Work Text:
“Why don’t you believe me?”
Stephen grimaced at the thinly veiled frustration in Tony’s tone. It was late, far too late for this kind of conversation but Tony had never been very good at patience. Usually, he loved that about the man, his insistence, his passion, his determination…except tonight. Tonight, Stephen was sore, his fingers aching to the point of distraction, a headache pounded behind his eyes, and sleep dragged at his mind with dull claws.
“I didn’t say that,” Stephen said wearily, tugging at the belts around his waist, waving off the concerned hovering of the Cloak. It ignored him, twirling around the belts itself and carefully unwrapping, while Stephen stood there, resigned.
“You didn’t have too,” Tony replied.
Stephen glanced at the mirror in front of him as the Cloak fussed, taking in Tony’s disheveled form. He was sat up in their bed, shirtless, thick comforter pooled around his waist and hair obviously having been slept on already. Not for the first time since he stepped through the portal, Stephen wondered why Tony couldn’t have just pretended to be asleep.
The belts were placed on a hook in the armoire and the Cloak tried to grab at Stephen’s shirt only to be slapped away, making him wince, “Tony,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s talk about this in the morning alright?”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because its tomorrow.”
Stephen paused, shirt now dangling from his fingers, headache throbbing behind his eyes, “what?”
Tony pursed his lips, frustratingly unapologetic, “I said we’d come by tomorrow, just for a couple of hours, there is a party being put together by Shield-”
“No,” Stephen snapped. “I’m not going. You can do what you want.”
He didn’t need to look to know Tony’s expression had morphed to incredulity. Stephen rarely lost control and when he did, it often came out with a deadly sort of calm but not tonight. The clock said it was nearly one am and Stephen was hurting enough that he didn’t have the patience to explain to Tony why not only did he doubt the Avengers wanted him there but any party put together by Shield held no interest for him.
The Cloak appeared by his side again, this time with a silky grey robe in its grasp. Stephen shrugged it on gratefully, before moving toward the chest at the end of the bed. He refused to meet Tony’s eyes as he sat and put out his foot, not complaining this time as the Cloak efficiently undid his boots and moved to tug them off. Still, Tony’s presence was heavy behind him on the bed, the man’s silence louder then any kind of rambling or angry words.
His other boot came off easily, was set aside and Stephen let out a heavy sigh. Stephen wasn’t a coward, but he genuinely considered taking a shower if only to escape the tension in the room caused by their small argument. They should hash this out, sooner rather then later, but Stephen just couldn’t right now, didn’t know how to make his point with out snapping at his lover yet again.
Stephen stiffened when a hand suddenly slid up his back until it rested heavily on his shoulder. The material of the robe was thin enough to let him feel Tony’s warmth through it, comforting despite their words. There was a sigh, it sounded like a mix of exasperation and annoyance. Impressive really.
“I’m sorry.”
The mature thing to do would be too accept the apology with grace and finally let himself go to sleep and escape from the exhaustion and the pain wreaking havoc on his body. That would be the mature thing. Stephen, masochist that he was, leaned forward until his face was hidden in his hands, effectively shrugging off Tony’s touch and allowed his words to be muffled in his palm, “for what part?”
“The part where this conversation, which was perfectly normal, turned into a couch kind of night.”
The sincerity of Tony’s statement was enough to make Stephen snort, the thick, cloying tension shattering apart spectacularly in the dim room, “a couch kind of night eh?”
“Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking it.”
He had been. Maybe that was a bit childish.
“Please come to bed,” Tony murmured, voice much softer than before, almost genuinely apologetic this time. “I’m sorry for springing it on you at one in the morning when you’ve clearly had a bad and I’m sorry for overreacting to your overreaction.”
A low chuckle slipped from Stephen’s lips. He really needed to go to bed. With a groan he stood, fingers spasming unexpectedly and making him pause, breathing deeply. When he finally turned around, intent on falling into the blissful nothingness of unconsciousness, it was to find Tony watching him warm brown eyes, tempered in concern. This time there was no mistaking the guilt on his face and Stephen cursed his own lack of control.
“I’m ok,” he offered unconvincingly.
Tony rolled his eyes just as the Cloak nudged Stephen forward. Stephen finally climbed onto the bed, slipping beneath the comforter and sighed in content at the heat beneath, actually shedding the robe he had put on and letting the Cloak carry it away. He instantly nuzzled into the soft pillows, only to feel Tony attach himself to his side, leg hooking around his and arm tightening around his waist. Tony’s face found the crook of his neck and kissed at his shoulder, his cheek, warm breath ghosting across his throat.
It felt good.
Much better than the couch.
For several long moments there was silence, broken only by their breathing as Stephen tried to fall asleep despite the pain in his head and hands. It was a familiar struggle and as though he knew it, Tony was suddenly using his free hand to pet at Stephen’s hair. His fingers scratched softly against his scalp, calm and steady, soothing and loving. He found himself tilting his head toward Tony until he could press his lips to his lover’s forehead, already feeling himself falling into a state of serenity.
“I love you,” he mumbled tiredly. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you too,” he whispered back. “We’ll talk in the morning.”