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Tony pulled himself free of the scorched and dented Iron Man suit, running a tired hand over his face. When he pulled it away, it was covered in the thick, green slime of the cushioning gel. Every time he finished a flight, he looked like an alien from an early-80s horror movie had spit him out. One day, he was going to find a way to turn it any other color, maybe blue. Or gold. Gold would be lovely.
Adrenalin from the fight still had his heart racing. It left him a bit lightheaded and, to be blunt, more than a bit aroused, but that would pass. He picked his favorite robe up from its hanger and draped it over his shoulders, along with the glass of scotch he'd left behind when duty called. He needed a drink or three to wash the image of a charred and burning mothership out of his mind. All that lovely alien tech, gone in smoke because Barton had been creative with his charges. It was enough to bring a tear to his eye.
So caught up was he in his thoughts that Tony didn't see Steve Rogers step in front of him until he'd walked directly into the man's chest. He bounced back a step, barely saving his precious drink from an untimely end. Tony stared at the wide expanse of blue leather, then gave the chest a friendly pat. It was a wonderful example of manly musculature. He had plans to use it the next time he worked on anything with a torso. "Strong, yet yielding. I commend your designers." He tipped his head back to meet Steve's eyes. It wasn't as far up as it seemed, but Steve had a Ph.D in looming, with a minor in towering. It was like looking at a national monument. "What can I do for you today? Aliens attacking again so soon"?"
Steve rolled his eyes, like the stick in the mud he was, and shoved Tony back against the wall. His robe fluttered and slipped off his shoulders, tangling around his legs as his back thumped into the wall. Golden liquor splashed over his expensive imported rug as his drink slipped from his hands. That, for once, was the last of Tony's concerns.
Body warm, soot-stained leather pressed against him, sticking where the gel hadn't dried and, oh yes, Tony wasn't the only one who enjoyed the rush of a good fight. Tony's breath caught as Steve cupped him through his boxers.
At his stunned expression, Steve only snorted and leaned in harder, enough that it was suddenly deliciously hard to breathe. "What?" he asked, voice low and still rough from smoke. "Guys don't help each other out these days?"
Priorities, priorities. Tony was straight. He loved women, with their soft curves and wicked looks. Steve was... Well, Steve was whatever Steve was, which currently happened to be someone fondling little Tony, who was all too happy to be fondled. Really, little Tony didn't seem to care that the petting came from someone with exterior equipment.
"Ahh— not precisely, no—" This was Captain America. Heterosexual or not, Tony would have to be significantly more insane than the average supervillain to refuse him. "Usually we're a little more comfortable. Bedroom?"
Wicked blue eyes looked at him from behind the cowl. Tony licked his lips and came very close to taking back everything he'd said about moving. Steve stepped back and, oh, oxygen, Tony hadn't really missed it. "Alright. Five minutes. Your room." Tony leaned back against the wall and watched Steve walk away. Leather pants concealed nothing. He made a mental note to send Fury a thank you card for Steve's uniform.
Maybe making Kinsey team up with M.C. Escher was a top secret super solider ability.
Tony stumbled to the nearest intercom and slapped it. "Pepper, cancel my appointments this afternoon. I'm going to be a bit busy."