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He wakes up and everything hurts.

It probably says a lot about Tony’s life that this observation is followed by a mental tirade about villains and Mondays and combinations thereof, rather than real panic. Maybe that’s just because he might be concussed, though.

“Ah,” someone purrs, fairly nearby but not in an I-am-literally-right-in-front-of-you-and-prepared-to-stab-you sort of way. A couple meters away, maybe. Tony tries to open his eyes, but it’s bright and it hurts and he thinks possibly he’s been blindfolded anyway. “Sleeping Beauty awakens at long last.”

“Ow,” Tony manages.

“I do apologize for the... blunt force,” his kidnapper says, sounding faintly amused. “It was necessary, I’m afraid.”

“Jackass,” Tony slurs, wincing at the throbbing pain in his skull. “There is no goddamn part of this that is necessary.”

He shifts and handcuffs dig into his wrists; he starts going through a mental checklist. Aside from his poor, poor skull, his shoulders ache from being pulled back, and he thinks the unpleasant burn and stretch in his ankles is probably because they’re bound together with rope. The rest of his body feels a little bruised and battered, but it’s not terrible. More sore than anything.

“Ah, and there you are mistaken.”

Tony lets his head loll onto the back rest of the chair he’s chained to. He doesn’t feel like arguing with villains today. He had plans. He was going to actually go to meetings and do paperwork to make Pepper happy, fuss around with upgrades for the suit, hang out in the lab with Bruce. He was going to have a good Monday, for crying out loud, but nooooo. He just has to be kidnapped.

“You do realize,” he says, tiredly, when he feels like he can talk without his tongue tying itself in knots. “That Stark Industries has a strict policy against paying my ransoms.”

“Oh, certainly,” the man laughs. “No, that will not be a concern at all. You see, we don’t need you for Stark Industries. We don’t need you for money at all. No, you’re... bait.”

“For...?”

“Why, for the Avengers, of course.”

Tony waits for the punchline.

“Oh, Jesus,” he laughs, full of dry humor, when nothing comes. “You’re serious. God. Trust me, you’d have more luck with the ransom.”

“Would we really,” his kidnapper murmurs.

“Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that,” Tony assures him. “The team? Please. I’m an obnoxious asshole who doesn’t do what he’s told. No, they’ll probably be glad to be rid of me.”

“Along with their funding?”

“Not dependent on my being alive and present, also, lots of other sponsors, not just me.”

“I would imagine other sponsors with your knack for tech might, however, be lacking.”

“SHIELD has a list of scientists and engineers who could take over their weapons and tech development in my absence. I mean literally, there is a list. Twenty-five names. I compiled it myself.”

“And Iron Man?”

“They’ll like War Machine. He actually follows orders and shit, he’s boring like that.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Tony’s head hasn’t stopped throbbing, but it hurts more now, and he’s starting to feel dizzy. His vision-- even if it’s mostly just the light filtering through the blindfold-- is starting to blur and fade at the edges. Must have taken a pretty hard hit when they put him out the first time, he thinks absently.

“Did you honestly expect this to work? I’m Tony Stark,” Tony laughs again, but there’s no heart in it. It comes out breathy and hurt, which is absolutely not because he hates the truth-- because that’s what this is, it’s the truth-- but because seriously, when he said everything hurt? That hasn’t stopped being a thing. “Nobody’s going to come running to save me. I’m not their special snowflake.”

The pain wraps around his skull and squeezes, and he blacks out again before a response comes.

 

He wakes up to the smell of disinfectant and a ceiling so perfectly snow-white it could not possibly belong anywhere but a hospital room.

“You complete ass,” Pepper says.

“Oh, hey,” Tony mumbles, mouth dry and tongue clumsy. His head lolls just far enough to the side that he can blink woozily up at his perfect, sexy, wonderful CEO. “Sorry? I swear I do not get myself into these things so I don’t have to work, I was actually going to go to those meetings this morning like you asked, I promise--”

“Tony, shut your goddamn mouth,” Pepper growls, and he whines when she hauls him upright by his collar, at least until he realizes it’s so that he can drink the cup of water she shoves into his hands. He slurps at the straw eagerly. “I want you to acknowledge right now how lucky you are that I managed to convince your teammates that I should be here when you woke up, and anything else might overwhelm you.”

“Very lucky?” Tony guesses, dutifully.

So lucky,” Pepper confirms. She’s glaring at him, but it doesn’t match up with the way her lower lip is trembling. “I do not envy you when you’re cleared to return to the tower. There is a lot of shouting in your very near future.”

“Pep-- Pepper, don’t make that face, oh my God are you going to cry, don’t cry, Pepper, I don’t even know what I did,” Tony panics, and when she buries her face in her hands, he fumbles at them until he’s got hold of one, and he drags it back to him to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her fingers wrap around his in a squeeze that’s nearly painful.

“You moron,” she hiccups. She viciously scrubs the tears from her cheeks with her free hand. “Stupid, stupid. I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony mumbles, painfully reminded of the reason they’d broken up, of Pepper being unable to handle all the danger and fighting and near-death experiences. “I’m sorry, I just-- Jesus, Pepper, I just went out to get some doughnuts before the first meeting, I didn’t mean to--”

“I know, I’m not--” Pepper hiccups against, uses the hand holding his to haul it back to her and press it to her cheek. “I’m not blaming you for that part, I just, oh, Tony.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony repeats anyway, then frowns. “Hey! What do you mean, that part?

“‘I’m not their special snowflake,’ Tony?” she says, voice climbing in pitch as she lets their still-clasped hands fall to her lap. “Listing off all the ways you could be replaced? Ring any bells?”

“I don’t-- how the hell--” Tony splutters. Pepper wasn’t meant to hear about any of that, he knows she doesn’t put up with him for his money (there is not enough money in the world to compensate her for the shit he puts her through) or his tech or, God forbid, his services as Iron Man. This had nothing to do with her. “How do you even know about that?”

“There was a camera there the entire time, Tony,” Pepper snarls. “Even while you were unconscious, there was a live camera feed for your teammates to watch, to hear what you thought they think of you.”

“Well I mean,” Tony struggles to sit all the way upright, as opposed to half-supported by the shitty hospital pillows. Pepper won’t let him steal his hand back. “It doesn’t reflect poorly on them, Jesus, Pep, you’ve known me for years, you know how obnoxious and intolerable I am.”

“I thought Thor was going to cry,” Pepper insists, and actually, Tony feels a little bit better with the amusing mental image of his hulking Norse God of a teammate bursting into tears like a little girl. Also kind of guilty, but, y’know. Them’s the breaks.

“Thor almost cried when Barton spilled a pot of mac ‘n’ cheese last week,” he grumbles. Pepper narrows her eyes.

“You don’t think Dr.Banner would miss you at all?”

“Alright, maybe Bruce,” Tony allows. “And fine, I guess I can see Thor possibly being upset by my death, and maybe Barton wouldn’t be too happy if he became the most human and vulnerable and therefore most likely to be kidnapped member of the team, but Natasha? Pepper, Natasha has never liked me. Natasha didn’t want me on the team in the first place.”

“Natasha had to deal with you while you were--” Pepper takes a deep breath.

“Palladium, dying, yeah, I remember, but still,” Tony shrugs it off.

“She’s sorry about what she said in the initial report, Tony,” Pepper says, gently. “She likes you just fine, now that she’s gotten to know you.”

Tony gives her a doubtful look.

“What about Steve?” Pepper tries, and Tony barks out a startled laugh.

“Rogers hates my guts.”

“I really think you need to talk to them about this,” she coaxes.

“Pepper, you cannot honestly expect me to go home and have a long talk about my feelings, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s just too bad,” Pepper says, setting her jaw and wiping the last of her tears from her face. Tony’s gut twists with dread. Experienced businessmen have come so, so close to wetting themselves in the face of an angry, determined Virginia Potts. “Because I already told JARVIS not to let you back into your workshop until you did.”

Oh God dammit.

 

“You can’t keep me out forever,” Tony warns JARVIS the next afternoon, curled up on his bed, using a tablet to work on some of his designs. It’s doable, he was designing things far before he got his tech to the point it’s at now, but he would seriously like to be able to do some of this shit with his holograms.

He managed to sneak into the tower without running into any of the other Avengers, but once he’d confirmed that his workshop was locked, and his override codes weren’t working, he’d retreated to his room with no intent to interact with anyone until everything had blown over.

“With all due respect, sir, I think you are more likely to break before I do,” JARVIS says, but at least he sounds a little sympathetic. “Certainly if you take into account the likelihood of your coming into contact with a member of the Avengers Initiative. Certainly if you take into account that Captain Rogers is just outside your door.”

“Lock it--” Tony blurts, too late as the door swings open and Cap appears, silhouetted by the hallway lights against the darkness of Tony’s room. Tony scrambles to sit upright, glaring halfheartedly at the intruder. “Jesus. Ever heard of knocking?”

“You wouldn’t have let me in,” Cap says, shutting the door behind himself quietly. He strides across the room to the bedside, murmuring, “JARVIS, would you mind turning on the lights?”

They flicker to life. Tony feels mildly betrayed.

“I think we need to talk,” Cap says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I think you need to get out of my room,” Tony says, mildly, flicking through the blueprints he has open on the tablet and resolutely looking anywhere but at Rogers.

“Tony,” Cap’s voice takes on a pleading note. “You’re not-- expendable, or replaceable. What on Earth made you think that we thought that?”

Tony keeps his mouth shut for once, manages not to say it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the truth, and fiddles with designs for the new Starkphone. He thought about a simple version to start with, buttons and all that, to ease people into the idea, but maybe people don’t want to be eased into the idea, and everybody likes touchscreen these days--

“Hey!” he protests, when the tablet is yanked away from him. He scowls up at Cap. “What the hell?”

Cap tosses the tablet to the side-- “Excuse you, be nice to my tech!”-- and sits heavily on the edge of the bed. Tony surreptitiously curls in on himself, makes himself smaller.

“Natasha checked with Director Fury,” Cap mumbles, looking down at his hands, in his lap, rather than at Tony. Not that Tony’s complaining. “There really is a list. Of scientists and engineers, I mean.”

“Yes, yes there is,” Tony deadpans.

“And the funding is set up to continue in the event of your death,” Cap continues, as though Tony hadn’t spoken at all. “And Ms.Potts said that you gave us the tower and asked Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes to work with us, in your will.”

“So nothing happens to you if I die, for crying out loud, is that really a bad thing? Oh no, I can die and the team won’t fall apart, whatever will you do.”

Tony,” Cap pleads. Tony throws his hands up in frustration.

“Seriously, I do not understand what the problem is here!”

“You really think that’s all we care about?” Cap brings his legs up onto the bed with him, looks Tony right in the eyes now and ooh, honesty. Feelings. Delightful things, really, but actually he’s not too fond of them and he feels no remorse in staring at the wall instead of Cap’s face, even if he knows he’s acting like a sulky child. Nobody ever accused him of being too mature. “You really think--” Cap takes a deep breath. “We’d be glad to be rid of you?

“It is completely unfair to hold things I said when I had a concussion against me,” Tony protests.

“But you really thought that,” Cap says, quietly. Tony glowers at the wall.

“Am I wrong?”

There’s a long pause, and Tony thinks, yes, there we go, knew I could count on Captain America to be honest with me, except suddenly he is not on his bed anymore, and he yelps in surprise when he realizes Cap has scooped him up and is headed for the door. He is a grown man, goddammit!

“What the actual fuck!”

“Stop squirming,” Cap mutters, but he doesn’t sound like he particularly cares either way-- he probably doesn’t, super-soldier and all, it’s not like a guy who can punch through walls is going to accidentally drop him. Tony twists and kicks until he’s facing forward, instead of back over Cap’s shoulder, and his breath hitches when they start to ascend the stairs.

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Living room,” Cap says.

Why?

There isn’t an answer to that, but there doesn’t really need to be, because then they’re there and oh, shit, guess who else is there? Everyone, that’s who.

“Oh, good, you got him,” Natasha says, voice somehow both sugar-sweet and razor-sharp. She pats the spot on the couch beside her. “Why don’t you set him right here.”

“Oh God I don’t want to die this way,” Tony whimpers, just loud enough for Cap to hear and possibly have mercy on him, but Cap just snorts and dumps him there on the couch between two pissed-off assassins, then sits cross-legged on the ground at their feet.

“Hello,” Natasha purrs.

“Please don’t let her kill me,” Tony mumbles to Barton, on his other side, who just rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“You brought this upon yourself, man. Frankly, I’m kind of insulted.”

Tony groans in despair, lets his head drop onto the back of the sofa, then quickly sits up straight again when he finds himself staring directly into Thor’s kicked-puppy face.

Jesus,” he breathes, then shakes himself out of it. “Look, you don’t have to get all up in arms about it, I was not trying to say you’re easily bought or whatever--”

“That is exactly what you were saying--” Natasha interrupts.

“For Christ’s sake, I get it, okay!” Tony shouts, trying to get up from the couch only to be yanked back down by a possibly murderous Russian. “I know I’m difficult, I know I’m vulnerable, I know you could find other people to do all the shit that I take care of now, I know you don’t like me! Is it such a fucking crime to be aware of myself?!”

“Anthony,” Thor starts, looking wounded.

“If you didn’t have this goddamn nightlight, I swear to God I would drive a stake through your heart in your sleep for this,” Natasha snarls.

“Natasha,” Bruce calls, soothing, from the armchair, and she releases her vice grip on Tony’s arm, still seething, but at least not actively in the process of injuring him. “There we go. Tony, that can’t possibly be what you really think.”

Tony crosses his arms and stares at his knees.

“Tony-- Tony, come on,” Bruce laughs, a little wobbly, like his heart’s not really in it. “Who are we supposed to turn to for tech without you, the engineers at SHIELD? Reed Richards? Justin Hammer?

“If you go to Hammer for tech, I’m rewriting my will,” Tony threatens, momentarily distracted.

“Nobody’s going to Hammer for anything, ever,” Natasha mutters, darkly.

“Hammer?” Cap repeats, from the floor, confused.

“Will Col. Rhodes make stupid Legolas jokes over the comm when we’re supposed to have radio silence?” Barton demands, jabbing Tony in the side to regain his attention.

“No, but I thought that would be an advantage--”

“Would Rhodes abandon a carefully laid plan for the sake of saving me from Doombots?” Natasha growls.

“That was only the once and--”

“SHIELD scientists aren’t going to sneak into my lab at two in the morning to force their crude humor on me when I’ve been working for too long,” Bruce points out.

“There is none other who would devote so much of their precious time to teaching me the ways of Midgardian technology so that I could remain in constant contact with my dearest Jane!” Thor declares.

“Somebody would’ve shown you how to use Skype eventually,” Tony mumbles, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Natasha metaphorically crushes his pathetic avoidance attempts under a metaphorical high heel by dragging him over until he’s curled against her side, his head cushioned by her shoulder.

“I don’t think SHIELD engineers would find a 1940s radio and fix it up to work in 2012 for me,” Steve says, quiet and soft.

“Or invent a Hulk-resistant steel alloy for my room,” Bruce muses.

“Or, y’know,” Barton drawls. “Personally design entire suites for us at all.”

Tony buries his face in the fabric of Natasha’s shirt, so he doesn’t have to listen to them.

“Who’s going to forget everybody’s birthdays if we don’t have you around?” Natasha murmurs, her face pressed into his hair so her breath brushes over his ear. “Who is Steve going to haul out of your workshop after they haven’t eaten or slept for three days?”

“Who’s going to insist on introducing Thor to the subways, just to aggravate the junior SHIELD agents that get stuck tagging us when they don’t manage to get on the same car?” Barton snickers at the memory, and Tony gives an involuntary little smile himself. Fury had been fucking furious with them by the end of the day.

“If Rhodes replaced you, there’d never be anyone jabbing me in the side with sharp things while I was trying to get things accomplished,” Bruce says, and it’s completely ridiculous that he sounds fond, why does he sound fond, Tony tests his patience when his control over his temper leads to enormous green rage monsters.

“Without you, Clint would be stuck driving Agent Coulson crazy all by himself,” Cap says, amused and affectionate, and Barton says, voice filled with mock injury,

“Captain, are you saying you doubt my abilities?”

and Tony can’t help a choked-off laugh, at that.

“Who would fix the mechanisms for preparing hot beverages, after I became confused with them?” Thor says, and Tony lifts his head from the safety of Natasha’s shoulder to narrow his eyes at the god in suspicion.

“Did you break my coffee maker again because I swear to God,” he says, and blinks in surprise when his voice comes out hoarse and rough, and he realizes there’s wet streaks on his cheeks and aw, shit. Tony fucking Stark does not cry because his teammates might like him after all, goddammit, that would be sentimental and stupid and fucking ridiculous and imply that he cared what they thought of him.

Natasha still has an arm around his waist, and she’s rubbing soothing circles into his hip while he mumbles invectives under his breath and wipes at his eyes with his sleeves, and then Cap kneels in front of him, takes Tony’s face in his hands so he’s forced to look him in the eyes.

“We came for you, you know,” Cap says, barely more than a whisper. “When you didn’t show up to a meeting Ms.Potts expected you for, and no one could find you-- JARVIS tracked the signal on your cell phone for us, even before we got the... message. JARVIS kept streaming the-- the video feed, on a tablet, when we got in the jet. We were already on our way when you woke up and--” he swallows, hard, and Tony tries to move away, he can’t do this, but Cap holds him there so he closes his eyes. “Tony, look at me. C’mon. Open your eyes.” He tries to shake his head. “Please, for us?”

Tony opens his eyes.

“We came for you,” Cap says, slowly, firmly. “And we will always come for you. Because you’re an important member of the team, and more than that, you’re our friend. There is nobody we could possibly find to replace you. Okay?

“‘Kay,” Tony manages, and when Natasha’s hand slips to take his own, he realizes he’s trembling, and also crying again because he apparently is sentimental and stupid and fucking ridiculous and cares a whole fucking lot about what the team thinks of him.

He lets Natasha hug him, closing his eyes and burying his face in her shoulder again when Cap finally releases him. There’s quiet sounds of motion all around him-- Barton reaches over and pats his back, a little awkwardly, before the springs of the sofa creak and he can feel the shift of the archer’s weight disappearing. Thor reaches down to ruffle at his hair-- he manages a quiet noise of indignation at that, but Thor just laughs at him, and then he’s distracted again as someone who’s probably Bruce squeezes his shoulder, brief but reassuring, and then he’s listening to the clatter and shuffle of their footsteps as they leave the room.

For a moment, it’s almost silent, only the sound of Cap and Natasha’s breathing mixed with his own hiccuping breaths audible within the room. Natasa presses her face into his hair again.

“I know,” she says finally. “That this is partially my fault.”

“The fuck it is,” Tony croaks, bewildered. He feels her shake her head, feels soft curls of hair brush his cheek.

“My initial report, for the Avenger’s Initiative,” she recalls. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Tony can’t even revel in the novelty of receiving an apology from the Black Widow because seriously, his stupid-- insecurities-- are the fault of nobody but himself (and possibly Howard but he’s not going to follow that train of thought, he’s suffering from enough emotion for tonight, thanks).

“It’s not--”

“Stark,” she says. “I would rather you have my back in a fight than War Machine any day. Even when you’re pissing me off. And I mean that.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that.

Natasha pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the top off his head, then carefully disentangles herself, rising to her feet.

“He’s all yours now, Captain.”

She pads away at that, and Tony spares a thought for how long she trained before she moved so silently out of sheer habit before the weight distribution on the couch shifts again and holy shit, if Cap was any closer he’d pretty much be in Tony’s lap.

“Ms.Potts said,” Cap mumbles, ducking his head almost shyly. “She said you thought I hated you. Is that true?”

“I... did,” Tony admits, feeling thoroughly baffled and possibly just a little bit distracted by the part where someone so attractive and wholesome is this close to him without any incentive at all. In fact, he would have thought the sniffling would have been an anti-incentive. “Think that, I mean.”

“Do you now?” Cap pressures.

“I-- don’t you?” Tony splutters. “Didn’t you? On the helicarrier that first time you said-- and you always seemed like you were mad at me and I’ve kind of been a dick to you and I know you liked my father--”

“You think I would bodily carry you off to have a conversation reaffirming your value to the team if I didn’t like you?” Cap’s eyes glint with mischief.

“I have no goddamn idea what I think anymore,” Tony confesses, trying to squirm back to put some more space between them only to have Cap shuffle after him to compensate. “What-- Cap, what are you doing?

“Call me Steve,” Cap requests, a smile tugging up at the corners of his lips as he leans forward. “Please?”

“Yes, alright, Steve, what are you doing,” Tony says, hurriedly, tongue almost tripping over the words. “No, seriously, what are you-- did personal space not exist in the forties or--”

“Tony,” Steve murmurs, their foreheads nearly touching now. “I like you. I like you a lot.”

“What,” Tony chokes out.

“I thought you liked me, too,” Steve lets his forehead drop against Tony’s, so Tony can see every fleck in those blue, blue eyes. “Do you?”

“I-- yes? You’re a good guy, Ca-- Steve, great guy in fact, don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t like you who isn’t a supervillain or on their way to becoming one,” Tony deflects, and Steve’s really grinning at him now, he is so, so screwed.

“You set up mini studios for all the people you like who happen to be artists?”

Aw, hell. “Maybe I do,” Tony mumbles defiantly.

Steve’s grin falters a little. “You did that for me even though you thought I didn’t like you?”

“It seemed like the thing to do,” Tony says, trying to look away and failing miserably because Steve is basically way too close to his face for there to be many other things in his field of vision.

“No, you-- Tony. That’s a corner of your workshop, not--”

“You kept showing up,” Tony blurts, starting to panic just a little bit, “And sitting there on my couch sketching, I had no idea what you were doing but you just kept coming back even when you didn’t have to bring me food and I’d slept and--”

“You are so stupid for a genius, sometimes,” Steve complains, and Tony doesn’t get a chance to complain before he’s being kissed soundly.

“Mm,” Tony manages, gasping a little when Steve briefly pulls back, then presses forward again with a different angle. “Mmm.

“Is this okay?” Steve murmurs, against his lips, then chuckles when all Tony gets out in response is a breathy little whine, his fingers coming up to tangle in Steve’s hair and drag him closer. “Hey-- hey, shh, no rush.”

“Excuse me, I have been fantasizing about this since I was like twelve, sorry if I’m a little eager,” Tony mutters, trying to lick at the seam of Steve’s lips only to end up whining again when Steve pulls away. “No-- no tongue? We don’t have to-- if it’s just kissing tonight that’s okay I just--”

“No more kisses until you agree to go steady with me,” Steve insists.

“Can it just be assumed that if I kiss you again I’m--”

“No.”

Tony frowns. “Why not?”

Steve just smiles, then laughs and twists his face away when Tony tries to go in for a kiss anyway. “Tony!

“Come on,” Tony whines.

“No, you have to say it,” Steve wrestles him back, presses his shoulders against the back of the couch. Tony tests his grip-- fucking super-soldier serum. “Come on, use your words.”

“Don’t wanna,” Tony sulks.

“You’re just being stubborn now,” Steve says, smiling fondly but making no move to let him up. Tony huffs and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine, I like you a lot and I want to take you out for dates and cuddle with you during movies and all sorts of stupid couple things, now will you please--

“Only me?” Steve presses.

“Only you,” Tony confirms, and then Steve is releasing his arms so he uses one hand to grab the super-soldier by the back of his neck and drag him back down for kisses.

“They were placing bets on this,” Steve mumbles, between one kiss and another. “The team was, I mean.”

“That’s because they’re assholes,” Tony grumbles.

“Our assholes,” Steve says affectionately, letting his kisses drift off the mark so he’s brushing kisses to Tony’s cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids. He cups Tony’s face in his hands again, looks him in the eye. “And you’re our asshole, too. Don’t you ever forget that again.”

“Please stop talking and start kissing me again,” Tony says, “I am seriously going to do something terribly rash and stupid if you keep talking about feelings.”

“I could make you talk about your feelings,” Steve says, grinning.

“Sadist,” Tony accuses.

“Maybe a little bit,” Steve concedes, leaning back in to nip gently at Tony’s lower lip. “Only for you, though.”

“Good,” Tony says, and then they’re kissing again and he honestly does not care about the rest.

 

The next morning at breakfast, Barton wolf-whistles. “Well, I’d say you’ve been well and reassured of your value.”

Tony claps a hand over the hickey on his jaw and glares at Steve. Steve just smirks. And accepts a high-five from Thor.

Asshole.

(But at least he's Tony's asshole.)