Work Text:
The smell was incredible. Steve was hardly ever met with great scents when he was in Tony’s company. He was used to the smell of metallic residue on hands, of sweat, and of too much cologne. He did enjoy the scent of the coffee in the mornings, but beyond that it wasn’t a sense he got too excited about.
He’d just been reading, lost in his own thoughts and those of Ginsberg when his brain finally started to register that he could smell baking, something with a pastry, something very sweet. It took a few minutes but when it did take hold it was hard to follow the words anymore. He looked up, as if raising his head would hold the answer, but the room remained empty and the scent remained clear.
“Tony?”
There was a muffled response, which usually meant Tony had his head under a car or inside the suit, but neither made sense as the noise came from the kitchen. Steve was tempted to get up and check on him, but he’d already been told off once that week for being a mother hen.
A beat longer than Steve was comfortable waiting, Tony walked out with two plates in hand, chewing visibly. Ah, well that explained it.
“Pie,” he said as he set a plate down in front of Steve on the coffee table, then dropped down heavily to continue destroying the mushed, oozing piece of his own. It was brown and goopy and it made Steve frown.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that mud pies aren’t actually food?” It was strange that Tony had been baking. He picked up his plate and poked at it with his fork, wondering what it could be. It might have been the darkest gravy he’d ever seen.
Tony had snorted when Steve teased him and kept eating, licking his lips as he did.
“Use your head, Rogers. It’s chocolate. They had chocolate pie in your day, right? It’s 1800s if I remember correctly, and I do.”
Steve blinked, looking at the dessert again and seeing that of course it was chocolate. Oh. His neck coloured slightly and he glanced at Tony, doing his best not to be embarrassed. He had learned quickly when he and Tony started this thing of theirs that showing embarrassment could result in a nightmare of teasing.
“Not in my house. Shut up.” He brought some to his lips, trying it and having the syrup melt in his mouth was delicious. He closed his eyes but managed to hold back a groan.
“Tony you didn’t really make this, did you?” He looked back at the man, incredulous. He often had the greatest faith in Tony. The man could do anything he set his mind to, except apparently cook. Steve had met Pepper a couple of times and once she had told him to be careful of when he starts cooking, because he is both terrible at it and uses it as a device to deliver bad news.
Tony had only just started to say that of course he did, without opportunity to explain he had taken it from the box and put it in the oven without incident, when Steve cut over him.
“Is there bad news? You don’t cook and you made pie. What’s up?”
Tony met Steve’s concerned eyes with feigned indigence, then covered it with a smile.
“Can’t a guy cook a pie? Are you going to mock me for ruining my figure or something? We can’t all be godlike in appearance, although I could make you see God if-“
“Tony, what did you do?” Steve crossed his arms and Tony dropped that thought with a huff. Steve wasn’t letting him have any fun, but he would still eat the pie, that should placate him.
“Fine, fine. I admit it. It was I who left the snow angel on the balcony. You caught me!” Tony threw his hands up in surrender but they dropped quickly so he could keep eating. He had chocolate syrup on his cheek from turning to look at Steve, as if his hands were not taking commands from the same place as his neck.
Steve laughed, shaking his head as he leant in to kiss the syrupy spot, before sitting back more comfortably with his plate. They ate in comfortable silence until Tony was done, then he watched as the man quietly set down his plate and his legs tensed.
Steve was observant, he saw that he was getting ready to bolt, but he didn’t get a chance to ask why.
“I also crashed your motorbike,” Tony muttered, leaping off the couch. “Bye!” He was out the door in a flash.
“TONY!”