I haven't published anything in a really long time. Please forgive the stiffness of this.
Nights suck for Tony Stark. Nights where he isn't out partying or getting to know some young socialite with more money than manners, sense and decency combined, especially. Those nights he usually spends in his lab, working. But JARVIS has locked him out of his lab citing that 3 hours of sleep in 72 did not mean that he was still able to operate a welder efficiently.
Tony would have fought him on it, but then some stuff accidentally caught on fire and Dummy gave him an impromptu fire extinguisher shower that he didn't quite manage to avoid and he knew he was done.
He can't shut off his brain though. It had been great up until the whole Chitauri thing and nearly dying in space which reminded him too much of waking up in Afghanistan with a car battery attached to his chest and waking up after falling out of the sky with the aforementioned space thing.
So Tony doesn't sleep. What he does do, though is bore the crap out of himself by watching old trashy movies on the massive TV in the Avengers communal living/dining area. So he stumbles into the room, pausing to grab a blanket off the back of an armchair before crashing down onto a couch in the back of the room. He props his feet up onto the coffee table and his arms behind his head, blanket on his lap and turned on the TV.
It appears that they're doing a marathon of all the James Bond movies, and lucky Tony, he'd caught them right in the beginning of the first one. He was actually a James Bond fan- though he'd tried to keep that fact to himself. Mostly because he lived and worked with two actual spies and he'd heard enough of Clint's grumbling during any movies that involved spies, agents or even a government agency to not want to deal with that himself.
He is halfway through the second movie when a voice scares the crap out of him.
"You're in my seat," Natasha says, dressed more informally than Tony has ever seen her, a StarkTab in one of her hands.
"I-uh, last time I checked I owned this tower," Tony manages to stutter out, his tongue feeling heavy and thick in his mouth, "so it's really my seat. There are other couches," he waves his hand around the room, "so sit on one of them." He turns back to his movie, hoping Natasha doesn't notice that it is Bond, and if she does that she doesn't share Clint's opinion of the franchise.
He fails to notice Natasha's eyes flicking around the room, taking in the various armchairs and couches and the movie playing on the screen before they settle back on him.
Tony definitely isn't expecting what happens next.
Natasha drops down on the couch next to him, then in a fluid motion swings her legs up and over his knees, tucking her feet neatly against his legs. Tony is lost for words.
"Uh-,"
"Sh," Natasha silences him without looking, already engrossed in whatever she has up on the StarkTab's screen.
"Right," Tony mutters to himself, trying to refocus on the movie on the screen. A soft huff of laughter breaks his concentration and he looks at Natasha again. Her eyes are on the TV and she is watching the movie with a mildly interested look on her face- which, from Natasha was really like intense concentration from anyone else.
"I never figured you for a James Bond fan," Tony says hesitantly, waiting for something- Natasha to punch him maybe?
"It's.. interesting. I've never seen one of the films before- Clint refuses to watch them with me, which is mostly because he's just upset he's not a suave secret agent who gets all the women, apparently."
"Hey, I resent that," Tony starts slightly when he hears the other man's comment, but Natasha smiles like she was expecting it- which, knowing her she probably was. Clint is in his pajamas, hair on top of his head sticking out in all different directions like he's just woken up. He ambles over to where the other two are already sitting, prompting Natasha to lift her feet, and when she does he sits up against Tony's left side and pulls Natasha's feet back into his lap.
"Are we doing this now? Is this a thing that we're doing?"
"Shut up and watch the movie," Natasha mumbles before pointedly moving her attention back to the television screen. Clint opens his mouth- either to protest or comment on the movie, but Natasha digs her heels into his thigh and he stops, an exaggerated grimace on his face.
"Well," he mumbles to Tony, "it could be worse. It could be Lazenby." He and Tony share a pained look before returning their attention to the screen.
They're halfway through the fourth movie when Clint realizes that Tony has fallen asleep. When he voices as much to Natasha, she simply gives him a look. "That's kinda the point, Clint." She pulls her feet out of his lap and gracefully slides off the couch.
"Come on, we need to get him to his room," she motions him off the couch and then gestures to Tony. "You're always saying you don't get the chance to be manly often enough,"
"That is grossly taken out of context," Clint protests as he hoists Tony's dead weight onto one shoulder with fairly little difficulty.
"Mm-hmm," Natasha hums, folding the blanket and turning the TV off.
"This is sexist," Clint grumbles, "if you were in there with another woman you wouldn't have made them carry him, you would have done it yourself."
"No," Natasha says, a small smirk playing on her lips "I probably still would have called you to do it. Thanks dear," she pats his bicep, then walks purposely towards her own suites and in the opposite direction of Tony's.
"I'll get you for this," Clint hisses down the hall after her, but all the response he gets is a jaunty little wave.