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Sweat Stains and All

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Steve made his way down to the workshop. His boyfriend had been holed up in there for the last ten hours and showed no signs of returning to the real world any time soon.  Time for an extraction. It should have been simple, in and out really. He would go down there and try a simple request, and if that didn't work, he always had the tried and true method, pick Tony up and carry him out fireman style like it or not. 

 

"Tony." He said firmly as the door closed behind him.  "You have been down here all day.  Time to come up for air."
He was met with a soft grunt, a curse, and then the sound of the creeper rolling across the concrete floor. Steve craned his head to see the man in question rolling himself out from under one of his cars.  He groaned as he stretched himself upright.


"Hey, Cap." He said, pulling at the rag tucked into his jeans to wipe off his hands. "Has it really been that long?" 


Steve shook his head fondly. Despite all the headaches that came with dating a flighty genius, he wouldn't change it for the world. Plus, he did look good.

 

The tabloids and magazines always commented on Tony in suits, crisp suits that cost more money than Steve cared to think about. And goddamn did he look good in a suit; there were few people that could look better. He wasn't arguing with that point. But those journalists had clearly never seen Tony in his working clothes. A pair of well-worn jeans that hung loosely on Tony's hips but curved snuggly over his ass and around his thighs and a tank top that showed off his shockingly toned arms, built from years of hard work and heavy lifting. And he always looked messy; hair tousled, sweaty, and covered in grease.  Steve would be lying if he said it wasn't one of the hottest things he had ever seen. "I missed you."

 

Tony gave him a small smile in returned, leaning over the space between them to press a light kiss to Steve's lips. "Missed you too, Sugarplum."

Steve took advantage of the situation and placed a hand firmly on the back of Tony's head, keeping him from going too far and leaning back in for a proper kiss. His free hand wrapped around Tony's waist, leveraging him up onto the top of the desk so that Steve could nestle between his legs until they were pressed together from Tony's legs wrapped around his hips up.

 

An hour later Steve returned from the workshop, utterly debauched with Tony in tow over his shoulder because he claimed he was too tired to have to walk himself but somehow, not tired enough to go to bed. Steve compromised for the penthouse sofa, tucking Tony into the corner spot he had an eternal state of dibs over and snuggling in next to him. He pressed a kiss to the genius' forehead, combing a hand through his hair. Sleepy post-coital Tony wasn't nearly as good as a greasy, sweaty one, but it was definitely a close second. And so long as Steve got to be the one making him that way, he figured maybe he could call it an even first-place tie.