Tonight is the night, Stark. Suit up.
Tony's second armor, one he was much more accustomed to than even the Iron Man suit, was midnight, sleek, and sexy. With a tie as red as wine, shoes shiny enough to rival any star, fluffy hair combed up and beard immaculately trimmed, Tony Stark was ready to get hitched.
Of course, he needed to actually pop the question first.
Tony smoothed out the nonexistent crinkles in his attire and didn't dare touch his actually perfect hair. Who knew how many different gels he'd used to style it just the way he liked? Well, perhaps JARVIS did, considering he was the one who kept Tony's stock filled. When it came to his hair, Tony lost himself in the meticulous efforts akin to the way his fingers worked their magic on the more sensitive, innermost parts of an Iron Man armor.
Whilst debating on sticking the rose between his teeth or behind his ear (plant breath or possibly messing up his hair? Decisions, decisions.) he remembered that Oh yeah, Stark, you said the date was at 7:30 and it's currently 7:25 and she's MEETING YOU ON THE FUCKING ROOF, TWENTY FLOORS AWAY!!!
Genius must've been a relative term.
Getting to the roof wasn't the hard part. Was he late? By five minutes. Was she there? Already at the table. Was she happy? Well, there's that damn crinkle between her eyebrows but the arms aren't crossed so that's a win, Stark!
Tony sat down across from his love and they simply stared at one another for a moment. The brunet twiddled his thumbs underneath the white tablecloth.
"Hi." He said finally, and he'd be damned if he wasn't nervous. Come on, Stark. You went twelve for twelve, you can ask the love of your life to marry you.
Where does one go when the love of their life says NO?!
Huh, I'm a poet and I didn't know it. Not the time, Stark.
He was turning more and more into Wade the longer he lived. He was getting concerned. So instead he inhaled deeply, chest of shrapnel puffing up slightly. Make yourself look larger and the bear won't attack. I think that's how it goes. Is it even for a bear? Why the hell am I comparing my lovely lady to a fuckin' animal?
"Hi." She said back, the corner of her mouth tilting up. God, he loved that smile. The one where she was clearly holding back but she just loved him so damn much that she couldn't help but have some of that emotion slip through the cracks.
"So..." He cleared his throat. "Fancy meeting you here?"
She chuckled. "I suppose. I went ahead and 'ordered' our wine. I don't know how you did it, Stark, but seeing Clint in a bowtie acting lie a French girl taking our orders was a lovely sight."
"I love you." He blurted out. God, what a woman!
She merely smiled, but the sentiment was all the same. "I'm glad you do, 'cause otherwise I'd be wasting my time."
He huffed out a laugh. "Are you saying you're not wasting any time with me?"
"I don't consider it time badly spent."
God, he loved her.
He grinned and leaned halfway across the table. "Kiss me?"
She obliged happily, a lock of hair falling out from behind her ear. Tony smiled as he felt the soft hair hit his cheek and carefully lifted his hand up, cupping her cheek and nearly bursting at the seams with emotion when she moved into his embrace. He pulled away with one last peck of those soft lips before finally pushing the piece of hair back behind her ear and sitting back into his seat completely.
He smirked when she grabbed a mirror from her purse and wiped away some smeared lipstick. He did that. Not anyone else. Him. With a fresh coat of the red stain and a check to make sure none was on her teeth, she slipped the items back into her purse and looked into Tony's brown doe eyes. "So what's the occasion, Stark?"
Wanna get hitched?
"Is it a crime to take out my longtime girlfriend?"
Then I am one smooth criminal.
"Without purpose? Completely."
"I'm nothing if without a purpose."
"Then what's the purpose?"
"There isn't one."
"You're insane, I see."
The wine was soon, thankfully, brought to the table by Clint, who was now. Yes, wine! Just enough to get loosened up...
Though, by the time dinner was over, he was so fuckin' loose he dropped the ring in his glass.
S'close, Stark... His mind slurred. He'd had quite a few glasses of the fucking Viniq AKA THE FUCKING VODKA WINE, IN FUCKING RUBY EDITION.
Those brown eyes glanced between her (who was checking her makeup in that little compact mirror, thankfully) and the glass of shimmery alcohol that had him at a level higher than tipsy but not quite drunk. Yet. Oh god...
Drink or dig, drink or dig...
Tony promptly picked up the glass and chugged the shit out of that mess.
And now he's drunk!
He barely scooped the ring out of the shiny liquid and bobbed his head to look up at her. "H-Heeeyyyy... Look... Look a' m'..."
She looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. That glass was just filled and now it's empty and Oh fuck me!
"You're so... So fuckin' be... be... that fuckin' 'b' word for- for pretty." He slurred, taking her hand and already (somehow) slipping the ring onto her left ring finger. "And... I wanna like... Marry you an' shit. So is that like- That's cool, right? 'Cause I like..." Tony hiccuped. "I been waitin' a good... I dunno, a while, to do this so like... Say yes? Oh cool, you're already wearin' the ring, you said- you said yes?... Fuck yeah, 'm gettin' hitched! SUCK IT, NEW YORK!"
She merely blinked and watched the drunk man shout to the buildings far below the Tower. What she was getting into? Well, she'd have a better understanding with a bit more... Influence, she decided as she poured more of the Viniq into the glass and just watched. And if Clint came back up and finished off the bottle, getting considerably drunk and spouting off ridiculous ideas about the upcoming wedding with Tony, well...
"Well fuck me in the ass and call me Sally, I'm a damn good wedding planner!"