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“Tony,” Steve began, a smile begging to take shape on his face. He tried to conceal just how flattered he had been by the festively wrapped box on his lap. More so, he was grinning at the fact that Tony Stark himself had thought to get him something for Christmas.
The box itself was clad in red paper stamped with glittering silver snowflakes. Pieces of tape stuck to each other and to the package, and odd corners of paper stuck out in places. Steve could see where Tony had torn the paper and tried to fix it with cellophane tape. The whole thing was tied with a messy green ribbon in a skewed bow. This had clearly been Tony’s handiwork; the man was Michelangelo with a welding torch, but clueless with wrapping paper.
“‘You didn’t have to’, I know, I know,” Tony droned, waving away Steve’s protests, “I don’t have to do much. I actually wanted to, believe it or not, Capsicle.”
Steve laughed, eyes falling back to the garish package on his lap. He tried his best to hide the pink tinge flourishing on his cheeks. Steve Rogers spared a glance to his left. His eyes met cool green ones, studying him with amusement. Natasha Romanoff pushed a stray strand of blazing red hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The ghost of a smile caressed her lips, threatening her usually unyielding poker face.
“Captain, I know Tony, and I know he would not have gone through any trouble if he did not mean it,” Pepper assured him. He looked up and found her perched on the edge of the big couch in the tower’s recreation room.
“Tell me, Tony, what does a ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ give an American icon?” Clint Barton asked, teasingly. He took a seat on the couch’s armrest and sipped on a mug of steaming and fragrant coffee. Tony did not spare him a glance or response, his attention still fixed on Steve, a nervously hopeful spark dancing in his eyes.
Steve’s strong, dexterous hands traced the lines of the box, finding a weak spot from which to begin unwrapping the mess of holographic paper and shiny tape. His fingers instead undid the emerald bow, despite the many knots, and cast the ribbon aside. From there, he pinched at the paper, creating a small tear in the very middle of the parcel. His index finger found its way inside, inching along the rip. His eagerness finally got the best of the man, and Steve proceeded to dig in. Hands that usually pummeled now carefully removed bits of wrapping from the wooden box underneath.
He finally pulled the last piece of tape off the present and admired its beauty. The box itself gleamed under the lights from the extravagant tree under which Steve was sitting cross-legged. He inspected the box, taking in the exquisite mahogany sheen, the evidence of expert craftsmanship.
“It’s…beautiful,” he whispered, a smile of awe on his face.
“Your gift is inside the box, Rogers,” Tony said, amused, “Go ahead. Open it.”
Steve felt his blush deepening. Of course the box was not the intended present. His left hand delicately gripped the top half of the box, the base secured in his right. He opened the wooden box slowly. A small gasp escaped him.
Inside, nestled in the blue velvet interior, was a pocket watch. Steve admired the handsome timepiece, shocked at how regal it looked resting on the plush material. His fingers danced lightly over the metal. The polished surface was a brilliant silver, sophisticated but not gaudy. What truly made him appreciate the watch, however, was the decoration. The cover was engraved with three concentric circles, one within the other. The middle circle housed a perfect, five-pointed star. The watch’s engraved cover was a perfect, miniature replica of his shield.
Steve took the watch out, barely putting any pressure on the piece, afraid it would fall apart in his strong but capable hands. He clicked it open to reveal a flawless white face with black numbers. The hour and minute hands had already been set to the right time. Steve looked as the seconds ticked by, each one marked by the movement from a fragile third hand.
“Tony, it’s…” he started. The words were lost on their way up, struck down by the sheer wonder of it all. Steve was still reeling from the gesture, unsure what had prompted Tony to such a gesture.
“You don’t have to wind it everyday,” Tony explained, “But you can.” He knew Steve would find comfort in the routine of winding his pocket watch every day, no doubt seeing it as an anchor to some remnant of his past.
Steve’s smile grew more pronounced, taking on the easy joy Tony Stark found so endearing, the same smile that greeted him when he woke from his fall through space.
“Tony…” he said, again. Steve stood up from the floor and crossed the small space between him and the couch in two strides. Tony stood up, more a reaction to Steve’s proximity than anything, and was quickly pulled into a powerful, warm hug by Steve. Massive, muscled arms wrapped around him, leaving him little movement in his arms.
“Thank you,” the blond man mumbled, the side of his face pressed up against Tony’s.
Shocked, Tony managed to hesitantly bring an arm up and halfway around Steve. He patted the taller man on the back, unsure of the protocol in this particular situation; Tony Stark was not someone used to friendly human contact.
“You’re…uh…welcome?” Tony swallowed. Steve pulled back and looked directly into Tony’s eyes. Steve’s eyes were full of gratitude, happiness, and something else Tony could not quite discern. The smile plastered on Steve’s face infected him, and Tony felt the corners of his mouth pulling up.
Steve looked into the inviting, big, brown eyes of the shorter man. His stomach and heart felt fused together, cold fingers clenching at his insides. He felt heady at their contact, at the feel of Tony’s body so close to his, but jittery at the thought of how this display of affection, however innocent, had appeared to Tony. His smile grew sheepish as he removed himself from the other man.
“It’s…great. It’s excellent,” the soldier admitted, “I really, really…like it. Love it. Thank you.”
Tony waved his thanks away, reclaiming his spot on the couch. Steve backed up to the spot he had previously occupied on the floor, hand still cradling the gift.
“Uh…Thor, this one’s for you,” Steve said, picking up another package from under the tree and passing it to the large mass of tinsel and microfleece scarves that was the Asgardian. Steve Rogers did not notice the new frame that hung on the wall behind Thor, nor that it housed an old, yellowing poster emblazoned with something that looks like sci-fi imagery from the 1940s. Tony Stark also failed to mention the poster of the 1940 Stark Expo that now hung on their rec room wall, and the note affixed to it that read “To Steve, Here’s to new beginnings. From, Tony”.
Neither man had paid notice to the sprig of mistletoe affixed to the ceiling, hanging precisely above Tony Stark’s head.