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“Steve,” Tony tried, patiently.
“Tony,” Steve answered, amicably.
“Steve.”
“Tony.”
A small sigh. “Steve.
A larger sigh. “Tony.”
An exasperated sigh. “Steve.”
“Tony.”
“This could go on for a while,” Natasha mused.
Coulson hid a snort behind his file.
Clint shushed her in annoyance, jabbing her in the jawline with a handful of precisely thrown popcorn. “Do not disturb my entertainment. JARVIS, recording?”
“As always, video recording automatically triggered when the Captain and Sir’s names are repeated three or more times consecutively, Agent.”
“Are you fucking with me right now? Seriously, JARVIS?” Tony squinted suspiciously in the vague direction of the ceiling.
“Technically," Bruce coughed uncomfortably. "That would happen too when they're going at it in bed.”
“Not necessarily in bed,” Tony put one hand up, and Steve seized the opportunity, lunging. Tony shrieked before rolling off the sofa and diving down the corridor.
“JARVIS, suit, suit now, JARVIS this is an emergency I have two hundred pounds of solid muscle on my bac-“
“That would not be advisable, sir.” JARVIS sounded almost amused.
“Tony, I do not care if I have to stuff this box up my ass, you are not getting your anniversary present 12 days early, return it to me right this second- yes!”
“There is no fun in waiting.” Clint could hear the pout in Tony’s voice.
Some ruffling sounds, a Tony sounding squawk, and a relieved sigh later, all noise died down.
“Aye, Anthony,” Thor said, emerging from around the corridor. He was carrying a disgruntled Tony bridal style. “Despite pledging my alliance with the great Captain, I do echo your sentiment.”
Tony transferred his pouting gaze from Steve to Thor.
“How did Howard deny him anything with that face,” Clint sighed, happily, as he snapped a quick picture. “That’s going on my tumblr.”
Steve ignored him steadfastly, an eyebrow twitching vaguely. Slowly, he wiped off a bead of non-existent sweat from his forehead, and rubbed on a equally non-existent wrinkle. “Thanks for restraining him, Thor.”
“It was no problem, mightiest Captain.”
“Saved?” Clint asked the ceiling.
“Indeed.” JARVIS replied.
++
“Why won’t you just tell me?” Tony asked, wrapping his arms around the broad expanse of Steve’s shoulders, tiptoeing to make the stretch of his arms comfortable.
Pushing the rise of affection for the smaller man aside, Steve deflected the question in the best way he knew how. Letting out an amused sigh, he huffed. “You are tiny. Did you know that?”
“No.” Tony’s eyebrows knotted. “You have no idea what you are talking about, I am not tiny, what the heck, I will have you know I am tall and masculine and intimidating-“
Steve straightened his back. Tony found himself scrambling for a tighter grip around Steve’s neck, his feet fumbling hopelessly for better footing, just that much short of touching the floor.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “You are tiny. And breakfast is ready, Tony.”
Tony pouted. And swung his legs around Steve’s hips. “Fine. Be like that then. Carry me the right way, mightiest horse.”
Steve hiked him up, bouncing a bit so that the grip was easier, for both of them. “You weigh less than Natasha.”
Tony pulled on his hair.
Steve winced, but secretly patted himself on the back for another job well done.
++
“What the fuck.”
“Seconded.” Clint muttered, swinging his bow behind his back.
“Language,” Cap sighed.
“I have no time for language right now, what the fuck, what is wrong with world dominating villains, why are there giant sentient kitchen utensils, how do we even control this-“
“Hulk. Do not smash the cups.”
“Hulk will not smash cups.” Hulk’s sullen voice sounded over the comm. “Pretty cups. Hulk twist metal forks?”
Steve contemplated his life. Let out an audible sigh. “Do that.”
“Which super villain decided it was cool to just magnify IKEA, seriously,” Iron Man grumbled, firing a repulsor at an unsuspecting pan. “Okay, I’m reading extra energy sources which are being used to magnify these things. Thor?”
Another audible sigh. “Nay, I do not sense any magic, although my brother would be likely to find much humor in these ways.”
“No shit,” Clint muttered again. Coulson coughed.
“Right. Great. It is my anniversary, and instead of dealing with a naked Captain America, and thereby finding out what my godforsaken present is, I am dealing with giant forks.”
“I am more worried about the cups.” Coulson’s voice displayed a brilliant lack of emotion.
“Iron Man, to your 4, I think we found our energy source.” Widow’s crisp voice rang with urgency.
“Down 59th? All right. Thor, come with me, we can never worry too much about magic.”
“Generally, I agree.” Clint let an arrow swerve clank into a metal pan, barely denting it. “Fuck.”
“Clint, Level 9 energy draining force fields permitted.” A bare hint of amusement seeped through Coulson’s voice.
“Thank Jesus fuck for that,” A hustle sounded over Clint’s comms, signaling a quiver change.
Tony grunted through the comms. “Okay, this is a nasty, horrific and frankly non-self sustaining rendition of my arc reactor. I’m just going to fry this thing up. Won’t be more than 5. You guys good?”
“Positive,” The Widow paused, like she didn’t want to know the answer to the question she was going ask. “What’s it running on?”
“Should be pre-charged, circuitry similar to Doom's,” Tony hummed, setting to work. He dropped on one knee and started pulling circuitry apart. “Honestly, which sane villain thinks ‘oh, I’m going to create an energy source just to power knives to go on a rampage in downtown Manhattan?’ Why forks? How is that even worth it?”
Clint snorts. “Which villain is sane?”
“I have not chanced upon any in this realm.” A burst of electricity electrocuted a small army of pots headed Tony and Thor’s way.
“I cannot help but notice that statement suggests that there are sane villains amongst other realms, Thor.”
Coulson coughed. “It is probably best if we don't attempt to understand their train of thought, unless any of us here are aspiring villains.”
“Chatter.” Steve grunted as his shield sliced through a plate. “Tony, you done?”
There was a stutter of movement among the sentient appliances before a loud humming noise was heard. The hopping plates lost balance and clattered to the floor, shrinking in size as they did so. Hulk was halfway to punching a pan significantly bigger than his hand when it returned to its normal size, disappearing under the completely under his fist. He let out a confused grunt.
“Yes.”
“Alright, let’s hand this over to NYPD. Gather back at 57th in 10, and Clint, not via roof access. Your 31st broken ankle was 31 too many.”
Steve paused. “I would offer to help with clean up, but it’s kind of just broken plate pieces.”
Another pause. “That, and it is my anniversary. I have something planned.”
“I hope it involves great sex.”
“I fail to see how we can achieve bad sex.”
“San Francisco?”
Clint let out an uncharacteristic squeak. “We do not speak of San Francisco.”
“Oh, you bet I will.” Natasha smirk could be well visualized from her tone of voice. “I’m just preparing for the occasion whereby it can deliver maximum impact.”
“Debrief, SHIELD van on the 57th. And I did not need to hear any of that.” Nick Fury’s voice came onto the speakers.
“Oh trust me, you’ll be hearing so much more.” Coulson’s tone was miraculously impassive, but even so, the right corner of his lip twitched.
Tony jogged to a stop in front of the van as Steve rounded the corner. “Why is there debrief? What is there to debrief about? Magical forks?”
“Property damage, insurance, media coverage…” Steve ticked them off as he came to a stop in front of the duo. “Hill and Fury back in headquarters?”
“Yes,” Coulson answered, at the same time Tony groaned, “Why do I even hire lawyers if I still have to review the work that they’ve already done?”
“You know,” Natasha noted as she joined them, “the Tony Stark I first knew probably wouldn’t have bothered with debrief, and he definitely couldn’t sit through it enough times to find something logical about it to complain about.”
“The Tony Stark you first knew wasn’t dating Steve,” Tony Stark pointed out helpfully.
“Steve certainly changed him,” Clint said while poking Steve in the bicep.
Steve jumped. Clint definitely wasn’t there two minutes ago, but Clint-related-mysteries were often better off unsolved.
“Steve didn’t,” Steve protested instead. “Tony just settled down.”
“Tony just found something worth settling down for.” Tony said, considering. “That, or Tony found something capable of convincing him to settle down. Tony isn’t very sure.”
“I’m not too sure the other guy appreciates your usage of his usual manner of speech,” Bruce staggered into the scene, irises tinged green, his shirt long lost.
“Tony is sorry,” Tony said, as earnestly as he could.
A roar later, Coulson sighed. “Containment at 57th, code green.” He speaks into his SHIELD-issued communicator.
At the other side of New York, Nick Fury sighs into his phone. “Roger that.”
++
A sheepish debrief and a de-hulked Bruce later, the group was found gathered in the back of Tony’s limo. Tony was curled around Steve’s body, both of them out of their suits and back in comfortable sweats, deep in thought as he regarded the schematics displayed on his StarkPad. Steve was listening half-heartedly to Tony ramble, humming non-committedly every now and then as he stroked through the smaller man’s hair. Thor had chosen to fly back home while Bruce was curled in a corner of the car, wrapped in blankets. Natasha and Clint were talking in soft, barely detectable tones in the back of the van, the kind that only highly trained, mutually in tune spies could pull off.
Slowly, their voices got more agitated.
“What is wrong with purple and black, just exactly?”
“How are any of those colors suitable for a wedding?”
“They’re not getting married yet, it’s only the-“
“Clint. Shut up.” Steve shot a meaningful glare in their direction.
Both spies dropped their gaze to Tony, who was muttering to himself while typing with a slightly worrying ferocity.
“Would he break the keyboard?” Clint wondered aloud.
“His last prototype was designed to withstand Steve’s superstrength,” Natasha pointed out.
Steve shifted self-consciously. “I didn’t mean to break it.”
“What, so it just accidentally crushed itself into smithereens?”
“Maybe,” Steve paused. “Now that I think about it, it’s perfectly likely that Tony engineered a self destructing bomb sequence in my phone.”
“…”
“I cannot find fault in that statement.”
“Are you talking about me?” Tony raised his head to look into Steve’s eyes, squinting suspiciously.
“Wondering how long it would have took for you to return to us, that’s all.”
“Okay.” He tucked his StarkPad away into the crack between two couch cushions. He squinted more. “How are we celebrating later?”
Steve dropped a quick kiss down to the back of Tony’s hand. “I’ll cook. Same place, 7pm?”
“Will there be presents and sex? What are you cooking? Wait, no, I know all the answers to those questions.”
“Do share,” Clint called from behind.
“Yes, yes, and lasagna.” Having apparently read something in Steve’s eyes, he lit up. “You’ve made pudding again, haven’t you?”
Natasha scrutinized Steve’s flush. “You are a horrible liar.”
“I know,” Steve said. He heated up more.
“Aw,” Tony slapped his red cheek. “Aren’t you adorable.”
++
“Natasha.”
“Yes, Tony.”
“I need you to come to my floor now.”
“Why, Tony.”
Tony paused suspiciously in lieu of a reply.
“Tony.”
“I may or may not be having a fashion crisis.”
“Tony.”
“Natasha.”
“This is Steve! I don’t understand! Steve thinks you look good when you just come out of the workshop after a week of blackout engineering and you’re in actual tatters!”
“It’s not that bad.”
Natasha sucked in a long breath. “Tony, you were wearing yellow duck boxers with a metallic muscle tank turned ripped crop top.” She shuddered. “ Screaming about how you finally made him talk. So now they could all talk. And that’s how we had to get rid of 34 sentient hair dryers. Who all had to talk to do their jobs. Which was, you know, blowing air out of their vaguely sentient mouths.”
“It might have been that bad.” Tony admits slowly.
“Nothing you wear can look worse than that. Trust me. But Steve likes it when you wear the dark blue scoop neck tee with those really tight black jeans. And go for the black combat boots. They’re cute.”
“I don’t know why I trust you when you are probably the single most well trained spy in history.”
“Neither do I. By the way, I never thought of Steve as the initiating type,” Natasha smirked, before hanging up.
Tony brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He asked his beeping phone.
“Sir, if I may interrupt, the shirt Natasha mentioned is in the forth drawer from your bed, while the jeans might be any of the 14 in left compartment of your closet.”
“Thank you, JARVIS.”
Shaking his head, he moved round the bed to gather his clothes.
Tony wasn’t an idiot; in fact, he was the brightest genius in at least this century, and he very well can put two and two together.
A small navy box sealed shut with a fingerprint recognition locking mechanism? Not hard to disable.
Steve Rogers protecting said satin box with dirty distraction tactics, righteousness and all of America? Slightly harder to get by.
Tony didn’t find much valuable, ‘cause he wasn’t exactly, you know, short on money. The few things Tony did consider valuable were a) his suit, b) Steve’s shield, c) Pepper’s shoes, d) War Machine, e) his team's weapons, f) Dummy, and g) coffee.
So it certainly wasn’t easy to give Tony presents. Usually, they came in form of gag gifts or sexual services, and occasionally, sentimental objects to serve as a promise item. (This happened twice. Once when Jarvis gave him his watch and once with Pepper.)
Seeing as Steve was taking this surprise was too seriously for it to be a gag gift, and sexual services were definitely already on the plate for the evening, Tony reckoned that the chances of the last option being true was about 98%. Chances of it being a ring, 85%, chances of it being some creative replacement of a ring, 7%, changes of it being cufflinks, 3%, chances of it being a cock-ring, 5%.
So Steve might propose. Well, Tony will be damned if he lets Steve beat him to it.
He wheeled over to a discreet screw on his bedroom wall. The whirring machinery of a retina scanner and a satisfying click of a lock disengaging later, Tony let out a small whoop of joy. Closing his fingers around the compact silk box, he quirked an eyebrow up. “JARVIS, you know what to do.”
“I believe an appropriate quote would be, ‘Two can play this game,’ sir.”
Tony grinned. “Indeed.”
And Tony wasn’t scared of fighting dirty. With a new spring in his step, he left his workshop.
++
Tony walked into the shared living room where his team was currently lounging in with a dramatic twirl.
“How’s my outfit, ladies? Well, gentlemen, and the one lady?”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “You look great.”
“I wish for your coitus to be of the greatest satisfaction!” Thor boomed.
Tony beamed. “That, too. And now I shall wish you all a pleasant evening, with or without sex.” He winked at Coulson. Tony spun on his feet, a heavy thud sounding for every step he took towards the elevator. “Goodbye.”
Clint slowly cocked an amused eyebrow, trailing his eyes after Tony’s disappearing figure. “Who wants to bet,” he starts.
Coulson glanced up from his paperwork briefly. “That?” He dropped his gaze back down to his paperwork, a small twitch of his mouth giving away his amusement.
“Steve would get to propose.” Clint finished, smugly.
“My bets on Tony.” Bruce said, surprisingly, almost immediately.
“Aw, come on!” Clint threw his hands up. “Give Steve a little more faith. Steve.”
Natasha eyebrows furrowed. “Steve,” she decided after careful deliberation, gaze sharpening on a nail.
Coulson peered around. “Tony. Within the week.”
“Steve within the next day.” Natasha added.
Bruce shifted uncomfortably. Everyone turned slowly to look at him.
“If I may offer some input,” JARVIS’s voice sounded smoothly, cutting across the mounting tension. “I believe that Sir would succeed over the course of the next 5 hours.”
“Yes!” Clint hollered, jumping off of the couch, “JARVIS and a sometimes-giant-green-adorable-angry-ball, versus two of the best, professionally trained spies, and a middle aged, unsuspecting, greying white man. This is the best bet of the century.”
Subtly, Coulson reached up to rub at his temples. Was he really greying? He'd better start preparing reports to Fury.
++
Steve knew what Tony liked.
Arguably, the list was not very long, and the top 5 spots consisted of either Steve’s body parts or his Steve himself, but still.
(JARVIS could produce the brief list that Tony himself collated, consisting of 1. Steve’s biceps, 2. Steve’s dick, 3. Steve, 4. Steve, and 5. Coffee.)
And that is why the top of the tower only had a minimalistic setting, with lounge chairs that Tony would be familiar with, his favorite cooking, topped up with a candle or two that Tony would definitely tease him about but probably appreciate all the same.
“I am a bit flattered,” Tony started, walking over hesitantly.
“You should be.” Steve let himself blush a bit while he turned around, letting his back face Tony as he fiddled with the tablecloth.
Tony’s hopelessly endeared. “So what's up with the fancy set up?”
Steve shifted his weight nervously from one leg to another. “It’s not fancy.” Let out a breath. “And I have a surprise for you after dinner.”
“No shit,” Tony agreed, smoothly.
Steve paused, slowly turning back around. When he met Tony’s challenging gaze, he narrowed his eyes.
Tony raised both eyebrows in return, straightening his back.
Steve stiffened.
“Sit,” he ordered, distinctively more authoritative than before.
Tony smirked, and sat, smile turning into something rebellious and promising.
Steve quickly turned back around to adjust his pants.
Tony grinned, leaning back into his seat. “I was promised food?”
Steve let out a slow breath. “Yes,” he agrees, bringing the plates out. “Dig in?”
Tony shot him a suspicious look, before settling down into a more comfortable position. “Is it bad,” he started, “that I am very, very turned on right now?” He subtly shifted his weight.
Steve laughed. “No,” Steve said, “but I would really like that to come in later. Can you just let me take care of you for a bit?”
“You could be taking care of other parts of me,” Tony looked at him meaningfully, then down his torso longingly. “But if you simply want to feed me, so be it.”
“No,” Steve groaned, burying his head in his hands. “God, I hate you right now.”
Tony grinned dopily. Shoved a bite of lasagna into his mouth. “No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.” Steve agreed. His hand slid down over the pocket of his jeans, checking for the ring.
All he ever wanted, sitting right in front of him and within his reach.
A warm home-cooked meal in a familiar location, with a view of the city that became their home in just these few short years. It was all he could promise Tony. That he’d be his rock, that’d he’d have someone to return to every bad op, every time the past caught up with him, every time he sunk into periods of self-doubt. He wanted Tony, his steady, anchoring presence, and his eccentric ideas and off the top moves, he wanted to soak it all up for the rest of his life. He wanted the world to be able to know that Tony was his; he wanted the world to know that only he gets to see how Tony looks like at 3am and how he looks like when he removes his façade.
He wanted to set up a grand romantic gesture, knowing that it will be more likely for Tony to make quips instead of crying surprised tears, but also knowing that he’ll probably get those tears out of him in the bedroom later.
So he did. And so here he was, trying not to finger nervously at the seam of his pants, least Tony sees through him.
Their quiet conversation carried over the skyscrapers, over New York's sky line, as Steve’s eyes crinkled with affection, as Tony ducked behind his glass, shaking with laugher at a bad joke, as they couldn’t stop the smiles from lingering.
The night’s breeze was chilly this high up, but Steve, usually hyperaware to cold, barely felt a thing. His heart shone with pride and warmth for the smaller man, for the glints in his eyes and for the ruffle of his hair. Their fingers tangled together across the table, with Tony brushing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles every now and then.
Meal long finished, Steve interrupted their conversation by standing up and tugging Tony along with him. “I am allowing myself to follow you and all your grace,” Tony chuckled warmly.
“Yes?” Steve hummed, pulling Tony close to him. He places a hand on the back of his neck and pushed Tony’s head down to rest oh his chest. “So you don’t like this?”
Tony fisted the back of Steve’s shirt. “No,” he mumbled into the cotton. “I don’t like it at all,” he said.
“The fact that you're currently nuzzling my chest doesn’t seem to match your point.”
Tony scowled into the shirt. “You have a very nice chest.” He looked up at Steve, and batted his eyelashes. “Can we have sex?”
Steve relaxed his arms, which were locked around Tony’s neck. “No,” he laughed. “Stand here.”
“Okay,” Tony said, obediently. “But I am letting you know, I am only listening to you because it would probably mean less time wasted before sex.”
“If I have my way,” Steve grinned, “it will all come in due time.” He slid the box out of his pocket, getting onto one knee.
“Tony Edward Stark,” he began.
“No,” Tony said, suddenly, stepping one step back.
“Yes,” Steve answers.
“You are not doing this,” Tony tried again.
Steve sighed internally. He expected this. It was common knowledge that if one wanted to suggest the idea of ‘commitment’ to Tony, he will give you at least five hours of bad self-doubt, a detailed analysis of his daddy issues, and all the reasons why he did not deserve you. But Steve is Captain America. Steve knows how to deal with Tony. “It would appear that I am, Tony.”
“No, you are not,” Tony said, calmly, as he held up both arms. “Because I am.”
The suit came flying over his body as Tony snatched the box out of Steve’s hands, placing it in a compartment in his forearm.
Steve is Captain America. But Steve also knows when not to fuck with Iron Man.
“Ton-“ Was all Steve managed before he got swept up in a suit of his own, faceplate clicking shut over his face.
“JARVIS, initiate autopilot lockdowns, regulate temperature and oxygen levels, you know where we’re headed.” Tony said, before maneuvering Steve onto his own feet, locking the two suits together.
“Why does JARVIS know where we are going, and I don’t?” Steve asked, trying not to sound amused.
“Huh,” Tony said, almost dreamily. “I like your voice mechanized.”
“This suit is getting rather tight for me too,” Steve deadpanned, rolling his eyes.
“JARVIS, make a note, robot sex.”
“Sir,” JARVIS sounded resigned. “Sir. Done, sir.”
++
“So,” Steve tried, as the suit fell apart around them. He blinked at the Big Ben.
They were standing on the roof of a hotel that Tony was moderately sure he owned. Actually, there was a landing pad, and JARVIS flew them here, so he was fairly sure he owned this chain.
“Yes?” Tony asked. “JARVIS, check with the hotel, ask if it’s possible for me to get the rooftop suite.” He paused. “Also if I own this chain.”
“You do in fact have a large share in this business, and roof access is now open. You can enter the rooms via the staircases near your right, and the hotel staff wishes for you to have a nice stay, sir.”
“Brilliant,” he grinned, turning to Steve who was being silently baffled by this all, palms wide. “Sugar daddy,” He pointed at himself.
“I’m not the one who starts crying when he’s denied an orgasm.”
Tony flushed. “Look, you were eating me out for at least an hour. No one else has done that before. And you were riling me up the whole day. You’re lucky my balls didn’t turn purple.”
Steve gave a slightly bashful but mostly proud smile. “It was totally worth it to fuck you oversensitive.”
“Dry orgasms,” Tony moaned. “The death of me.”
Steve’s entire being shook with laughter. “So, why are we here?” He smiled into Tony’s hair. “Mind returning my ring, so I can get down on my knees again?”
“Actually, I mind,” Tony said, grabbing the red silk box from another hidden compartment in the suit. “Because I am proposing.” He grinned, and sank down to a knee.
“Steve Rogers,” he started, and Steve’s laughing, because of course, of course his beautiful, beautiful boy flew him to London just to outdo his proposal.
“You little minx,” he managed to choke out, “seriously, you were never going to do it, so I thought maybe you didn’t want to commit, so maybe I would need to convince you, but no-“
“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony tried again, a grin erupting on his face, “you’re the moon to my light, love of my life, and all that cra-“
A shrill ringing from both their pockets interrupted his well-formed proposal. Both Steve and Tony froze momentarily before Tony reached for his phone.
“Stark,” he said, sounded surprisingly calm given his gritted teeth.
“Stark,” Nick Fury agreed. “Where the fuck are you?”
++
“I am sick of this.”
Coulson allowed himself a small exhale. “Yes, Tony, we know.”
“No, you don’t!” Tony’s voice climbed in hysteria. “Once is alright, okay, someone decided to blow up forks and let them roam Manhattan, that is alright, it is fine-”
“Tony,” Natasha sighed.
“-But twice, twice is too much, this is a targeted attack,” He paused, letting a repulsor melt a metal spoon satisfyingly, “This is terrorism, this is a personal attack-“ He flailed his metal arms around, hitting a pan with the repulsor in his chest. “I had the most perfect weekend planned, that reminds me, JARVIS, make a note, cancel on William,” he punched a fork.
“William, as in,” Clint said faintly. “The prince?”
“I know he looks like Coulson,” Tony sighed, “but there’s no need to get jealous.” He shot up into the sky. “Anyways, as I was saying-“
“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted.
“JARVIS, it is rude to interrupt a man’s monologue.” Tony chided. “As I was saying, if they wanted to interrupt my goddamn proposal, they could have chose something a bit, I don’t know-“
“Tony,” Natasha tried.
“Something a bit easier to take seriously, like a thousand mutated lizard or something-”
“Sir,” JARVIS’s voice rang with urgency, “you have in-“
“-Instead all that decided to attack New York were a bunch of mutated forks-”
Said mutated fork jumped into the air from where it had been bounding over to Tony, and hit him squarely on the head.
Tony crumpled before he could make any noise.
“Incoming.” JARVIS sighed. “I apologize to inform the team, Avengers, but it would appear that Tony has lost consciousness. The impact of the hit was rather significant. Level orange.”
Steve sucked in a sharp breath.
“Copy that, team, Iron Man’s out of commission, warning's orange.” Steve sighed, trying desperately not to worry. He switched to a private comm line. “JARVIS, fly him to medical, autopilot, as fast as he can possibly take right now. Give me a run down of his injuries?”
“He seemed to have blacked out from impact, possible concussion, impact to ribs, possible fracture on his right arm. Armor wise, the helmet has undergone significant damage, but his other vitals look stable.”
“Alright,” Steve said. Not that bad. Not the worst he’s been through. Definitely not the worst that will ever happen. He let out a slow breath.
If he wanted to marry Tony Stark, he damn well needed to get used to him getting hurt.
Hell, who was Steve kidding, Tony had gotten hurt enough times that Steve should be able to treat a level orange injury with indifference. He trusts JARVIS, and if JARVIS thinks Tony isn’t in a Red injury, then Steve wasn’t going to worry. It would just be stupid.
Still, he hiked his shield higher up behind his back as he let out an uneasy breath. Ignored how each spike of worry shot up his veins as sharply as his gaze was mentally locking down his remaining teammates’ positions.
“Kids that aren’t being flied to medical by JARVIS, report.”
“Securing perimeter,” Thor’s reply came.
“Centre field, 24th.” Clint let out a grunt as he electrocuted a kettle.
“Civilians cleared. Energy source found, down on the 27th,” Natasha reported.
“SHIELD agents are on it,” Coulson replied, “Hulk, de-green.”
“Hulk likes teapots.” Hulk sounded, if Hulk could, sulky. “Hulk smash.”
Clint cooed.
++
“This was, what, Doom’s idea of a practical joke?” It was rather impossible to tell if Clint sounded annoyed or amused.
“I believe we are all in agreement of his need for better hobbies,” Coulson agreed.
“Aye,” Thor said, frowning. “How is our SHIELD brother Antony?”
Steve suppressed the rush of anger.
“Contained in medical, 5th floor, and probably very grumpy.” Natasha recited, stalking pass them and towards the lifts.
“Probably is a mild way to put it,” Nick Fury said, appearing out of a shadow from the other side of the lobby. He sighed. “Come on, we might as well have debrief there.”
++
“I got bonked on the head,” Tony appeared to be arguing with his nurse.
He looked up and saw them. “Cap!” Stark grinned dopily, dressed in a white medical dress that showed off his tan rather nicely. And the smattering of bruises on the right side of his body.
Steve took Yoga classes last summer. He was finding them rather useful now.
“Yes,” he said, with all the patience in him he could muster.
“They won’t let me out.” Tony pouted.
Steve glared.
Tony turned to pout at Clint.
“Okay, no, no, no, I am not involving myself in this, no, bye-bye,” Clint raised his arms up as if to surrender. “You’re dealing with this yourself, okay, to a super pissed Steve Rogers, because look at that vein, wow, it is throbbing.”
Steve gritted his teeth. His face did seem a bit hot.
“Steve? Sugar poppies.” Tony reached out for him, gaze softening. “Apple pie, I’m fine.” He looked down on himself. “I mean, I’ve only got a couple of bruised ribs, a broken arm, and a concussion.” He paused. Turned to look at Coulson, wincing at the sudden movement.
“Do I have a concussion?” He asked, gaze wide, lips parting.
“Someone tell me he is concussed.” Steve shut his eyes, and sucked in a slow breath. “Because if he is not, I will punch him myself until he gets concussed.”
“He is concussed,” Coulson agreed.
Stark grinned, apparently delighted at being right.
“Stable?”
“Fairly,” Coulson agreed.
“Good,” Steve replied, gritting his teeth. “Now, excuse me for my actions and language.” He smoothed a hand over his forehead, and sucked in a slow breath.
“Tony fucking Stark,” he began, smoothly removing the ring from an inner pocket in his uniform. “You get yourself hurt too many fucking times for me to still be this mad at you, but you're still adorably concussed, so I am totally going to take advantage of your state to-” He paused, and considered. “Fuck it,” he decided, grabbing Tony’s hand and shoving the ring onto his finger.
“There,” he said, finality etched into his voice. “We are engaged.”
Tony beamed at him, and then at his finger.
“Steve.” He frowned at the ring.
“I was supposed to propose to you,” he says, dumbly. He prodded him with his ring finger, and grinned again.
“Tony,” Steve began. He sighed. “Too bad.” Steve cleared a space on the bed for himself, crawling into the space next to Tony and lied down, stubbornly. “Too Bad with a capital B.”
Tony was still staring at his finger. He looked up at Hulk, and then giggled.
Hulk peered over from the teacup he was holding delicately in his hand. He grunted his confusion.
Tony grinned wider at him. “I am engaged!” He announced.
Coulson hid a smirk guiltily behind his file. Natasha gave him a Look, before her lip twitched. Involuntarily, she will insist.
Tony turned to look at them both, waving his ringed finger around. “Me! Engaged!”
The occupants of the room that were currently not suffering from concussions shared a heavy look together, whereby Clint cleared his throat.
“JARVIS,” he hissed. “Are you recording this?”
Steve’s head snapped up. Clint suddenly found great interest in the window.
Natasha sighed.
“So,” Coulson said loudly. “Debrief?”
Nick coughed. “Right. Congratulations. Now, for property damage…”
++
“I have a broken arm, not a broken leg, I don’t understand why I can’t walk back myself,” Tony grumbled, pulling uselessly at his ties.
“Because you will run,” Clint hummed happily.
“I will not run, how dare you suggest that I will resort to such cowardly resorts, I was going to go with flying, it’s so much more classier-“
Steve pulled at Tony’s restraints. “And that is why you are all bundled up.”
Tony pointed an accusatory finger at Steve. “You proposed to me while I was concussed.”
Steve had at least the conscience to look vaguely guilty. “I, put in a frankly very large sum of money, into the bet.”
Clint grinned. “Pay up, pay up, bitches.”
Bruce reluctantly handed over a teacup.
Clint grinned even wider.