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“What’s that?” Tony asks, looking over Steve’s shoulder.
Steve heard him coming in but didn’t bother acknowledging Tony’s presence on the highest floor of the tower. And Tony didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry either, moving around somewhere behind Steve’s back for a few long minutes until he finally came over to where Steve is stretched out on the outrageously luxurious sofa, comfortable and relaxed.
It’s a nice, long evening in New York today, hot and almost summer-like, even if it’s the middle of June.
“A manatee.”
“A manatee,” Tony repeats, not impressed.
“Yes, a manatee,” Steve confirms patiently, eyes still on the sketchbook, and starts drawing a flipper.
“What, like the ones that chill in the ocean, eat lettuce and sleep for half a day?”
“Tony.”
“What? I’m not used to people ignoring me.” Tony puts his forearms on the backrest of the sofa and leans in, close to Steve’s right ear. “Don’t ignore me.”
The manatee isn’t finished, but apparently it’ll have to wait, because Tony’s voice has just dropped lower, quieter. The intentional, convincing undertone rings clear in the words. It sounds a bit demanding too, but only because Tony Stark isn’t exactly used to asking for things.
The last line that Steve draws on the page goes down from the manatee’s flipper in a soft curve, indicating the position, so it’ll be easier to get back to it later. Steve closes the sketchbook and puts it away together with the pencil, far enough on the sofa that he can be sure it’ll be safe, just in case of any unplanned activities that might occur later tonight.
“You’re back early,” Steve says, turning back to Tony and the pleased grin that instantly pulls at the corner of his mouth. He reaches for Tony’s hand for good measure, and brings it to his lips, presses a kiss to Tony’s knuckles. Steve expects the electric smell of the lab, of metal and grease, but the scent is clean and light – soap and Tony’s warm skin.
“It’s a school night.” Tony’s thumb brushes the underside of Steve’s jaw, very softly, as if by accident. “The kid has homework to do.”
Steve huffs a laugh against Tony’s palm. “He still wants to be a neighborhood hero?”
“Yeah, but I can bet that the moment he graduates, he’ll realize that being an Avenger full time is the best job anyone can have.” The sarcasm slips into Tony’s tone, easy and natural. “We don’t get churros for defending the Earth, but hey, we all have to sacrifice something.”
Steve immediately senses where it goes. Tony gets conflicted, sometimes, when it comes to Peter, the guilt and the kid’s absence still fresh in his memory, clashing violently with the pride and undeniable awareness of Peter’s skills, his brilliance, his good heart. “You’re good to him, he loves what you two have. He’s lucky to have you, Tony.”
Steve looks Tony in the eye, and hopes this stubborn man believes him when he tells the truth.
Tony does, maybe, but sometimes it’s still hard to tell. “Come on, he’d be just fine without me,“ he scoffs, smoothly avoiding the emotional turn that the conversation was about to take. “So, what’s the plan for tonight, Cap? What are you catching up on tonight?”
“Star Trek.”
Tony throws him a look. “You know there’s quite a lot to watch, right?”
Steve shrugs, pulls on Tony’s hand. “Then we’d better get started.”
Tony lets out a dramatic sigh. Instead of walking around, he throws his legs over the backseat of the sofa and slides down right next to Steve, who takes the opportunity to put his arm around Tony’s shoulders.
“Really, why would anyone even suggest Star Trek? Aren’t you sick of the space?” Tony rambles, but relaxes against Steve’s side and pauses only to tell the AI to play the original series. “Is it because of the homoerotic themes? Or is it Star Wars?”
“I think it’s both,” Steve admits, “but if that’s the reason, I think we’ll like it.”