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Tony has never been that particular about the clothes he wears.
He has always known that dressing accordingly is a very important part of being a public figure, it being one of the few things his father personally taught him.
When he was a little boy he had tailors assigned to him, little tuxes and leather shoes prepared for any kind of Starks Industries event that he had to attend. (And he did so, with a smile plastered on his mouth, even if his hands itched the whole evening for something to break, take apart and fix over and over again.)
So little Tony Stark would wear those clothes and he wouldn’t get them dirty, and he’d be very careful about his hair and he would try to keep his hands cleans for more than a few hours, but he hated it. He hated every second of the stiff fabric coming in contact with his skin, and he’d especially despise the feeling of the tight collar of his shirt around his neck, making him feel suffocated, complicating every breath he took.
Sometimes, behaving through an entire day of boring, old, serious people parties, would get him a big hug from his mom and a fond smile.
“My little boy, you are so good.” (Her voice, at times, still echoes around his head and Tony will never forget the rosy smell she left in a room, even hours after having stepped out of it).
Maria Stark, dressed in long, silk gowns and tall, pointy heels, looked perfectly made for such sophisticated clothing. She was queen of everything from what Tony could perceive, the air of rooms suddenly changing every time she walked through the doors. She commanded attention but she never seemed to demand it, and she would look radiant even in the grayest of days.
(Now that Tony is older and he has experienced first-hand the life his mom once led, he respects her even more for the woman she was and the woman she let everyone else see.)
But, even if they ended with Maria ruffling his hair and kissing him goodnight, those were the bad days for Tony.
The good days were much different and they were spent inside the house. The good days were enjoyed entirely in pajamas or big, black t-shirts that let no grease stains show. They were spent with Jarvis in the kitchen just listening to him ramble about the cooking recipe he was trying that day or in his room, already filled with what were, probably, too many sharp objects for a kid his age.
(Tony misses those first type of good days. He still gets a lot of the second ones down in his shop and he will always love them, but given the opportunity he would trade a hundred of them for even just one hour back in that big, mostly unused kitchen. Maybe, he would even try and learn something about cooking from Jarvis this time around and show Steve that he too is capable of self-sufficiency, thank you very much.)
As Tony grew and things changed, he learnt to love some aspects of his life better and he dealt with the resentment for others in ways that although not healthy, at times proved to be successful. One thing Tony never learnt to love and never tried to deal with further than complaining about it was his hatred for formal wear.
Pre-Afghanistan, he’d wear suits, lean and expensive suits that hugged his form and screamed to the world the power he could have over them. He’d wear suits during meetings and parties and personal affairs because in a way, they felt like an armor. They’d protect him and create a barrier between his real self and the persona everyone saw. In the suits there was arrogance, confidence and charisma, out of them he was just Tony.
Post-Afghanistan, the suits weren’t means of protection anymore because now he had a suit designed entirely for that. The suits then became a reminder. A reminder that he had made it out alive, and that he ought to be grateful for that. But they were also a reminder of all he held in his hands: the responsibilities and the lives that had been lost in the way when he had been hidden in the shadows of his potential.
For a while very few people ever saw him out of them and each time made him feel out of his depth, like he was giving away parts of his soul without permission. He only felt truly comfortable with Pepper, bare feet and honest smile, no armor or wall between them. When the break up happened, there was never a need to build up a barrier again and even through the fog of awkwardness in their interactions for weeks after, it always felt refreshing to spend time as he was and as he feared being seen. (Tank tops and jeans with more holes than fabric, bands t-shirts that were practically see through from years of use, motor oil stains and unkept hair sticking in all directions.)
When a band of misfits and superheroes moves into his tower and takes over his life, the real possibility of hiding becomes slim until one day, without even realizing what has happened, he doesn’t feel the urge anymore. He likes the Saturday mornings they can spend in the kitchen debating the merits of Oreos over Pop Tarts (Clint still has to win one of these recurring, heated debates against Thor). He actually lives for movie nights at odd hours after another aborted super-villain attempt at conquering the world, for marathons of Mario Kart tournaments that make for great laughs when Bruce kicks all of their asses. He thrives when they can just be.
And now, nearly a year after what he can consider his family moved in with him (turning his house into a real home) the feeling of belongingness has only increased since he and Steve got together after what Natasha has described more than once as, “annoying childlike pining” and Clint has proudly proclaimed as, “disgusting eye-sex and heart-eyes, all at once.”
It’s Steve he takes down into his workshop, Steve he wakes up next to, Steve he cuddles into when the team settles into the common floor living room, Steve he is building a life with. And while doing so, Steve has made him feel comfortable wearing anything (and a lot of times nothing), no expectations, no promises. For the first time in maybe all of his life, Tony has felt like the little boy fixing his broken radio at the age of 5 while wearing a suit in a room full of people that don’t care at all about what’s behind the fabric, all because Steve was at the other end of the room, encouraging smile waiting to be looked at.
So, Tony has never been that particular about the clothes he wears. Even less so since he started dating Steve. And that is why this recent development in the crazy storm that is Tony’s life doesn’t make any sense.
There is no real explanation about the recent obsession he has developed with wearing Steve’s clothes and, honestly, it’s even getting a little embarrassing.
Natasha is the first one who notices because…. Well, because…. Because she is Natasha.
(It might also have to do with how it starts to become a daily occurrence, obvious and never hidden, but overall it is because she is Natasha).
Tony walks into the kitchen at ten o´clock in the morning on a day like any other.
The common kitchen is empty, but the coffee pot is already brewing coffee and Tony spares a thought to thank himself for creating such a perfect creature as JARVIS.
He goes on with his normal post-workshop routine, taking his Captain America mug and filling it to the brim with black, strong coffee. The mug was supposed to be a joke, never to be used, but when he gave Steve an Iron Man one and told him, “See, now we are the cutest couple to ever couple”, waving around his Captain America one, how was he to know that Steve would really start using it? But Steve does, and Steve loves it, and it’s only because Tony loves Steve that he started using his too. (And also because it is a cool, vintage cup, ok? But whatever.)
Tony walks dragging his feet slowly to one of the kitchen chairs and sits down on it, placing his mug on the table and letting his head rest on it too, his body heavy and stiff, every cell of it feeling the 42 hours he has gone without sleep. He turns his wrists one way and then the other, curling and uncurling his fingers, trying to get rid of the numbness and tingles.
Tony can more or less guess where the rest of the team is right now because, for a band of heroes, gods and former assassins they are pretty reliable when it comes to routines. Steve has probably gone on his run already and is most likely taking a shower, debating the best way to get Tony out of the shop and into bed (which, no, he has to finish the upgrades to the suit and he will not rest until he can increase the intensity of the blast of the left repulser without compromising the stability of flight); Clint and Natasha must be at the gym, sparring and being generally and awesomely scary; Bruce is either in his lab or in bed after an entire night of being in his lab and Thor… Actually, Tony has no idea where Thor could be, Thor is the most unpredictable of all of them. He could as well be climbing Mount Everest or snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef for all Tony knows. (He once disappeared for a week and came back with tales of his great backpacking experience through Europe. To this day, they still have no idea how he did it without any money or even with whom.)
Minutes pass, and sip by sip Tony starts to feel a little more human again, reenergized and more clear-headed. Still, it says a lot about his general level of awareness when he opens his eyes again after a particularly long gulp of his third coffee and he finds Natasha sitting right in front of him.
“Shit!” Tony feels his heart racing and he asks himself how he can still be surprised by the sneakiness of it when Natasha and Clint live for scaring him in the most random situations.
“Oh my god, I am going to invest in getting you a bell that you’ll have to wear all day, every day. This cannot be healthy for me. Heart condition, remember?”
Natasha raises one of her eyebrows while drinking from her own cup and in the utter silence of her response Tony hears the answer loud and clear.
“Ok, ok, no bells. At least for you. I’m not promising anything about Barton, though.”
Tony, well versed in the art of Natasha-speak, reads a “Fair enough” in her eyes.
Tony groans when he goes to drink more from his cup and he realizes it is now empty.
“I feel like I’m dying, everything hurts.” He rubs his eyes with his fists and blinks a couple of times to clear his vision and he swears he caught a glimpse of a fond smile painting Natasha’s lips. “Don’t even think of making a joke about my age.”
“You just practically did it for me.”
Tony, in a real show of maturity, sticks his tongue out, prompting a scoff from Natasha, still drinking slowly from her filled cup. Tony debates the risks of stealing the cup for himself but decides against it because a) he values his life, and b) Natasha likes her coffee overly sweet, more sugar than actual liquid.
The man eyes the coffee pot from his place and is trying to will his body into moving towards it when Natasha says,
“Don’t even think about it.”
Tony moves his gaze to the red-head and gets caught in the power of her stare.
“What?”
“From what I can tell, that was already your third cup of coffee.” Damn spies and their spy-senses. “You’re not going to have a fourth one, Tony. Go to bed before Steve has to drag you himself.”
Natasha’s voice is commandeering but somehow it is also soft, affection clinging to the edge of her words.
The woman gets up then and in an action too fast for Tony to stop, takes his mug and places it into the dishwasher along hers.
“But Naaaaaaaat.” Tony’s voice is whiny and raspy, his eyelids dropping once again, but he refuses to give up.
“But Toooooony.” Natasha mocks, arms crossed in front of her chest, her body positioned to block the pathway to the coffee maker. “Clint is my best friend, Stark. You have nothing on him when it comes to being persistent and believe me, I never cave.”
“Damn you, Romanoff.”
Natasha keeps still, only moving her arms to her hips and cocking her head to the side, her eyes still focused on Tony, peeling away his resolution by the second.
“Ok, I admit that a couple of hours of sleep would do me some good.”
Natasha clears her throat and starts tapping her foot rhythmically.
“Three hours?” The beat fastens. “Four?” His friend doesn’t stop and Tony can feel in his bones the moment she completely wins the battle. “Fine, fine! I’ll go to sleep and I won’t wake up until the next giant octopus attack. Happy?”
Natasha’s response comes in the form of a sweet smile and a proud glint in her eyes. “Very.”
She moves away from the kitchen counter and comes to start next to Tony. “But because I’m not stupid and I know you, I’ll escort you to your room myself.”
“Wha— No, I-“ Tony stutters until his shoulders sag down in defeat. “Whatever.”
Tony stands up and Natasha motions for him to start walking in front of her. Exiting the kitchen, he starts making his way down the hallway leading them to the elevator when he hears a very distinctive giggle coming from behind him. When he turns around, Natasha’s lips are pressed tightly together but her face is slightly red from what Tony can tell is amusement.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Natasha’s eyes move from his head to his feet, one time and then another. She clicks her tongue and smirks.
“It’s just that those pants look awfully long on you.” She moves her hand to take the waist of them and stretches it before letting it go to snap against Tony’s skin. “And also that shirt,” Tony looks down at his chest and straightens the grey material, confused about Natasha’s comments. “It is a bit too big, don’t you think?”
Tony can now see that the pants do, indeed, drag through the floor swallowing his feet, and that the shirt nearly falls from one of his shoulders.
“I guess.” He concedes.
Natasha hums and blinks a couple of times at him. Tony frowns and licks his lips nervously.
“So, what? I’m wearing big clothes. Why does that matter?”
Natasha chuckles and mutters something under her breath in what sounds like Russian.
“It doesn’t.” The red-head shrugs. “It’s cute that you’re wearing Steve’s clothes.”
“Huh,” Tony wants to smack himself from not coming to that conclusion sooner. The pants are one of Steve’s favorites track pants, after all. “Yeah, I guess I took them from the floor or whatever when I last got dressed thinking they were mine.”
Natasha’s both eyebrows raise and she nods, “Right, right. Steve’s clothes on the floor. Got it.”
She moves around him and resumes the walk towards the elevator, this time with him trailing after her.
“What are you implying with that tone, Romanoff?”
Natasha steps into the elevator, Tony following her, and tells JARVIS to take them to Tony’s and Steve’s floor before turning to the man and with a hand resting near her heart she innocently says, “I’m not implying anything at all. I totally believe that Steve let me wash everyone’s dishes for them because I can’t stand seeing that pile in sink anymore Rogers leaves all his clothes laying around. It makes total sense.”
JARVIS announces promptly that they have reached their destination and Tony steps out of the elevator, his mind still reeling from the comment. Natasha stays inside and is casually leaning against one of the walls.
“You think that I wore Steve’s clothes on purpose?” Tony wonders. “I have enough clothes that are mine, thank you very much.”
“Of course, Tony.” The woman steps out of the elevator and nears Tony, placing a delicate kiss on his forehead like she does Clint every time the archer is being particularly oblivious. She moves back into the elevator and instructs JARVIS to take her once again to the common floor.
“Just so you know,” Natasha’s eyes shine with mischief. “I think it is very sweet that you’re dying to wear Steve’s letterman jacket.”
And before Tony can respond, JARVIS closes the doors of the elevator, taking Natasha and her sneakiness away.
Tony is still thinking about Natasha’s words when he enters the bedroom.
He is sure he did not wear Steve’s clothes on purpose and this is the first time it has happened. He is totally, 100% sure.
Okay, maybe 85%.
Or 60%.
It just doesn’t make sense. He has enough clothes to change outfits twice a day and still not repeat them for six months. He has jeans and sweatpants and yoga pants and khakis (Tony shudders just thinking about wearing those again and anyway, those are more of Steve’s style).
He has a thousand band shirts and ironic, sarcastic text shirts and formal shirts, and tank tops.
Tony loves binge-shopping late at night, looking through hundreds of webpages and clicking on items after items. Once, during a particularly long period of time without sleep, he created a holographic mannequin exactly his size to try on clothes on him. He hasn’t used it ever since but he had a fun couple hours coding it.
So, he does have more than enough clothes and yet he is still wearing Steve’s. And Natasha was more than right, Tony thinks while he looks around the room he shares with Steve, there is nothing on the floor: no shirt, no socks, not even discarded shoes. Steve enjoys a clean space, the feeling of looking around and seeing everything in place and in turn, in the last year, he has somehow passed that along to Tony. He finds himself being more careful and picking up regularly after himself and the only space that is still the uncontrollable mess that it always has been is Tony’s workshop but Steve gave up on it a long time ago, declaring it an utter lost cause.
If it wasn’t a true accident, if Tony did not just dress with the first thing he encountered, did he really put on the clothes on purpose? Did he rummage around the closet and pick out some of Steve’s clothes to wear? Why would his subconscious do that?
Questions after questions are flying around in Tony’s head, morphing and evolving into full mysteries, when the door to the bathroom opens and Steve steps out of it, surrounded by a cloud of steam.
Tony’s mind shuts down completely on everything that is not Steve. The super soldier is just wearing a white towel wrapped around his waist and Tony still gets as hypnotized as the first day he saw Steve naked. It is impossible not to focus on the way the water droplets make their way down Steve’s neck and chest until they disappear behind the offending white cloth his boyfriend is wearing.
Steve takes a couple more steps into the room and he notices Tony sitting on the feet of the bed. His entire face lights up and Tony can’t fathom a day when Steve’s smiles don’t wake up something magical inside him, something he never even thought he had before.
“Tony.”
Steve’s voice is soft and it pulls a smile from Tony in just a second.
“Hey.” Tony whispers back while Steve nears him. Once he is close enough, Steve leans down and cups Tony’s face in one of the palms of his hands, kissing him sweetly on the lips. The kiss is pretty chaste but Tony tries to deepen it and he gets Steve to bite his lower lip. Tony moans and places his hands on Steve’s waist, moving one of them quickly to palm Steve’s ass.
“Tony.” Steve warns into Tony’s mouth, pronounced more like a puff of air than actual words.
When Tony moves his hands to try and remove the towel from Steve’s body, the soldier reacts quickly and captures both of Tony’s hands with one of his.
“Steve!” Tony whines, extending the vowels of his boyfriend’s name.
“You’ve been on the workshop for almost two days, Tony. You need to sleep.” Steve pronounces. The blonde moves away from the bed and walks towards the closet entering the room that he was once scandalized about (“A complete room for clothes? Are you serious, Tony?”) and leaving Tony’s sight.
Tony sighs, resigned to the fact that Steve will push until he really does go to sleep, and throws his body down into the mattress, his legs still hanging from it.
Short minutes later, Steve walks out of the walk-in closet completely dressed and Tony pouts.
“You didn’t even let me catch a glimpse while you changed. Spoilsport.”
Steve chuckles and shakes his head, moving to stand in front of Tony once again.
“Up.” He orders.
When Tony frowns and still doesn’t move, Steve repeats “Up”, taking the man’s hands and pulling him up into a seated position and he continues to pull until Tony gets the hint and stands up completely. Once Tony has moved, Steve kisses his temple and wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders.
“I missed you.” The words are murmured into Tony’s hair, as if Steve was embarrassed to be saying them. “I know I’ve been going to your shop constantly and haven’t stopped annoying you but I just really missed you. It’s been weird sleeping on my own these past two nights.”
Tony can feel his cheeks heating up and he feels a lump on his throat, a hundred emotions pressing down on his chest. He loops his arms around Steve’s narrow waist and burrows his head into the blonde’s chest.
“You never annoy me, I love it when you come to the shop even if I am sometimes too distracted to tell you.” Tony promises. “And I missed you too.” This time it’s Steve’s turn to blush. “I promise that I won’t spend another night away from you in at least a week. Deal?”
Steve smile grows and he nods, “Deal.”
Tony moves in for a kiss again but before he can reach Steve’s lips he’s stopped.
“No, no. You’re going to bed and there is no way you’re distracting me.”
Feeling his every muscle protest at simply standing up, Tony concedes to the point and goes to move to the bed.
“Wait,” Steve takes hold of one of Tony’s arms, stoping his movements. “You can’t go to sleep covered in grease, Tony. Let’s take these clothes off of you.”
Tony’s eyes widen when Steve’s hands move towards the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly remembering his conversation with Natasha. What is Steve going to say about him wearing his clothes? Will he find it weird?
Nothing seems to happen as Steve tugs the fabric up, obliging Tony to put his arms in the air and let the other man rid him of the item. Tony frowns and stares intently at Steve until the man must feel his gaze and looks him directly in the eye.
“Is everything alright?” Steve asks, worried. “Tony?”
Tony shakes his head a bit and smiles, getting close to Steve again and hating the fact that the soldier is now wearing a t-shirt. Tony always loves the feel of his skin against Steve’s.
“Everything is fine, yeah. I just seem to be more tired than I thought.”
“Yeah, that’s normally what happens when one goes days without sleep.” The teasing is light-hearted and makes Tony chuckle. “C’mon,” Steve signals, pushing Tony’s pants down his legs. (His own pants, actually, Tony thinks, embarrassed once again by the notion.).
Tony’s left in just his boxers in front of Steve, who starts folding the clothes up and wrinkles his nose.
“I don’t know if the clothes can be saved. This is an insane amount of motor oil they have on them, Tony.”
Tony waved his hand around, nonchalantly.
Time seems to stop when Steve stops in his tracks, eyes focused intensely on the clothes he’s holding. Tony gulps and braces himself for the question coming, questions he has yet to find the answers for. But nothing happens as Steve shakes out of his stupor and moves to leave the items perched in one of the armchairs of the room.
“We’ll see what we’ll do about them.” Steve decides. “Now, let’s get you to bed.”
It doesn’t take long for Tony to lay down on the mattress and sigh contently, his body already unwiring and recharging. He feels fingers running through his hair and he hadn’t even noticed his eyes had closed. He feels the pull of sleep, sinking him into oblivion, claiming him. Steve murmurs something that Tony can’t make out, and the last thing he feels are Steve’s lips pressing against his nose softly.
There is no other option but to leave the mystery of Steve’s clothes for another day.
The thing is, once a thought enters Tony’s mind, it rarely leaves it without being explored over and over again. His thoughts tend to get demolished, restructured and completely renewed. Tony’s mind is in constant search for new ideas and possibilities so anything he can use as a study subject is good for him,
That is why once Natasha plants the seed, Tony can’t stop thinking about his apparent obsession with wearing Steve’s clothes.
If anyone had asked him a couple weeks ago, he would have sworn that there was no such thing. He didn’t wear Steve’s clothes and much less wear them enough for it to be considered an obsession. Now though, he’s been embarrassed to find out he does wear Steve’s clothes almost on the daily.
He doesn’t do it on purpose, he doesn’t seek out Steve’s t-shirts each morning and ponder carefully which one to take. It feels more like an automatic and effortless action.
He wakes up in the mornings and after a shower he walks into the closet and gravitates towards Steve’s side of it. He blindly picks up the first t-shirt (and sometimes pants) he finds and puts them on, continuing with his day as if that was totally normal.
The one thing that has been giving him most trouble is the why. Why does he wear Steve’s clothes so much?
Tony hasn’t been able to come up with a definite answer even though he has searched for it pretty hard. He tried not wearing any of Steve’s clothes for a couple days, looking for any possible changes in his mood but nothing felt unusual to him. He tried to find out if it maybe was something sexual but fucking with Steve’s shirt on wasn’t any sexier than fucking completely naked, it was actually more uncomfortable and sweaty.
It seems like it’s just simply something Tony likes. For no particular reason, with no particular motive. It’s a small gesture, effortless and uncomplicated. It’s like keeping a piece of Steve with him at all times but not needing the constant reminder that he’s there. They’re comfortable and soft, and most of them carry that particular smell that Tony has come to associate with the super soldier.
Tony loves wearing Steve’s clothes because he loves Steve and it is as easy as that.
The funniest thing about the entire situation is how clueless Steve has remained throughout it all.
Tony wondered, at first, if he had maybe been the only one who didn’t know. If Natasha had noticed it was certain that Barton had too, either because they had talked about it or because he was perceptive with things that mattered too. Recalling previous conversations and interactions, Tony had picked up on Bruce and Thor also making sly comments about it. But the one person who had never seemed to realize something was going on was Steve. Not even Tony’s time of “investigation” made Steve aware of it. (And they did really have sex while Tony was wearing one of Steve’s shirt, but the soldier never even hinted at it being weird or uncommon, although that could have had to do with Tony practically turning him stupid with a truly magical blow job.)
Steve not knowing about it has kept Tony up at night, has got him thinking in a million different directions at once because he’s not entirely sure how he should feel about it: does it mean Steve doesn’t pay that much attention to him? Or that he finds it so normal that Tony would wear his clothes that he hasn’t even picked it up as something new or unexpected? Should Tony be glad that he can avoid awkward conversations about it?
All these questions have ran through Tony’s mind at least once in the past few weeks and they’re all piling up, crashing into each other at the moment.
Steve and Tony are sitting in the Avengers’ common living room, no one else from the team around, as reruns of Friends play on TV but they are not really paying attention. They’re positioned so Tony’s back is to Steve’s broad chest and the blond has been thumbing the hem of Tony’s t-shirt for the past 10 minutes. Tony’s t-shirt that is once again one of Steve’s own ones. Tony has been holding his breath during those past 10 minutes but Steve has made no sign of noticing.
Tony likes to think he’s been reasonable, that he doesn’t need confirmation about how Steve feels on the subject, that he can live with it, but words come tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.
“Have you noticed how often I wear your clothes?”
Steve’s hand stills where it is holding Tony’s shirt and thanks to his position, Tony can feel the exact moment that Steve’s shoulder tense. Tony turns around, thinking that this conversation may be better had eye to eye, and meets Steve’s newly-formed frown.
“What?”
“So you really haven’t noticed?”
Confusion is still visible in Steve’s eyes, but the man blinks and his frown dissolves when he looks down at Tony’s clothes.
“Huh, this really is my shirt.”
Tony rolls his eyes and pronounces fondly, “Yes, doofus, it is. And today I’m actually wearing my own pants but lately I’ve been finding myself wearing your clothes more and more often.”
Steve frown returns to his face but this time curiosity is hiding behind his features, “Why?”
“Why?” Tony repeats the question, unsure.
“I mean, why do you wear my clothes? Is there a particular reason?”
Tony throws his hands up and shakes his head, “I honestly have no idea, it was actually Natasha who clued me in, I hadn’t noticed it either. I just seem to do it a lot.”
Steve’s eyes focus on Tony’s chest and a smirk appears on his lips, “Well, the shirt does look good on you.”
“Asshole.” The insult and slap to his shoulder make Steve laugh loudly while Tony turns around again in the V of Steve’s legs and crosses his arms in front of him.
“I can’t even see your face and I know you’re pouting.”
Tony groans, “You really are an asshole, Rogers.”
Steve laughs again but softer this time. His arms wrap around Tony’s shoulders, moving his body back so he’s resting completely on Steve’s chest.
“I mean it.” He says, depositing a kiss on Tony’s shoulder over fabric. “I hadn’t noticed before, but I like the idea of you wearing my clothes.”
Tony deflates, not having really been angry, and he sighs, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands on Steve’s arms around him. He closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth that Steve seems to constantly radiate. Being near Steve always works for slowing down his thoughts and letting go of anxieties.
“Why do you think you didn't notice?” Tony asks abruptly after some minutes of silence.
“I’m not sure.” Steve answers honestly.
It is Tony’s turn to tease when he says, “Is it because of the whole what’s mine is yours bla bla bla thing? I bet you love that speech.”
Steve playfully bites Tony’s earlobe making him yelp. “Now who’s being the asshole?”
Tony laughs as Steve continues to deliver brief bites to the skin of his neck and jaw, making him squirm.
“Stop it!” Tony begs in between breathless laughs once Steve has introduced tickling him into the equation.
“Never.” Steve proclaims, moving Tony around effortlessly and positioning himself above him. “Not until you admit you look good in my clothes.”
“You’re a menace.”, is what Tony says.
“Fine then.” Steve shrugs as he goes back to attacking Tony’s weakest spots.
“Okay, okay.” Tony surrenders. “I look good in your clothes! I do! Just stop it!”
Steve ceases his movements but he stays perched over Tony. His face is red with laughter and Tony will never stop being struck by his beauty.
Tony brings his hand up to Steve’s cheek, who turns his head and delivers a kiss to the palm.
“I think,” Tony starts, causing Steve’s gaze to move back to his. “I like them because it feels like they’re part of you.”
Steve chin lowers as he tries to hide the small smile he’s sporting.
“It’s not really logical, or something that I can explain but,” Tony’s voice turns into a whisper. “ I guess we have never been that easy to explain either.”
Steve moves his head slowly until his eyes can meet Tony’s again. The passion in them is burning and Tony doesn’t need to hear his next words to know what he’s feeling.
“I love you.”
It’s not the first time they’ve said it but every new one feels more special than the last. Right now it feels like a promise, like a real life-long commitment and Tony feels light with it.
“I love you, too.”
Their lips connect, their hands explore and everything but Steve’s disappears for Tony.
When they separate, with one last bite from Tony to Steve’s bottom lip, Steve’s mouth is cherry red and puffy, and a shiver of arousal zips through Tony’s body.
“So,” Steve whispers, his lips so close to Tony’s that every word is practically traced with his tongue over them. “I feel like I’m going to have a lot of fun with this new revelation and now that you’ve pointed it out, I can finally realize how much I love you in my clothes.”
Steve moves so his lips are now pressed against Tony’s ear. “But right now all I can think about is fucking you.”
“Oh my god, yes.” Tony moans.
“So let’s get you out of my clothes.”
Steve picks Tony up from the couch and carries him the entire way to their bedroom with his legs around his waist.
When they reach the bed, Steve drops Tony on it, who laughs lightly when he bounces a couple times on the mattress, and lies over him, pinning Tony’s wrist above his head and starts sucking on his neck, making sure to leave a mark that will be visible on Tony’s skin for days.
During the course of the night, Steve’s t-shirt is forgotten in its place on the floor and neither of them care much about it
The morning after sees Tony up before Steve in a real turn of events.
Getting up slowly, Tony disentangles himself from Steve’s grip and picks up the clothes they left scattered around the room the night before, carrying them to the bathroom and dumping them in the hamper.
He takes a short shower, getting rid of the sweat and feel of sex, and gets dressed quickly, uncaring of whose clothes he takes this morning. Steve had genuinely been out of the loop about the clothes’ dilemma, but if the spark in his eyes when he found out proved anything, Steve doesn’t really care that much about the natural way in which Tony has taken claim of his clothes.
When he walks out of the closet and into the bedroom already dressed, Tony finds Steve in the process of waking up.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
Tony nears the bed and bends down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead.
“I’ll be downstairs having breakfast, come down once you fully wake up.”
Steve just groans but Tony takes it as an affirmative response and makes his way down to the common floor’s kitchen where the team always eats meal, sometimes all of them together and sometimes in whatever combination of the team makes it to the room at the same time.
This morning, the rest of the team are already there and they all offer their greetings when Tony joins them.
Bruce is reading the newspaper and absentmindedly munching on toast while Natasha and Clint are throwing grapes at each other in some kind of competition and Thor is keeping score of it.
Tony, predictably, heads for the coffee first and then takes a sit next to Bruce, who offers him a smile with crumbs all over his yet unshaved stubble.
The shared breakfast continues in the same fashion for the next five or ten minutes, with Tony getting up once to refill his Captain America mug and starting to feel human enough to start a conversation with Bruce. The grape competition seems to have moved to be between Natasha and Thor with Clint as the referee when Steve finally joins them.
“Morning.” He announces, voice rough and feet slightly dragging.
He goes through the motions of opening the fridge and filling a glass of juice before he turns around to face the table.
The grape competition stops abruptly and Tony notices because silence suddenly fills the kitchen, surrounding them all.
All his friends have turned their gazes to Steve who is still drinking unaffected. Tony looks at each of their faces, trying to solve the mystery, and he can't help but gasp when he finally realizes what they’re all looking at.
Steve’s t-shirt hugs his torso perfectly, perhaps too perfectly and comes down just past his bellybutton, leaving a strip of skin visible between the shirt and his pants. A delicious, very bitable, very appealing patch of skin.
Although that might not be the reason why the others are staring quite so intently, because Steve’s shirt is actually not Steve’s shirt at all.
The silence is still surrounding the team when Steve finally addresses the issue and asks, “What’s going on?”
No one speaks and Barton even has his mouth wide open.
“Guys?”
Steve’s second question snaps Bruce out of it and he clears his throat, taking the lead of the situation. For a moment, Tony is glad that it’ll be Bruce talking, him being the most sensitive of all of them, but that moment comes and goes as soon as he is reminded of how his team is composed basically of assholes, even sneaky, intelligent, yoga-loving ones.
“I never took you for an AC/DC fan, Steve.”
Bruce’s comment is followed by his hand pointing at the t-shirt Steve is wearing and when the soldier looks at it and sees what Bruce means his reaction is one of genuine surprise. He turns red, the blush traveling all the way down his neck (and his torso as well, Tony knows without having to see it) and sputters non-sense for a while before closing his mouth and pressing his lips together, closing his eyes as if surrendering to his fate.
Immediately, Barton bursts out laughing and even though Natasha throws grapes at his head trying to get him to stop, some chuckles escape her mouth too. Bruce is wearing a sheepish grin and Thor’s own smile is one of pure delight.
Tony gets up from the chair and approaches Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist and ignoring the catcalls coming from his friends (mostly from Clint, obviously).
Steve opens his eyes and meets Tony’s guiltily.
“I didn’t even realize I had taken one of your shirts.”
“I know how that goes, believe me.”
Steve laughs and that plus the slight pinkish color his face continues wearing calls Tony to kiss him sweetly on the nose. Steve wrinkles his nose in mocked disgust but he firmly holds Tony close to him.
Tony is Tony and he can’t help himself so he takes a step back and gives Steve a complete once over before saying, “I get now what you said about me looking good in your clothes, sweet cheeks, because wow are you rocking my t-shirt.”
“Well, baby cakes, as long as it is a mutual thing I can live with it.”
“You are a real asshole.”
But Tony’s complain gets swallowed by Steve’s mouth, proving to be the most effective distraction. Tony’s hands rest against Steve’s back and take a fist of his own t-shirt (the one that the soldier is wearing) when Steve bites his lips particularly hard and makes him see sparks under his eyelids.
There is no real explanation for Tony’s obsession with wearing Steve’s clothes but Tony has found that it isn’t really a pressing matter anymore, that there are more important issues. Like, for example, figuring out how far he can go with fondling Steve in the kitchen before Barton starts screaming at them for public indecency.
Like Steve said, as long as it's a mutual thing, Tony can live with it.