Chapter Text
Tony wakes up to muffled sounds around him. The dull pain in his feet sharpens as he turns to sit up and it takes him a minute to become fully alert but he finally remembers where he is.
He is … home. As much as the word stretches in his brain and clenches at his heart, this is what this place is, from now on. Even if there are no windows, or enough air to breathe after a night of indoor open fire or doesn’t feel anything like what Tony remembers of what used to be his home, once upon a time.
The fire in the middle of the house is starting to relight, but it’s still too cold and Tony reaches over to cover himself with the fur on his lap. The fur, that belongs to the big blue-eyed alpha, he recognizes in fear and shudders with a rush of horrifying ideas of what must have happened to him when he was asleep. Then he looks down at himself and realizes with a settling wave of relief, that he is still wearing the same clothes as he has since getting here in the dark hours of the previous morning. He pulls the fur up, breathing in the sharp alpha scent as he wraps it around himself and resigns to close his eyes for a minute with the way the dark scent of sandalwood makes him go dizzy instantly.
The alpha himself is standing at the other side of the room by the large chest and is apparently changing into a new overtunic. This one is red, as far as Tony can see in the dimly lit room and in it, he looks better than he did yesterday if that is physically possible. As the alpha, his alpha, notices that Tony is awake and turns on his heels to face him, Tony realizes with a flood of unsolicited desire, that his alpha, Captain, Skeppare, or whatever, has unfastened what has been holding his hair up since yesterday and looks absolutely gorgeous with his hair down like this. Tony can’t quite be sure, whether the fact that the alpha, God, Steve, is utterly breathtaking is a blessing or a curse. All that he knows right now, is that the tall man with sky blue eyes and golden blond hair is coming toward Tony and the desire and appreciation of his looks die down immediately.
His heart is pounding really hard when he finally reaches this side of the room and Tony almost flinches when Steve kneels next to the bed and stretches his hand out to Tony.
It’s a comb, he finally fathoms, after blinking a few too many times and it is meant for him, so he reaches over and grabs it clumsily. He knows that the Norse Gaels take personal grooming really seriously and wonders if his alpha is unhappy with his unruly hair, running his free hand over his hair almost absentmindedly. He then looks back at Steve who is looking at him with cautious eyes and he shakes his head because he doesn’t know what flétta or hár could possibly mean.
Steve wraps his hand around Tony’s fingers clenching the comb and raises it to his hair. He pretends to brush his own hair a few times and there is something insanely earnest about the innocent way he looks as he does it. He then lets go of Tony’s hand and braids a lock of his own hair quickly and undoes it before Tony even gets a chance to admire his handiwork.
He wants Tony to comb and braid his hair. He is sitting at Tony’s feet on the floor, and from all the marital responsibilities including the sickening tedious ones, he only needs Tony to do his hair properly. Tony has no notion of how to braid a proper flétta for a proper skeppare but he can’t let the alpha, his alpha, down for such minor matters.
He can at least try. He can fight and he can hold on, as he always has. He has survived Stane and despite being hundreds of miles away from the only hometown he has ever known and being practically sold as a safe passage prize, is still alive, fed and relatively safe. He can’t give up now. He can’t give up ever.
He runs the comb through Steve’s hair and breathes in the infuriatingly amazing scent with every stroke. He tries to weave the perfect blond strands into what he remembers from his mother’s side braid at least four times before he finally gives up and does a simple braid at the back. He seems to be failing at it, like almost every other thing in his life, and the fact that he can’t do something this simple breaks his heart a little.
Steve stands up and sits on the edge of the bed. He runs his hand over his hair and his face lights up when his fingers touch Tony's pitiful craft. He likes it, Tony muses, with a sudden wash of calm and he manages to smile at his alpha, for what he realizes is the first time, ever.
Steve smiles back and reaches for Tony’s hands. Tony doesn’t mind this time and watches Steve as he brings Tony’s fingers to his lips and blows on them a few times to make them warm before finally brushing them over his lips for a fraction of a moment and Tony’s whole body catches on fire from the sensation.
Steve then tidies the fur around Tony’s shoulders and leaves for his day, wearing his hair as Tony has made for him, as clumsy and untraditional as it must look. Something warm and raw builds up in Tony’s chest and a voice he has never heard fills the inside of his head.
Mine. Mine. Mine.