“Don’t need a doctor,” Steve grunts, just the faintest hint of Brooklyn coming through in the rough tone.
He growls low at the duo of home-grown terrorists behind them when they start fidgeting. They snarl right back, of course, one of them lobbing a rather impressive lob of spit that misses Steve’s boot by millimeters. A fight flashes through blue eyes and Tony tightens his grip on Steve’s hair without thinking. It wins him a dark glower but Steve stills beneath his fingers, submitting to the check though not without a storm of irritation.
“Of course you don’t,” Tony agrees easily, electing to ignore the muttered curses behind him.
The duo hadn’t put up much of a fight and have proven themselves to be more of a nuisance than anything else due to the sheer number of home-made bombs they’d made and tucked away in Time Square. It’d taken a little work but in the end the Ultimates packed everything up nicely all because the terrorists been stupid enough to pay for everything with their debit cards. It’d taken Tony less than a minute to trace them once they’d figured that bit out.
Steve, on the other hand, would walk away with a broken femur, let it heal wrongly and s as wellwell and only admit something was wrong when his body would give up on him. Tony had no trouble believing the whole affair would end with him developing new restraints for super soldiers.
Of the two, it’s easy to determine which requires his attention.
Especially since an entire building had come down on Steve and damn the surveillance around here for not catching that bit so that Tony can be absolutely certain the shield had caught the brunt of that.
“ ‘M fine,” Steve stresses.
He does look fine but he’d looked fine as a vampire so Tony’s not all that convinced, demanding Steve put a bit of weight on his leg. Steve’s leg jumps, tapping out an impatient beat instead. There’s no faltering in the rhythm being tapped out and Tony takes it as a sufficient check.
Steve’s gone from irritated to bored by the time Tony finishes up the check and he quickly snatches his hands back before Steve gets desperate enough to start biting. Without thinking, Tony rubs a thumb against the gash on Steve’s forehead because he’s never quite managed developing a survival instinct. The soldier bristles, mouth flattening in an unhappy petulant line.
“Guess you’re fine then,” Tony replies easily, ignoring the dry itch in his throat as he comes down off adrenaline, sheer relief bringing him down those last few notches.
It must come out sarcastic because Steve’s scowl turns downright angry and for a moment Tony wants to just collapse on the ground, lacking the energy to deal with Steve’s temper for the moment. Maybe he can catch a nap while Steve snarls at him.
“Shut your mouth,” Steve snarls at the duo behind Tony and oh, guess that irritation hadn’t been directed at him.
One of the two mutters something Tony can’t quite catch, lacking Steve’s superhuman hearing and he turns to find the duo exchanging glowers with Captain America. Really, don’t people learn? Steve’s kicked faces in for less.
He’s about to say as much when Clint’s voice comes through the earpiece.
“Iron Man, we could use your help,” Hawkeye drawls and Tony glances over to where the man’s propped against an upturned police car. One that’d just so happened to land atop a civilian who's unconscious but appears to still be breathing.
Tony swears, heading over immediately, shouting at the paramedics to do the same. It’s an easy task with the Iron Man armor and he bends down, lifting the vehicle up enough for paramedics to assess damage. He thinks he hears something behind him but ignores it, listening as the EMT inspects the injured for spinal injuries.
“Bet Stark’d let you sink your dick in his ass for a dollar,” and okay he definitely heard that.
The bark of laughter that accompanies it is loud and blatant, “Like I’d need that. He’d be on his knees beggin fo–”
Tony almost drops the car at the enormous crash that comes from behind him and just barely manages to lock the armor’s joints in place. He can probably guess what’s happened, going by Clint’s look of increasing amusement. Looking closely he thinks he can spot the faintest shadow of a smile on the paramedic as well.
He can definitely hear Steve’s snarl, low and down right dangerous followed by another explosion of noise. It takes everything in him not to turn around.
When he finally does, Steve’s already there, enormous bulk blocking his view. There’s a smugness to the soldier, tinged with quiet possessiveness, as he draws close, curling an arm around the hip of the Iron Man armor. Tony brushes a hand against the tail end of the fading mark on Steve’s forehead. It’s shrunken down to the length of his fingernail already.
“Healing,” Steve reminds him, and there’s that smugness again.
“Don’t you look perky,” Tony says with an easy smile, “Maybe we should have them check you properly for head injuries.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, the smile on his face dimpling as it grows. He drops a kiss on Tony’s mouth. It’s just a quick touch, leaves Tony wanting but Steve pulls away before anything can be done about it.
“Home,” Steve orders in a low voice that makes Tony shiver, “Now.”
Tony flicks a glance behind Steve’s shoulder, catches sight of Hawkeye dragging away one of the terrorists and looking far too amused about it. The duo’s sporting matching black eyes and Tony winces in sympathy at the sight of the ugly bruise swallowing up the face of the older one. He’s pretty sure the other one’s concussed judging by the way he’s hanging limp and blinking blearily in Hawkeye’s grip.
Steve’s arm tightens around the armor, applying just the barest hint of superhuman strength.
“Fine, fine. Home. You know, I have less demanding blondes I can attend to,” Tony drawls going for flippant.
Steve’s eyes darken dangerously as he nips at what little flesh he can reach. Tony stretches his neck upwards obligingly, “Not anymore you don’t.”
Tony rolls his eyes through the absurd grin that’s breaking out across his face.