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James wasn’t sure exactly when he registered that he’d dropped his glass. He was pretty sure it was somewhere in between Tony walking in, and him carrying Tony to the bedroom.
He’d been prepared for a nice evening in with his boyfriend, he’d cooked, cooked, a meal for them, he’d washed his hair with the thing that made it all fluffy, shaved to the point Tony liked it, enough stubble for beard burn, not enough to look like a “murder hobo”, he’d even found the classy, magazine model pyjamas that he’d been bought for that interview/photoshoot Tony had made him do. Apparently sharing his story as the longest surviving POW and also murder puppet would come across better if he was in pyjamas, in Tony’s designer living room.
Tony, apparently, had other plans.
James had been minding his own business, reading his book, dinner served and on the hot plate to keep warm, a glass of red wine in hand, because he was classy and suave and no that doesn’t make him a soccer mom, and no he wasn’t reading fifty shades of grey, goddammit, when his gorgeous, wonderful boyfriend had stalked in, because he never did anything by half, and walking was for losers.
James wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the engineer having spelt his whole day around the leering press and the kiss-ass-y subordinates and the creepy board members wearing a suit that was obviously just sewed onto his body as tight as possible.
The next thing he knew, the glass was in shards on the floor, Tony was whimpering about expensive flooring and stain remover, whilst in his arms, halfway across the room. Super soldier speed came in handy sometimes.
Unfortunately, the genius wouldn’t shut up about his fucking floor, so James put him down, on the sofa, not near any of the glass, Tony was precious and one didn’t allow precious things to get hurt by cleaning up glass they didn’t break.
Half an hour later, the glass was cleaned up, the stain from the wine was still there, Tony was still bitching, the dinner was cold, and James had lost the page in his book. He looked up at his boyfriend imploringly. “Baby can’t we just sort this later? ‘M hungry and y’look incredible, ‘n’ y’either need to let me eat, fuck you, or y’need to put something less..” he let his gaze wander over Tony, delighting in the blush that crept up his cheeks. “Delectable, on.” Tony squeaked.
“Y-Yeah. Of course. Um. Fucking? I’ll get the robots on that, you didn’t need to do anything really haha, I’m just very attached to my flooring.” He held his arms out. “Fucking?” He repeated. James lifted him up, flesh arm only, just for the shiver that ran through Tony when he did it. “O’course doll. But y’mess me ‘bout like that ‘gain, ‘n’ Winter might wanna punish you for bein’ a tease. Y’know how it is , don’t‘cha?” Tony nodded eagerly. “Note to self, mess Jamie about more often.” He grinned broadly, and James knew that it was an open opportunity to rib back at Tony, but all he could do was stare at that goddam smile and melt.
God. That was his boyfriend. This lump of genius and generosity and amazing ness and adorablness and just all round wonder for everything, and love for his robots and their spiderson and the other child that James pretended not to get along with but loved just as much and for his Rhodeybear and for Pepper and Happy, and had had for the Rogues, who’d torn him apart but he was still so incredible, and curiosity for the world around him, for the ever changing technology, for how much he could improve FRIDAY, for how much he could improve the world, for how much he could learn, and fuck anyone that said that Tony Stark was self centred and egotistical because James had never seen anything so beautiful as the glorious look Tony got when he met someone smarter than him, someone who knew more, some he could learn from. And this beautiful, intelligent, wonderful, curious, kind man was there in James’ arms, because he wanted to be, because he loved him, and he was letting James touch him and hold him and he came home and ate dinner with him and he gave him cars to tinker with to keep his mind off of everything and James was never going to be able to fully comprehend that this spastic ball of fire and ingenuity and kindness loved him.
Tony never let go of the incident, and the stain didn’t come out, but they had fun christening the rug they bought to go over it so James was pretty sure it was a win-win. Even if Ms Potts, Mr Hogan and Colonel Rhodes continued to tease him for being whipped enough to stop thinking about fucking his boyfriend for half an hour just to look after his floor. Pretty sure.