#user: onlyangellgbt

[earliebirb]

I'm feeling very exhausted and sleepy and I thought what if someone wrote a small something about Steve being very exhausted after a mission and he basically face plants himself onto Tony who is at movie night with the team with full gear on and filthy from the fights, thank you already ❤

Hi there! I know you sent me this prompt forever ago and you must’ve thought that I forgot about it. I’m so sorry for only finishing the fic now, a century later. I hope you enjoy the fic anyway!

bring back my bonnie to me

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1611 words 

It is halfway through Alien—Clint’s choice—when a heavy weight falls onto Tony’s back and the bowl of popcorn in his lap nearly goes flying. He freezes for a few seconds before registering the soft tufts of blond hair tickling his cheek. Tony didn’t even hear him approach. Perhaps he had been more immersed in the movie than he previously thought. 

“Hey there, sweetheart. I thought you weren’t going to be home until next week.”

Steve gives a noncommittal hum that does absolutely nothing to explain his unexpected arrival, pressing his face into the side of Tony’s neck. His arms loop around Tony’s shoulders from where he is standing behind the couch, body hunched forward with his chest resting against Tony’s back as if he couldn’t be bothered to stand upright. 

Fresh off his latest mission, Steve is still clad in his uniform, sans cowl. The two-week-turned-one-week-mission is the reason they have pushed back Toy Story to the following week—the man has made it clear that he has been dying to watch the animated movie ever since Tony first showed him a snippet of it on his phone. Technically, this week is Steve’s turn to pick a movie, but he isn’t supposed to be home for a few more days. 

Not that Tony is complaining, of course. Tony is definitely not complaining. The shorter Steve’s missions are, the sooner he comes back home to Tony, allowing him to ascertain with his own two eyes that his boyfriend is safe and sound. 

The team lets out soft murmurs of greetings upon seeing Steve, but for the most part their eyes remain glued to the movie playing on the TV screen. 

Tony has seen this particular movie more times than what is probably healthy, so he focuses on Steve instead, reaching up to ruffle Steve’s hair and smiling at the pleased groan he lets out. Besides, if he is being completely honest, no movie is going to be interesting enough to fully pull his attention off of his boyfriend.

A flake of popcorn hits Tony’s cheek.

“Keep it PG-13 or get a room, lovebirds,” Clint says. Tony turns towards him to express his indignation, but Clint’s eyes are still focused on the screen. Tony doesn’t think he will ever stop being creeped out by the eerie accuracy of his aim.

“You want to join us?” Tony asks, fingers still scratching Steve’s scalp lightly.

Steve shakes his head.

“You want to go to bed?”

“I’ll just sleep here,” Steve mumbles tiredly.

“You can’t sleep here, sweetheart.” Tony chuckles, patting one of the arms Steve has around his shoulders. The material of the uniform feels rough against the skin of his palm. With his current position, the edge of the couch must be digging into Steve’s stomach in an unpleasant way. “Let’s get you cleaned up and head straight to bed.”

“Here’s fine. Don’t need a bed.” Steve’s words are muffled against Tony’s shirt, speech becoming increasingly incoherent. “Just need you.”

Tony huffs, a fond smile on his lips. Another flake of popcorn hits him, bouncing off his stomach and landing on his thigh. This time, Tony doesn’t even bother gracing Clint with a glance.

“No can do, Sir.” Tony squeezes Steve’s wrist decisively. “Come on, up you go. Up, soldier.”

Steve lets out a displeased sigh, but eventually he straightens up groggily. Tony stands up and rounds the couch to actually get a good look at him. 

Steve’s face is grimed with dirt. There is a cut on his right cheek that Tony knows is going to heal completely come morning. 

He reaches up anyway, cupping Steve’s cheek and tracing the line of the wound with the side of his thumb. Steve blinks down at him, slow and languid. He is already struggling to keep his eyes open, eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

“Just a cut,” Steve whispers, leaning into Tony’s touch. When Tony’s worried frown stays in place, Steve turns and plants a soft kiss in the center of his palm.

Taking Steve’s hand, Tony turns to address the rest of the room. “Sorry folks, looks like you’re going to have to finish the movie without us.”

After exchanging their good night’s with the team, Tony leads Steve up to the penthouse. 

Steve tries to make for the bed the second they enter the bedroom, but Tony redirects his path swiftly to the en-suite bathroom, much to his disappointment. Steve proceeds to make his disapproval clear in the form of a frown and a pair of grumpy eyebrows creasing together.

“You’re filthy, baby.” Chuckling in amusement, Tony squishes Steve’s cheeks together with one hand. Steve whines petulantly. “You have germs, mister. Germs. Do you want me to die of germs?”

Steve glowers at Tony. Tony grins up at him. With the hand still squishing Steve’s cheeks, he moves Steve’s head from side to side. 

“No, Tony. I don’t want you to die of germs, because I love you,” Tony says, his voice an octave lower than usual. It’s a hilariously poor attempt at mimicking Steve’s voice, but it’s worth it for the way Steve’s eyes wane into happy crescents, for the way his lips twitch with the effort of holding back a smile.

“Come on, darling. All you need to do is just stand there. I’ll do all the work, okay?”

Eventually, Steve succumbs to his wiles. Tony strips Steve out of his many layers of combat uniform before undressing himself. Together, they step into the wide space of Tony’s glass shower stall, which houses a multi-jet shower system with a total of eight body sprays in addition to the rainfall showerhead that is mounted on the ceiling. Tony makes sure the water is at a sufficiently warm temperature—warm enough to become hot after a while, because Steve likes it that way—and sets the body sprays’ water pressure to a pulsating massage.

When the water hits his skin, Steve groans audibly. Tony runs his hands soothingly up and down Steve’s sides.

Doing exactly what he promised, he lets Steve stand still while he lathers soap all over Steve’s body, mentally cataloguing all the bruises and cuts he manages to find. He also works shampoo into Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp with the gentle press of his fingers. 

He turns the water back on afterwards, letting the soap suds disintegrate. Even after their bodies are rinsed clean of soap and grime, they continue to stand there in the middle of the shower stall, indulging in the pleasant pressure of warm water against sore muscles. Tony rests his forehead on Steve’s sternum, arms holding him close. 

After a while, when their fingers have become wrinkled prunes, Tony reaches over and shuts the water off. The bathroom is thrown into abrupt silence. It is broken only by the sound of water circling down the drain and the sound of their breathing, which echoes in the enclosed space.

He plants his chin on Steve’s chest and looks up at him. Steve’s eyes are still closed. He looks unfairly breathtaking even when soaking wet, water droplets hanging precariously from the tips of his eyelashes. 

Tony lets the hands he has on Steve’s waist slide up to his shoulders, thumbs caressing the jut of Steve’s collarbones. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Slowly, Steve’s eyelids flutter open. His eyes hold Tony’s gaze for a long moment before dropping down to his lips. Tony’s eyes track the bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“What?” Tony whispers, meeting his eyes again. Steve’s arms are warm around him, pulling him closer as if they weren’t already pressed skin to skin.

One of the corners of Steve’s mouth hitches up in a lopsided smile that Tony has grown incredibly fond of. Amazement swims in his baby blues.

“Just wondering where I’d be without you.”

Tony hums with his eyes turned to the ceiling, pretending to ponder the answer. 

“Slumped over the back of a couch, probably. Asleep. Sweaty, bloody, and filthy.”

Steve laughs softly, not bothering to disagree. He leans down to capture Tony’s mouth in a kiss, ardent and saccharine sweet, his lips caressing Tony’s in a way that makes it abundantly clear just how much Steve has missed him. 

Eventually, Tony pulls back for air. He cradles Steve’s face in his hands, staring straight into his eyes. 

“Thank you for coming home safely,” he whispers, solemn with sincere gratitude.

At that, Steve’s eyes soften. “I missed you. So much.” 

Steve reaches for the ball chain hanging from Tony’s neck, twisting it around his fingers. He has an endearing habit of touching the chain of the dog tags Tony never takes off—the feel of it against his fingers a reassuring reminder of where Tony’s affections lie. He has always taken pleasure in the sight of Tony wearing something that belongs to him, whether it’s his dog tags or one of his shirts.

Tony seems to have also cultivated the same habit. On nights where he misses Steve like a lost limb and the man is somewhere out of reach, touching the dog tags brings him a ridiculous amount of comfort. 

It makes him wonder if that is what it would feel like to wear a ring from Steve—if Tony would be able to fool him enough to actually make him do something as insane as marrying Tony. 

“Right back at you, mister.” If Steve notices the way Tony’s voice has gone thick with emotion, he doesn’t comment on it. Tony pats his cheeks lightly. “Come on, let’s dry up and go to bed.”

When Steve releases the chain, the dog tags clang against the edge of the arc reactor.

“After you, sweetheart.”