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carsonian · 1 year

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12. things you said when you thought I was asleep for stevetony prompts 🥰

Jennnn I'm so sorry this ended up a billion words longer than you probably wanted it but I hope you still like it??? Thank you so much for the brill prompt xx

Be Their Own Star Witness on AO3 | 9,021 words | Rated M

“You shouldn’t have eaten that last fucking donut.” Tony whispered in a menacing tone, and Steve did his best not to erupt into laughter right there and then.

Two months into wedding preparations, they’d made a pact to not have any arguments with each other. They’d seen too many couples ruin their relationship by making opposing stances on filigree known, or well, Steve had read about too many couples ruining their relationship over wedding preparations when he’d been browsing pros and cons of different wedding venues on Reddit.

(Beaches were apparently hell on suits. Tony had made a very pouty face over not getting to use the beach near his house in Dubai, but he’d conceded when Steve painted a very pretty picture of what champagne and sand would look like together.)

The pact was almost instantly difficult. They were both very opinionated people by nature, and, as their friend group could easily and maybe too eagerly attest, one of their primary love languages was bickering. Old married couple bickering. For God’s sake, they’d gotten engaged because Tony’s brain had picked up on Natasha calling them an “old married couple” one too many times, and while the man still refused point-black to the first part—

(“—We’re thirty-four, Nat,” Tony sniffed, “That’s not ol—”

“I’m thirty-one.” Steve pointed out.

“Oh, yeah?” Tony turned away from Natasha to sneer at him, “What’re you doing out of the cradle then, you big baby?”

“Exploring the great unknown,” Steve shot back, “How’d you dig your way out of the grave, old man?”

“Like a worm. The fastest, wriggliest worm you ever did see. . .speaking of. . .”)

—well, case in point.

(Yes, Steve would still love Tony if he were a worm.)

Anyway, it had taken about six days before Tony started confessing his daily grievances to Steve at night, when he figured Steve was asleep. To his credit, Steve had been mostly asleep the first two times he’d heard Tony going off, having assumed that Tony was just talking to himself as he was wont to do. But then, he’d caught the word “peonies” and realised Tony was recanting his earlier affirmation and saying that he in fact did not like white peonies and thought it was rather bland of Steve to even consider it.

A few days later, Steve had casually suggested to their wedding planner, a stern old woman by the name of Mrs. Arbogast, to look for more unorthodox flowers. When she’d shown up to their next meeting with a protea pin, Tony had perked right up while being none-the-wiser to Steve cataloguing his perkiness.

Steve had swiftly realised that this new pillow talk may actually work in their favour and began staying up long enough to hear Tony complain about whatever they’d signed off or done that day. While the original pact had been to just not argue about the wedding preparations, it felt like they rarely argued about anything deeply these days; so much of their life was work, and then wedding prep, work and occasionally sex, and then wedding prep again. So, it was nice to get his own fix of Tony at a time when it felt like they didn’t ever get a minute to talk about nothing, and doubly nice because Steve could make Tony happier without the man needing to ask for it.

He had his limits, sure—he refused, on his fucking doctorate, he refused to have the wedding cake be a life-size recreation of them—and not just because it would be a hell of a lot of fondant but because it was fucking tacky, Tony. Jesus.

Most of the time though, the things Tony was holding back on weren’t hard concessions at all. Like flowers. Like not wanting to invite anyone from the board. Like wanting both Rhodey and Bucky to get a best man speech.

And then, there were other times when Steve would be waiting solemnly for Tony’s opinion on DUM-E doing the ring-bearing and instead he’d just get—

“I mean, you know I’m fucking watching my weight because unlike you, I don’t have the time or inclination to work out two hours a day.” Tony continued, “And yet! And yet you flaunted that donut with rainbow sprinkles in front of me, you goddamn bitch. What happened to pride month? What happened to “together”, huh? What happened to “Tony, I’ll support you no matter what,”? That was the opposite of supportive, that was—you are on thin fucking icing, babe. Thin fucking icing.”

Steve could not have been happier about having his back to Tony. As discreetly as he could, he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, fervently trying to keep his laughter in.

A moment later, he heard Tony sigh and shift in bed. When he spoke up again, it was quieter, more sincere.

“I better get a donut at my wedding. Just sayin’.”

Oh—now, that. That Steve could arrange.

“Hi,” Steve greeted as he walked in, whipping off his tie with one hand, “I’m so sorry I’m late. Just give me five minutes to change?”

“Yeah, no rush.” Tony was at the kitchenette, tapping away on his laptop, “Mrs. Arbogast had a doctor’s appointment so she’s running late as well.”

“Oh, bliss.” Steve dropped his keys off in the fruit bowl and made his way over to the kitchen to drop a kiss on Tony’s temple, “All good?”

“Mm-hmm.” Tony flitted a distracted look at him, “You best change quick though.”

“Reckon I can get a shower in?” Steve asked.

“Mmm.” Tony made a contemplative noise, bringing a hand up to rub at the corner of his mouth. It brought to light the golden ring sitting snug on his finger. The novelty of the sight still made something proud hum in Steve, and he fell to the urge of bringing that hand to his own lips, kissing it lightly.

He felt Tony’s eyes track the movement and when he looked up at him, Tony was giving him a smile filled with content warmth.

“Go ahead.” Tony said, “Your showers are a five-minute affair, anyway.”

“Yeah, when I don’t have you distracting me.” Steve said.

“Oh, puh-lease.” Tony said, voice still an ooey-gooey traitor of his affection, “I didn’t hear you complaining about it last—what was it, Wednesday?”

“Baby,” Steve huffed in amusement, “I ain’t complaining now, either.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed a little as he retracked the conversation, “Huh, true.”

“I’ll be down in eight-ish.” Steve said, squeezing Tony’s enclosed palm one last time before straightening.

“Want me to heat up a quesadilla for you?” Tony asked.

“Fuck,” Steve pointed a finger at him, “I’m a fucking genius for marrying you.”

He carried Tony’s laugh with him up the stairs.

“Wedding invites.”

“Oh no,” Tony teased, “Shit’s getting serious. Last chance to back out.”

It had been Tony’s go-to joke since they’d started planning the wedding and Steve’s mouth twisted in a half-smile as he rallied with his go-to response:

“Not a chance.”

“Language, Anthony.” Mrs. Arbogast admonished lightly, and they both straightened as they turned to her.

“Sorry, Mrs. Arbogast.” Tony said, and Steve held back his own cheeky smile. He still wasn’t sure why Tony had insisted on employing the same wedding planner that had organised Howard and Maria’s wedding but then again, it had seemed to make Maria very happy so maybe he did know. Tony was a real mama’s boy.

“I was thinking of something elegant, understated.” Mrs. Arbogast pulled out a few templates, “See, here? But . . .” And at that point, the grey-haired titan gave Tony a narrow look, “I know Anthony and his preferences, so I put together some bolder choices,” She pulled out some more templates before adding, “And as for you, Steve, what do you think—of this?” She put forth some stencils.

Steve turned to Tony, “Whaddya think?”

“I like the red, and the gold,” Tony said, flicking through the samples, “But that’s—what do you like?”

“Red and gold is nice.” Steve said.

“But red and gold is—” Tony gestured meaningfully, “It’s more me than you. What colour scheme do you like?”

“Uh—blue is nice.”

“Of course, blue is nice.” Tony said, “But which of these—here, have a look at these shades. Which do you like?”

Steve sucked his bottom lip in as he looked the options over, “Uh…”

“You’re thinking of something else.” Tony said abruptly, “What are you thinking of?”

“How—” Steve’s frown melted quickly under Tony’s blunt scrutiny, “Okay, yeah, I am.”

“And?” Tony prompted.

“Illustration.” Steve cleared his throat, “One I did of you, from when we first got together.”

“But that’s just of me—oh, would you do yourself too?” Tony asked.

“Uh. Well, I was thinking you would do one of me.” Steve suggested.

“But I’m terrible at drawing.” Tony said, “It’ll look sh—um, bad.”

“It could be a technical drawing, not a sketch. Like what you do for those prosthetic blueprints.” Steve said, “And you’re not bad at drawing.”

“Um.” Tony frowned, “Okay, I’ll give it a go.”

“Just try. It doesn’t have to be what we go with, but. . .” Steve shrugged, “I think it could be memorable.”

“Yeah.” Tony smiled, a touch awkward, “That it would be.”

Steve had just sent out an email to his TA cohort when Tony sat down at the other end of the couch, folding his feet under his thighs. Once seated, Tony let out a long-winded groan and plopped his head down on Steve’s calves.

Steve lowered his laptop screen to give the man a look of bemusement. When Tony didn’t look up, he leaned forward to pat the brunet’s head..

“What’s up?”

At his prompting, Tony raised his head and shuffled closer. Steve deposited his laptop on the coffee table and stretched his arms out. His ever-mature fiancé fell into his arms with a huffy exhale. Steve let out an “oof” when Tony hit his chest, but a low chuckle hummed in his chest as Tony proclaimed, “Art is a mean sport.”

“That well, huh?” Steve murmured.

Tony’s arms wrapped around his torso, head turning so that his ear sat against Steve’s chest.

“You’ve got a Grecian face,” Tony mumbled into his shirt, “And I’ve made it look like Greek salad dressing.”

“Now that I’d like to see.” Steve said, stroking a hand down Tony’s hair and over his upper back.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tony grouses, “Because I know your sketch has an insane amount of detail, and whenever I see it, I feel so gorgeous, but my sketch will probably do a number on your self-esteem.” Tony lifted his head, “But it’s not because I don’t find you hot, I mean, duh, you know that, but I just don’t have your skill in—oh my god, would you stop laughing?”

Steve laughed harder when Tony’s hands came up to rub at his cheeks, turning his head this way and that in mock affront.

“You’re gonna kill me before the wedding.” Tony complained, “This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it?”

“No, Tony—” Steve grabbed onto Tony’s wrists to pull them off his cheeks, still laughing, “No, I ain’t. Come on, baby, lemme talk.”

“Oh, what—you’re going to say, I’m sure it’s not that bad and honey, even if it is, I’ll still love it because it’s you.” Tony imitated his cadence before making a disgusted noise, “Well, blegh. We’re not doing that.”

“Why not? I like doing that.” Steve said.

“This is our wedding.” Tony said, “And these are our wedding invites. This is where we set the tone, and if we go with my drawing, we’ll basically be saying, hey everybody, the circus is in town. And people will come to the town square in impossibly small clown cars. Do you want that, Steve? Do you want squirting flowers and impossibly long handkerchiefs?”

“Okay, okay, how’s about this—” Steve brings his own hands to Tony’s cheeks in a mirror of what the man had done to him earlier, “I do the drawings and you do the stencil, the design.”

The tension in Tony’s face buffered as he considered Steve’s idea, and then finally, he nodded, “That could work, actually.” He turned his gaze back to Steve’s eyes with a stern gleam in them, “But you’ve gotta do a proper drawing of yourself, alright? None of that wishy-washy sketching you do when it comes to self-portraits.

“I’ll submit it for peer review. How’s that sound?” Steve asked.

Tony laughed shortly at that before thwapping his head down onto Steve’s chest with a relieved sigh. “You are the perfect man.”

“That’s funny,” Steve mumbled into Tony’s hair, “I thought that was you.”

Steve and Bucky were at the gym, getting a workout in before their group’s bi-weekly brunch.

The brunch thing was a tradition from days gone: their little group used to meet for a cheap meal at Stan’s diner every Friday back in college. That felt like years ago, mostly because it was years ago. Steve and Tony had still been just friends when it had kicked off; the former working through his master’s in art history and the latter in his final year of his seventh PhD.

It had begun as a kooky quartet: just Nat and Bucky along with the two of them, and then for a spring, Peggy, before she’d moved back to Hampstead. People came and went as they grew through different friendships. Tony had brought over Bruce, and Steve had brought over Sam (much to Bucky’s longstanding chagrin), and Natasha had brought over Clint (much to everyone’s longstanding chagrin). Thor and Loki had been an amusing duo but after Loki and Clint had an impossibly convoluted fight, the two brothers had broken off from the group, and only kept sporadic contact with them now that they were back in Norway.

There had been a few months when Rhodey had been in town, and those had been Tony’s most exuberant. The lunches had been the source of true amusement; for most of ‘em, hearing the sheer number of ridiculous stories from the two’s adventures in undergrad, before Rhodey had joined the army and Tony had started on his first PhD, and for Bucky and Natasha, the private amusement of bearing witness to Steve’s boiling jealousy.

The weekly lunches had become brunches as they grew older and into occupations, and then became a monthly occurrence, usually at Steve and Bucky’s old apartment. Finally, when Steve and Tony got their shit together and subsequently their dicks together, they’d started having brunches every second Friday in a private, lavish restaurant in Stark Tower. While all of them had decently pressing jobs, no one’s was as subject to whim as Tony’s, and with his increasing visibility in the public eye, it made most sense to congregate at a location that suited him.

This year’s schedule was such that Steve’s classes and Bucky’s shifts worked out to give them an extra two hours before brunch time. So, like the gym rats they were, they went and worked out.

“C’mon, that all you got?” Bucky taunted; hands braced a few inches above the bar. Steve puffed a breath out and heaved up the bar. He’d finished the set two reps prior, but Bucky was doing a good job of amping up his nerves. He did two more straining reps and then huffed out a panting, “Okay.”

Bucky took the bar readily and slotted it back on the rack. “Alright, get your sweaty ass off the bench.”

“Agh.” Steve straightened and got off, watching as Bucky thoroughly wiped his bench before getting on it. He knew the man was doing it more as a gag to try and get under Steve’s skin rather than out of actual concern for hygiene.

“Mature.” Steve said as Bucky tossed the gym towel at him with an expression of severe disgust.

“Pay attention, loose hands.” Bucky said as he lined his hands up against the bar, “Unlike you, I’m actually lifting heavy.”

“You’re so full of gas, it’s a miracle this place ain’t blown up.” Steve huffed, bracing his hands above the bar as Bucky started his reps.

“One, two, three, four,” Steve coughed, “Four, wrist, Buck—”

“Shuddup.” Bucky panted.

“Four, four, wrist, Buck.” Steve said, “You have tendonitis, dipshit, fix your technique. I’m not counting it until you do.”

A few moments, and then Steve amended, “Five, six, seven, eight. One more, come on. Alright, now get to ten. You got it, there you go.”

Bucky put the bar back into its slot with an audible clang before sitting up, “I fuggin’ hate you.” He accused Steve before getting up.

“I’ll make Sam my best man,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “Naw, go on, test me.”

“Yeah, yeah, like he could write a better speech than me. I got the keys to your childhood, punk.” Bucky said, “Get on the bench.”

Steve settled back on the bench, taking a minute to align his hands properly. It was his personal quirk; he liked settling his fingers as equidistant as he could get them on the bar and didn’t mind taking time to ensure it.

“You’re so slow.” Bucky complained, “Are y’like this in bed too?”

“Why the fuck would you even care?” Steve asked, “Weirdo.”

“Just feeling bad for Tony.” Bucky said, “And, uh, speaking of Tony…”

“Oh, cute, here we go.” Steve lifted the bar, brought it down, “Whaddya want?”

“Why’re the two of you being so fuckin’ subservient?” Bucky asked, “When I came over on Tuesday, Tones didn’t say anything about us co-opting the living room for baseball, and he usually throws a hissy fit just on principle. But he just gave you a smooch and went back to his room.”

“Have you considered that he loves me?” Steve finished his last rep, slotting the bar back in place before looking up at Bucky.

Bucky blew a raspberry, “Aw, no way. I thought the marriage was just to get that Stark bounty.”

“Stop, he’s sensitive about that.” Steve warned, getting up.

“Alright, alright, but seriously—what’s up?” Bucky asked, “Is this the pre-honeymoon?”

“We made a no arguments pact.” Steve explained, “Until the wedding.”

“A no arguments pact?” Bucky frowned, “How the hell are you two keeping to it?”

“Um, maybe because we love each other?”

“Yeah, and you express that love with a decent side dish of public arguments.” Bucky said, setting back on the bench, not bothering with the towel this time, “How’re you coping?"

“Well.” Steve waited until Bucky was near the end of his reps and mid-lift, keeping his hands braced to spot, “The sex is going to be great.”

Bucky slotted the bar back before giving him a deadpan look.

“What?” Steve put on a look of ingenue innocence, “You asked.”

“And I am repenting.” Bucky sighed, “Let’s do our stretches and get outta here.”

“We haven’t done legs.” Steve pointed out.

“It’s arms day.” Bucky retorted.

Steve crossed his arms, “Tony likes my quads.”

“Tony likes my quads.” Bucky imitated in a high-pitched tone, “Gawd, you have it bad.”

“Yeah, and who spent an hour working out his core before meeting Natasha?” Steve threw out.

“That was eleven years ago, fuckhead.” Bucky tugged his hair tie off and gathered his sweaty strands together to retie it, “Can we move on already?”

“Yep,” Steve snapped his fingers, “Come on then, leg press time.”

“Fuckin’ Tony.” Bucky grumbled, picking his towel up from the floor.

“That’s the plan, yeah.”

Steve wasn’t really surprised when Bucky threw in the towel—not even when it ended up thrown on his own face.

“See, my question is—thanks honey—my question is, when the fuck did we start wearing flower crowns in weddings?” Tony complained, “Is this a queer thing I totally missed out on or is Jan just punking me?”

Natasha wrinkled her nose, “Nuh-uh. No flower crowns.”

“Thank you!” Tony said emphatically.

“I think we’d look cute with flower crowns.” Steve said, just to mess with Tony.

“No!” Tony took a sip of his lemonade, wincing before amending, “No thank you, I mean.”

“A circle of…” Steve’s lips twitched, “White peonies along your head,” He stroked a line against Tony’s temple, “Real pretty.”

“I see you for what you are.” Tony poked a finger against Steve’s chest, “Menace.”

Still, it was obvious in the sudden line of relief in Tony’s shoulders that he had genuinely believed that Steve wanted flower crowns for their wedding. Steve pressed a conciliatory kiss against his shoulder before admitting, “It would be tacky.”

“So tacky.” Tony shuddered.

“Did Jan give you a final look of the suits?” Natasha pressed, twirling her fork into her pasta. Sitting next to her, Bucky uttered a drawn-out groan.

“If I have to look at lapels again, I will actually walk out.”

“Should we be so lucky!” Tony gasped, putting his hands together in an exaggerated hand-clap.

Bucky leaned back in his chair as he levelled a middle finger at Tony, and Steve’s soon-to-be husband returned his pseudo-brother’s mature gesture with a very mature one of his own; he stuck out his tongue at him.

“Jan sent us the designs, yes.” Steve answered in Tony’s stead, “I okay’d them but then Tony said he needed approval from the redheads in his life.”

“And mom.” Tony added.

“And Maria, yes.” Steve said, “Hands up, everyone who thinks Maria okay’d it.”

Natasha and Bucky’s arms stayed tellingly on the table.

“She still thinks Steve should wear the white tux.” Tony said, “And that I should wear a—” Here, Tony propped his fingers up to do quotation marks, “—A pillowing, charcoal-grey, semi-transparent veil beaded with Swarovski crystals.”

“Now that I agree with.” Steve said to Tony, “Oh, c’mon, you’d look so pretty.”

“Can you imagine Howard’s reaction?” Tony asked, rolling his eyes, “He’s still calling our wedding the BFG wedding.”

“Big fat Greek wedding?” Natasha asked.

“Big fat gay wedding.” Tony corrected.

Bucky visibly choked on his drink, some of the lemonade spilling over onto the table. Natasha handed him a napkin before replying, “Well, that’s a B for creativity.”

“If we’re going to account for Howard’s taste in our wedding, then we should go ahead and tick off inflatable dildos from the gift registry.” Steve teased.

“Wh—” Bucky started.

“He’s joking.” Tony rolled his eyes, “Though calling that a joke is testing the limits of honest comedy.”

“Honest comedy like the video loops of robots falling that you cackle over?” Steve checked.

“Yes.” Tony gave Steve a haughty look before turning his head back front to face Natasha, “Besides, it’s not about the veil so much as it is about the fact that I just know that every time I glance over at him during the wedding, he’ll be giving me a stink eye.”

“I mean—if you’re gonna stink, be the biggest stink you can be.” Bucky said through a mouthful of lasagna.

Steve raised his fork at Bucky, “Hear, hear.”

“Uh—” Tony turned to face him, mouth set in a straight line, “Can we drop this?”

“. . .Sure.” Steve agreed after a beat.

“Okay, what?” Natasha looked between them before turning to Bucky, “Did they drop the argument, just like that?”

“They’re doing some tantric sex foreplay.” Bucky explained to her, patting her arm in consolation.

“What the f—” Tony started.

“—Tantric sex?” Steve completed.

“Oh, great, because they can’t go off on each other, they’re gonna gang up on me.” Bucky said.

“Poor baby.” Natasha mock pouted.

“You’re on thin fucking ice.” Steve said to Bucky.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky spread his hands out in a soft imitation of jazz hands, “Global warming and whatnot. It’s all thin ice moving forward.”

“. . .Steve.” Tony prompted when Steve didn’t say anything back to Bucky.

“Well, that was a good one.” Steve admitted.

Tony sunk his head into hands, making a deflating balloon noise into his fingers.

“We broke him.” Bucky announced solemnly.

When Tony didn’t raise his head, Steve frowned and put an arm around the man, “Hey, let’s go to the bathroom.”

“Ugh.” Tony pronounced, “Nah, I’m going back up to the office.”

“Y’okay Starky boy?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Tony said, shaking his hair out of his eyes, “I’m just more wired than I thought.”

“It’s ‘cause you guys aren’t fight—” Bucky raised his hands in surrender when all three of them shot him a threatening stare, “Alright, alright, I’m the asshole.”

“Nah, you’re not.” Tony got up, “Hey, get some dessert on me.” He put his card down, “Since I’m still on that stupid diet.”

“Which you don’t have to be on.” Steve pointed out.

Tony rolled his eyes at him and picked up his phone and suit jacket from the table. Then, with a kiss to Natasha’s cheek and a slap to Bucky’s hand, he walked off. Steve gave his goodbyes to the two of them before rushing after Tony.

He only caught up to the speedwalking escapee when he’d reached the private elevator.

“Penthouse?” Steve asked, “. . .Hey, what’s up?”

“Don’t you have a class in like, two hours?” Tony said, eyes on the lift button.

“Yeah.” Steve got into the lift with him, “Tony, what’s—”

Tony rolled his eyes. Again.

“You are wired today.” Steve grabbed onto Tony’s arms and dragged him close, “Come on, Tony, what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“I’m annoyed and trying very hard to not lash out more than I already have.” Tony explained in a dull voice. Still, he didn’t try and escape from Steve’s hold, resting his forehead against Steve’s collarbones.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve said, chin resting atop Tony’s head, “I’d rather you screamed at me than held back like this.”

Tony sighed, lifting his head up, finally meeting Steve’s gaze with a soft lost look in his eyes.

“Do we really fight that much?” Tony asked.

“It got to you, huh.” Steve ran a hand through Tony’s hair. It was gelled and slicked back, and his fingers came off the hair with a tacky feel to them. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Tony’s head anyway.

The lift beeped softly as they arrived at the penthouse, and Tony broke from his arms to walk out through the doors.

“Every one of our friends has commented on the fact that we haven’t been arguing,” Tony called out, “And then expressed shock that we’ve been able to hold ourselves to it.” He plopped down on the living room couch. He wouldn’t lie down while in the suit; Tony got fussy about wrinkles when he had to be at SI. After a measured inhale, Steve went over to sit down next to him.

“Makes you think, I guess.” Tony finished on a sigh.

“Nah.” Steve denied, “They don’t mean it like that.”

Tony turned to him with a defiant look but before he could rebut, Steve added, “And even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because guess what?”

“. . .What?”

“It’s our relationship. You and me. We know that our arguing doesn’t make us a bad couple, that even if we cross the line, we know how to walk back. We’ve done the work, remember?”

“I guess.” Tony said, leaning over to rest his head against the crook of Steve’s neck.

“And hey,” Steve turned his head to press another kiss against Tony’s head, “Guess what?”

“This is a lot more guessing than I’m comfortable with.”

“The sex is going to be phenomenal.” Steve whispered.

A sputtering laugh left Tony’s lips, appearing to startle the man himself as he put a hand over his mouth.

“Aw god.” Tony said, laughter still rounding the words, “You’re right about that.”

Steve was waiting on it, but it was still hard to keep his body deliberately untensed as Tony crawled onto his front later that night, pressing his nose into Steve’s neck.

“Let’s just not fight.” Tony suggested quietly, “After we get married.”

Then, with a rueful sigh, “Though, if we’ve gotta fight, there’s no one else I’d rather fight than you.”

And then, thoughtfully to himself, “Maybe I should wear that veil.”

“Two hours, Tony.” Steve said into the phone, trying to bite back his frustration, “I asked you if you could make it with the board meeting today, and you said, absolutely, and this is the last catering check, Tony, we only get three of those and it’s not—”

“D’you still want me to come?” Tony interrupted, voice tight with tension, “‘Cause you can yell at me later but I’ve got about a hundred meters before the intersection.”

The words ran like a bucket of cold water over him. Steve ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his head as he did so.

“No, I’ll meet you at home.” Steve said.

“Fine.” Tony clicked off almost instantly.

It was only after Steve made his goodbyes to the catering manager and Mrs. Arbogast, packed up the food, and got into his car that his frustration substituted for remorse.

He whistled a low breath out and put his head against the steering wheel.

“Shouldn’t have yelled.” Steve admonished himself.

He knew better. Eight years of dating—goddamnit, he knew better. When he got upset, it was better to step away from Tony. Burn that energy off somewhere else. Tony could be biting and mean too, and their rows—the proper rows, anyway—were rough creatures. But there were also times, when Tony would shelve off the part of him that hurt and go blank. And Steve knew what it looked like, knew that Tony would be tight-lipped—and yet, he’d still—

“Fuck.” Steve groaned.

When he got home, Tony was already in bed. Propped against the headboard, he was reading the book that Pepper had recommended to him. The reading glasses that had been prescribed to him after his last visit to the optometrist were set on his face, and they concealed a little of the bright brown Steve was accustomed to.

“Hi.” Steve offered.

“Hi.” Tony returned, gaze lifting to meet his for a moment.

Steve breathed in, out, and then extended the olive branch. “I shouldn’t have yelled.” He said softly.

“I shouldn’t have been late.” Tony replied readily. His finger tapped against the cover of the book as he added on, like it had been torn from him, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, I’m sorry.” Steve said, walking to Tony’s side of the bed and sitting down next to the man. “I know it must’ve been out of your control.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Tony said. It was familiar, a line they’d learned when they’d gone through couples counselling, two years into their relationship. They’d had a disagreement that had blown out into what their friends now teasingly referred to as “the civil war”. Putting themselves back together had required a lot of work.

It had fortified them, but, and Steve remembered their therapist’s voice even now as she’d said, we all hurt the ones we love. Even when we have the best intentions. It’s what we do after that defines who we are.

Steve had taken it to heart then, and he brought it out now.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” Steve admitted. “I know better than that.”

Tony put the book flat on his lap, giving him a conciliatory smile, “It’s alright.”

“I got most of the samples from the caterer.” Steve offered, “I could’ve pushed for another check, but the lady seemed like the kind to keep score and I didn’t wanna—”

“It’s alright.” Tony put the book away and got up, “Should we eat ‘em now?”

“Yes, please. Just—” Steve rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “Let me shower?”

Steve was lathering his arms when Tony pulled the shower curtain open, walking in.

“’Scuse me?” Steve said.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Tony said.

“By all means.” Steve rinsed his arms off before turning to kiss Tony.

“Shower-shower or sex-shower?” He whispered against Tony’s temple.

“How about, we wash each other and take it from there?” Tony suggested.

“Sex-shower, then.” Steve said.

Later, as they towelled dry, bathroom steamy as the vents worked overtime to make up for it, Steve considered their reflections in the bathroom mirror.

“What are you thinking?” Tony asked, hip-checking him gently as he pumped a handful of lotion into his hand.

“I like how we look together.” Steve said, “Just—I like how we fit.”

“Hmm.” Tony slapped Steve’s face lightly, smearing lotion across his cheek, “That’s good. No need for plastic surgery.”

“Ye-eup. That’s why I’m marrying you. No plastic surgery.”

“Oh, babe, I agree.” Tony rubbed the lotion in before turning back to consider their reflection in the mirror.

“Our love may not be perfect, but we are damn sexy.” The world’s foremost futurist proclaimed.

And Steve, his soon-to-be husband, was helpless to do anything but agree.

Later, after Steve had feigned sleep for about thirty minutes, he felt Tony slide close to him and impress a kiss against the nape of his neck. Then, after a moment, Tony’s forehead rested against it. Steve did his best to keep his body loose, unresponsive like someone asleep would be.

He waited for a few minutes for Tony to speak, to say something. He knew the man was still awake, could feel it in his irregular breathing. Part of him wanted to drop the ruse, to turn around and cover the man with his own breadth. Soothe the lines of lingering whatever. But he also knew Tony wouldn’t talk, had maybe already dug a shallow enough grave for this blip.

Tony was very good at the retrospective water-down: convincing himself that things hadn’t actually hurt that much once the bleeding stemmed.

It was just as Steve was genuinely reaching the threshold of sleep, the time between each blink longer and longer, that Tony finally spoke up.

“We’re only three weeks away.” Tony whispered. “We signed off on the food today. The food we’ll have for our wedding. This is. . .real, isn’t it? All of this. I’m—”

“Can you believe it?” Tony continued, “That it’s happening?”

Steve had never wanted so badly to break free from this secret as he did now. He wanted to bring his arms up, pull this moment apart like cotton candy and hold Tony. Tell him, it’s happening. And I can’t believe it either. But I’m so happy.

He wasn’t sure what it was that kept him from doing so. And when Tony slipped off him with an exhale that lingered bone-deep, he stayed awake a while longer, thinking of the sunrise spread before them. Of their future. When Tony’s breaths turned to snores, he turned over and shuffled close to his soon-to-be husband—no, his fiancé. His fiancé. Because even if the future was a stone’s throw away, he was in no rush to meet it. He was happy, right now, right here, with his fiancé in his bed.

Steve fell asleep like that, nuzzling against the back of Tony’s neck and arm slung around his heart.

“You’re frizzing out.” Tony observed, tone surprised.

“I’m not frizzing out.” Steve denied outright, turning back to walk through the hotel’s bedroom and into the sitting room. The suits were ironed but he’d just had the thought to put the plastic cover back over them.

“Yes, you are.” Tony had followed him through the door, and the expression on his face was that of charisma at rest.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Steve said, straightening out the plastic sheet.

“Like what?”

“Like that.” Steve splayed his hand demonstratively at Tony’s face. “It’s the same expression you have when you’re sucking my dick and you know I’m close to coming, and you choose that—” He snapped the plastic cover to straighten it out, “—moment to pull off. Just t’keep me on edge.”

“Wow.” Tony crossed his arms, amusement strikingly obvious, “And here I thought I’d be the one to have cold feet.”

“I’m not having cold feet.” Steve said, putting the plastic cover on Tony’s suit. Both suits were beautiful but something about the clean white against Tony’s warm tone was fantastical. He couldn’t wait to see Tony in it. They’d agreed to do the first look on the morning of their wedding, though both had consulted each other on the design extensively enough. Since they’d signed off on Jan’s design, Steve had spent many a minute in the gym imagining the suit on Tony. He was looking forward to it. Amongst about a hundred other things. Steve looked over at Tony after carefully setting the suit down. “I’m having hot hands.”

“Hot. . .hands.” Tony echoed.

“I’m so excited, I dunno how I’m going to sleep.” Steve said, snapping the other plastic cover before sliding his own black suit into it.

Steve heard Tony’s footsteps as the man pattered over to him, and then felt the man’s arms around him just as he set his own suit down. Tony pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, their height difference meaning that it landed closer to the juncture between his jaw and neck.

“I have hot hands, too.” Tony said, “You know that, right?”

“I know.” Steve turned his own head to face Tony, foreheads meeting as he leaned in. He closed his eyes, just letting the moment seep between them. “We’re gonna get married.”

“We are.” Tony agreed, a short but overjoyed chuckle following the words, “Oh my god, we are.”

“I’m a little freaked out.” Steve leaned back to open his eyes. Tony’s eyes were radiant when they met his, but—and this was damn telling—absent of even a flicker of uncertainty. “I want to check on mom and dad, and I want to go wake Bucky up so we can grapple, and I want to have you—here, on the rug—but I also want to savour this evening for what it is, to wait it out, but I’m—I’m jumping outta my body.”

“I know, baby.” Tony said, “I feel the same.”

“So, what do we do?” Steve asked.

Tony wrinkled his nose as he deliberated before finally deciding, “Let’s do that.”

“All of that?” Steve checked.

“Well. Not the sex, though, because you’re super into delayed edging.” Tony rolled his eyes before adding, “And oh, we are not checking on my parents because Howard will be working and mom will probably start troubleshooting my hairstyle for tomorrow and if I see another Pinterest board in this fucking life, I will find a way to destroy the internet.”

“Can’t have that.” Steve said, before turning around, bringing Tony into his circle of arms.

“Let’s do that, then. Your parents, Bucky, Rhodey, and then sleeping together without sleeping together.” Tony said. “Our last night before the rest of our lives.”

“I like the sound of that.” Steve said.

“I like the sound of you.” Tony volleyed, and Steve leaned down to kiss him for it.

That night, they both fell asleep in each other’s arms, four hours before they were meant to get up. There were no late-night confessions this evening, no need for anything really but the silent symphony of the two of them at peace.

Steve opened the door and stepped back just so he could throw his hands in the air, “Really?”

His father and Tony looked up from their little hideout, a cheeseburger between them.

“Oh, come on, I just wanted one bite.” Tony whined, “I’ve been on a diet for three months!”

“Stevie, he just wanted one bite.” His father, ol’ Joey Rogers, said, “You’ve been starvin’ him for three months.”

“I’ve not been starving him, it was his choice, and besides—we have twenty minutes before we’re expected at the altar.” Steve got to the crux of it.

Tony startled, “No! What, really?” He latched onto Joe’s wrist, turning it over to check the time, “Oh, shit.”

“Only you’d be late to your own wedding.” Pepper added, coming up behind him. She had a clipboard in her hand, a black one she’d gotten from Mrs. Arbogast. She’d readily taken on the task of timekeeping and had come to Steve when she couldn’t find Tony in their suite.

“I’m not late. Not yet anyway.” Tony stood up, giving Joe a hand up before handing him his walking stick, “Okay, pa. Wedding first, cheeseburger later.”

“I’ll save you a bite.” Joe patted his hand reassuringly. “Hey, son, what’s the rush for? It’s not like I gotta walk you down the aisle.”

“You gotta get to your seat, dad.” Steve said, “Ma’s been looking all over for you.”

“Aw, jeez, whatever. Alright, let’s go.” Joe said, wrapping the burger back up and pocketing it.

“Anthony!” Maria rushed up, “Oh darling, I’ve got it.”

“Got what?” Steve asked.

“Surprise, don’t listen.” Tony warned.

Steve raised his eyebrows but turned away, moving off to the front seats with his dad.

His mom was already seated, a flute of champagne in her head.

“You’re drinking, ma?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Oh no, darling,” Sarah Rogers shook her head, looking like summer incarnate in her sunflower yellow gown, “Maria just handed this off to me because she had to get—oh, I’m not supposed to say.”

“I’ll take that, then.” Joe said, taking the glass and downing it.

“Oh, Joey.” Sarah tilted her head, “What if she wanted that back?”

“There’s no shortage of ‘em.” Joe defended himself.

“You want another one?” Steve turned to see Howard coming up, two glasses of scotch in hand.

“Uh, sure thing, Howard.” Joe said. None of them mentioned that Joe hated scotch.

“It looks bad if there’s only one dad drinking but both of them?” Howard laughed, already a little tipsy, “That’s a partnership.”

“Cheers to that.” Sarah said brightly.

“Yeah, uh, by the way,” Howard put a hand against Steve’s shoulder before saying, with the enthusiasm of a lamb to the slaughter, “Maria told me to say that you look real spiffy.”

“Uh, thank you, sir.” Steve smiled.

“Please, you’re marrying my son.” Howard said, smirk a little like Tony’s for how it slanted to the right, “Call me Mr. Stark.”

“Haha.” Steve said, “Would you like to sit down here?”

“Nah, I’ve been told that my seat’s on Tony’s side.” Howard said, “I was just told to scurry off while Maria made Tony up like a girl.”

“Like a girl?” Steve frowned.

“Maria gave me a list of words I’m not allowed to use.” Howard shrugged, “It’s comprehensive.”

“. . .Great.” Steve decided on.

“Everything looks absolutely wonderful.” Sarah pitched in, standing up to tweak Steve’s bowtie. “How are you feeling, honey?”

“Like a keg ‘bout to explode.” Steve answered honestly.

“Attaboy.” Joe grinned.

“Don’t you worry.” Sarah said, “Bambi and Pepper are on everything, and Buck’s corralling all the guests into place. You just keep yourself presentable. You have your vows, right?”

“Yep.” Steve patted his suit jacket pocket.

“You need me to go over them with you?” Sarah asked.

“Ah, not again.” Joe rubbed a hand over his face, “C’mon, Sarah, he’s got it memorised back to front but we all know that in the end, he’s gonna get six words in, put ‘em back into his pocket and start improv’ing.”

“Dad, that’s not. . .” Steve considered it for a moment, “Huh, you’re probably right.”

“Precedent speaks for itself.” Joe shrugged.

“I don’t reckon Tony’s even thought of his vows.” Howard said, thoughtfully.

“Oh, he has.” Sarah said, “The two of them asked me to help them with the editing, you know, ‘cause they wanted to make sure neither of them were saying the same things as the other.”

“Huh.” Howard said, a thoughtful note to the word, “Well. I guess I should get some water then. Sober up a little.”

Steve found out about the surprise when Tony met him at the entrance to the hall, before the doors from which they’d be making their walk down to the altar.

“Oh.” The word left Steve in a breath as his eyes ran over his—fiance. The last time that word would be used for the man standing before him, a vision in white and now with a delicate, short white veil over his face. It glittered under the lights, and Steve realised the shimmer came from crystals that had been woven into the fabric.

“So, you like it.”

“Tony.” Steve managed, arms rising of their own accord to skate along Tony’s arms, his shoulders. “You. . .”

“You too.” Tony agreed.

“I mean, just...” Steve said, “The veil is very nice.”

“Thank my mom.”

“I will.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve when he stayed there, rubbing his hands up and down Tony’s arms, “Oh, you like-like.”

“Hm.”

“I mean, you like it as in this is doing it for you.” Tony said.

“Yeah, kinda.” Steve said, “You realise you’re an absolute tease for springing this on me?”

“Mom told me to make sure you dip me for the pictures because it’ll look really pretty with the veil.” Tony said, “But I told her that just ‘cause I’m wearing a veil, does not mean I’m the girl in this relationship. So. I’ll be dipping you.”

“So I’m the girl?” Steve frowned.

“Well. No. We’re both men.” Tony blew out noisily, “You’d think you would know that.”

“Can you even hold my weight?” Steve asked.

Tony gave him a truly annoyed look, “You keep that up, you’re not gonna get to fuck me tonight.”

“Well, then,” Steve leaned close to whisper, “Your Brazilian wax will go to waste. And your enema.”

“Like you care if I have either of those things.” Tony squinted at him, “You’d wanna fuck me anyway.”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged, “Can’t deny that, won’t deny that.”

The old jazz piano started playing from inside the hall and they both mustered up.

“Well,” Tony smiled, and even with the veil, it was brilliant, as effervescent as the crystals. “Last chance to back out, Rogers.”

“Not a chance, Stark.”

“And I swear on my doct—”

“Oh, is he swearing on his doctorate again?” Tony came up behind him. The wedding after-party was in full swing, and they were making their rounds.

“Well,” Steve put a proprietary arm around Tony’s hip, “We don’t all have three of them. I gotta cash mine in while it’s got value.”

“Sorry, am I still needed?” Clint asked, “Because the third-wheeling is making me wanna call my ex.”

“Do not call Laura.” Steve warned, “Go talk to Sharon. She’ll set you up.”

“With a woman?”

“What, no. With a drink.” Steve waved Clint off. “And don’t get into a fight with Loki!”

He was about to speak to Tony when Howard and Maria came up.

“Oh honey, careful with the veil.” Maria said, leaning up to fix the veil’s positioning on Steve’s head. After Steve had dipped Tony for the kiss, Tony had transferred the veil onto Steve’s head and dipped him, cheekily quipping, “How’s that for two men?” after. Once the reception had kicked off, he’d insisted that Steve keep the veil on his head, though Steve had pulled the fabric off his face to see better.

“It really wasn’t made for a black suit,” Maria said in an undertone before smiling at Steve, “Oh, but darling, you look wonderful.”

“Thank you, Maria.”

“Oh, none of that now.” Maria tutted, “We’re family, Steve. You call me, “mama”.”

“. . .Thank you, mama.” Steve said, touched despite himself.

“None a that for me.” Howard said, “I like you, Stevie, but I didn’t even like Tony calling me papa or, agh, daddy. Remember when you were young enough to say it?”

“Yes, and I still have issues from it. It’s why I call Steve “daddy” in the bedroom.” Tony said before snorting, “I’m kidding, dad, no need for the stink face.”

“I thought jokes were meant to be funny.”

“You’re at a gay wedding, dad.” Tony pointed out, “I’m all out of I-hate-my-wife jokes.”

“I have never made a joke like that.” Howard said to Maria, “I love my wife.”

“I know, Howie.” Maria patted his arm in reassurance. “Tony, that’s a lovely joke.”

“I know.”

“Don’t repeat it.” Maria said.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Tony said in an undertone, “He’s going to think I actually call you “daddy”.”

“Hmm.” Steve held Tony’s hip as they danced around the hall, “Not my thing, baby.”

“Me neither.” Tony said, “Gosh, the cake was good.”

“You’re full?” Steve asked.

“I could be fuller.” Tony tilted his head, “Why? Are you propositioning me?”

“Not yet.” Steve said, clearing his throat, “Hey, let’s dance over into the dressing room.”

“You’re really not propositioning me?” Tony double-checked.

“Not like that. It's my surprise. Now,” Steve said, “be subtle-like. Don’t want people thinking we’ve eloped.”

“Pft,” Tony said, “Okay, follow my lead, then.”

“Y’know,” Joe clinked his glass with Howard’s, “I always wanted two sons.”

“Yeah?” Howard sniffed, “You wanted ‘em to get married to each other, too?”

“The veil was a beautiful touch.” Sarah said to Maria, and the woman beamed, looking like a bride herself in white. Apparently, the not-wearing-white rule didn’t count if there were two grooms and one of them was your son. To her credit, Maria and Tony had looked beautiful in the family photographs.

“I had a black suit and veil handy too,” Maria confided, “Just in case Tony changed his mind about the suit.”

“Good job, gang.” Bucky raises his glass. Rhodey, Natasha, Happy, Sam and Pepper raised their glass.

“To Steve and Tony, and their everlasting love.” Pepper toasted.

“And their everlasting board game nights.” Happy added.

“And their everlasting prolonged eye contact.” Natasha said.

“And their everlasting arguing, now that the pact’s done with.” Rhodey said.

“And our everlasting third-wheeling.” Sam said.

“Hear, hear.” Bucky finished.

Steve took the little box out from the mini-fridge and proffered it to Tony.

“A gift?” Tony made a show of raising his hands to his cheeks in coy flirtation, “Oh my, hubby, you shouldn’t have.”

“Unwrap it, Tony.” Steve said.

Tony loosened the pink ribbon, tossing it before flipping the box open to look inside.

“Oh, baby.” Tony gazed up at Steve with so much affection that it looked like the heart-eyes emoji come to life. Steve didn’t think his heart had any room left for love but the frisson of joy that ran from his neck to spine proved him wrong.

Tony’s hand reached into the box and brought out the donut with rainbow sprinkles he’d ordered for him.

“Thank you.” Tony said in a hushed tone, and emotion kept it heavy and low; like if he spoke any louder, he would burst apart from it all. Steve understood it perfectly; he felt the same way.

“Every time.”

“You mean, any time.” Tony said as he took a bite, eyes closing to savour it.

“No,” Steve corrected, soft as the donut, as the curl of Tony’s eyes, as this moment, “I mean every time.”

Steve took the hallway down to their suite. He’d said goodbye to everyone: hugged his parents off, helped Maria bring a drunk Howard back to their bedroom, given Mrs. Arbogast the bouquet of flowers and champagne Tony had bought for her. His husband—wow, that was novel in the best way—had headed off with Rhodey a half-hour back, telling Steve he was going to change out of his tight shoes.

He hadn’t come back though, and Steve had assumed he was taking a kip back in the room. They’d been on their feet for the better part of the day, after all.

“Tony?” Steve called out as he entered their suite. Tony wasn’t in the sitting room, and Steve lingered for a moment at the threshold to take in the sight of the leftovers from their morning frenzy. Tony’s empty espresso cup. Gel and hair products strewn across the vanity. The powder Maria had used on Steve’s face. The mascara Tony had run along his own lashes. A spread of their lives just before they’d gotten married.

Suddenly, he had to see Tony. His husband. Steve turned away from their past and faced their future, quickly making his way through the sitting room to the bedroom.

“Tony. . .?” Steve trailed off, brought to a standstill at the entrance.

Tony was laid back on the bed, wearing the veil. Steve swallowed roughly.

Just the veil.

“Hey, husband.” Tony said.

Steve stepped forward.

Steve was actually dropping off to sleep when he heard Tony.

“Thank you for the donut.” Tony whispered, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Thank you for letting me take care of you. Thank you for saying yes when I proposed. Thank you for us. For this day, and all the days ahead.” Tony continued, “I love you.”

“I love you today.” Tony said, “I love you tomorrow. I love you forever.”

Steve breathed out, mind jolting so quickly to wakefulness that it felt like exhaustion was being siphoned out of him.

“What, you’re not going to say it back?”

Steve’s breath stuck in his throat and his eyes snapped open. Tony had his head propped on Steve’s chest and he sat up a little to meet his gaze.

“You knew?” Steve asked.

“Yeah.” Tony confessed.

“All this time?” Steve confirmed.

“Yep.”

“Wow.” Steve said, “You sneaky minx.”

“Could say the same for you.” Tony said.

“A pair of sneaky minxes, then.” Steve decided, “The two of us.”

“Ha!” Tony kissed a tender spot high on Steve’s neck, “Okay, okay, we’re creeps, we’re weirdos.”

“Don’t go all Radiohead on me now.” Steve mumbled, patting Tony’s flank, “Sleep now, baby. We’ve got the rest of our lives to figure out what to call it.”

“Steve Rogers and Tony Stark yesterday.” Tony said, “Steve Rogers and Tony Stark today.”

“Everything changes but us.” Steve caught Tony’s drift.

“You get me, honey, you do.” Tony said.

“I got you.” Steve breathed out, “You got me.”

And it set to stone between them like a promise. A new pact: one they’d keep till the end of their lives. The charming crux of this lush day and the evermore point of their future together.

I got you.

You got me.

#my writing #my fics #stevetony #ishipallthings #prompt fill

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