"Jarvis, where's Tony?" Steve asked, looking at the singed ceiling of Tony's workshop.
"In bed, for once, Captain Rogers." Jarvis replied, polite as ever.
"Thank you, sir." Steve nodded a bit to the entity he thought to be in the ceiling and retreated back upstairs. He quietly opened the bedroom door to discover a completely darkened room and laughed a little when he saw the mass of blankets on the bed, he estimated somewhere between 6 and 8 today.
Steve felt around the pile of blankets, trying to find a hole, and was met with nothing but a solid mass of fabrics. He reached under the pile and prodded until he found an opening and what he could make out the be a hand. It gripped his and pulled him into the pile,
"Cold." Tony mumbled as he pulled Steve into his nest of blankets. Steve didn't get why he and Clint insisted they weren't anything alike. Steve got as small as he could in the tight pile and curled around Tony who pulled Steve's arm over his middle and hummed in contentment. Steve kissed the back of Tony's head and received a snore in return. /This/, Steve thought, dozing off himself, /is the best part about Tony's horrible sleeping habits./