, even now, those stupid, perfect glasses framing his gorgeous face, accentuating those cheekbones, highlighting the intelligence in those perfect brown eyes. He looks edible.
“Stop me if you don’t want this,” he whispers quietly, and Tony’s eyes widen behind those evil, evil frames.
Gently, he cups Tony’s face in both his hands and leans down to kiss him, and after a bare instant of surprise, Tony opens up, granting Steve permission to explore. Tony’s mouth is wet and warm and tasting of coffee, lips succulent, and so soft against Steve’s.
As gently as he started, Steve lets go. Tony looks dazed, and in their tumble against each other, Tony’s glasses have slid slightly down. Like he’s done many times in his private fantasies, Steve reaches with the tip of an index finger and pushes them up his nose, where they settle. Tony smiles, and his eyes are shut tight, like he is just allowing Steve to put the glasses on him.
Steve leans forward to press another kiss between his eyebrows, lips touching the center of the frame, gently caressing the plastic. He moves up to place another kiss on his forehead, before ducking back down to capture Tony’s lips again.
This time they go longer and rougher, and when they break apart for air, Tony’s glasses are crooked, and down his nose again. Steve can do this all day, and he needs to do it at least once, so he pushes the glasses back up his nose, and kisses him again.
“Whaaat?” Tony finally manages to say after they do this a few more times.
“Tony,” he tilts Tony’s face up to meet his eyes. Tony is flushing in his arms, shy, his cheeks and ears are red, and it’s the most endearing Steve’s seen in his life.
“Yeah?”
“I love the glasses.”
“I think I got that yeah,” he says dazedly, one hand going up to his face to push them up his nose again. Steve bats his hand away and does it himself, before leaning down to pick Tony up in a bridal carry.
Tony keeps a couch in his workshop. He has the best ideas in the world.
“Jarvis,” Tony calls, with his arms around Steve’s neck. “Make a note to send Dr. Fazan a fruit basket.”
“Noted sir,” Jarvis says, smugness dripping from every word. “And privacy mode engaged.”
After that, the glasses were worn a lot.
A lot.
In the workshop. In the shower. The Avengers kitchen. The gym. The quinjet. Their bedroom. And once memorably, in Agent Coulson’s office.
But they’re not mentioning that. Ever.
*
~finis~