Actions

Work Header

With Nobody Else But Me

Work Text:

Sam glanced down at his tablet. His weary expression suggested that he'd already had a hell of a day and he wanted to get through this with the minimum amount of fuss, but he didn't think that was going to happen. "Okay. Reception at the Latverian embassy. Tony, you need to go and play nice with Victor von Doom. Get those plans."

Tony squinted at him. "How nice?"

"You know. Nice." Sam waved a hand; behind him, Redwing chirped. "Be your charming self."

Tony had an uncomfortable feeling about where this was going. "Hey, hey, just because the world thinks I'm--" He stopped because he couldn't really find an adjective he wanted to brand himself with and he wasn't willing to say a man-whore at a team meeting given that most of the rest of the team had an average age of, like, twelve. "Anyway. I didn't join up to be the Avengers honeytrap. Jesus Christ, Sam."

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No one's saying you have to sleep with him."

Miles' hands came up and covered his ears. "I think I'm too young to hear this."

"I am definitely too young to hear this," Sam -- Nova, the other Sam -- said.

Kamala wrinkled her nose. "I don't ship it."

Tony made a mental note to add a few more fanfiction pairings to his personal killfiles because there were some things he just really didn't want to know.

"Look," Sam said. "All you have to do is charm him. Smile. Put on a suit. We all know you clean up real nice, Tony."

Tony let his eyes widen. "Why, Captain America, I never."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Save the flirting for the former Captain America."

"What?" He felt like maybe something was going over his head here. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sam smirked. "I'll tell you when you're older."

Tony glared. "Okay. Fine. I'll have a lovely night slow-dancing with Victor, and my nonexistent boyfriend Steve will be so terribly jealous."

His life was ridiculous.


"Mr. Stark!" Doom said, with an incredibly handsome smile on his incredibly handsome face. "What a pleasure to see you!"

Someone who wasn't Tony could probably have written odes about the glorious, unearthly beauty of Doom's new face. Tony being Tony, the best he could come up with was "hot," and it was probably better to stop that train of thought right there before Tony's uncomfortable and inappropriate feelings turned into uncomfortable and inappropriate feelings in his pants. Tony had done enough humiliating Latveria-related things in public to be able to rank them: a hard-on at the Latverian embassy was clearly better than, say, that time Tony never, ever wanted to talk about again, when Wanda had magicked him into being drunk at the UN and he'd threatened to kill the Latverian ambassador. On live television. Just because this was better than that only meant that that had been fucking awful.

It didn't mean this was a good idea.

Doom held out his hand.

Tony shook Doom's hand and smiled.

"I had no idea you cared so much about the plight of starving Latverian children, Stark," Doom continued smoothly, because he was, of course, still an asshole; with him it wasn't so much a backhanded compliment as a backhanded everything.

Tony bit back the automatic retort I was pretty sure you didn't either, you maniac dictator, gritted his teeth and kept smiling. This was his job. Tony Stark: greasemonkey, cash-strapped Avenger, and professional liar.

Come to think of it, he hadn't thought Doom had the dictator job back. Maybe the money he was raising was to put down the rebellion.

"Of course I care about children. I think you'd be surprised what else I care about, though," Tony returned. He stepped in a little, let the smile tilt up, sharp at the edges. "What will it take for you to call me Tony?"

Saying it made him want to peel off his skin, because his entire body appeared to think this was a Very Good Idea even as his brain actually still had some sense left in it. He paused, waiting for a sneer, another riposte, a cruel barb.

But Doom's smile was unexpectedly earnest. "Mmm," he breathed, and the sound had an abstracted air, like he was in the middle of some complex calculation. "Let me know if you want to find that out, Stark," he said, and he drifted away.

Tony was left staring, open-mouthed, at the empty space in front of him, and wondering if Victor von Doom was actually hitting on him.

Well.

That was... different.


He didn't usually play wallflower at these kinds of events, but tonight, Tony had a reason for it. He ran a finger around his collar, stepped back toward the edge of the ballroom, and took another look at the crowd; most people were mingling, though there were a few couples dancing next to a string quartet on the far side of the room.

The goal here was to get the plans, and the plans were probably upstairs; he had to find some way to get into the private area of the embassy and do a better scan.

That way was probably going to be Victor von Doom.

And then he nearly squawked, because Doom was at his elbow.

"Are you not enjoying yourself, Stark?" He sounded somewhere between curious and offended, like he was going to personally murder whoever on the embassy staff had failed to make sure Tony was having a good time.

"No, no!" Tony said, hastily. "I'm fine! Enjoying myself. Really."

Doom raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "Here," he said. "Drink." It, of course, wasn't a request. Doom was already holding a half-empty champagne flute in one hand.

Before Tony could come up with a diplomatic way to stop him, Doom had already reached out and seized a glass from a passing server's tray. Tony winced. The cup itself was dark, smoky forest-green glass -- Doom's favorite color -- and he couldn't judge what was in it by looking, but one of Tony's general life philosophies was that you couldn't exactly trust a guy who'd tried to strand you in Camelot and have Morgan Le Fay's zombies attack you to then respect your sobriety pledge afterward.

Doom pushed the glass into Tony's hand.

"Go on," Doom said, and he sounded almost gentle, and that was when Tony realized he must have been cringing. God. Way to be a spy.

Tony looked up at him in disbelief.

"It is sparkling water. From Doom Falls," Doom added, when Tony still couldn't come up with words. "Everything in the green glasses is water, and if it is not, those responsible will pay dearly. I assure you that they will suffer."

So much for that new leaf he'd said he was turning over.

"No, uh," Tony said, when Doom said suffer, "that's okay, really--"

"Drink," Doom said again, more imperiously, in a voice that Tony tended to associate with words like Doombots, attack the Avengers or possibly kneel before Doom.

Tony took a sip. Huh. Lemon-flavored.

"This is very good," he managed. "My compliments to your, uh. Country."

Doom smiled again, warm and friendly, and something low in Tony's belly went hot and tight and yeah. Those were some inappropriate feelings starting to happen in his pants.

"Try the canapés," Doom added. It was another order. "They are excellent."

Then Doom turned and headed off into the crowd.

Okay, so now Doom was weirdly handsome and weirdly nice.

Maybe it was some kind of spell.

Tony snagged a vol-au-vent from the nearest tray and nibbled on it. It was delicious. Goddammit.


Still bewildered, Tony had mingled his way around the room until he was by the dance floor. Now he was deep in conversation with a Wakandan particle physicist, still trying to work out how he might get upstairs, when there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around.

Yep.

Doom smiled at him and held out a hand. "Dance with me, Mr. Stark."

"I, uh," Tony said, and he found that his entire command of English had somehow exited his head. "What?"

"Dance," Doom repeated. "With me."

Tony glanced wildly around the room. The particle physicist stared back. Tony could just imagine the headlines: TONY STARK DATES A DICTATOR. MY LATVERIAN LOVE AFFAIR. Christ, that would be a hell of a way to come out. Because he wasn't out. To anyone. At all. He'd just... never found anyone it was worth braving the inevitable firestorm for. And maybe that made him a coward, but it sure as hell wasn't worth it for Doctor Doom.

He turned back to Doom, who had not moved so much as a fraction of an inch.

"That's, uh," Tony said. "That's an awfully... public... intention." He coughed. "Doctor."

The hand Doom was holding out turned over, and then he gestured around the room. "There are no cameras. I have banned the mewling, pathetic press. Only those here will know of it, and they will not speak of it if I do not wish them to." He eyed Tony's former conversational companion with disdain. "Will they?"

The particle physicist mutely shook her head and then backed away.

"Excellent." And then Doom turned back to Tony. "I will lead."

"You know," Tony said, "usually this kind of thing doesn't involve so many outright commands. Unless everyone's negotiated that beforehand, in which case I definitely want a safeword. Or several."

Doom didn't even dignify that with a response, which was for the best, really.

Tony was starting to wonder if the canapés had been drugged, because he stepped forward and took Doom's offered hand. Doom's hand was soft. Unscarred. He hadn't really thought there would still be scars. It felt... nice.

Christ, Doom was good-looking.

"I will lead," Doom repeated.

"Yeah," Tony said. "I had a feeling that was what you'd pick."

Doom smiled.


Doom was an excellent dancer. Tony hadn't really figured out where Doom had picked that one up; it didn't match the rest of his skill set in the slightest. He was as good as Tony would have been, had Tony been leading; as it was, Tony wobbled a few times, unpracticed at doing everything backwards. Doom steadied him and waltzed him around the floor.

Tony wasn't about to call this the weirdest night of his life, because, well, he had had some doozies, but this was definitely going to be in the top ten.

The quartet finished the piece with a flourish, and Doom let him go. Tony half-imagined he could feel where Doom's hands had touched him, the ghost of Doom's palm still splayed across Tony's lower back like a brand. He shivered.

The worst thing was, Doom could probably actually make him feel that. God, he hated magic.

Doom favored him with another smile. "Thank you," he said, and Tony was so stuck on is this basic human kindness or is this a trap? that he nearly missed Doom's next words, a very quiet question. "I was wondering, Mr. Stark, if you'd care to see the rest of the embassy? I can offer you a private tour."

Yes yes yes, Tony thought, though the thought was mixed with a healthy dose of oh God no.

Well, this was what he was here for, right? It would get him closer to finding those plans.

Tony cleared his throat and smiled. He gave Doom his best sultry look through his lashes -- and out of that damn armor, Doom was still taller than him, maybe Steve's height. Unfair.

"Sure," Tony murmured. "I'd love to."

"I thought you might," Doom said, and his hand settled on Tony's lower back again, and Tony swallowed hard.


Doom silently led Tony up the stairs and down a corridor, checking curtly to see if Tony was keeping pace with him, while Tony wondered if he could discreetly break off and start to look for those plans. No such luck. Doom was marching him straight to... somewhere. Hopefully not the basement dungeons. There were always basement dungeons, right?

In Tony's experience, most of these "oh, let me show you around the place" seductions tended to have -- at least when he did them -- some attempt at veiling the true nature of the enterprise. You showed off some of your art collection. You pointed out the interesting architectural features of the building. You offered a few compliments. You... you know, you made it a seduction. You at least tried.

"This is my bedroom," Doom said, as he closed the door behind them.

Tony wondered if he should be offended that Doom thought he was that easy.

Tony wondered if he was, in fact, that easy.

There was a little desk in the corner, but the room's main feature -- other than the huge bank of windows along one side -- was a massive four-poster canopied bed -- wooden, antique, intricately-carved. The kind of thing that you probably picked up if you were a despotic dictator because you forced your people to make it for you in celebration of your general majesty. It seemed very Doom.

Doom walked over to the desk and picked up the one object that sat in the center of it, which was, Tony saw now, a flash drive.

"I believe this is the material you and your Avengers desire," Doom said.

Tony's mouth opened and then shut again.

Goddammit. Doom had played him.

"You knew," Tony said, low and intense.

"Of course I knew." Doom shrugged. "How could I not know why you had come?" He tsked. "Really. I am the smartest person on this planet."

"Pretty sure that's Reed," Tony said, and Doom scowled. Tony gestured at the room. "Why all this, then? The dancing. Bringing me here. If, as you say, you knew."

"It pleased me." Doom's smile had too many teeth, and Tony went hot all over, and okay, danger wasn't usually this much of a turn-on. Maybe he was just lonely. It had been a while. "And I surmise that it pleased you, as well," Doom added. There was a pause. "As I said, I am a new man. The information is yours. It is of no use to me to hoard it."

But he didn't hold out the drive.

"I'm guessing there's a catch here."

"Not a catch. You may take the information and leave at any time." Doom's gaze was fixed on Tony's, dark and intense. He was really working on that smolder. It was really... well, it was doing a lot of things for Tony right now.

"But?"

"I have a proposition," Doom said, and his gaze shifted away from Tony and toward the bed.

Oh.

Apparently Tony was the Avengers honeytrap after all.

"I am aware of your interest," Doom said. "You are aware of my interest. I believe events may come to a mutually agreeable conclusion." He smiled again. "Your newfound regard for me is both flattering and entirely understandable. Naturally you wish to surround yourself with beauty. Of course you have sought to replace your previous paramour in his old age."

Nothing was ever going to make any sense again. "Wait, what?"

"Rogers, of course," Doom said.

"What?"

Doom frowned. "You two were not...?"

Jesus Christ, what was with everyone thinking him and Steve had had something going on?

"No," Tony said, confused. "Never."

Doom blinked a few times. "Ah, well," he said. "My apologies and condolences. That does simplify the matter, however." He set the flash drive down and stepped forward, into Tony's personal space.

He licked his lips.

Goddammit, Doom was really, unfairly sexy.

Tony wondered how the hell he was considering going through with this.

For fuck's sake, he'd seen Doom drinking champagne; he was going to have to taste it on him. Was he so pathetically lonely that he was going to have a one-night stand with Victor fucking von Doom while Doom still tasted like alcohol?

Tony wasn't sure which of those should have been a dealbreaker. Possibly both. It was rapidly becoming apparent that neither of them were.

Tony tilted his head, shut his eyes, and parted his lips.

Doom put one soft palm against Tony's face and kissed him.

He tasted sweet. Like apples. There was no taste of alcohol anywhere on him.

Tony's eyes snapped open in surprise, and he jerked his head away.

Doom blinked at him. There was a soft openness on his face that Tony had never seen before, and then his brow furrowed in confusion. "Is that not to your liking?"

"You were drinking," Tony said, stupidly. "I saw you drinking champagne all night, but you don't taste like it."

Doom's lips parted in that unfairly gorgeous smile, and he rubbed a thumb along Tony's jaw like he wanted to-- well, if not own him, at least borrow him for the night. "Ah, Tony," he said, and for some reason his name on Victor von Doom's lips made Tony shiver. "It was sparkling apple juice. Non-alcoholic." His mouth lilted upwards. "Latverian-pressed, of course. The trees grow in Doomwood Forest."

Well, Tony thought, Latveria sure had a rock-solid naming scheme going on. And then it hit him.

"That was for me," Tony said. "Goddammit, Doom, you planned this."

It was... well, it was bizarrely touching, knowing that Doom had stayed sober for him, that Doom had intended to kiss him when the evening had started, that Doom had intended for them to end up here. It was sweet.

It was simple kindness, after all, and it felt like it had been a long time since anyone had offered Tony that.

And besides, Steve wasn't ever going to--

Tony cut that thought off fast.

It was one night. Simple. Easy. It could be simple.

And damn it all, Doom was handsome.

Doom tilted his head and smiled. "Please, Tony," he murmured. "Call me Victor."

"Victor," Tony whispered. It was less weird than he'd thought it was going to be. Definitely less weird than that time Doom stabbed him with Excalibur.

Doom smiled, dropped his hands to Tony's throat, and began to undo Tony's tie.

"I will be on top," Doom added, like it was another idle command, a statement about the natural order of the world; Tony shivered and was suddenly very, very hard.

"Yeah," Tony said, for the second time that night, starting to laugh as he said it. His voice was low and surprisingly throaty; it didn't even sound like him. "I had a feeling that was what you'd pick."


He walked into Avengers HQ -- such as it was -- bright and early the next morning, flash drive in his hand. Tony had been doing the Walk of Shame for so many years that he'd thought he was immune to actual shame, but apparently a good way to feel really funny about the night before was to walk across a hangar filled with your superhero teammates (Captain America, a gaggle of teenagers, an android, and a new version of Tony's favorite Asgardian deity) while realizing that you had, essentially, slept with a supervillain for kicks.

It wasn't like they even knew he'd done it, Tony consoled himself. Doom had been as good as his word; it hadn't made the papers. No one had breathed so much as a whisper of a rumor.

Tony's ass twinged a little, pleasantly sore, as he sat down across from Sam. He slid the flash drive across the table.

"There you go, Cap. Plans."

"Thanks," Sam said, and then he grimaced and lowered his voice. "Tony, man, you know, I meant it -- you didn't actually have to sleep with Doom."

Tony clapped reflexively at the exposed skin of his neck. He had definitely remembered to put concealer over the hickeys. It wasn't like Sam could tell by looking. How the hell did he know?

"You can't know that," Tony said, more than a little desperate. "No one said anything, did they?"

Sam grimaced again. "A little bird told me."

Oh. And in Sam's case, that was entirely literal.

Redwing fluffed his feathers and gave Tony a disgruntled avian glare.

"Well, then," Tony said, pasting a smile on his face, "I hope you enjoyed the show. I do strive to entertain."

Sam had an expression like he wished there were things about the world he could un-know. "Look, I was worried about the mission. I sent Redwing. I, uh. Yeah. You had the curtains open. Sorry." His face twisted up in concern. "Did he make you-- were you coerced--"

"No, no," Tony said, bitterly. What had sounded perfectly reasonable last night was kind of hard to justify in the harsh light of morning. He'd slept with Victor von Doom. What the hell had he been thinking? "Totally of my own free will. I promise. One hundred percent consensual."

"You sure you're all right?"

Tony bared his teeth. "Peachy keen. Call me the next time you need someone to get fucked for a mission. It's not like I've got any money left for the team, but, hey, I've still got my body."

"Tony," Sam said, and Tony couldn't tell if that was shock or sadness. Maybe both.

Tony stood up. "I'm going home. Taking the rest of the day off. Let me know if the universe explodes or something."

"Tony," Sam said again, but Tony didn't turn around.


About twenty minutes after Tony got home, while he was just sitting down to breakfast, there was a knock on the door.

When he opened it, Steve was standing there in his SHIELD uniform. Glowering.

Tony wondered if he could keep calling it the Captain America Is Disappointed In You look now that Steve had passed on the shield. But it was definitely that look.

"You're here to disapprove of my life choices already?" Tony asked, because he and Steve had evolved past needing actual greetings at some point shortly after Steve had found out who Iron Man was. "That was fast. Come in and yell at me inside. You can have some oatmeal. Or muffins. I've got muffins."

Steve looked at him like the answer to his question was obviously yes, but now he couldn't figure out how to say it without sounding like an asshole.

"Tony," Steve said, with a disappointed sigh, and he followed him in.


Steve grabbed a blueberry muffin with the hand that wasn't holding his cane and eased himself down gingerly into the chair Tony had pulled out for him.

Tony stabbed his oatmeal viciously with his spoon. He wasn't really hungry anymore.

"It's true, isn't it?" Steve asked. He picked off a bit of muffin, ate it, and didn't meet Tony's eyes.

"It's true," Tony said. There was no point in lying, and certainly not to Steve. He was honestly surprised that Steve was here already, though. He'd just gotten back from Jersey himself after reporting to Sam. Sam must have told Steve pretty quickly. "How the hell did you find out already? Sam told you?"

Steve shook his head and tapped one of his belt pouches. "Group text."

Tony almost choked on his oatmeal. "What?"

Steve ticked off the chain of transmission on his fingers. "Your Avengers knew before you got in this morning, thanks to Sam and Redwing. So Sam told Miles. Miles told Peter. Some kind of Spider-friendship thing; I don't know. Peter told his very best friend in the whole wide world. Who happens to be on my Unity Squad."

"Johnny Storm," Tony said, and he put his face in his hands. "Who told absolutely everyone."

He was lucky that Johnny hadn't written IRON MAN BANGED DOCTOR DOOM in flaming letters over Manhattan, he guessed. Small mercies.

"Carol probably doesn't know yet," Steve said, awkwardly, like he was trying to be comforting.

"Carol's in space," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah," Steve said. "There is that."

Steve's voice had gone rough, and when Tony looked up, Steve's eyes were bright with something that might have been anger, or sadness, or betrayal, and Steve had no fucking call to feel any of that. Not about him. Steve had no claim on him.

"I was worried about you," Steve said, but he said it like he was definitely angry instead. "I thought Doom-- I thought he might have made you--"

"Nope," Tony said. "No drugs, no drink, no magic, no mind control." He smiled. "All me, Steve."

"Why the hell did you do it, Tony?" Steve's voice shook.

Ah, there was the actual anger. About time. Tony smiled his nastiest smile. "My body, my choices, Steve. And that's pretty rich, coming from someone who used to date Diamondback. Or do you think I've forgotten that?"

Steve flushed, a tracery of veins across his old, pale skin. It might have been anger. It might have been shame. It looked a whole fucking lot like jealousy, Tony realized, and Christ, there was an entirely new dimension to the matter.

Two people in the past twenty-four hours had assumed he and Steve had... feelings for each other. And maybe Tony did -- okay, of course Tony did, that part wasn't a secret, because he'd built a tribute room for Steve in the Tower, for God's sake -- but Steve? That was new.

Maybe Sam had had a point. For fuck's sake, maybe Doom had had a point.

Steve, of course, was still angry.

"There's a hell of a difference between Diamondback and Doom, Tony."

"Is there?" Tony asked. "Is there really? Look, Steve." He leaned in. "You know what you don't get to do? This. You can be concerned about consent. Great. I'm touched. But you don't get to come in here and act like a goddamn jealous boyfriend. You know why? We're not together. We've never been together."

Steve went pale and said nothing.

Maybe Steve hadn't known about the jealousy, Tony thought.

"You don't own me," Tony said. He lifted his head high.

Steve took a shaking breath. "Ten years, Tony. I've known you ten years. And I-- I never knew you liked men. Not even the slightest hint. I thought I knew everything about you."

Tony smiled, closed-mouthed. "Surprise."

"I can't believe this," Steve said, miserably, and okay, that one hurt. Tony would have thought that Steve of all people wouldn't have been homophobic, but, well, sometimes you discovered funny things about people you thought were your friends. This was why he'd never come out. God.

"Don't worry," Tony said, bitterly. "I'll spare you the details."

"And now I wake up to a message that said you've slept with Doom, and I just." Steve paused and took another breath. "Why? Why the hell would you pick Doom?"

He was kind to me. The answer was immediate, and also entirely ridiculous. Steve wasn't going to understand that.

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. He's pretty."

And Steve just... crumpled. What?

"That's it, then," Steve said, under his breath. "You can have all the gorgeous people you want. I don't know why I ever thought you'd feel anything different. I thought, the last time I lost the serum, I thought you still-- I thought maybe you still--" He sighed. "I was wrong. Never mind."

Jesus Christ. Steve did know, after all.

"This isn't about me and Doom," Tony said, realization dawning. "This is about me and you. Isn't it?"

"I told myself," Steve said, voice low and miserable, "I told myself for years that you weren't interested. That you weren't interested in me. That you weren't interested in men at all."

Oh. Oh, God.

"Steve," Tony said, uncertainly. "You're... you're straight. Aren't you?"

"I'm exactly as straight as you are." Steve's voice was bitter. "Tell me, Tony, how straight is that?"

Steve-- Steve was-- Steve really was-- he really wanted-- and God, they'd wasted years.

"Not very," Tony said, quietly.

Steve gave him a sad smile. "But it doesn't matter what I want, because I'm ninety-five years old and I look like this." He gestured at himself. "And you've made it perfectly clear where your interests lie." He snorted. "Doom is handsome."

Tony stared at him in horrified disbelief. "Steve Rogers, you're a goddamn idiot."

Steve blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I love you more than I love my own worthless life," Tony said, and Steve just stared at him, wide-eyed. "I've loved you since the day I met you. And if I thought for one second that I had a chance with you, I'd do anything. No matter what you looked like. It doesn't matter to me. You mean the world to me, whatever you look like." He smiled. "And you're still handsome, you know."

Stunned disbelief was writ large across Steve's face. "I really don't need your pity--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tony said.

He stood up, stalked around the table, bent down, and kissed Steve full on the mouth. A properly dirty kiss, with tongue. The best kiss he could possibly give. Steve's arms came up and wrapped around Tony, pulling him down, holding him like he was drowning and Tony could save him, like Tony was all there was, all he'd ever wanted.

When they pulled apart, they were both breathing hard.

"I'll show you pity," Tony said.

Steve brought his fingers to his lips, touching his face like he wasn't quite sure any of this was real. Then he rested his fingers on Tony's mouth; Tony kissed Steve's fingertips, and Steve shivered.

"Yeah?" Steve asked. His eyes were dark with desire, light only at the edges, watery blue. Always beautiful. "That's what you're gonna show me, huh?"

"I can show you a lot of things," Tony said. "Just say the word."

Steve leaned in and kissed him again.


Afterwards, Tony wrapped himself around Steve and pillowed his head on Steve's chest. Steve pressed sleepy kisses to Tony's forehead and, yeah, yeah, this was definitely better than last night. Orders of magnitude better.

"I love you, you know," Steve said. "Thought maybe I should say it back."

Tony smiled. Yeah, this was going to be good.

And then he had a thought.

"Hey, where's your phone?"

"Mmm," Steve said, his voice edging toward sleep. "Wherever my pants ended up."

No good. Those were probably still in the kitchen, and nothing short of the end of the world was going to make Tony get out of bed. Luckily his own phone was on the bedside table.

"Hey," Tony said, aiming the camera back at them. The phone display showed Tony's satisfied grin and Steve's blissed-out, lazy smile; Tony thought it was a stunningly handsome look on Steve, and a pretty clearly well-fucked look for them both, given that they were both visibly at least shirtless. "Selfie time, gorgeous."

Steve blinked and smiled fuzzily. "Okay, Tony. Whatever you want." He frowned, suddenly more alert, as Tony pulled up the messages on his phone. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Are we dating?" Tony asked.

"Yes?" Steve said, a little warily. "I mean, I want to, and if you want to, I'd really love to--"

"Great!" Tony said. "So we're telling people, right?"

"If it's all right with you," Steve said, obviously still confused, but still into it. "I mean, it's important to me, and I don't want to hide how I feel about you--"

"The entire world already knew about that one, apparently," Tony said. "Also, you're wonderful and I love you too."

He attached the photo, typed "I make A+ life choices," and hit send.

"Did you just send that to Johnny Storm?" Steve asked, suspicion in his eyes.

"And about fifty other people," Tony said, cheerfully. "Congratulations, we're queer now. No take-backsies."

Steve swallowed hard. "Okay. Did you send that to Doom?"

Tony scrolled back up and checked the recipients list. "Apparently. I have no idea how I even got his number. Huh."

"What if he's, uh. Jealous?"

"Then my boyfriend," Tony said, drawing out the word just to see the contented look on Steve's face, "will give him hell. I'm pretty sure that between us we can field at least two entire Avengers teams, and we can probably scrounge up a few more interested participants."

"Yeah," Steve said, and he kissed Tony once more. "Yeah, that works for me."

This was for sure the weirdest twenty-four hours Tony had experienced in... well, at least a few years. That he could remember. A lot of caveats were necessary there, but still.

It was definitely worth it.