Tony wakes up in his bed naked (not unusual), smelling of sex (not unusual), without a hangover (preferred, but unusual), and alone (generally preferred except for this time, possibly, he's not ready to commit to the idea that fuck, this kind of sucks and is completely ruining his post-sex alone-in-bed stretching routine with some sort of nagging disappointment or something similar on an emotional scale -- he should really just figure out how to get Jarvis to understand his emotions because he'd prefer not to deal with them himself.)
"Okay," Tony says, to the room at large, sitting up and scratching at his face. Something feels heavier on his chest than usual -- probably just the reactor, that's a little bit of a weight difference, right, it's fair if Tony maybe doesn't always notice and is only noticing this morning, waking up alone, and stuff.
The thing is Steve probably didn't make it very far. Tony figures, based on last night and all the blushing, (which never really did it for Tony before, working with inexperience was always less fun, except -- Tony needs to find pants and not keep thinking about last night), and the fact Steve only frequents three places, maybe four, ever, that it won't be hard to track him down. He'll start with the house, which is handy because he's in it, and then the crappy coffee place that Thor somehow convinced Steve has the best coffee (everywhere has the best coffee to Thor, except Starbucks, which he thinks is 'unworthy of such Midgardian devotion'), followed by the park where Steve likes to sketch and then SHIELD. And do what, Tony is not exactly sure, since lecturing anyone on how sneaking out of someone's bedroom post-sex is lame and makes people feel inexplicably awful probably doesn't mean much of anything coming from him.
There are four places and varying amounts of time between those places for Tony to either figure out why it's important to go find Steve and talk or something, god that sounds awful, or give up and wallow, which also sounds awful and Tony doesn't wallow.
"I may beg to differ, sir," Jarvis says, and Tony glares ineffectually around the room. He may or may not have been thinking out loud, it happens.
"Smartass," Tony says. It's pretty dark in the room and Tony vaguely remembers whispering to Jarvis to shut down the morning system and environmental routines last night, Steve sort of snoring with his face mashed-up and against Tony's bicep.
"I won't make the necessary comment on the similarities of --" Jarvis starts but Tony trips over an errant piece of clothing as he waves his hand trying to say mute and Jarvis, thankfully, shuts up.
"Should I mute everything, sir?" Jarvis asks.
"Shut up," Tony says, kicking Steve's shirt out of his way. Steve left without his shirt, jesus, was he that freaked out that he had to leave shirtless? "I need coffee."
"May I also suggest pants?" Jarvis asks, right before beeping to signal a shut down in automatic voice capabilities.
"Pants," Tony repeats, hand already on the door to the hall. He'll never live it down if walks out pantsless in front of half of the team and an impromptu creepy check-in visit from Coulson again. ("Coming to see if I'm treating the kids alright?" had not been the first thing Tony should have said, probably. He didn't actually realize everything was hanging free, it had been a long night in the workshop followed by a really short amount of sleep and it's not like he was superhuman like Steve, just -- whatever. One time, seriously.)
"Coffee, pants, Steve," Tony says. Statistically he knows he is capable of accomplishing at least 66.6% of those things.
After accomplishing pants, both coffee and Steve come surprisingly easy, because both are in the kitchen. Shirtless. The coffee isn't shirtless, obviously, just Steve, and Tony also forewent a shirt, so somebody should probably put on a shirt, but definitely not Steve.
Tony makes a noise he's pretty sure isn't actually a word, though it tries very hard to be.
"Hey," Steve says, turning from the stove with a small sort of grin that inexplicably makes Tony want to sit down right away. "It's early, I didn't think you'd be awake yet since you -- we -- it was late."
"You're making eggs," Tony says.
"Egg whites," Steve says, shrugging.
The coffee-maker is beyond where Steve is standing and Tony isn't sure moving is an option at the moment, because he's kind of having a crisis.
"Why are you making eggs?" Tony says. Why are you making eggs shirtless in my kitchen and why did you leave and --
Steve smiles in the same way he sometimes smiles after a successful mission when he thinks no one can see and in the way he smiles when he's blowing little pieces of gritty charcoal off a piece of paper and in the way Tony saw him smiling once in Tony's direction, except that was probably a fluke.
"I was going to bring them to you, but now we can just eat here," Steve says, doing something in a circular motion with the pan full of eggs that Tony doesn't understand -- he's got one of those plastic things that he cracks eggs into and then throws the whole thing in the microwave for some indeterminate amount of time that Jarvis takes care of and then ends up with an omelet -- and still smiling.
"Bring eggs to me in bed," Tony says, catching up.
"I hate to break it to you," Steve says, turning the stove off by way of the actual manual dials and portioning the eggs up onto plates, "but you aren't always smart in the morning."
"I'm a genius," Tony says, because that's easy to say.
"And I," Steve says, turning around, barefoot with his pajama dragging a little on the floor because no one can ever find proportionate pants and Steve doesn't care about custom fit even though Tony doesn't mind paying the bill, "have eggs."
The eggs are, once Tony sits down, admittedly not bad and better than the microwave ones, but probably not the best eggs Tony has ever had, considering the few errant shells. He doesn't tell Steve, though. He doesn't actually say anything, though neither does Steve.
Steve is sitting right next to him, their shoulders brushing together on out-of-sync forkfuls of egg in a way that makes Tony want to roll his shoulders back and forget about the eggs and revisit kissing Steve for the first time last night, half-way out of his armor with Steve groaning against his lips and mouthing words about Tony dying that were all exaggerated and lost beyond the white noise of pent-up finally that Tony couldn't hear anything around.
Tony clears his throat once it becomes too awkward to not say anything, thinks briefly about figuring out what to say before he says it, remembers it's not his strong suit to do that sort of thing and knocks his shoulder deliberately into Steve's instead.
"So," Tony says. "Were you actually going to bring me breakfast in bed, because that's --"
"Silly," Steve says, his head ducked down. "Yeah, I know. But I woke up before you and felt kind of creepy staring at you, and it seemed --"
"You didn't actually plan on not coming back?" Tony asks, cutting him off.
Steve looks up at him, eyes slightly narrowed. "I left my shoes, and my shirt, and the shield, which I'm kind of fond of," he says. "And you, who I'm also... you know, fond of. Did you really think I snuck out?"
"I -- yes," Tony says. Steve is fond of him. Steve grouped him in with the shield, and he was legitimately going to bring him morning after breakfast in bed because he's fond of him.
A crease between Steve's eyebrows forms while Tony feels a little fuzzy and breathing, right, that's important.
"Did you not want me to come back?" Steve asks after a pause.
"Fuck, what, no," Tony says.
They spend a moment staring at each other and just as Tony decides to lean in, Steve reaches up and runs a hand through his hair.
"It's okay if you --" Steve starts, and Tony shuts him up by hauling him forward by the back of his neck and kissing him. It takes less than a beat for Steve to respond, his mouth opening against the pressure of Tony's, and as far as skill levels go, Tony has always been much better with using his mouth for this sort of thing instead of for words and feelings, so it works. They kiss until Tony nearly falls off the bar stool trying to get closer, breaking only when Steve has to steady him with both hands at Tony's hips.
There's a twist to Steve's face like he's still not entirely convinced and Tony sighs, short and small.
"Okay, no," Tony says. "See, I had plans involving this morning and you in my bed, but I woke up alone and it wasn't -- it was whatever, I may have went into crisis mode, but that's all settled now, because you were here, in my kitchen, making me breakfast."
"Making both of us breakfast," Steve says, his hands squeezing at Tony's hips. He ruins the way the words start to make Tony feel warm and stupidly fond by laughing. "You don't think I'm that selfless that I wouldn't make food for myself, right?"
"That wasn't the point," Tony says, because the point was admitting he was also really fond of Steve and that he wanted Steve in his bed in the morning, every morning. He might have missed a few key points, but the point definitely wasn't breakfast.
Steve squeezes at his hips again, hands overly large and warm in a way Tony isn't used to, yet.
"Was the point that you had plans for me in your bed?" Steve asks, one corner of his mouth curling up. Tony has no idea how Steve can just come out with something like that and make it hard to breathe, his brain on overload for a moment.
"I --" Tony says, "that was not the main point, but that is a really good point."
"I thought so, too," Steve says. "You have them sometimes."
"You're so," Tony starts, but can't think of a way to finish it and doesn't really care because Steve is standing up and crowding close to him and dragging his lips dry along Tony's jaw.
"You really are slow in the morning," Steve says, words pressed against Tony's neck, and somehow they're moving up the stairs even though Tony's not really sure he's working his legs right beyond the want and the whatever else Steve is making him feel. It's not Tony's fault if stairs aren't his priority when he has Steve's mouth and his hands and they're on the way to the bedroom.
"Stop talking," Tony says, tipping up and pressing with his fingers at Steve's chin to get a better angle at Steve's mouth.
Steve pushes him back against the wall halfway up the stairs and laughs, low, into Tony's mouth. "Is this why you always have coffee in the morning? Are you always like this or --"
" Coffee ," Tony says, biting with a drag of his teeth at Steve's slick bottom lip before leaning back.
Steve makes a face at him and shakes his head. "Do you need that first?" he asks, sounding amused and cocky and fond all at once, the idiot, and Tony groans.
"Two out of three things isn't bad and I'm functioning enough to do what I have in mind," Tony says, edging past Steve to lead the way up the stairs to his bedroom. Coffee can wait, because he has Steve, Steve who suddenly and wonderfully seems to have lost his pajama pants.
"What did you have in mind?" Steve asks.
"So many things," Tony says. "In fact, I think we'll need more than one morning to explore them all."
"Okay," Steve says, easy, walking backwards and stepping over his shirt to get to the bed, sliding on top of the covers on the side he'd fallen asleep on the night before.
"Okay," Tony agrees. He can deal with knowing Steve will be here, on his bed, tomorrow morning, even if he wakes up and leaves for a little while, because he'll be back, apparently, and wants to be back. Tony really does have a lot of plans and he can think of more things to do in the morning if it means waking up next to Steve. He'll analyze the way the thought makes him flush and pleased later, because right now he has things to accomplish.
"Tony, come on. I'll just bring you coffee tomorrow morning," Steve says reaching out to tug at Tony's arm and groaning low when Tony finally kneels against the bed at his side to run a hand up Steve's inner thigh.
"I'm distracted, I don't need coffee, you're distracting," Tony says, but the idea doesn't sound that bad at all.