He hadn't meant for this to happen, really. Tony stark never woke up in someone else's bed, and definitely not with a man. The billionaire tore his gaze from the ceiling to gaze at the blonde sleeping next to him. Tony sighed and carefully slipped out of the bed, as not to wake the figure next to him. It was still early, a soft grey light peaking around the curtains as Tony padded around the room collecting his clothes. He didn't even remember how this whole thing began. Sure, he remembered slinking away to his favorite hole-in-the-wall bar in the quiet part of town, the place he went when e wanted to be sure no one would recognize him, after work. The night had begun as he had expected, a local band playing what could barely be classified as music as Tony slid onto a stool at the back of the bar, just passed where it curved towards the wall. It was the perfect seat, far away from the live cacophony, and dimly lit. Tony surveyed the room as the bar tender poured his double whiskey. It was a usual crowd, a few bikers, some colleagues enjoying an after work drink, a few stragglers playing pool and darts in the opposite corner. Tony sighed and downed his drink in a single gulp, motioning for the bar tender to pour him another.

He lost count after 7, downing the stress of the day in drink after drink. He stopped remembering around 11, from there, there were vague images of sloppy kisses and incredibly drunk, giggly sex, but nothing solid. Tony was drawing all but a complete blank. It was just like him, he thought, as he tugged his t-shirt over his head, to try and drown all the stress of his work only to wake up to more. And usually, usually it was different. Usually, he tugged on a sock and glanced around the room for its mate, usually Pepper was there to take care of whatever poor dame he'd dragged home, and usually, well, people expected him to take women home, part of the billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist thing, so it wasn't unusual for women to go blabbing to the press about their absolutely amazing, utterly mind blowing one night stand with Tony Stark. But this, this was a whole other kettle of fish, a scandal waiting to happen. And sure, Tony held up his jeans, glancing around the room for his boxers, he could deny any claims, and put the poor man though hell to keep him quiet, but even Tony Stark didn't have the heart to do that. Not when the person in question was so pretty, laying there in peaceful slumber, bathed in the soft light of the early morning, blissfully unaware of the other man in the room, quietly getting ready to leave. God, he really was beautiful... Tony shook his head, chiding himself. He needed to leave, soon, before the god-like man on the bed awoke.

He looked around the room again, standing in his Metallica t-shirt and miss matched socks-we was pretty sure they were both his- holding his jeans. His boxer were nowhere in sight. Tony grimaced. He hated doing commando, especially in denim. It was too rough, and the zipper hurt. But, if he was going to scape successfully, sacrifices needed to be made. He bent down to thread his legs into the dreaded clothing. That was when he saw it, a Joe Boxer waistband, peaking out of a dresser drawer. He glanced tentatively at the man on the bed, before crossing the room and tugging them out of the drawer. There couldn't be that much harm in borrowing a pair of boxers, he thought, and with that justification, pulled them on. They were amazingly soft, which surprized Tony, he didn't recall ever wearing underwear this comfortable. He looked down at the dark blue fabric, feeling it between his thumb and fingers. The man in the bed stirred, causing Tony to start and resume dressing. Quietly, once his jeans were on, Tony slipped through the apartment and out into the fresh grey of the morning, on his way back to the stress that accompanied being CEO of Stark Industries.

Steve woke with a headache, the sun just peaking through his curtains, making yellow stripes across his room. He stretched, rolling onto his back, trying to figure out why his head hurt so goddamn much. The throbbing made it impossible to think, so Steve rolled out of the warmth of the blankets in favor of finding Advil. He kicked off the blankets and set his feet on the floor, absent mindedly reaching down to detangle the warm piece of fabric that decidedly clung there. Steve pulled it off and was about to throw it back on the bed when his mind caught up with his actions. Slowly, he looked in horror at the black fabric in his hand. It was obviously a pair of boxers, but they were definitely not Steve's boxers. He glanced wildly around the room as the previous night crept back into his memory.

He remembered going to a bar, which was unusual, but it had been an unusual day. He remembered drinking far more than he probably should have,-hence the headache- and he remembered another man falling, literally falling, into his arms when he went to leave. The man was mumbling something about not being able to open the door, it was too slurred to understand completely, before looking into Steve's face, and exclaiming, with a small gasp "Shit, you're pretty. 'as 'nyone ever tol you how pretty ya are?" And Steve had laughed, helping the man out the door, earning him a thank you kiss, which lead to Steve helping into his bed and- oh god! Had they even used protection? He grimaced and dropped the boxers onto the floor, the quest for Advil forgotten, replaced by the need to find his mystery lover.

Steve moved through the apartment, checking every room with some trepidation, not sure what to expect. He had never had a one night stand before, and to make things worse, he couldn't even remember the man's face. After searching through the apartment twice, with no sign of the other man, Steve gave up and slid into the shower, letting the hot water rinse away the sweat and guilt as best it could.

It took two weeks for Steve to notice his missing boxers. At first, he'd assumed that they were in the hamper, or the wash, but when they didn't turn up he grew concerned. It got worse when he noticed one of his socks missing, which was even stranger than the missing boxers. Steve was the type of man who always wore matching socks and double checked the wash to make sure none got lost. He couldn't figure out where his clothing had walked off to, until a foreign pair of black boxers turned up in the pile of clothes he was folding. It all came flooding back to him. Of course, the guy was in a hurry to leave, and his underwear was tangled around Steve's feet. It was understandable, but it didn't excuse some stranger from stealing his favorite pair of underwear. And now he couldn't even do anything about it. He didn't know the man's name, couldn't even remember his face. Steve sighed. Going to the bar that night was definitely one of the worst decisions of his life.

Tony, for his part, had tried his best to forget about his rendezvous with the beautiful stranger two weeks prior. Not that that was hard, most of it was blocked out for him already, but he couldn't get the image of the peaceful slumber he had left him in, out of his mind. And he couldn't stop wearing the boxers. Tony made sure they were washed as often as possible, wearing them all the time. He couldn't help it. They were amazing. He'd never worn anything like them in his life. With all of his designer clothes, how did he not have anything this comfy ? It was bittersweet, though, each time he donned the boxers, for it brought the unwelcome image of the unknown owners face to Tony's mind. That was just the price he had to pay for comfort.

Steve didn't watch television often, he preferred the tactile feel of a book or newspaper, but, on occasion, he didn't mind relaxing on the couch and zoning out to the hum and pictures of the little box in front of him. And so, Steve settled on the couch, leaning against the arm, crossing his legs in front of him on the cushions, dinner balanced on his chest, and flicked on the machine. He stared impassively at the news, slowly making his way through his dinner when he nearly leapt off the couch, causing food to spill off his plate, at the appearance of a segment in the news. The title bar read New Path for Stark Industries and there, on the screen, was the man himself. Tony Stark, at a press conference, smiling in the face of several flashing cameras. Steve stared at the television, pulse racing, spilled meal and TV audio tuned out, staring at Tony's face. That was him. That was the man from the bar, Steve was sure of it. But what was Tony Stark doing at a bar on this side of town. And since when was he gay ? Steve shook himself out of the trance, there was only one way to find out. Carefully, he set down his plate and fork, pulled out his phone and googled Stark Industries consulting hours.

Tony hated Thursdays. Specifically, every other Thursday, from the hours of 8-5. Honestly, consulting hours were even worse than meetings, which was saying something, Between the fan boys (and girls), nosy reporters, students begging for internships, and the unsolicited job offers and requests, consulting time was almost insufferable. Almost. Pepper did a fairly good job keeping the fans to a minimum, and on occasion there were some people who were worth his time, but mostly Tony spent consulting hours toying with who decided to show. It was the only way he could get through it.

Tony glanced at the clock on the wall for the tenth time in as many minutes. 4:50. God. He dropped his head on his desk. 10 minutes. 10 more minutes and he would be free. The door creaked open.

"A Mr. Rogers is here to see you, sir." Pepper piped, using her best "you better play nice" voice. Tony groaned. He heard someone enter the room and the door click shut.

"I don't do kids shows. They don't like me, for some reason." Tony mumbled into his desk where his head still rested. There was a soft chuckle.

"Different Mr. Rogers." Tony looked up and nearly had a heart attack. Leaning against the door to his office, his office, was the beautiful blonde he'd abandoned two weeks ago. He had to be dreaming. The big man moved away from the door. "You left so quickly the other day, I didn't even get your name. Not that it was hard to track down Tony Stark." Tony gulped. This was definitely not a dream.

"Well, I-look. I made a bad decision, ok." Despite Tony's efforts to put on his best "please the press" voice, Tony knew he was speaking just a tad too fast. "Happens to the best of us. I understand you're-uh- there may be complications, but I'm willing to give you whatever you want by means of compensation." Tony forced himself to meet the strangers eyes for the first time, and damn was it a mistake. Tony felt himself getting sucked into a whirlpool of blue- the colour of the sky on a clear day. He blushed before looking back at his desk where his fingers were tapping, finishing his speech with a small "I'm sorry"

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Whatever I want?" Tony nodded, biting his lip. Steve nodded his eyes passing around the room before landing back at the smaller man behind the desk. "What I'd like is my sock back."

Tony's shoulders visibly relaxed, but his brow was furrowed when he met the other man's gaze again. "Your...Sock." He said slowly.

"You haven't lost it, have you?"

"No, God no. I can have it brought down, if you don't mind waiting a few minutes." Tony reached for the intercom button on his desk, but the blonde voice stopped him.

"You know, there's something else you took that I'd like back." Tony's hand froze over the button, his face flushing redder than a fire truck, and he looked down. The other man's eyes widened and he let out a small gasp.

"You're wearing them?"

Tony cleared his throat "um... Well, I-uh- I mean yes" It sounded more like a question, Tony hurried to defend himself, knowing deep down he was only going to make is worse. "I mean, they are just so comfy and I just, I-" He looked up to see a perfectly predatory look on the other's face, cutting the genius off completely.

"They are, aren't they." He began to stalk across the room towards Tony, "unfortunately, they're mine, and you are wearing them." by this time he had backed Tony up against the desk and was looming over him, "We'll have to do something about that, won't we."

Tony's heart was ponding in his chest, and at the last sentence his breath caught in his throat, and all he could do was nod. The blonde smiled and leaned down. Their lips were a hair apart when he pulled back and looked down at the man under him.

"There is something else I want, now that I think about it." He raised an eyebrow, both of Tony's shot up in a questioning response. "When we're done here," he leaned forward touching their noses together, and pressing his hips against the tent in Tony's jeans, electing a gasp from the dark haired man, "I want you to take me to dinner." Tony half stood, half lied across the desk, pressed down my the much stronger man above him, completely dumfounded for a moment before finally finding his voice.

"Well, If I'm going to do that, shouldn't I at least get you're name?"

"That didn't stop you last time," The blonde chuckled, "and that was a lot more than just dinner."

Tony huffed under him. He was so adorable, and flushed, and hard that he just had to give in. "It's Steve."

"Steve." Tony let the name slide off his tongue before grinning up at the man above him, "Well then, Steve, its a date. Jarvis, lock the door."

and then he was swept up into what as quite simply the best kiss he had ever received. Who knew that stealing someone's underwear could be so rewarding? He might just have to do it again sometime. Maybe even later that evening.

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