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“JARVIS, run the simulations again – no, DUM-E, put that down, that’s Steve’s anniversary gift, it’s off limits,” Tony sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.
He needs this to work. He’s one month late from the deadline, and while usually he has no trouble skipping happily over time limits, the Stark Intellicrops are about lives. What’s the use of getting banged up in a flying metal suit when the people he saves can’t eat?
He’d also very much like for Steve’s gift to stay intact. After the small fight they’d had earlier today over protocol and training exercises, Tony doesn’t need Steve to get even more upset when their anniversary rolls up in a week. There’s too many things that he has to do, he can’t handle a falling out with their relationship –
From across the room, DUM-E makes a sad beep.
“No means no,” Tony sternly says for what must be the hundredth time. “If Steve’s gift breaks, I’m turning your motherboard into a ping pong ball.”
Another sad beep. He ignores it for the moment, reaching out blindly for his coffee cup. It’s lighter than usual, which means – he sighs again, gritting his teeth against the headache building behind his eyes. Snapping his fingers at the more trustworthy U, he holds the cup in the air.
“Get me a refill. Pronto, please.”
U’s claw turns away from the fabricator machine, but U stays in the corner, unmoving.
“Is this some sort of conspiracy?” Tony groans, glaring pointedly at one of the cameras. “J, you better have some good results for me, or else – ”
“Sir, I believe you’ve surpassed Captain Rogers’ limit of twelve consecutive hours in the workshop. U will be ready to serve you again after you have taken at least an hour of rest.”
Tony balks. “Twelve hours? I’ve only been in here since five.”
“And it is now six a.m. on Wednesday, Sir.”
Oh. Maybe JARVIS does have a point. Still… why did he decide to agree to Steve’s policies about taking breaks? He needs to finish this, and he needs coffee if he’s going to fix the latest growth simulations which are – yeah. The hologram in front of him flashes red yet again. Another failed calibration.
“Dammit, what did I do wrong, J?” Tony runs a hand through his hair, catching on the tangles there, stifling a yawn. He hadn’t realised he was this tired.
Alright, then. If his bots are being rebellious, he can make his own coffee on his own damn machine. He braces himself on a table as he stands, wincing as his back flares in protest at the movement. Rolling his shoulders doesn’t help much. It only makes the base of his neck ache as much as his head.
“Perhaps you will find some clarity after your rest, Sir,” JARVIS pointedly says. “Captain Rogers has just returned from his morning run, you may find him on the common floor couch. All other Avengers are still sleeping.”
Shit. He hadn’t come to bed last night. He had hoped to clear his head, get some space away from his argument with Steve to cool off before talking things out, but if he had let Steve sleep alone last night – that might only make things worse.
A sound forces its way up Tony’s throat, caught between a scream and a tired huff of breath. He doesn’t think he has the bandwidth to deal with another argument. All he wants is a hug from Steve, maybe even a kiss if he’s lucky. Expecting any of that when he had essentially abandoned Steve last night would be an asshole move, though. Giving and taking. He can’t always be taking from Steve.
God, why can’t something go right today?
The longer he waits to talk with Steve, the worst their argument will go, and he supposes that he might as well accomplish something today. Repair his relationship with Steve.
He’s a mechanic. Repairing should be easy.
And the incentive of getting a hug at the end of it is more than enough. He misses Steve.
“Fine,” Tony gives up, abandoning his empty coffee cup. Walking slowly, he pauses to tap at DUM-E’s arm. “No touching Steve’s gift. You hear me?”
An affirmative beep, followed by DUM-E’s claw nudging Tony’s shoulder towards the elevator.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony walks onward, “good night, boys. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Good morning to you too, Sir,” JARVIS quips quite unhelpfully, but the elevator doors open without Tony needing to say anything, the button to the common floor already pressed.
He gives a weak smile, tamping down another yawn. “Thanks, J.”
With the window blinds drawn up, Tony hisses at the sunlight that hits him as soon as the elevator doors open again, squinting to adjust his stinging eyes, until ha! A flash of gold hair, made even brighter by the morning sun.
His sluggishly sleepy mind scrambles to come up with a quick strategy to approach Steve. Neutral enough to not incite a new argument, but careful enough to not sound unapologetic. No. Fuck. He hates having to calculate, to pretend around Steve, and his head feels so heavy – why is the sun so bright?
“Hey,” he lamely says. Fucking hell, he’s Tony Stark. He can do better. “Hi.” Scratch that. He’s tired of being Tony Stark, and he’s starting to think in circles again, which he’s pretty sure his therapist recommended he try to avoid. Shaking his head, he walks around the couch, hovering until Steve glances up from his book.
For a moment, Tony feels buoyed by the small, brief smile Steve flashes at him. His very own sunrise.
“Morning, Tony.”
The reply is even, ambivalent. Not too harsh, not too enthusiastic either. Tony decides he might try his luck, and he sits down on the other edge of the couch.
“I’m sorry for not coming back last night.”
Steve turns back to the book he’s reading. The Song of Achilles. “Pepper told me you were hitting a wall with your gardening project. She said to give you time.”
Tony snorts, smiling despite himself. How is it that even when they’re fighting, Steve can still make him smile? “It’s not gardening. It’s farming. Intellicrops,” he corrects. “I don’t think you’d want to see me garden. That would be plant cruelty. Crop tops are the nearest thing to plants that I can do – I’m sorry,” Tony cuts himself off before he can dig an even deeper hole for himself, and he tries uselessly to rub some of the sleep from his eyes. “I should have remembered to at least say good night to you.”
“You’re here now,” Steve shrugs, flipping over a page. “That counts for something.”
Huh. So maybe Steve isn’t as upset with him as he’d feared. Braving to move an inch closer on the couch, Tony carefully eyes the way Steve holds the book. Still relaxed. Good.
They have about two feet of distance between them.
“I hate protocol. I really hate training exercises,” Tony admits, letting his eyes fall shut, unable to take much more sunlight after a night of staying up. When did he get so old? “But arguing with you sucks more. I shouldn’t have snapped at you when we argued,” he adds, “so how about – ”
“JARVIS, window opacity to 90%.”
When Tony manages to open his eyes again, the light is much more bearable, and Steve’s book is on the coffee table, its paper cover curving up. Vaguely, he remembers buying it for Steve on their... sixth date? They’d ducked into a bookshop to avoid the rain, and Steve’s hand had been warm in his.
He scoots a little closer on the couch, the space between them smaller than two feet.
“So,” he clears his throat, picking up from where he’d left off, “how about – ”
“How about you rest first before we talk?” Steve suggests. “I shouldn’t have brought up the training exercise issue when you were clearly stressed with work, it could have waited and it can wait now.”
“I don’t need rest,” Tony mutters, sitting up straighter. His lower back pulses with new pain, and this time, he can’t quite hide the wince.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Steve asks with a frown of his own. “Iron Man?”
“I just need to recharge,” he waves off the concern. Then, he quickly amends, “not my arc reactor. I need coffee.” I need a hug. Will Steve notice if he scoots another inch closer?
To hell with it. Tony moves three inches closer.
From this near, he can practically feel the buzz of Steve’s disapproval. “You’ve had more than enough cups in the past twenty four hours.”
“You have no proof.”
Steve raises a brow. “Do I need to bring JARVIS into this?”
“Don’t bring our kids into the fight,” Tony’s smile comes back, the heaviness in his head receding briefly. More confidently, he moves another inch towards Steve. There’s less than a foot of space between them now. “You smell sweaty.”
“I just got back from my morning run.”
“Did you bring home donuts?”
Steve huffs. “Of course I did. They’re for after you sleep.”
“Does this mean we’re not arguing anymore?” Tony asks, and he realises he must be far drowsier than he thought if he’s asking pointless questions.
Beside him – because there really is less than five inches of space between them – Steve laughs quietly. “I’m sure we can find something else to argue about soon.”
“I’m sorry.”
Steve finally reaches across the tiny space and takes Tony’s hand in his, squeezing. “I’m sorry, too.”
It feels safe, like this. Safe enough that Tony lets himself lose the fight to keep his eyes open. He’s so tired, and he thinks he deserves a reward for fixing his fight with Steve. The one good thing to come out of his late night, and he’s happy that it’s this.
“No arguing,” Tony says. Knowing Steve, their next argument might just be about whose fault it was, each of them shouldering too much blame on themselves. Frankly, Tony doesn’t think his back is up to any shouldering right now. And if they aren’t arguing, then, well. He lets his head tip sideways, ignoring the ache in his back, until his head rests on the crook of Steve’s neck. God, that’s wonderful.
He feels rather than sees Steve laugh again. “Did you apologise just so you could cuddle?” Steve says as he adjusts them both, shifting until Tony’s head rests on Steve’s thigh, and Tony can’t help the happy sigh that escapes him when Steve starts carding a hand through his hair, gentle movements massaging the tension of his neck.
“No,” Tony tries his best to sound indignant while already half asleep. Then, he rethinks. “Yes. Actually, no.” He pauses. “I was hopin’ for a kiss too,” he struggles to shape the words. “Guess I’ll settle for do’uts instead.”
Something soft lands on Tony’s temple, pressing a warmth there that he leans into.
“Will that do?” Steve whispers, pressing another kiss behind his ear.
Tony would very much like to come up with a witty quip, about proper kissing techniques and how to charm a guy, but Steve’s hand continues to run through Tony’s hair, gentle motions that pull him down, down beneath the tide of sleep that’s full of fog and dark and clouds.
He has only enough strength to curl up tighter in Steve’s lap. He’ll later probably regret what he’s doing to his back.
But he’s not afraid. Not when there’s Steve.
He lets himself sleep.
Steve watches for several more heartbeats as Tony’s chest rises and falls.
He shouldn’t say it, and yet – it’s moments like these when he finds himself adoring Tony the most, even as it takes almost all his restraint not to chide Tony about keeping better care for himself. There isn’t much in him that can stay angry when Tony slowly inches his way to him, clearly in need of a hug but too stubborn to ask for one, or maybe too scalded by their argument. Steve suppresses a sigh. He’d give Tony a hug in a heartbeat if Tony simply asked for one.
Pepper had called him last night to warn him about Tony’s sour mood, but it had been too late. By then, Tony had already stormed away and Steve had been stewing in his annoyance until he realised what he’d done. Loving Tony doesn’t get any easier, not even after nearly three years of dating. He’s still learning how to balance what he needs to get across and what can wait until Tony isn’t carrying too much.
And Christ, Tony carries so much that Steve sometimes feels powerless. He glances down at Tony’s closed eyes, and he continues carding his hand through Tony’s soft hair. There are so many things going on in their lives – Stark Industries, Avengers duties, dealing with the press, liaising with SHIELD – these moments have become rarer.
His nose catches a whiff of motor oil mixed in with the sharpness of their lemon shampoo.
“Let’s get you more comfortable,” Steve murmurs. He hooks a hand beneath Tony’s waist and keeps his other hand cradled around Tony’s head, holding his breath until he manages to stand up without waking his boyfriend. Tony does shift around, though, nose pressing into Steve’s shoulder.
Humming quietly, he carries him to their bedroom, sidestepping the socks on the floor. Lowering Tony on bed is always a careful act. He hadn’t bothered to tidy their bed when he had woken up from his restless sleep earlier, so he slowly lowers Tony on top of the rumpled sheets.
“JARVIS, please tell Pepper to cancel Tony’s eleven o’clock meeting,” he says in hushed whispers, pulling their thick blankets over Tony. The reply comes as a barely audible chime, their room’s windows darkening themselves at JARVIS’ silent command.
Steve debates whether or not to stay. He has his own schedule: a visit to the children’s ward at the hospital, lunch with Commander Hill about protocol. But it’s barely half past six, and he smiles down at Tony peacefully taking his next breath, all the earlier tiredness and pain gone.
Pulling off his damp shirt from his morning run, he tosses it next to the towel. They can deal with the mess later. He kisses the corner of Tony’s mouth, then settles himself on the bed, huffing softly to himself as Tony unconsciously shifts towards him, back pressed into Steve’s stomach.
He can picture it: a hundred more fights like this in the future, a thousand more mornings spent with Tony sneaking towards him and Steve holding out a hand for him to take. His boyfriend? partner? Maybe even husband, one day.
Steve has a feeling that he should wait before mentioning that last one to Tony.
Not yet. But some things were worth waiting for.
“Good night,” he buries his face in Tony’s hair. “Sweet dreams.”
“What were we even fighting about?” Tony bumps their elbows together as they walk.
Beside him, Steve shrugs, making their coats brush. “You said you had no time for training exercises or protocol paperwork, I said you’d better make time.”
“Well, I’m making time now,” Tony grins up at him. They sidestep a pair of runners, continuing their easy stroll down Central Park, their stomachs full from their anniversary dinner.
This time, it’s Steve who bumps their elbows together. “I’d hardly call this a training exercise.”
“I’m walking. That’s exercise. And I’m doing my best to not peel that suit – ” he pauses to rake his eyes over Steve’s chest. Covered by a dark red coat, only a sliver of the tailored suit is visible through the dim park lights, but the possibility of it was maddening – “off you right here and now. That has to count as training.”
“Oh?”
Tony bumps their elbows again, hands still shoved into his own pockets to keep warm in the early winter. A hundred or so thinly veiled innuendos flash through him. He watches the mist form from Steve’s breaths, and decides he can save all that for when they’re in bed later. There’s some sort of courage that the darkening night gives him, something to hide the sudden rawness clawing at him. It feels so wrong to feel this happy, this light.
“Thank you,” he says, ducking his head, counting the gravel stones on the path. “For tonight. For this past year.” He has Steve’s gift waiting in their bedroom: the ugliest knitted sweater he could find, and a new adamantium-vibranium compass to replace the old one Steve keeps carrying around. “I know I’m insufferable most times, and you swing between insufferable and wonderful – ”
“If this is your idea of being romantic – ”
“Hush, Rogers,” he stops them beneath the next lamp post, stepping around to stand in front of Steve. “I’m cold, my back is killing me, and I’m in a park when I could be in bed. Let me finish. I know we won’t magically stop arguing just because we’re sleeping together – although you now have an extra effective way of shutting me up,” he waggles his eyebrows playfully, gratified when Steve lets out a chuckle. “And I’m going to forget to come to bed because of a project, but I – the cold isn’t that bad if you’re here.”
Dammit. He should be able to say this to Steve without resorting to petty sarcasm. He’s dated Steve for three whole years, it shouldn’t be hard –
“You know,” Steve takes a step closer towards him, “if you wanted me to keep you warm, you could have just asked.”
Tony swallows, eyeing the corner of Steve’s smile, the clear playfulness there. “I’m warm enough here.”
His hands curl into fists in his pockets, because as much as he’d like to reach out and touch Steve, he’s all too aware of passing parkgoers whispering about them. He doesn’t want to ruin their anniversary night with paparazzi pictures.
Steve, however, seems to have no such reservation. He shoves his hand gently into Tony’s pocket, wrapping around Tony’s gloved hand, and they’re close. So close that all Tony can hear is the buzzing of blood in his ears. No whispers, no footsteps on the gravel.
“Warm enough and warm aren’t the same thing,” Steve grins.
And okay, fine. Tony might’ve been knocking their elbows together more frequently than warranted for a walk in order to tempt Steve into holding his hand, but... ‘you could have just asked,’ Steve had said.
“I hate you,” Tony says without any heat, inching ever closer to Steve. “Kiss me?”
“Only because you’re asking so nicely.”
But the kiss doesn’t land on Tony’s lips. It lands squarely between his eyes, right on top of his frown as he scowls up at Steve.
“Fuck you,” Tony grumbles.
“Sure,” Steve’s grin is a wide as ever.
“Marry me.”
“What?”
Steve abruptly pulls his hand out of Tony’s pocket, as if scalded, and the loss of it stings. Tony chases it, pulling Steve’s hand back towards him. “Not now. One day.” The words catch in his throat. When I’m brave enough to ask you properly. He shouldn’t have let himself blurt it out like that, his self-control lost in the pleasant buzz after Steve’s far too-chaste kiss. “One day,” Tony repeats. “Hopefully. If you want.”
Around Tony’s wrist, Steve’s hand squeezes. Light. Reassuring. Tony dares to sneak a peek at Steve’s face, only to be met with a smaller smile. Not a grin. A smile. Almost proud, and most certainly adoring.
“One day soon, I hope. I’m sure my fiancé would love to do the paperwork for our marriage,” Steve says evenly, surprise melting away into easy contentment.
Shoving their joined hands back into his warm pocket, Tony slowly starts their walk again, the Tower a bright beacon in the distance.
His north star. His home.
“You’re not going to trick me into doing paperwork.”
Steve laughs, and with his hand trapped in Tony’s pocket, their shoulders bump. “It was worth a try.”
Tony wonders what it might feel like: to hold Steve’s hand and find a smooth metal ring there.
His hand squeezes around Steve’s again. I love you.
Steve steps over a fallen leaf, pausing to drop a quick kiss into Tony’s hair. I love you.
One day. One day, Tony will ask.
But there are some things he doesn’t know how to ask for.
And some things he already knows the answer to.
Steve eyes the space between the edges of their bed.
Either their bed became drastically smaller in the past five minutes, or Tony has been slowly inching his way towards him. Steve debates what to do next. He pretends to continue reading through the evening news on his StarkPad, every so often glancing to the side to note the smaller and smaller distance between them. There’s an endearingness to the way Tony assumes that Steve doesn’t notice – the small scrunch between Tony’s brows, the bitten edge of Tony’s lips as he tries to move silently, and the fleeting glances Tony sends his way, all the while pretending to be playing a game of cards on his phone.
After a tiring day of team building exercises, Steve has to admit he understands Tony’s need to cuddle. But after four years of dating, Tony apparently still finds sneaking to be the best way to get a hug from Steve. It hasn’t gotten any less endearing. While he wishes Tony would feel comfortable enough to simply ask whenever he needed anything from Steve, but he’s learning that there are some things that don’t need to be asked for.
He never asked Bucky to give his life for him, he never asked Tony to give him a home. He won’t ask for Tony to give him any more.
When he finally feels Tony’s knee bump against his, barely an inch between them, he indulgently puts down the StarkPad on their nightstand, shifting the blankets around to cover them both properly.
“Are you trying to get me to hug you?” he breaks the silence.
Tony sheepishly turns away from his phone, flashing Steve a small smile. “I was trying to see how long it’d take for you to notice.”
“I always notice you. And I always notice when you’re trying to hide something,” Steve can’t help the fondness that slips into his words. He slips an arm around Tony’s shoulder, pulling him close. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Uh, I wanted to – I wanted to give you this.”
From his pocket, Tony takes out – that’s Steve’s compass. The one Tony had given him a year ago. He had been looking for it yesterday, and he takes it gratefully, fingers catching on the engraving in its back.
He flips it around. “Where did you – what?”
For the most part, the engraving is the same as ever. Except for his last name. Captain Steve G. Rogers-Stark, it reads out, the hyphenated name squeezed into the round, silver surface. Beneath it, a set of unfamiliar words: here’s me asking.
“Steve,” Tony puts his hand on top of the compass, holding it between their palms.
“You’re – you’re asking me to marry you?” Steve frowns. He hadn’t expected tonight to take this sort of turn. When he had pictured Tony proposing – when he had pictured himself proposing – he had thought of bright, loud colors, maybe a few fireworks. He hadn’t expected it to be this quiet. “Are you actually asking me?”
Tony bites his lip harder, clearly uncertain but forging on. Iron Man. Always brave. “You said to do it soon,” he gives Steve a shaky smile, “I hope it isn’t too soon?”
Steve moves Tony’s fingers until he can see the engraving between them. “Rogers-Stark,” he reads out, making sure to give Tony a happy smile. “Why not Stark-Rogers?”
“You’re insufferable,” Tony chokes out, digging his elbow into Steve’s ribs.
“Yes.”
“Yes to the proposal? Or yes to you being insufferable?”
“I don’t recall hearing a proposal,” Steve tips his head to the side, “Tony Stark, making an honest man of me?”
“Hey,” Tony squawks, “I even did the paperwork for this. SHIELD’s PR people are going to have a field day.”
“You did the paperwork?” he doesn’t bother hiding his pleased surprise.
Tony lifts his hand off the compass, shrugging. “JARVIS did it, but since I built JARVIS, technically I was the one who did it.”
Rogers-Stark. This was… infinitely better than a loud party. It’s honest, thoughtful. He tamps down the swell of – of everything that fills him overflowing. He wonders how long Tony had taken to plan this. He wonders – “Why today?”
“Uh,” Tony frowns, “I wanted to do it on our anniversary next month.”
That’s more like Tony. Grand gestures that Steve has learned to see through, spotting the small careful details Tony puts into each of them. “But you couldn’t wait?” Steve teases.
“But somebody decided to put me through team training,” Tony rolls his eyes half-heartedly, “and I’m tired as hell and my back hurts, and my boyfriend – sorry, my fiancé,” he corrects with a bright grin aimed at Steve, “was ignoring me for some lame news. Had to get his attention somehow.”
“Well,” Steve gently puts the compass beside his StarkPad on their bedside table, and kisses Tony’s nose, “you have my full attention, Mr. Stark-Rogers.”
“Rogers-Stark,” Tony laughs.
“I can’t believe SHIELD has paperwork about proposals.”
Tony huffs. “Typical. The love of your life proposes to you, and you’re thinking about paperwork.”
“I’m thinking about how you’d do something you hate only for me,” Steve feels his smile widen at the shy scrunch of Tony’s nose.
“I eat pineapples on pizza just for you,” Tony grumbles. He curls up around Steve’s side, ending up with his head in Steve’s lap and glaring at Steve with the slightest pout.
“Will you stop bringing it up if I get our wedding caterers to keep the fruits and the pizzas separate?”
That makes Tony stiffen. “We’re really doing this?”
Steve nods. “I’d have to throw away my compass if I said no,” his hands find Tony’s shoulderblades, pushing at the tense muscles there, “and I’m quite attached to that compass.”
“If you keep massaging me like that, I might marry you right here and now,” Tony sighs, leaning up to kiss Steve.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Steve takes a kiss of his own, “and by the way, I expect the wedding flowers to be grown from your Intellicrops.”
Tony grins against Steve’s lips, making it all the more easier for Steve to kiss him again.
“You’re a little shit,” Tony mutters between the kisses, nipping Steve’s lips in retaliation.
“I’m exactly how you love me.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
Steve hums, watching Tony’s eyes drift close. “I love you, too.”
He pulls the blanket over their shoulders, and JARVIS dims the lights for them. They fall into an easy silence, Steve counting the steadiness of Tony’s breaths –
“DUM-E’s going to be our flowergirl,” Tony mutters above Steve’s stomach, words slurred with sleep.
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
Tony’s beard tickles as he burrows his head further into Steve’s stomach. “Are you doubting me, Steven?”
“Not at all,” Steve chuckles. He runs his hand through Tony’s hair.
“Good, because I have the best ideas.”
“Like that time you wore those yellow pantsuits in college?”
“Like marrying you. And I'll have you know, I looked sexy in those pantsuits.”
Steve drops a kiss on Tony's shoulder. “Not as handsome as you are now, though.”
“Flatterer.”
“Only for you.”
“'m tired,” Tony sleepily mutters into Steve's skin before lifting his head up from Steve's stomach and opening one eye. “We're having our proposal sex tomorrow morning.”
Steve laughs. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“Not all of us are supersoldiers with too much strength,” Tony huffs.
“No, but I wouldn't mind carrying you over the threshold.”
He drops one last kiss on Tony’s cheek.
They’ll be having some sweet, sweet dreams tonight.