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It doesn't take Tony very long to learn that Steve isn’t great at receiving gifts.
His birthday and Christmas are no problem. On occasions where presents are traditionally expected, Tony gets to give one big thing and two or three little things before Steve starts to look overwhelmed.
Anniversaries and Valentine's tend to be a little trickier. For their one month anniversary, he flew Steve to the Louvre and had a truly lovely dinner set up in the gardens. He also bought a speedboat that was waiting for them on the Seine and an island not too far from Paris, where he planned to take Steve for the rest of the weekend, but then Steve had reached out across the table to hold his hand and said, eyes wide and adoring, “Today was so great, Tony. I know you’re generous and I haven't made it easy. I don't mean to be difficult or—or ungrateful. Sometimes it's just hard to take those things. But this was really, really nice. I never thought I'd get to see the Louvre. Thank you.”
Difficult or ungrateful? Tony wondered if Steve had any idea how impossibly charmed he is by Steve being the only person who is in his life seemingly despite the material things he can give and how Tony would gladly spend the rest of his life drumming up ways to make Steve happy. So he smiled back at him and swallowed whatever he was going to say about the boat and the island because screw the boat and the island if Steve doesn't want them.
“Ready to go home after dessert then?” Tony asked, squeezing Steve’s hand, and Steve melted into a smile like he thought he was the luckiest man alive.
After that, Tony learns— experiences are a free for all when it comes to anniversaries and such. He likes to think he especially hit it out of the park with the time he took out a helicopter to fly Steve around New York and the time they crossed the country in the middle of February to go wakeboarding and paragliding on the sunny coast, and of course, the time he nabbed front row seats to the Mets' home game.
On any old day though, Tony has to watch himself. Pastries from the bakery that Steve likes a few blocks down are perfectly alright. Steve will also eat at any restaurant Tony wants to take him to, even if the prices are outrageous. The anniversary-edition Audemars Piguet skated by on thin ice once Tony explained that the stars on its face reminded him too much of Steve to pass up. But Steve doesn’t want cars—he just wants the Harley bike he already has. He isn't interested in anything designer because he thinks the affordable brands are just fine. He doesn’t want the newest electronics, which, actually, Tony can't blame him for because SI makes the best stuff anyway.
The point is, even though Tony is well aware that Steve really doesn't want or need expensive things, he itches to spend money on him anyway.
The best way to do that lands right in his lap on their one year anniversary.
Tony keeps them home for a surprise dinner because he actually cooks the steaks himself and he wants credit for learning how, and Steve walks into the kitchen earlier than he'd expected while Tony is still scrambling to set up. The cork is still in the wine and the candles aren't lit yet and his jacket is thrown unceremoniously over one of the dining chairs, along with an envelope from Veterans for Peace with a thank-you letter and a tax receipt from the last time he was invited to one of their events but couldn't make it, so he substituted his attendance with a sizeable donation instead.
“You're making dinner,” Steve says, sounding surprised as he walks around the kitchen, probably observing the different disasters Tony has inadvertently created while pulling dinner together.
“It's not ready yet,” Tony calls after him. Steve wanders back around to him and sniffs the steaks he's plating. Tony pats his butt with an oven mitt. “Go sit at the table and pretend to be surprised. You can light the candles if you want.”
“Okay,” Steve says agreeably, going back out to the dining room. Then, Tony hears, “Oh, wow.”
“What is it?” Tony asks, poking his head out of the kitchen with two wine glasses in his hand. Steve is holding the envelope from Veterans for Peace in one hand and the receipt in the other. “Oh, that's—”
“This is for our anniversary?” Steve asks, eyes wide and soft as he looks up. “Tony, that's really…” He looks back down. “They can do so much with this.”
Tony keeps his damn mouth shut about how this has nothing to do with their anniversary. That can be an explanation for another time.
“Right,” Tony says for now, setting the glasses down on the table. “You like that? This is a good gift for you?”
Steve nods and puts the receipt down on top of the envelope. “You're the best,” he says, looking like he really means it. “You help so many people.”
Steve really is good, right down to his core. Tony can do that, no problem. He can write more cheques and tie up the receipts in ribbons and bows and give them to Steve if they make him so happy.
“That’s always nice to hear,” Tony says with a grin as he pulls Steve in for a kiss. “Now actually help me light the candles.”
Tony doesn’t have a problem with what to get Steve after that.
Steve has a bad day and Tony cheers him up with a donation to the local animal shelter that Steve walks dogs for when he can. After they spend a day at the cancer ward in children's hospital, Tony clears all of the kids’ medical bills. Tony finds out why the hell Steve just pulled out all the cash in his wallet and handed it to the man behind the coffee cart, then fishes out his phone to wire transfer the total of his daughter's university tuition to him. Tony mails in a cheque to a legal aid clinic that's been struggling to stay afloat, and the next time he checks in, they've rented a second office and hired a dozen lawyers to fill it.
It's both bigger and smaller than what Tony can do with his relief foundation, and he's glad for it. He's glad that his money is doing something useful and that Steve is the reason why.
At a fundraising event, Tony makes out a cheque, then ducks out of the event hall with Steve before they get around to announcing the biggest donors of the night.
“Alright, I gotta tell you something,” Tony says when they get into the waiting car. Steve tilts his head, listening, as the car peels off into traffic. “Remember the first time I did something like this? For you?”
“Of course,” Steve says. “Our one year anniversary.”
“Well, that wasn't actually supposed to be for you,” Tony starts. “Veterans for Peace invited me to an event and I couldn't make it, I think we were away on a mission somewhere, so I wrote them a cheque. I just got the tax receipt that day and didn't have time to put it away before you saw it, and then you were so happy with it I just couldn't tell you it wasn't for you.”
“Oh,” Steve says, and Tony remembers how much Steve hates being lied to. Is this a bigger deal than he thought it was? “You're such a good man,” Steve says, city lights outside the tinted windows glimmering in his eyes. “And generous. Every time you do something like that, I remember how true that is. I'm so lucky.” His cheeks flush and Tony's heart settles properly in his chest. “Although, sorry for assuming that time. I know it's not about me—”
“It is,” Tony blurts, but he doesn’t really want to take it back. He knows what Steve means: this isn't about either of them. But at the same time, to Tony, in a way, it is about Steve. He wants to do more good because of the way he feels when he thinks about Steve, bright eyed and determined to help, and all this started because he wants to give Steve the world every time he looks at him, and the world that Steve wants is something like this—people helping each other out where they can. And Tony can. “Speaking for myself, anyway.”
Steve shakes his head with a little smile, but he doesn’t protest out loud. He just leans in and presses his lips to Tony's.
“See, this is why I do it,” Tony mumbles, wrapping one arm around Steve’s waist under his suit jacket to keep him close. “The reward is too good to pass up.”
Steve laughs and kisses him again.