Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

To say the British public reacted sensibly to the news of their engagement would be an overstatement. 

“I’m never leaving this room.”

“We have to make an appearance sometime,” Tony pleaded, leaning against the bed Steve was currently hiding under. 

“No,” Steve said, curling tighter. “Wait, can we go to Balmoral?”

Tony huffed. “I thought you said we had to remain ‘among the people,’ and that ‘one palace was enough for any person.’”

“That was before I was accused of being a ‘Goldigging Yank’ out to destroy the monarchy,” Steve whined. 

“They said that before,” Tony reminded him, making him scowl.

“Yes, but before they toned it down because they didn’t want to seem homophobic. Now it's a free-for-all because I don’t have a womb and you’re marrying me.”

“Alright, but we did know this was coming.”

“Stop being logical.”

“Steve, my love, please?”

Steve sighed, staring grumpily at the ugly, no-doubt-antique carpet that he was definitely having replaced when he became consort. Then he rolled out from under the bed. 

“Apparently I have ‘bewitched’ you, with what I don’t know.” He scowled at his phone. “What is this, the Middle Ages?”

“Well, that’s not exactly false,” Tony said, pushing himself up. “I do sometimes wonder if you put a spell on me. I’d never fallen for someone so fast.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve told him, even as Tony wrapped him in his arms. “Oh my god, this one says I’m a member of the gay mafia sent to infiltrate the Royal family!”

Tony snorted, burying his face in Steve’s hair. “We can get that one framed. That’s gold.”

“It’s just so...tiring. I don’t know why, but I kind of thought that since they’d calmed down over us dating that this wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“Yeah, well, whenever we do anything it’s news. Something this big was always going to cause waves.”

“I know.”

Tony turned his phone so Steve could see it. “If it helps, PinkNews says ‘King Tony to marry Steve Rogers in Royal fairytale’.”

“I guess a little. But they have to love us, they don’t count.”

Tony gave him a squeeze. “Natasha is setting up the engagement photocall. It’ll be tomorrow afternoon. Jan already has something for you: she’s been planning it since I told her I was going to propose.”

Steve felt the familiar warmth of knowing Tony loved him at the mention of the proposal. Anyone who still wanted to stay with him after that freakout clearly loved him. 

“Well that’s something at least,” Steve allowed. “Her clothes always fit me properly, and they’re always so comfy.”

“You’re going to look incredible. And I am going to be the lucky chap with a beautiful fiancé on his arm.”

“Ok, I guess I can handle that.”

Tony gave him a peck on the top of his head. “Good.”

“And then can we flee to Balmoral?”

“They want me to what?”

“Sit. For a portrait.”

Steve glared at Natasha. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No! That’s so pretentious. They have photos of me - can’t they just use one of those?”

“They’ll take a photo as well: you just have to sit for the initial session. Don’t be such a baby, your almost-Royal Highness.”

Steve scowled. “Anyway, why are you doing this? I thought I had my own aide now to harass me?”

“And you sent her on holiday because she ‘looked overworked,’” Natasha said, shaking her head. “She’s going to need better stamina than that to manage your attitude about the schedule.”

“She needed the break! She was sick!” Steve complained, trying not to whine.

“She needed a couple of sick days for a sore throat. She did not need a two-week holiday, so I had to pick up her slack,” she told him, giving him the fisheye. “You just thought you’d be free from having someone telling you what to do.”

Ok, so maybe he’d been a little transparent there. “Darcy is new and was working herself to the bone and I did the kind thing. There was no other motive.”

“Mhmm. You realise she’s helping me remotely because she’s well again and knew you were being ridiculous. She took her laptop to her mother’s so she could continue to manage your correspondence once she felt up to it. She’s the one who told me you were needed for the sitting.”

Dammit. Outwitted. “Fine, I’ll sit for the damn thing. But I’m not doing the whole ‘surrounded by grandeur’ thing. It can be outside in the garden.”

He watched as Natasha closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply before she looked back up at him. “Fine.”

Steve smirked, looking out the window of the car. “Remind me again what we’re doing?”

“We’re attending the annual Swan Upping. You did not attend last year because you were visiting your mother. The annual Swan Upping is a five-day event where the Swans swim up the Thames, and a census is taken. A flotilla of skiffs will sit on the River Thames and each swan will be lifted, recorded and returned. This is done by The King’s Swan Marker. As I’m sure you will recall, the King has the prerogative over all swans in England and Wales, and retains the right to claim ownership of any unmarked mute swan swimming in open waters.”

Steve stared at her. “This is a joke, right?“

Natasha smirked. “Nope. Bet you wish you’d just agreed to the portrait. Maybe I would’ve been able to get you out of it.” Her smile turned wicked. “Now you have to stand by the river, in the heat, listening to people shout ‘All up!’ every time they see a group of swans, and pretend to be thrilled because the people love it. And all the while, I’ll be sitting in my favourite tearoom eating an absurd number of scones, because I arranged to have one of the junior aides attend to you during the event.” She relaxed back in her seat. “Poor you.”

Steve’s jaw dropped in outrage. “You’re evil. You are actually evil.”

“How do you think I’ve kept his Majesty in line all these years?”

“Tony is going to be there? This isn’t like, a prank you’re both playing on me?”

“Yes, he will be there. It’s tradition.”

Well, that was something. “Where do we watch the swans?”

“We’re heading to Windsor, and we’ll meet with Tony for you two to board a boat. He left earlier so he could chat with the Swan Marker and make sure everything was ship-shape.”

“Honestly, sometimes I forget our lives are weird, and then we go to something like this,” Steve shook his head. “I could be working instead.”

“If it helps, school kids all come to watch and learn about conservation, so it’s not all bad.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Cheer up, it’s a nice day,” Natasha put on her sunglasses as they turned towards a waiting crowd. “And if you’re lucky, they’ll let you hold a swan.”

“All up!”

Steve tried to keep the smile on his face as they shouted at the arrival of another swan family. On one hand, he admitted this was a weirdly charming event, and meeting all the restless school kids lining up to watch had been cute. On the other hand, it was hot, he was in a suit, and he was watching people catch swans while thinking about how cool the water probably was. Also probably pretty gross, but somehow he didn’t care. He wondered if he could persuade Tony to take a dip in the palace pool when they got home. 

Speaking of his fiancé...

He looked over to the other side of the boat to see the King being presented with a cygnet for checking. Steve hid a laugh at the way Tony was nodding enthusiastically at what the Swan Master or whatever his title was, was saying, and Steve had no doubt he’d brushed up on his swan knowledge in the car. Tony must’ve noticed him because his eyes flicked over to Steve, one eyebrow arching dangerously, which did nothing to quell Steve’s amusement. He could tell Tony knew that too, by the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Mr Rogers!” A voice boomed, and Steve turned to see a man holding a swan. “Would you like to inspect one of His Majesty’s birds?”

What a question. The swan stared at Steve and Steve stared back. “Uh, very nice. Is it female or male?”

The man went for it, telling Steve far more about any single swan than Steve had ever considered, and he nodded politely, petting the Swan’s head tentatively when invited. He could hear the clicks of the cameras and knew he was going to be getting some mocking messages from Sam and Bucky.

The boat sailed up the river for an hour, in which time Steve made polite conversation with those in attendance and waved to the people who lined the river to watch.

Eventually, they pulled into the dock, meeting another group of excited kids whose teacher handed him a bunch of handmade cards for him and Tony. It was very sweet and brought a genuine smile to his face. They watched as the Swan Man gave a little practiced lecture, Steve gratefully taking a bottle from the palace aid, trying not to actually moan at the coolness of the water. 

They were there for a while longer before Steve saw Tony give the palace aide a nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Time to go. 

Steve began to walk towards Tony, but before they could take their leave, a stray swan darted out of the reeds with a loud hissing honk and barrelled into his shins. Steve yelped in shock as they collided, stumbling as his shoe slid in the soft mud and he plummeted forward, landing heavily in the muck. For a second, he couldn’t do anything, so aware of just how many cameras were on him at that moment, face down in the dirt, ass in the air. 

Maybe he could just stay there, and eventually, everyone else would leave. 

“Steve!” So much for that plan. There was a strong grip around his arm, and he was dragged to his feet. Tony was looking at him, his brow furrowed with worry, and his arm looped around Steve’s waist to hold him up. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m--oh Tony you’re getting mud on your suit!”

Tony shrugged. “Who cares?” He brought up his hand to brush Steve’s hair back. “Are you alright?”

“Just feeling really dumb,” Steve murmured. He noticed his assailant had fled, leaving nothing but a few webbed footprints in the mud. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Tony replied and raised a hand to wave to the crowd who clapped and cheered loudly. “The swans have been counted, so I think that’s lunch.” Steve let himself be led away, remembering to wave even though he knew he looked a mess. They were herded into a car and he leaned back on the headrest and groaned. 

“Fuuuuuuck.”

Tony snorted, grabbing a packet of wet wipes out of the back of the seat. He pulled one free before he grabbed Steve’s chin and held him in place, wiping his forehead and cheeks. “Everyone has to have an embarrassing moment once in a while. The usual for Royal spouses is flashing your knickers, but since that’s off the table I guess face-planting is the next best thing.”

“Do I have time to change before our next appointment?”

“You don’t have to. We’re crashing Natasha’s tearooms since she clearly let an inexperienced staff member attend you who wasn’t able to stop you falling.”

Steve side-eyed him. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Well no, but I do enjoy annoying her, and the scones really are scrumptious, so two birds one stone.” He balled up the used wipes and tossed them in the bin. “She’ll call soon anyway when she sees the news.”

“Oh god.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

Steve’s phone pinged, and with trepidation he opened the notification. “Ugghhhhhhh.”

“What?”

Steve showed him the article. “‘All up - Steve Rogers goes all down!’ That’s-- How did they have that ready so fast? And--” he read through the short write-up. “They said it looks like I did it on purpose to get your attention. I was attacked! Also we’re engaged! How much more of your attention do I need? ‘Steve Rogers clearly felt the swans were getting too much admiration on their big day so took what witnesses said looked like a planned tumble to steal the spotlight and get the King to notice him. King Tony did not disappoint!’.” The photo of Tony holding him was sweet. The photo of him with his ass in the air was not. “Assholes.”

“Jan did a good job with your measurements,” Tony commented, looking at the photo. “Your arse looks fantastic.”

Steve flushed. How did Tony still make him do that? “That’s not funny!”

“Who’s joking?”

Steve flopped over to lie in Tony’s lap, letting Tony pet his hair.

“Is this what it’s going to be like until the wedding?” The petting stopped a moment, Tony’s hand tangled in his hair before resuming gently. 

“Not just till the wedding. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “I know.”

When they arrived at the tearooms, Natasha was waiting, for once looking a bit apologetic. 

“I really didn’t think the swan-upping would be one of the more difficult engagements,” she said, putting jam on half a scone and pushing it his way.

Steve munched on the scone, giving her a look. “The next one has to be foolproof. No chances of me looking like an idiot.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

Before he could open his mouth, his phone pinged as he got a flurry of message notifications. 

He sighed, hiding his face in his hands. “I hate our friends.”

Chapter Text

“Ugh, really?”

“What is it?”

“They got photos of me from the charity auction - the one I couldn’t eat at, since they couldn’t say for sure that there hadn’t been cross-contamination - and now there’s a bunch of stuff online either saying I hate English food or I have an eating disorder!”

Rhodey whistled. “Damn. Diet stuff is always a hard one to shake. Especially the size you are.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Steve muttered, glaring at his phone.

“Seriously, why don’t you take a break? Isn’t Bucky doing the comms stuff for you now? Let him go through all this crap and decide if any action is needed.”

“I just don’t like not knowing.” 

“Well, you can either ignore it or let it drive you insane. Which do you want?”

Steve made a grumbling sound.

Rhodey hummed. “That’s what I thought.” He stretched slightly. “You have to brush it off. Trust me: I’ve known Tony since we roomed together in college. You can imagine the sort of shit they said about me, a Black kid from Philly who’s suddenly best friends with the Prince of England. It’s bullshit and it can cut so deep, but you have to ignore it. There just isn’t a second option.” He handed Steve the club. “The only reason Tony can do what he does, and be the man he is, is because he had to learn what’s legitimate criticism and what was just people being assholes. If you’re going to marry him, you’ll have to learn that too.”

The last had a slight questioning tone to it, and Steve released what Rhodey wasn’t saying. “I’m not a quitter.”

Rhodey smiled, wide and genuine. “Didn’t take you for one. Now, are you going to hit the ball or not?”

“Why do I even need to play this dumb game?”

“Rich white people love golf, and you’re gonna be rich now. Got to get with the programme.” Rhodey’s smile turned devilish. “I can’t wait for when they decide you should learn how to play cricket. Or polo.”

Steve shuddered. “Don’t even joke.”

“Not into horses?”

“They’re dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle.”

“Wow.”

“Can you play polo?”

“You’ll never know.”

“You’re such a dick,” Steve snorted, but he swung the club obligingly, clipping the ball and sending it sailing. 

Rhodey whistled. “Not bad. Not good either.” He dropped a silver pitted ball on the ground. “Move over shortstack: let a pro show you how it’s done.”

“A tour?”

“Yes, we think it’s a good idea to introduce you to the people ahead of the wedding. Get them onboard.”

“Ok, and what about my job? They’re great about my schedule, but they need to know it in advance.”

“Well, once the wedding takes place it’s not as if--”

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and the advisor, Alison, looked at Tony, eyebrow raised. “Yes, your Majesty?”

“Steve will continue to work for as long as he wants. That’s non-negotiable.”

She frowned. “Well, of course, it’s admirable that Mr Rogers has employment helping a worthy cause, but once you are married, the security alone--”

“That is the last I will say on the matter,” Tony said, a tendril of command winding its way into the words, even as he stared down at his copy of the schedule. “And I expect that to be the last I hear of it.”

Alison stared at him for a short moment before visibly changing track. “Alright, then I will speak to the director at Maximoff’s Munchkins about how we can best manage your workload and complete visits to all the devolved nations and the Republic of Ireland. Is that satisfactory?”

“That’s fine,” Steve agreed even as Tony snorted predictably. “Stop.”

“Look, I support everything they do, I just hate the name. I can’t help it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ve made that very clear.” He looked back at Alison. “Sorry, please carry on.”

“Well, getting the devolved nations onside is key. Unsurprisingly, the monarchy isn’t universally loved though it varies on age group and location. However, Tony has always been popular with them, or actually more accurately, as popular as any royal can be given the history, which is great. Now, we want to capitalise on you Mr Rogers. You, a man of the people, a descendant of the Irish diaspora of the fifties, distant relatives still in Galway.” She gave a pleased sigh. “Perfect.”

Steve looked at her. “I mean, I haven’t met any of them or anything…”

“That’s no problem, we’ll arrange the whole thing. We’ll also want to make sure you can give a speech, preferably in Irish Gaelic as a show of good faith.”

“My great grandmother spoke Gaeilge,” Steve said, feeling a little excited, despite his initial misgivings. “My nana didn’t speak it much once she moved to America, but my Ma knows a little.”

“Don’t worry: we’ll get you a tutor. You’ll be able to speak well enough for the visit at least,” Alison said, looking thrilled he was enthusiastic about her plan. “I suggest we do a series of visits over the next couple of months. I think we do Wales first, then Northern Ireland. With the Republic we’d normally have a reasonable gap in between, but we’ve been speaking with Stormont and the Taoiseach, and we’ve come to the conclusion that since we are selling you as the King’s Irish fiance, we’ll do it as two separate visits but in close succession, with Scotland in between, and then a trip around England.”

Steve nodded. “Ok, that all sounds fine - overwhelming, but fine - but also I feel like certain parts aren’t exactly going to be thrilled about me being who Tony’s choosing to marry.”

“They can--”

“Your Majesty,” Alison cut in. “Mr Rogers raises a good point, even if all of us here disagree.” She rifled through some papers. “We’re going to play up your charity involvement, and do plenty of visits to children’s charities. We will do visits to youth centres, especially those that support LGBTQA+, but also mix that in with the usual visits to British cultural touchstones to establish you as one of the people.” She brandished her papers with relish. “Trust me: it’s going to be a success.”

“I really don’t want to do this,” Steve murmured to Natasha, who was so blatantly holding back a smirk and was definitely so fired. 

“It‘s important for any future Royal to show that they respect and honour the culture of the people they rule.”

“Except this feels very much like something you suggested, not them!”

Nat’s mouth twitched. “Mr Rogers, my job is to serve the monarchy. I would never---”

“It’s a crime to lie to a future consort. Probably.”

“Someone’s behind on their British history study I see.”

“Shut up.” Steve could feel the anxiety settling in his stomach. “But the caber? Really?”

“The Royal family have always attended--”

“ Attended. Not competed. There’s no way I can lift one of those!” 

“It’s your first visit, and they want to make it special. Now hush: that’s the big guy. Happy smiles now.”

Steve swallowed the urge to elbow her and dutifully pushed a smile onto his face as a big man with a ginger moustache walked up to them, beaming broadly. His kilt matched his tam ‘o shanter, and the glint in his eye promised Steve nothing but pain. 

“Mr Rogers,” he boomed, shaking Steve’s hand. “Thank you for coming to Braemar. We’re happy you’re here. I’m Tim Dugan”

“I’m excited to see the events,” Steve told him, which was only a half-lie. He had been until Natasha broke the news that he was going to have to lift half a log cabin and toss it across a field. 

“I hear you’re keen to try it for yourself?”

Steve forced himself to nod, jaw tight.

“Brave man! Don’t worry: we’ll go easy on you,” Dugan said with a conspiratorial wink. He gestured to someone, and Steve straightened up, ready to accept his fate. His eyes fell closed, and he put out his hands. 

Something wooden and heavy landed in them, but nowhere near the intense weight he’d expected. There was a muffled laugh, and Steve peeked out one eye to see.

He huffed. He’d been had. 

He raised a brow at Dugan who winked. “Figured that bit of firewood would suit your highness.” He gestured at the small log, no bigger than a loaf of bread. “Think you can handle it?

Steve let the grin spread over his face. “I think even I can manage that.”

Dugan boomed with laughter, slapping Steve on the shoulder. The gasps from the crowd were audible. “I never doubted. But I’ll tell you what: how about we go for the old tug-of-war? Give the other lads a fair chance?”

Steve snorted. “I don’t see why not. I wouldn’t want to make anyone cry.”

Dugan put his hands in the air. “Tug of war!”

The crowd clapped and cheered, delighted at the idea of getting to see one of the Royal family getting in on the action. 

Steve caught Natasha’s eye and she winked. He rolled his eyes at her. 

“Hold on, stop, stop, stop!”

Steve turned at the familiar voice, seeing Dugan straighten up as Tony strode across the field,  the organiser who had simpered to Tony when they’d arrived now trotting frantically behind him. Steve was once again made aware of the fact that Tony had been required to wear his kilt and knee-high socks, and he tried not to let that affect him too much. 

It was tough though.

“Your Majesty,” Dugan greeted him with a small bow. “As always it’s an honour to have you here.”

Tony smiled. “Mr Dugan, nice to see you. I hate to interrupt but I was hoping I might fetch my fiance so the games can begin.”

“Sir, Mr Rogers has just kindly agreed to take part in the tug of war.”

Tony’s eye twitched. “I think maybe he misunderstood. Americans, you know: sometimes things just get lost in translation.”

“Hey!” Steve interjected, giving Tony a look. 

“Come Steve: there’s a seat with a nice blanket in the pavilion.”

Tony stepped closer, taking Steve’s hand, but Steve held his ground as he was tugged. “I’ve been invited to take part.”

“Darling,” Tony murmured. “The men taking part aren’t exactly in your weight class. They’re big, burly Scots. The day is more likely to end in a trip to the Aberdeen Infirmary.”

Steve looked at Dugan, who was doing an excellent job of pretending not to listen. “I think I can take ‘em.”

He saw Dugan’s lip twitch. 

Tony looked exasperated. “It’s all well and good for you. I am the one who has to answer to your mother when she hears you have a crushed spleen.”

“You’re the King. Quit being scared of my Ma.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tony muttered.

Steve turned to Dugan. “Let’s do this.”

“I really must object—“

“Perhaps sir would prefer to supervise up close?” Dugan asked, and there was something to his tone that Steve couldn’t quite understand. 

Tony looked back at him for a moment before he slumped with a sigh. “Oh hell. Fine. Natasha!”

Natasha appeared next to him, a bag already in hand. He glared at her. “Your machinations never fail to surprise me.”

“I live to serve.” 

Steve looked at Tony and then looked back at her. “Sorry, what’s happening?”

Dugan laughed, slapping Steve heartily on the back. “Tug of war!”

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I could say the same,” Tony told him, with an infuriating smirk, as he brushed down the blue polo shirt he’d been given.

“If you die, your awful cousin gets the throne, you know.”

“It’s fine: he’d be overthrown within six months.” Tony rubbed his hands together as he picked up the rope. 

“Tony--”

“Hey, we’ll be agreeing to be there in sickness and in health soon enough. It just happens that your sickness is being bullheaded.”

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but suddenly a rope was shoved into his hands and he was facing Tony and eight other hulking guys, his heels digging into the dirt as the whistle sounded. 

The noise from the crowd was a low roar, and Steve pulled with all his strength. 

He was in slightly better shape than before he’d met Tony - decent food and actually having the time to visit a personal gym would do that - but he was under no illusions that the guys behind him were doing the grunt work. There was a sharp tug, and Steve was pulled backwards, grinning at Tony, who faced him at the front and was trying not to slide.

The flag in the centre crossed the line and then crossed back, again and again as one side would get the upper hand, and then the other. Steve could hear Dugan behind him breathing hard, and he muttered, “I thought your boys were tough.”

Dugan grinned. “They are. Best in the business.” He grunted as the rope jerked. “I think they’re all just a bit nervous about possibly breaking the King of England.”

Steve looked over at Tony, who gave him a wink as the flag crossed the crease. Steve huffed. 

“Forget that: take him down!”

Dugan barked a laugh. “You heard him, boys, stop going easy on him and pull!”

The reluctance that had clearly been holding Steve’s team at bay was lifted, and the force increased at once. Tony was sliding across the dirt as they pulled, and suddenly the tension dropped as the other side let go, and Tony fell forward toppling onto Steve as hit the ground. 

The crowd cheered, and Tony looked down at Steve as he pushed himself up. “You always know how to make an impression.”

Steve snorted, and he didn’t resist when Tony leaned down to kiss him, even as he heard the Palace’s warning about keeping PDA to a minimum echoing in his head. Oh well, they were engaged. He was pretty sure people knew they kissed.  

When Tony pulled back, the look in his eyes was filled with love, which always made Steve feel all kinds of fluttery. He didn’t have time to enjoy it for long though. He was grabbed by the arm and yanked up, and before he could realise what was happening, he was lifted onto Dugan’s shoulder as the team cheered. 

Steve looked in surprise at Tony, who laughed and wiggled his eyebrows as if to say, you earned it. 

So Steve didn’t fight it: he put his arms in the air and whooped, his smile wide. 

Perhaps these sort of events weren’t so bad.

Chapter Text

“Mr Rogers, do you really think it was appropriate to kiss the king at Braemar? Wasn’t it disrespectful to the games to take away the attention?”

“Eaten any avocados lately? Why do you hate the planet?”

“Steve! Steve! What’s your response to Brock Rumlow’s comments?”

That made Steve stop short. 

“Excuse me?”

The reporter held out a tablet with a video interview, where that smug asshole was sitting down with some Youtuber Steve recognised from the videos the older kids at Maximoff’s Munchkins watched.

The sound was tinny, but Steve could hear every word. 

“Steve could just never let things go.” Brock was saying, over-gesturing like an idiot. “I remember we were out with a few of my friends, and he starts yelling at one of them, and the guy was just joking around, but Steve has no sense of humour, so the next thing I know Steve’s up in Dave’s face telling him that he’s being ‘insensitive’” - and he actually did the airquotes - “and the whole bar is staring at us. He was so rude. It was a nightmare.”

The clip stopped, and Steve could feel a cold rush all the way to his knees. That bastard. 

He couldn’t react here: he knew that. The palace would comment appropriately, and he didn’t need to say a thing. 

Sam’s hand wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him away because Sam had been witness to Steve’s outbursts plenty of times. “Steve, let’s go. We’ve got an appointment.”

And now Sam would be drawn into the latest media storm because this was the photo they’d be using for the cycle, and it just made Steve so mad because everytime it happened, his friends got heaped with Twitter abuse and that asshole Rumlow was going to--

Steve was suddenly jerked backwards as Sam started walking away and they were in the car, the door closing securely behind them.

“Thank you,” Steve managed, patting his shoulder. “I was about to say something really dumb.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I know. I’ve met you. But we’re here to support Rhodey’s veteran programme, and he needs our attention more than a guy you dated for a couple of months.” Sam’s stomach rumbled. “Also he promised us lunch and I am starving. If you start something, we’re never going to get to eat.”

Steve snorted, the tension dropping from his shoulders. “Fine. For Rhodey, and to stop you wasting away, you poor thing.”

“Forget Rumlow. This’ll be way more fun.”

Steve squinted at him. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“The emphasis you put on fun.”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m just saying: visiting the base will be fun.” Sam pulled out his phone tapping away.

Steve glared at him, not trusting the innocent expression for a second. He knew better than that.

“I can come back.”

“No, you don’t need to.”

“Did you want to try again and sound more convincing?”

Steve huffed into the phone. “Really you don’t. You still have two days of events and you rushing back here will make it seem like an even bigger deal than it is.”

“If it’s upset you, it is a big deal.”

Steve tried not to feel too pleased at that. “Yes, but the President of France is also a big deal, and so are the war memorials.”

“They’ve been there seventy years. They can wait a little longer.” Tony’s voice went soft. “I’d come home if you needed it.”

“I know you would.” Steve flopped over with a groan. “I wish he hadn’t shared the pictures, but I guess I should be grateful I was just sleeping and my lower half was covered.”

There was silence on the other end. “Tony?”

“I wasn’t aware there were pictures,” Tony said, in a very measured tone. “Those aren’t usually released.”

“The press didn’t, but JHamz had no problem getting him to show them on his phone during the interview,” Steve complained. “Naturally everyone screenshotted them. I hate Justin Hammer.”

“He’s a real prick. He’s had it out for me ever since I refused to be on his channel when he was just starting out. Apparently just because he knew me when he did a course at MIT that his dad paid his way into, I owe him.”

“The pictures are...embarrassing, but not the end of the world. I’m more angry at all the lies he’s spreading. We were only dating for like three months!” Steve was still bitter about it. “Then I realised he was a self-absorbed asshole with asshole friends. You know he told everyone I got drunk at his friends’ engagement party and threw up in a potted plant? I only did that because he swapped our plates because I got a bigger portion, and his canapes had shrimp paste! And then he made me Uber home because he was ‘having too good of a time.’”

“Sounds like a real prize. Thank god you realised. I would’ve hated to have to fight him for your hand.” There was a pause. “Actually that might’ve been rather satisfying.”

Steve smiled. “No contest.”

“Well, I was going to try and cheer you up with some phone sex, but it’s tough when you sound so tragic and sad. It would sound like Eeyore telling me to take off my pants.”

That made Steve laugh, and he honked unattractively into the speaker. “That’s ok. I think I’ll just stay here in bed and try to ignore it.”

“Love, I know you’re sitting in the rain staring out at the lake like a poet whose childhood sweetheart drowned in it.”

“What?” Steve got up off the bench and looked around. “How did you--”

“Jarvis is hovering with a thermos of tea and some crumpets. He was worried you’d catch pneumonia.”

Steve looked around until he saw Jarvis, giving him a stern look. The butler simply raised an eyebrow at him, unperturbed. 

“Let him take you inside and feed you: it’ll make us both feel better. I’m-- Ok, attends une seconde. Je finis mon appel et j'arrive -- I have to go, my little American pastry, but please: go inside, relax, the team is on it.”

“Pastry?”

“Just trying it out, Rembrandt. I’ll keep brainstorming. I have to go mingle, and you need to eat something.” 

“I love you.”

“ Je t’aime, mon amour. ”

“You’re ridiculous. Go woo French people.”

“I’ll be home soon. Bye.”

“Bye Tony.”

Steve sighed, slipping his phone into his pocket. He looked over with resignation. “Alright Jarvis. Do your worst.”

“Of course, sir. Honey or jam for your crumpet?”

“And they need you three full days this week at Maximoff’s. Friday is a school visit, followed by opening a new youth centre - should be cute - and then Saturday is--

“--the first of the three-day trip to Ireland. Yes, I know.”

Darcy paused. “I thought you’d be excited.”

“I am! Sort of. It’s just weird, meeting extended family in front of cameras and having to make a speech in another language.”

“The King made a speech in Welsh and it was alright,” Darcy said, tapping her diary with a pen. 

“Tony is already fluent in two other languages and has years of training. Ioan Gruffudd told him his accent ‘wasn’t too bad.’ There’s no way I’m getting that sort of praise!”

“I feel like you’re overthinking it. Let’s be honest: you’re American. If you even do a half-passable job you’ll get claps on the back.”

“Wow, thanks,” Steve muttered darkly, and Darcy rolled her eyes. 

“It’s fine, you’ll do fine, and it’ll be a successful trip. When you get married all of Ireland will cheer.” She looked at him. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I feel like it was until you said it,” Steve grumbled. He looked at the schedule. “Did they decide what I need to be wearing?”

“So I put in a strong argument for a shamrock-patterned green suit, but I was told that would be ‘tacky,’” Darcy sighed dramatically. “I think Jan decided a nice dark green jacket over a jumper and jeans. Casual, comfortable, but tidy.”

“That’s something at least. So what is our itinerary?”

“You’ll arrive in the morning, meet with the Taioseach, then it’s lunch, and a visit to Trinity to see the book of Kells, then dinner at the British Embassy. For Sunday, it’ll be the emmigration museum, where they’ve prepared some research on your nan and her move to New York, which should be nice, then a visit to the famine memorial, and you’ll go to the brewery for a pint of Guinness, which you have to absolutely pretend to like even if it’s terrible, and then in the afternoon it’s off to Galway to meet the rellies. You’ll meet them in town, where the mayor will greet you, you’ll make the speech, and then they’ll take you to see one of the old historic houses that your nana’s family lived at for a time. It’ll all be very nice. If you hit it off, you can stay for dinner at their place. If it’s awkward as fuck, his Majesty will take you to a five-star restaurant, or you can head back to the B&B you’ll be saying at and have a night in. Then in the morning it’s back here, and you have the day off: King’s orders.”

“Oh yeah, piece of cake,” Steve grumbled. “But some of that sounds good. The museum and the college. I really hope my nan wasn’t like, the only normal part and we left the others here.” Steve made a note to send the itinerary to his Ma. “I told Ma who we were meeting. She said Nana always spoke fondly of her uncle, so hopefully his kids carried some of that over.”

“Seriously Steve, it’ll all be fine. Besides, his majesty will be there. He’ll look after you.”

That was true. “You’re right. He’s had all the training. I’m sure he’ll stop me from doing anything stupid.”

“He-- oh my god-- I can’t, I physically can’t, hahahaha.”

“Rhodey!” 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Rhodey said, voice still bordering hysterical. “But just-- Even during his party years he was always pretty well-behaved during official events, and a couple of years with you and he throws his drink in an old man’s face.”

“It was so bad,” Steve whined. “The cameras caught every frame.”

“I mean he called your grandma a slut: I’m not sure Tony was wrong.”

“Yeah well, that was a fun little tidbit.” Steve looked out the window into the garden where Natasha was speaking with Tony and looking frustrated. “I already knew that’s why she’d left and that Grandpa was actually step-grandpa. It wasn’t a secret. But I didn’t really need it announced to the world quite like that.”

“No, I guess not.” Rhodey was quiet for a moment. “Good trip otherwise though?”

Steve flopped onto the bed. “It was actually great. The Book of Kells was amazing, the EPIC museum was really good, and the research they’d done on Nana was really nice. Photos I hadn’t seen, birth records, family history. They gave me copies for Ma too. And apart from Great Uncle Kieran being a real asshole, his daughters were really welcoming. They had a lot of stories, and they made really good cake.” He hummed. “I think I’d like to visit with them again sometime - maybe take Ma with me. I said we’d stay in touch.”

“Well that’s something. And I caught your speech. Seems like it went well.”

“Apparently my accent was pretty bad, but I was told it was impressive for my first attempt, given how short a time I’d been learning, and that they looked forward to my next visit to see how I improved. So I guess classes will continue.”

“There you go. See, it’s not all bad.”

“I haven’t dared to look at the gossip sites.”

“And you definitely shouldn’t,” Rhodey agreed, which was not overly reassuring. “Instead we should talk about the new episode of Nailed it, and how you should absolutely find a way to let me meet Nicole Byer now that you get invited to all the good parties.”

“I told you you should just DM her. You’re semi-famous enough by now.”

“And have her potentially reject and block me on social? No thanks.”

“Come on. Good looking guy like you, how could she turn you down?”

“Look, just because Tony bagged you doesn’t mean it’s as easy as the rest of us to score out of our league. Sexy lady like that can have anyone she wants.”

“You’re a shameless flatterer,” Steve told him, brain already ticking away. “Also you don’t think Airforce Colonel is sexy enough? You really haven’t seen yourself in your dress uniform. Trust me: it turns heads.” 

“You can’t see it, but I’m swooning. Really, I’m hitting the floor. I can’t believe the future Duke of Edinburgh thinks I’m hot. Wait till I tell my mom.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, or you won’t be able to fit that hat of yours,” Steve said with a grin. He heard the sound of a door shutting downstairs. “I think that’s his Majesty returning from Natasha busting his balls. I better go.”

“Alright, give him a hug from me.”

“You got it, and good luck with the training retreat tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll go great.”

“Thanks. See you for dinner on Saturday.”

“See you.”

Steve plugged his phone into the charger and lay back waiting patiently. The door to the room opened, and Tony walked in, kicking it shut and not saying a word as he flopped onto the bed with a huff. 

Steve nudged him with his foot. “How’re we doing?”

“Natasha says she would’ve punched him, so wine was actually a better choice,” Tony replied, voice muffled by the duvet. “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been. The Irish consensus seems to be that anyone who talks about someone’s grandmother like that deserves a good beating.”

“I quite agree.” Steve shuffled forward until he was spread out over Tony’s back and could press a kiss to his ear. “Did I tell you that defending my honour turns me on?”

“You have not,” Tony offered, turning his head to reveal the edge of a smile. “But I’m delighted to hear it.”

“Come on, roll over so I can reward you, and then we can go get dinner. I’m craving cheesecake.”

Tony obeyed quickly, sighing when Steve’s fingers deftly opened his fly. 

“We’ll have to be quiet. I want to be able to look the landlady in the eye when we check out.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tony promised, biting back a gasp as Steve gave a preliminary lick. 

Needless to say, Steve’s cheeks flushed red when Mrs O’Connor gave him a salacious wink the next morning and said she was pleased to hear they had enjoyed their stay.

Tony had just grinned like the cat that got the cream, and not even Steve’s sharp elbow to his side could shift it.

“Why has Rhodey sent me a stream of letters and punctuation marks?” Tony squinted at his phone as they stepped into the cabin of the plane.

“I’m guessing he finally got back to his locker and checked his phone,” Steve said, handing off his coat to the attendant. “Tell him he’s welcome.”

Chapter Text

The weeks leading up to the wedding were...intense. 

It felt like Jan was taking his measurements nearly every day, more and more people he grew up with were giving comments as the tabloids got more and more hungry for pre-wedding content, and Steve honestly was starting to give himself a headache trying to keep track of who was saying what. 

The guest list was starting to look actually insane, and Steve was trying to be very cool about the fact that both Sir Ian McKellan and Sir Patrick Stewart had both RSVP’d.

There had been one particularly frustrating occasion when a photographer had snuck into Maximoff’s Munchkins to sneak pictures of Steve working with the kids, which had been maddening, but actually had bought them a lot of sympathy according to Darcy. Apparently, pictures of him at the beach were fine, but when he was trying to do charity work, that was inexcusable. 

The nerves kept his stomach in a tangle, which kept his hunger at bay, and he found himself working through meals more often than not. It was a bad habit he’d had since he was a teen, and he really did have to keep an eye on it.

(Even if he wasn’t, Jarvis certainly was, if the pointed trays of food at his elbow were anything to go by.)

He was excited though. 

The bad stuff was just background noise because each day he woke up to see Tony’s face and knew that soon, they’d be married, and Tony would be all his for good. 

And even if the preparations were stressful, his mother was delighting in being the mother of the groom - well, one of them - and between engagements he spent afternoons going over the details with her and the Royal planner. He was enjoying watching her get to be pampered and not have to consider the cost of every little thing for once. 

But it did seem to be taking a toll on Tony. 

He was busier than normal, which wasn’t strange, but he seemed to spend a lot of time just looking at Steve, and sometimes when Steve caught his eye, he saw a flash of something almost forlorn. He’d catch him staring into the middle-distance, unfocused, or flinching whenever a phone beeped. 

Steve put it down to the stress of the preparations, and the emotions they had to be bringing up for him. Tony may not have always seen eye to eye with King Howard, but it had to hurt that he wasn’t here to attend the wedding. 

It was a big day, and as Howard’s only son, he and Tony had talked about what the day would be and what it would mean. 

One afternoon he sat deciding between two boutonnières for the big day when a notification popped up on his phone. Everyone told him not to check them, but he couldn’t help it. Knowledge was power, and it stopped him being taken by surprise by reporters on the street. 

“Ugh,” Steve groaned as he opened the news app. “Someone leaked one of my college art projects!” He opened the link and hissed. “Of course it had to be the nude pieces. Racy Royal Realism, clever but not accurate. I really hope none of the models get recognised.” He huffed. “Honestly, why -”

There was a clatter, and Steve looked up to see Tony had dropped his teacup onto the tray at his desk, his hands curled in his lap.

“Tony? Are you ok?”

“Fine.” The answer was clipped, quick, and the sound of it made alarm bells in Steve’s head ring. 

He got up and walked over, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “What’s the matter? The Prime Minister send through bad news or something?”

Tony shook his head. “It’s nothing, I--,”

Steve felt his stomach twist at the look on Tony’s face. “You’re lying. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I just--” Tony swallowed, and he looked so sad Steve felt like his heart might break. “There’s still time. One whole week. We can still call it off. You can move back to Brooklyn, and I’ll make sure you get any job you want.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, and there was anger in his voice that he hadn’t intended but felt rip through his chest nonetheless. 

“You’ve been so...preoccupied,” Tony managed fiddling with his cuff. “With what the tabloids have been saying. And I don’t blame you. I’ve had a long time to get used to it, and you were thrown in the deep end only to find out there was another deep right after it when you agreed to marry me.”

“Tony, I haven’t changed my mind. I love you.”

“I know.” And he sounded anguished now. “And the fact that you're so stubborn is one of the most charming things about you. But I can’t be the one to make you miserable. Not when you should be happy. So, I’m--I’m letting you go.” He put a lot of strength into the last few words, though his lip gave the faintest twitch of a wobble. 

Steve felt the strangest burst of rage and affection as he stared at Tony, this man looking so regal yet so small against all the grandeur of this study. 

“Alright, that's it.”

“What?” Tony asked, sounding surprised. Steve pulled out his phone, tapping away quickly.

“Um. Steve?”

“Shush!” He typed faster. 

“Steve, you’re scaring me now.”

Steve got a ping on his phone as his message was replied to and hummed in satisfaction. He put the phone away and grabbed Tony’s wrist. Then he marched out the door. 

“Steve. Steve. Steve? Really, is this some American custom I didn’t experience while I was in Boston? Here we would call it kidnapping.”

“For someone who was quite happy to toss me aside, you seem pretty interested in my whereabouts now,” Steve commented, not slowing down.

“I was not tossing you aside,” Tony shot back vehemently. “I was offering you an out.”

“Uh-huh. Real different.” 

“It is,” Tony argued. “It very much is.”

“I think it’s best you stop talking,” Steve told him, nodding to the palace staff who opened the doors for them, letting them head out into the grounds where Natasha and Bucky were waiting.

“Do you enjoy making my life difficult?” She asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Whenever possible.” He looked at Bucky, “how’d you get here so fast?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to Natasha, a slight tinge to his cheeks. “Uh—“

Steve held up a hand. “Never mind. I get the picture. Are Sam and Ma on their way?”

“Your mother, yes, Mr Wilson is also, I believe, making his way here. There was a lot of swearing, so I chose to take it as a good sign.”

“Great, Rhodey and Jan?”

“En route.”

“The Queen mother?”

“No such luck. She decided to stay in the South of France for a few extra days ahead of the wedding to avoid the stress. It was on your daily briefing.”

“Which I absolutely read,” Steve lied, and Natasha huffed. “She’ll just have to attend the next one. Send her flowers in apology.”

“Of course.” Natasha turned and led the way, everyone following without complaint, except for Tony, who looked fit to be tied. 

“I’m sorry, am I or am I not the sovereign? Do I not get to know what is going on in my own bloody castle?”

“You be quiet,” Steve told him, walking ahead and expecting him to follow. “You’ve done quite enough for the day.”

“Where are we going?!”

“Stevie, I can’t believe you. Of all the stubborn, impulsive--”

“Ma! It wasn’t my fault. He drove me to it!” Steve told her as she bustled up with Sam in tow. She’d pulled on one of her nicest dresses, but that was clearly all she’d managed. He had no doubt he’d get an earful later.

“What could this lovely boy have done for you to--”

“He was trying to ditch me.”

Sarah’s eyebrows flew up, and she turned to Tony in shock. It was a little funny to see the King of England reel back from his mom in panic. “That is a vast oversimplification!”

Sarah stared at him for a moment before she huffed and rolled her eyes. “I understand now. Have you at least got a priest?”

“The Dean of the Chapel Royal is on his way. He said he’d be delighted,” Natasha called over her shoulder.

“Then I can’t complain.”

“The dean? What in god’s name would the dean be doing?” Tony all but roared, sweeping a hand through his hair in frustration when no one took any notice.

They walked into the Chapel Royal, empty but still with expectant silence. Tony tried to speak more than once, but Steve hushed him, waiting for the others to arrive. As Rhodey and Jan filed in, Jarvis at their heels, the priest stepped in the door and gave them a wide smile.

“Your Majesty, such an honour! I can hardly believe it.”

“I--”

“Thank you, sir. We appreciate you coming so soon,” Steve said, shaking his hand. “We’re all here, so perhaps five minutes for everyone to freshen up - Natasha would you mind helping Ma? Thanks - then, if you’re happy to get started?”

“Oh, of course. Would you like to walk up?” He gestured to another priest who had appeared at the organ. He waved politely to them.

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “Together I think.”

“Of course. Give the signal when you’re ready.”

Steve grabbed Tony’s sleeve and pulled him outside the entrance to the chapel. Steve reached out to straighten his tie only to have his hand slapped away by a very put-out-looking King.

“Steve, if you don’t explain--”

“We’re getting married. Now, right here.”

Tony reeled back. “What?”

Steve huffed. “You really didn’t put it together? We’re in a church.”

“How could I? No one would say a word, and you were telling everyone I left you!”

“Well, you’re about to unleave me right now. When we have the big wedding on Friday, everything will be fine because we’ll already be married.”

Tony gawked at him. “You’ve gone mad. Actually, legitimately mad.” He reached out to cup Steve’s cheeks and hold him in place. “This is my fault. This whole thing was causing you more stress than I realised.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Tony. I want to marry you. I don’t care about what anyone else says.”

“Steve--”

“Listen to me. The tabloids are annoying, and people are dicks. That’s just a fact. People were dicks to me before I met you just because I was small and poor. You have made my life better. You support me and spoil me way too much, and you love me just as I am. If you think I’m giving you up just because the papers discovered I’m actually just here to corrupt the crown with the gay agenda, you are out of your mind.”

Tony snorted, but his eyes were a little wet, so Steve leaned in and kissed him, trying to project all the love he felt for him into the contact. Tony’s arms came down to wrap around him and held him tight, even as Steve leaned in closer to tuck himself comfortably against Tony.

“You’ve made my life better too, you know,” Tony murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, resting his cheek on the top of Steve’s head. “I was struggling under the weight of expectations, with no one beside me and no idea how I would find the person who cared for me more than my crown. And then you came along, my little spitfire, who was just as likely to drive me crazy with your opinion as you were with your kisses, and I knew. I knew I had found exactly what I was looking for.”

Steve had to blink a little rapidly himself for a moment, but he gave Tony an elbow. “Maybe save something for the vows, Romeo.”

Tony laughed, sounding more relaxed now and he kissed Steve’s hair. “Shall we then?”

Steve stepped back, taking Tony’s hand in his. “I’m ready if you are.”

As they stepped in the door, the organ began to play, the wedding march echoing around them as their closest friends and family stood at the front, big smiles on their faces.

Sure, Steve had never imagined getting married in jeans and his favourite t-shirt, but then what in his life had gone to plan? Really the unexpected was working out very well for him so far.

The Dean cleared his throat, giving them a kind smile. "Let us begin."

The ceremony felt like a blur. Steve's eyes were on Tony every moment, as they repeated the words as they were bid.

...“I do.”...

...“I do.”...

“They have declared their marriage by the joining of hands and by the giving and receiving of rings. I, therefore, proclaim, for the first time in the history of this Royal family, that they are husband and husband.”

Tony leaned down to kiss him, and Steve met him halfway, feeling pure joy flow through him. He kissed Tony, his husband, as he heard the cheers and applause of everyone he loved all in one room.

Steve laughed as they were pelted with the rose petals that Jan had gotten from god know’s where, and he held Tony’s hand tightly in his. They retired to one of the parlours, sending for champagne and food, celebrating until late. Steve swayed a little as he and Tony made their way back to their room, the bubbles having gone straight to his head. 

As they made it to the door, Tony scooped him up, making him laugh as he clung on tightly. 

“To bed, your highness?” Tony asked, and Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Please, your majesty.”

He tossed Steve onto the bed, chuckling at him when he flailed to stop from rolling off. “Amazing, the newly minted Steven, Prince Consort, Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Merioneth, Baron of blahblahblah, so on and so forth, in all his glory.”

“Sleep,” Steve whined, reaching out and pulling Tony to join him. 

Tony slipped beneath the covers next to him, wrapping himself around him and joining their hands so he could kiss the two rings nestled there. “We should probably put these somewhere. If we’re seen wearing them, the jig’s up.”

“Leave them on,” Steve said, looking at how nice they looked together, “We’ll take them off in the morning, but tonight? Leave them on.”

“Ok,” Tony agreed, and he sounded pleased. “I know it’s a bit of a cliche, but you really have made me the happiest man in the world you know.”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty happy. I’m not sure I can let you have that title without a fight.”

Tony grinned. “You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe I agreed to put up with this for the next eighty years.”

“Eighty? Someone has a lot of confidence in their weird intermarrying genes.” Steve rolled so his face was mashed into Tony’s chest. “But I’m glad you realise you’re stuck with me now. That’s it. Forever.”

Tony kissed him then, firmly and deeply, holding Steve tight in his arms. “I do, promise. I won’t bravely suggest you leave me for your own good ever again.”

“You better not.”

Tony hummed in agreement, before his mouth quirked in a puckish smile. “I guess the only question now is whether or not putting a ring on your finger is enough to get me a wedding night shag.”

Steve snorted so hard he almost choked. “Wow, some Prince Charming you are.”

“I’m very charming: ask anyone.” His fingers slipped down Steve’s back. “I managed to bag the finest piece of American Arse the United States has to offer.” His hands cupped said feature, and that was something Steve definitely supported.

“I suppose I could be persuaded,” Steve offered, leaning into the touch. “But you have to call me, your Royal Highness.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “You hate stuffy titles.”

“I do,” Steve hummed. “But I don’t know, when you say it, I like it.”

“Oh yeah? All that power going to your head hmm?”

“Not the head you’re thinking of. Maybe you could stop yapping and take care of that.”

Tony snickered into Steve’s collarbone. “Yes, very demanding. The crown will suit you.” His hand drifted down to rub against the front of Steve’s jeans, and Steve moaned, arching up against the touch. 

Steve kissed him again, shifting against him. “Come on then, might as well enjoy tonight. If we don’t get yelled at by Alison in the morning, I’ll eat my new crown.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Steve looked out the window of the car, feeling the anxiety twisting in his stomach. There were going to be a lot of eyes on them today, every movement and facial expression caught from every angle. 

It was so different from the last few weeks, just him and Tony in a cabin alone, spending their days swimming in the lake, going for walks and relaxing away from prying eyes. But it was back to business as usual now, and he was going to have to get used to it again. 

A warm hand wrapped around his, and lips pressed to his hair. “Not getting buyer’s remorse are we?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You are not funny.”

“I’m a little funny.” Tony gave him a squeeze. “Don’t worry, the Royal Variety is pretty fun. I bet at least one comedian makes an inappropriate joke about my dead dad to be edgy!”

Steve snorted. “I know it will. Just feeling a little jittery I guess.” He looked out at the passing streets, the rain pouring down outside. “I haven’t missed the cameras I must say.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward. “Happy, pull over.”

“What boss?”

“Pull over.”

“We’re still five or so minutes away.”

“I know.”

Happy didn’t question it any further, and the car came to a halt at the curb. 

“Tony, what are you doing?”

Steve watched as Tony grabbed the umbrella from the back of the seat and got out of the car, opening it with a whumph, and then closing the door behind him. 

Steve watched as he walked around the back of the car and then opened Steve’s door, the umbrella blocking the falling rain as he held a hand out. 

Steve took it, trusting that whatever ridiculous thing Tony was doing, he wouldn’t regret going along with it. 

“No harm in getting a little more time for just us,” Tony tugged him under the cover of the umbrella. “Take a walk with me.”

Steve looked around. “It’s raining, and we’re going to be late.”

“They’ll wait, and you look fantastic, so I think I’ve earned a little more time to bask in your presence.”

Steve stared at him. “You are the cheesiest man alive.”

“I don’t hear a no,” Tony sing-songed, and Steve shook his head, a grin forming on his face.

“Aren’t you going to offer me your arm?”

Tony gave a sweeping bow before sticking out his elbow for Steve to curl a hand around. 

Steve leaned against him as they walked, enjoying the warmth of his body. “I love you a lot: you know that?”

“I do. Sometimes it still surprises me when I wake up and realise I get to keep you.” Tony leaned down to kiss Steve’s temple, miraculously still keeping the umbrella level so they weren’t immediately soaked.

“You’ll get used to it,” Steve murmured. “By our tenth anniversary, you’ll be wondering where all your castles went instead.”

“Sounds about right.”

They walked in a comfortable quiet, until the lights of the theatre appeared in the distance, and the flashes of cameras were visible as the other guests arrived. As they got closer, the murmuring of the crowd of photographers got louder. There was a shout, and suddenly the cameras were turning towards them like a line of dominos falling. 

“Once more unto the breach, beloved?”

Steve smiled, curling his fingers into Tony’s jacket sleeve. “Lead the way, my liege.”