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“. . . Are you seriously racing fighter jets?”
“As far as I’m concerned—they’re racing me.”
Sitting at a desk in an open garage on a sleepy Air Force base in the middle of the Mojave, Steve ran a hand over his face. Checking his watch, he warned, “You have twelve minutes. Less. Be here in twelve.”
“That’s eleven more than I thought I had.”
“I can make it five.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t come get—whoo!”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Why don’t I like the sound of that?”
“Can’t hear you!” Tony trumpeted buoyantly. “Oh, I just head-butted an F-16, Rhodey’s going to have my ass.”
“I don’t think he wants—will you get out of their air?” Steve ordered, leaning back in his chair, hand still glued to his brow.
“If they fire, I will!” Tony said. “I don’t think they have recourse to fire, they’re chattering. They think I’m a bird.” He laughed. “I’ll show them a—”
“No,” Steve said immediately. “You will not.”
“Oh, don’t be such an Army brat.”
“Will you stop harassing them and get back on bas—”
“I’m training them, this is training—”
“Iron Man. You’re down to five,” Steve warned. He was down to seven, actually, but Tony just whooped:
“You’re just jealous!”
Steve ran a hand over his face as energetic rock music buzzed across the line. “You’re gonna ruin your reputation, and your ears,” he warned.
Tony didn’t respond, unless, “’Cause I shoot to thrill, and I’m ready to kill / I can’t get enough and I can’t get my fill!” counted as a formal statement. Which Steve hoped it did not.
“This is gonna be a citation. This is gonna be a mark on the record,” Steve said wearily, pinching his brow. “You know what those are? Those aren’t awards, Tony, they’re demerits.”
Tony ignored him, either because his voice was drowned out by the outrageously energetic music playing in his headset or he was finally engaged in the dogfight of his dreams.
Steve sincerely hoped it was the former.
“You’re gonna cause an incident,” Steve said loudly.
“Oh, babe,” Tony said. “I’m Iron Man. I could start a war.”
“Awh, God, Tony,” Steve said, tossing off his headset, stepping out onto the furiously bright tarmac.
Thirty seconds later, Iron Man landed. Throwing out his arms, he said without words, I’m fucking awesome. “Am I not the hero of your dreams?” he purred.
“You’re a fucking spark one head-butt away from setting the international scene on fire,” Steve quipped.
“That’s the second sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Tony said, sliding a metal hand around his waist. It was still ice-cold from the jet stream, despite the heat of the Mojave desert. “Right after ‘You’d look hot as hell in an Iron Man suit at our wedding.’”
“I never said that,” Steve said coolly.
Tony dipped him. Steve crunched the armor near his waist, glaring warningly at those blue eyes. “OK, but you were thinking it.”
“No, Tony.”
Tony righted him, then lifted the helmet and started to quip, “I’m so fast,” but Steve kissed him to shut his smug mug up.
“You gotta find a better way to test the suits,” Steve muttered. “You are gonna piss the wrong guy off.”
“But they’re gonna tell their grandkids about me.”
“Right after they tell them they were the one to finally shoot Iron Man down,” Steve said dryly.
“Pin me to a wall,” Tony said with a suggestive body roll. Steve rolled his eyes, gave him a purposeful shove, and started walking down the tarmac, saying loudly over his shoulder:
“You’re a fucking animal. We are not getting married in a suit.”
“I didn’t say we.”
“Animal,” Steve hollered. “Get down here,” he added firmly.
Tony shot to the sky, did a flip, before diving, scooping him up under the arms. Steve, who was used to being tackled in combat emergencies, knew to hold his breath right before impact to avoid getting winded. He still sighed it out as Tony dangled him about ten feet off the ground, remarking, “You know this is embarrassing.”
“Lotta people would kill to fly,” Iron Man said cheekily. “You’re just spoiled.”
“So spoiled,” Steve said dryly. Feet dangling beneath him, he added, “I came to collect you.”
“Well. That was your first mistake.”
“My second?”
“Probably investing in me.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tony.”
Gliding along for a few seconds, Tony wheedled, “So we do get cheeseburgers?”
“Depends on how many more jets you interfere with.”
“I’ll play wing-tip later. My ride’s here.” He leveled off so they were chest-to-chest. Steve draped an arm around his cold shoulders, resting his boots on top of Iron Man’s. “You’d be proud of me.”
“Well. You’re not dead,” Steve said generously. “So I’m not exactly furious.”
“I feel the love.”
“I just wish you had a hobby that—”
“Didn’t court death?”
“You know stamp collecting is a beloved pastime.”
Tony said seriously, “You know you’re marrying Iron Man, right?”
Squeezing his shoulders, Steve corrected, “No. I’m marrying Tony Stark.”
“Dork,” Tony sniffed. Sliding his arm to Steve’s waist, he jetted a little higher, a warning maneuver. When Steve’s grip did not falter, he launched them upwards. For all the times they had done it—probably a thousand, three years into their relationship—it still gave Steve a thrill. The hot air rushing past his face, the perfect control of the suit, the powerful feeling of being high above the ground, the possibilities for aerodynamics that weren’t possible on the ground—
Yeah. He could see why Tony got a rush from it. He was the pilot.
Steve was just along for the ride.
He knew hundreds of up-and-coming Air Force pilots had a connection to Iron Man, be it from direct encounters in training or indirect but sincere appraisals that “He inspired me to become a pilot.” Spotting Iron Man in the air was considered the ultimate reward.
Steve could admit that he was a tiny bit spoiled by the armored giant’s presence in his life, but he wasn’t in it for the glitz and glamour. “You know I’d marry you if you never flew again, right?” he said aloud, because he did have fun, he enjoyed being on base, talking with the kids, but he’d be okay if he retired from it all, because: “I’m in it for you.”
“Well, yeah,” Tony said, with the sort of cheeky dismissal he was known for, hovering at nine thousand feet. “This is me. This is my favorite me.”
“It’s a you I can get used to,” Steve agreed, equally breezy, squeezing his shoulders.
“Good,” Tony said, looking at him, his unyielding iron gaze lingering in a way that indicated he was sincerely devouring the words. “It’s not going away.”
“No,” Steve said. “Because then I’d have to stop telling the brass what a gift to mankind you are.”
With a soft huff, Tony said, “I love you.”
“You ain’t bad,” Steve agreed, sliding his hand up to give Iron Man’s neck a very gentle shake. “Now let’s get those burgers.”
“Read my mind.”
Blasting Shoot to Thrill over his speakers, precisely where he had left off before, Tony swooped down. Steve laughed from deep in his belly.
He might have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to explain how the Avengers fit into the ordinary world. But he couldn’t deny that the ordinary world no longer existed with people like Tony in it—and maybe that was a good thing.
Maybe it was just a little better, with people like Tony Stark in it.