Date Brownies
It had taken Tony Stark a long time to pluck up the courage to ask Steve Rogers on a date. For a start, the man seemed immune to hints and flirting, (including the not-so-subtle "Nice ass, Captain!") and on the rare occasion that he did understand a lewd joke or comment, he blushed like an innocent schoolgirl and turned away, tugging at his collar. Tony had even, a few times, pondered on whether Steve would survive in the twenty-first century. He seemed in constant awe of Tony's cutting-edge technology and in perpetual horror of the fashion of the day.
In the weeks that followed the identification of his feelings, Tony sank into a thick cloud of irritability and depression, two states that alternated, depending on where the Captain happened to be. When he was close, Tony was saddened by how close he was, yet how far away he was. When he was away, Tony missed him. It got to the point that Thor had taken him aside, for a man-to-god confession. The big man had clapped Tony on the shoulder, nearly making his legs buckle.
"You wish to court our Captain, do you not?" he had boomed. Tony winced; the god had no concept of quiet. Even his breathing was loud. He found he could not meet Thor's eyes.
"I suppose that statement would contain certain elements of truth," he muttered.
"Then, please, wait not any longer. Your temperament has, of late, been rather undesirable. The time to act draws close."
With the wise words of the god in mind, Tony had set forth, making it his personal goal to ask Steve out on a date – and not one where they'd have to fight aliens or villains together, though they did that rather well. They'd spent hours training together, plotting out every possible tactic so that they could fight seamlessly with each other. It was time well spent and the man of iron convinced himself to broach the topic in the next training session.
Tony was already training by the time Steve stormed in, face sour. Tony, duly alarmed, rolled over from his pushups and looked enquiringly at him.
"Captain?"
"Don't." Steve stormed past him; fists already taped, and began to viciously spar with the punching bag. The defenseless equipment weathered the blows rained upon it, though it was lifted off the hook with almost every blow. Tony backed off, until Steve looked to be slowing down. As he neared, he could hear Steve's laboured muttering as he continued to pound the back with more and more force.
"Goddamn! Claims- to- be- a- pa-tri-ot!" On the last syllable, as Tony expected, the bag went flying to meet the opposite wall. Steve slumped, looking down at his reddened knuckles and wincing. Tony placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and peered at him.
"What the hell happened?"
"Clint. Goddamn Clint." Tony couldn't help but be amused at the bitterness in Steve's voice. Clint Barton was a bit of a jerk at times, but he was generally harmless when he wasn't in action.
"What did he do?" Steve hesitated and fixed his eyes away from Tony, over his head.
"You'll think it's stupid."
"Yeah, probably, but even if it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, I won't hold it against you… Come on, Cap'n."
"Clint…" Steve's jaw worked as he confessed. "He forgot the Goddamn words."
"The words? … To the national anthem?"
Steve had, so far, found every single documentary on the Second World War and watched them… repeatedly. He could usually be found singing heartily along with the American national anthem and was disheartened when the others didn't often join in. What really made him mad, though, was when someone (usually Clint) either talked through it or forgot the words. When it wasn't the national anthem, it was another wartime song that his old comrades would have sung. As of late, Tony had taken to listening and joining in, just so he wouldn't feel alone. Besides, it was important to Steve. That was enough for him.
"Steve, you have to stop getting mad at Clint for this. He has other things going on in his life that he deems more important than learning 'The Star Spangled Banner'. You need to accept that… But he should do it out of respect for you, I agree." Steve frowned some more, looking sulky and pouty.
"He should do it out of respect for his country. What's the point of fighting for something you're not proud of?"
"He is proud of America, in his own, Clint-y way. Why else would he fight for us? Steve, you're just going to have to accept that people express their patriotism in different ways. It's what makes us unique." Steve hung his head and Tony lifted his chin, looking deep into his eyes for a moment of frankness.
"Chin up, Captain. Let's get training."
After a long and brutal training session, Tony tossed a bottle of water to Steve, who gladly accepted. He was sitting against the wall; the sweat was trickling down his forehead, over his jaw, down his neck… He took a long drink.
"Feeling better, Captain?"
"I wish you'd stop calling me that." Steve didn't sound better, he sounded tired.
"Alright. Would you prefer Steve?"
"Greatly." Tony came and plonked his sore body down next to Steve's.
"Steve, then. I hope you'll call me Tony."
"I already do."
"I know. I just wanted to let you know that you can." Steve raised an amused eyebrow, opening his eyes just enough to give Tony a look. His blue eyes sparkled dully.
"Do you think I overreacted to Clint?" Tony considered this.
"Well, in a word, yes. In many words, I think that Clint should just learn the Goddamn words already, before you beat the shit out of him." Steve nodded slowly.
"I guess I should apologise to him, then. It's just hard for me to see anyone disrespecting our country, when I knew countless good men who laid down their lives for it." Tony nodded.
"Yeah, but maybe think over it a little more. In the meantime, I'm gonna make you a milkshake. Come on, Sucker." He hopped up and helped Steve to his feet, leading him into the huge kitchen. Steve surveyed his surroundings with almost calculating serenity and took a seat at the bench.
Tony grabbed a tumbler, crushed some ice, and chopped up a banana and added milk and vanilla ice cream before blending the whole lot. He worked efficiently and with practiced ease, chatting idly to Steve about the weather. Steve was formulating an apology monologue to Clint, making sure to include a long section about him not being a "complete and insufferable ass". He looked up only when Tony placed a tall glass filled with banana milkshake in front of him.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"You're welcome."
"You know, Tash said the weirdest thing to me yesterday." Steve squinted, taking a sip of the milkshake. It was delicious.
"What'd she say? Please, God, let it be a sexual innuendo." Tony waggled his eyebrows, taking a sip from his own glass.
"No. But she said that she thought something was up with the both of us and that we should just hurry up and sort it out." Tony froze inside, but he knew his face wouldn't betray that.
"Huh. Well. Is something up with us? Not gonna lie, Cap, you've been acting a little funny lately." That was true, at least. Steve had seemed detached of late, but was easily shaken to his senses.
"Well, so have you. One second, you're all depressed and broody like that weird Edward guy and the next you're jumping all over me like an over-excited puppy." Tony raised his eyebrows at these analogies.
"Did you just compare me, Iron Man, Tony Stark, the sexiest being on this Earth (yourself excluded) to a fictional, sparkly vampire?" The captain snorted as he took another swig of milkshake.
"So you think I'm sexy, then?" The question was not entirely unexpected, though Tony had hoped he would pretend not to get the reference like he did most times. He had picked up on it, it would seem. Well, he'd come this far…
"Hell yeah, I think you're sexy! Even if you are an old man. But seriously, Cap, your ass is prestigious." Steve flushed, like Tony knew he would, and Tony drank it up.
"Well, that's very nice of you."
"I'm glad you think so." Tony snapped his fingers. "How about you let me continue complimenting me over dinner tomorrow night?" Steve gave him a look that plainly read, what the fuck?
"Aw, come on, Cap! It'll be fun! Fun is in short supply these days."
"Allowing you to take me to dinner seems oddly date-like." Tony smirked across the top of his glass.
"You're the one that mentioned the word 'date'. And I am A-okay with that. Come on, Steve, it's not like one little date with a man is gonna kill you or anything. I'll be really chivalrous and shit, holding doors, pulling out chairs, paying with a tip…" Steve considered this.
"… And you won't expect anything, you know, from me?"
"What kinda guy do you think I am? Contrary to popular belief, Steve, I have only slept with my fair share of women. And I pay the men off, you know how it is." Steve gave him a glare.
"Okay, okay, I was kidding. But give me a chance. I really… like you, Cap. And I'd like the chance to know and compliment you some more."
"Alright. But don't tell the others." Tony wished he had a camera to capture the surprised and flattered look on Steve's face. "I like you too, Stark. A lot."
"Called it," Tony chuckled. "I'll pick you up from your room tomorrow night. Say, seven? Dress casual."
Despite telling Steve to dress casually, Tony puzzled over his outfit for more than half an hour, eventually settling on a buttoned shirt over black jeans. Running a comb through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time, he mentally prepared himself. It was true, he had wanted this, but now he was just plain nervous.
"Jarvis?"
"Yes, sir?"
"How do I look?"
"Dashing, sir," the AI replied.
"Good."
Tony went and knocked on Steve's door. Since the other Avengers had moved into what was formerly Stark Tower, they had all been assigned rooms until an actual Avengers Tower was constructed. There was no reply from within. Tony frowned.
"Steve? Don't tell me you've chickened out. It's just dinner. Would you rather we got shawarma instead?" There was still no reply. So Tony waited; he figured Steve would have to come out soon enough to eat. After all, the guy ate a lot. Having a metabolism four times faster than the average human would do that.
Thor found him eventually. Tony hopped up from his seat on the floor to greet the god.
"I see you have finally courted the captain. Congratulations."
"Thank you. Tell me; is the captain in his quarters? He is not responding to my knocking."
"Alas, good friend, this is what I can to inform you of. The Lady Natasha has become quite vexed."
"What does that have to do with Steve? Did Clint touch her guns again, or something?"
"The Lady is vexed as she is hungry and cannot seem to get into the kitchen. Her stomach rumbles like thunderclouds. Please, assist us." Tony rolled his eyes, following Thor to the kitchen. If it was really such a big deal, he wouldn't really care that much if Thor used Mjolnir to break down the kitchen door.
Natasha stood, hands on hips, outside the aforementioned door.
"Steve, for the love of fucking God, if you don't come out in the next five minutes, I am going to rain hell on your spangled ass!" Tony jumped.
"Steve is… in there?"
"That is what I came to tell you, puny human."
"Thor, for the last time, 'puny' is not a term of endearment." He knocked on the kitchen door. "Steve? It's ten past eight. Can I come in?"
"No," Steve called. He sounded tense.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want you to see me like this."
"Like what? Steve, whatever it is, I'm sure it's about as frightening as a hamster with a gun. Let me in."
"No, Tony. Please, just… leave me?"
"Jarvis, automatic unlock of the kitchen door, please."
"Yes, sir," the AI responded, with more enthusiasm than a computer ought to have. The kitchen door unlocked.
Steve turned around from in front of the stove, looking aghast.
"You can't do that!" he exclaimed, waving his oven mitt-clad hands awkwardly. There was an apron tied around his neck and waist and his face was flushed from countless hours in here… baking?
All around Tony were trays and plates and platters of brownies. The man of iron cocked an eyebrow.
"What is this? I mean, I can't say I don't appreciate the gesture, but… why?" Steve wrung his hands.
"I couldn't help it! I was just so nervous!"
"So, you bake when you're anxious? That's not a bad thing."
Tony could hear the other slipping into the kitchen and silently getting food. All except Thor, who sneaked a brownie off one of the cool trays and took a huge bite.
"Mm. Well baked, boyfriend-of-the-man-of-iron! Wonderful effort, my Captain! I like it! Another!" And before anyone could stop him, Thor, out of force of habit, threw the brownie to the floor, where it crumbled.