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"This is so strange," Steve says. "I mean, it's usually me, isn't it?"
Tony wags in what Steve presumes is agreement. It's not a very exuberant wag. Steve supposes Tony's not too pleased about this.
"You say usually like it's happened more than once," Tony says, and oh thank God, Tony can still talk, somehow. His voice is a little more growly than normal for him; if Steve weren't looking at him, he'd probably think Tony was just getting over a cold.
Tony is sitting in the middle of his penthouse apartment, surrounded by the red and gold pieces of what is presumably the armor he had been wearing, and... he's a wolf. He's huge. His fur is dark, nearly black, but his eyes are the same.
"Do I want to know how this happened?" Steve asks.
Tony's lips, such as they are, draw back. "I hate magic," he says.
"Ah."
Steve glances around the apartment again as he tucks his identicard into his belt pouch. Tony's own identicard is on the floor, where presumably he had successfully nosed at it to get voice comms to work, since that's why Steve is here; Tony had sounded more than a little distressed.
Steve glances back at the door he came in through, expecting someone else. Carol, maybe. Reed. Hank. One of the scientists. Or, heck, if it's magic -- probably Wanda. But it looks like Tony only asked for him.
Tony tries to shrug; it doesn't really work, and he just hunches over and whines low. "It was a bit of a delayed-onset spell. Amora was getting her kicks, I guess. So I thought I was fine, and I came home, and then -- bam, I'm a wolf."
Steve frowns in sympathy. "Permanently?"
Tony swings his head side-to-side, and the motion carries all the way down to his tail. "Actually, no. I called Wanda first -- no offense -- and she says it should wear off in about six hours."
Steve considers this. That doesn't seem so bad, but--
"If it's going to wear off in six hours, why did you ask for me? I mean, not that I ever mind your company," he hastens to add, as Tony's tail starts to droop, "but I don't know what I can do that Wanda can't."
"I, uh," Tony says, sounding awkward. He paces. His nails click on the hardwood. "I wanted to get to the kitchen cabinets, because I'm hungry, and you have hands?"
"Wanda has hands," Steve points out.
There's a pause.
"I like you, okay?" Tony says, in a low, sad growl. "I like having you around and I'm kind of freaked out by this whole being-a-wolf thing and I thought you wouldn't make fun of me and are there any other intimate personal feelings you'd like to know about while I'm sharing everything I--"
Oh. Geez.
Steve holds up a hand. "Shh. Okay. I'm sorry." He smiles. "I like you too, okay? I'm here. I'm happy to be here. I always like spending time with you. You know that."
Tony wags hopefully.
"Now," Steve says, turning toward the kitchen, "what can I and my opposable thumbs fix you for lunch?"
Tony practically bounds to his side.
Steve finds a very nice steak in the fridge, which he cooks and -- at Tony's insistence -- splits with him. Tony also insists on jumping up to sit on a chair and lean over the table. He doesn't quite fit, but Steve understands the impulse.
After lunch they sit on one of the couches, Tony curled up next to him while Steve flicks through channels solely so he can find reruns of Lassie. Tony growls.
He glances over. Tony is curled up, tail-tip to nose. His flanks rise and fall as he breathes.
He looks so soft.
Steve holds out a hand. "Can-- can I--?"
Tony's wag of agreement is so vigorous that he hits himself in the face. "Oh God, yes, please."
Tony's fur is just as soft as it looks, and Tony pushes his head into Steve's hand as he pets him.
"That feels really good," Tony says, fervently. He snorts, a kind of whuffling laugh. "Heavy petting. Aww, yeah."
And then at that point it's like they both remember what they're doing, because he can feel Tony stiffen up. "Tony?"
"Uh," Tony says. "I mean. This isn't an excuse to get you to touch me."
Steve's heart is pounding.
"It would be okay if it were," he says, and his hand strokes through Tony's fur. "I-- I like touching you." He pauses. "I'd like to touch you more. I mean, uh, when you change back. That."
Tony raises his head. He's squinting. "Steve, if you're trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me, why the hell did you wait until I look like this?"
Steve can't help but laugh in relief. "I, uh. I don't know. You looked soft."
"Soft?" Tony growls. "Give me five more hours and I'll show you-- uh--" He pauses. He's clearly realized he's walked right into it.
"Hard, I hope," Steve says. He winks.
The look on Tony's face can only be described as scandalized. It looks even weirder on a wolf.
Steve's still laughing, delighted. "What," he says, "you think I've never made a dirty joke before?"
"I-- uh-- yes-- no--" Tony says, flustered. His ears are flat to his head. "I just... of the two of us, I thought I was the only one interested."
Steve smiles and pats him again. "You were never the only one." He glances at the clock, as if hours could have passed. He wishes. "How long now?"
"Four hours, forty-three minutes."
"I can't wait," Steve says, and Tony wags again.