At times, their fights got bad. One would feel guilty or apologetic, but it would be covered up by blinding frustration. And while they never resorted to physical violence against each other, it was not unheard of for things to be broken in the midst of their rage-filled arguments.
This particular fight had both Steve and Tony on edge, ready to scream their throats hoarse until they felt that they'd made their point. Words were thrown out about self-sacrificing and going against orders, being and idiot and nearly dying. They had had the conversation many times, though usually it was because of Tony. This time, Steve had ignored the shouts in his comm. in favor of knocking Iron Man aside in order to take a forceful blow for him. He hadn't been harmed too badly, but his stunt had Tony panicked and beyond furious.
"What the fuck were you even thinking!?"
"It would've crushed you in the suit, Tony. You're only human!"
"Yeah, well it sure as hell could've crushed your entire body—"
"I wasn't going to let you –"
"Let me!? What about you—"
The rest of the Avengers knew to make themselves scarce around the penthouse when they fought, which saved them from having to avoid the flying lamp that crashed into the wall and the coffee table as it was overturned, papers flying everywhere. None of it made a difference, none of it mattered.
It was completely backwards, with Tony losing himself in his anger and desperation as Steve kept his composure for the most part. Still, it was too much when Tony slapped one of his favorite coffee cups with the back of his hand and it fell off of the small table next to the couch, shattering at his feet. Tony didn't even flinch. It didn't matter.
The only thing, the only one that mattered had almost gotten himself killed and Tony was stuck in between yelling at Steve and trying not to show the hurt that he hid so well behind his eyes. All he could see past the red in front of him was Steve, Captain America, being flung into the ground and crushed. All he could hear was blood roaring in his ears, and the sound of his voice, sounding so lost as he called out to his fallen lover. All he could feel was the coldness that spread across his chest when Steve didn't get up right away. He hated it—hated feeling so helpless and lost.
Unfortunately for him, Steve could see past his armor, and all it took was a tiny slip of emotion, the way his eyebrows curved upward and the corner of his mouth twitched, before Steve knew how he felt. Quickly realizing his mistake, Tony closed himself off and attempted to back away, but it was too late. Steve was on him in an instant, kissing his lips brutally, his nails embedding themselves in his shoulders. Tony didn't want this right now; he wanted to fight, he wanted to argue, and he tried to protest, but he was already being dragged towards the bedroom where Steve would take him apart piece by piece and put him back together again.
He was wrestled out of his clothes, Steve sucking and biting skin as it became available to him. His resistance was weakening, the walls he'd tried so hard to keep up slowly crumbling. Steve kept on until they were both naked, exposed, and his hands on Tony were gentle, but firm. Blue eyes never left brown as fingers explored, worked, and stretched. It was breathtaking for Tony to feel, to watch, to be sucked into those calming sky-blue orbs as his body was ever so slowly prepared.
He watched Steve until he was done and found himself being tugged up into the blond's lap. The spell he was it was broken by a moan as he sank down onto Steve until he was fully seated, wrapping an arm around his shoulder for grip while the fingers on his other hand wove through layers of blond hair. And just like that, air came rushing back to his lungs and he felt himself breathe for what felt like the first time. Along with his breath came feeling, and he noticed how wet his face felt. Steve said nothing about the tears, only held Tony and brushed a hand against his cheek.
"Are you still angry at me, Tony?" he murmured with those damn puppy dog eyes mapping every line of his face.
Tony didn't respond, instead choosing to pull Steve closer to him and mash their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. Steve seemed satisfied with his response and made his toes curl into the bed sheets as he gyrated his hips and bounced Tony on his lap. Tony allowed himself to get lost in the sensations, in Steve's arms. The point he'd been missing was right there in front of him and he had no choice but to embrace it; Steve was alive. He didn't die, he wasn't going to die. Everything was fine.
Those arms were the only ones he would allow hold him. Within them was a place he called home. And really, as long as he had a place to call home, nothing else mattered.