I do not own the Avengers, nor do I make any kind of profit from this piece.
Tony frowned at the screen, watching as the simulation failed—again. His new suit upgrade just wasn't working, no matter what he tried. He'd even brought Bruce in, just to have another brilliant mind to help him. Bruce wasn't making any headway, either, and so he'd turned to his own project.
Which apparently wasn't working out the way he wanted, either.
"Dammit." Tony looked up at Bruce's soft mutter. Bruce almost never swore.
He looked bad, Tony realized. He had dark circles under his eyes, and Tony could see the tension of his shoulders even from a distance. He kept shaking his head, jabbing at the displays with a bit more force than necessary.
Tony kept watching as Bruce pushed himself away from his work station, stood, and started pacing, all the while grumbling equations and questions and swear words in a voice Tony could barely hear.
He cast a glance at his own work before looking back, finding Bruce scrubbing furiously at his face as he kept pacing. Tony stood up and made his way over at a controlled pace, making sure that Bruce knew he was coming.
"Bruce? When was the last time you slept?" Not that he was in any way qualified to ask people about healthy sleeping/eating/interacting habits, but still.
Bruce just shook his head and kept pacing. Tony sighed, shook his head, and stepped in Bruce's path. When Bruce actually knocked into him, it made him stop, and Tony could see the faint green tint in Bruce's eyes.
A saner man would have left, or called Cap.
Tony'd never been the saner man.
He grabbed Bruce's biceps, keeping his hold firm but still gentle. Bruce just kept shaking his head, eyes now firmly closed, and Tony felt a part of his heart break a little bit.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Bruce's to get him to stop shaking his head.
"Bruce." He breathed. "Bruce, c'mon buddy. Look at me. C'mon." Bruce just closed his eyes even tighter, and Tony could feel the very slight tremor that ran through him, could feel him repressing the Other Guy.
And so Tony did one of the things he was best at. He talked. He talked about anything and everything, carefully avoiding science. He talked about how Cap blushed every time Clint wolf-whistled at his ass—because, come on, it was every fucking time he put on the uniform, shouldn't he be used to it?
He talked about Thor's silly cape and how Tony was pretty sure he was stealing someone's curtains every time he needed a new one. And people called him unfashionable. At least he didn't wear drapes.
He talked about how terrified the guy at Starbucks was whenever Natasha came in to order a very complicated coffee in a fake, heavy accent, and how many times the guy had practically swooned when she finally smiled at him getting it right.
He talked about Clint in the vents—because even Bruce couldn't talk Tony out of that one. Tony was certain Clint was in the vents, the walls, maybe even the fucking floor, and Tony told Bruce about how he kept wanting to put in alarms just to fuck with Clint.
Tony talked and talked and finally, Bruce stopped trembling and opened his eyes. They were the beautiful brown that Tony had, very secretly, grown to adore.
"Tony." Bruce said, his voice low and rough. Tired. "Stop talking."
Tony stopped talking, his mouth snapping shut with an audible 'click'. Bruce gave a wry smile at the noise.
Tony gave a small, honest smile back, and before he knew it, Bruce's arms were moving, grazing his shoulders and his own arms before finally settling tightly around his waist. Bruce's head found a place on Tony's shoulder, which considering the fact that Bruce was taller than Tony, was a feat in and of its own. Tony stood stock still for a long moment, arms held slightly out from his sides to accommodate his lab buddy.
Tony made a questioning nose in the back of his throat, and gave a small, pointless tug to see if he could get loose.
Bruce growled.
Tony stopped moving.
Slowly his hands went up, one settling on the nape of Bruce's neck, the other moving to his messy hair to begin gently combing through it. Bruce made a rumbling noise that Tony liked very much.
A bit too much, considering they were supposed to just be friends/lab buddies.
"Bruce? Buddy? Don't you think you should head to bed?" And wasn't that hilarious? Tony Insomniac Stark telling someone else to pack it in.
Bruce made another noise that sounded vaguely like a "no" and Tony couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. He moved one of his hands from Bruce's neck to his back and began rubbing his hand up and down in long, slow strokes.
Bruce made the rumbling noise again and Tony's smile moved into a full blown grin.
"Okay buddy. C'mon. We gotta get you to bed." Tony outright laughed when Bruce mumbled something against his neck, but still managed to untangle them and steer Bruce to the lift.
~
It was a challenge to manhandle someone physically bigger than himself out of an elevator and down a hall to his bedroom, but Tony managed somehow. After all, he's always thrived when presented with a challenge.
Finally he deposited Bruce in his bed and stood for a moment to try to work out the crick in his back. Once he realized that wasn't really going to happen, he just groaned and looked down at his friend.
Who was adorable when he was nearly asleep.
He stared up at Tony with a sleep-drunk smile on his face, his hair ruffled and his eyes half-lidded. Tony laughed, softly, and then leant down to undo Bruce's shoes and get them off his feet, gently tugging each one after it was unlaced.
He deposited the pair on the floor and then leant back over Bruce to get his glasses off and onto the bedside table.
Tony had just lifted Bruce's glasses when Bruce's hand clamped around his wrist.
And tugged. Hard.
Tony lost his balance and fell, just managing to catch himself on his elbows, half off the bed and half over Bruce, who just smiled some more.
Tony laughed, again, and ran his hand through Bruce's hair, once. Bruce closed his eyes at the touch.
"Okay, big guy. I'm gonna go and let you sleep. We can do science tomorrow." His voice was soft, and honestly, Tony had no real desire to move. He knew that once he got up he was going straight back to the lab to work on something—anything—to get his mind off of this, to file it away for later use, to think up what he'd say when Bruce was skittish the next morning, his deep brown eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped in embarrassment.
Bruce shook his head, and Tony started to say something when Bruce moved, again.
His hands came up and framed Tony's face, palms warm and rough. Tony didn't have time to react before Bruce leaned up and pulled Tony down at the same time, and then Bruce was kissing him.
It wasn't spectacular, as far as kisses went. It was little more than just lips brushing against lips, and it was a little off center since Bruce was tired and without his glasses, but Tony smiled into it all the same.
He fervently ignored the pain that blossomed in his chest, too.
Finally Bruce let him go and slumped back and Tony licked his lips, chasing the taste of his friend. Bruce smiled, but his eyes were already falling closed.
Tony waited a few more minutes in his awkward sprawled position just to be sure that Bruce was finally asleep before he moved, carefully putting the almost forgotten glasses on the bedside table and then, on impulse, leaning down and dropping a quick kiss to Bruce's forehead.
Tony left, then, quickly but quietly, for the sanctuary of his lab.
He didn't think Bruce would remember the kiss. The cuddling he probably would, but he'd been so close to actually being asleep for the kiss that Tony felt safe.
He felt dirty, too. Like a horrible person.
What kind of asshole did that? It wasn't the first time that Bruce had been so sleep-drunk that he'd clung to Tony, and Tony had done it a few times himself. Sometimes he'd even been actually drunk, too. Tony always remembered, though. Tony was always in complete control of his actions, and used his state to his advantage, getting closer to Bruce than the man would have allowed otherwise.
And god, that made him a horrible friend. Taking advantage like that, just for a few minutes of closeness that had a totally different meaning to Bruce.
Whenever Tony was the one who was out of it, Bruce just shrugged it off. Blamed the alcohol or the sleep deprivation, and Tony laughed and agreed and kicked himself later. Whenever it was Bruce that was the sleep-drunk one—because Bruce never drank, never so much as sipped—and the cuddling happened, he was always sorry the next day. He always apologized and promised it wouldn't happen again and Tony would have to watch him being skittish and nervous all day, even after Tony had shrugged it off as no big deal.
God, he was an asshole. Bruce should hate him. God knows Tony hated himself for doing that to his friend.
Tony attempted to forget how much of a dick he was by burying himself in building, again.