He moaned, and shifted onto his stomach, moving further into the warmth of his nice, big, fluffy bed. The sheets were enticing really. Silky pools of warm heaven. Why was it that he avoided sleeping so much again?
"Tony?"
Hell no. Fuck that.He burrowed further into the warmth of his bed, the fluffy down comforter settling up against his nose.
"Tony?"
Go the fuck away.He wormed his hands up, fisting them in the sheets, and pulling them snugly around his head. He was in the perfect spot. The peak of comfort. Not too hot, but pleasantly warm. Not suffocating, but close enough to feel secure. It was perfect.
He let out a short whimper as someone knocked at the door because, hello, sleeping here, and I-am-a-fully-grown-adult-billionaire-genius-and-I'll-sleep-as-long-as-I-want-thank- you-very-much. And yet, the knocking continues. Not so perfect.
He wants to yell out at the person to shut up and leave him alone, but he doesn't want to move, or talk, or think; He just wants to sleep. Relax in the heaven that is a warm bed after, like, 78 hours of no sleep. Yes. Bed. Sleep. Beds are good.
And the knocking continues. He's going to have to kill someone. If the suit was nearby they'd be over and done with this now. Just one little blast and happy go knocky'd never disturb another innocent again. Of course, that's assuming that he'd actually move to aim a repulsor blast at the door.
"JARVIS?"
"Yes master Rogers?"
"Is Tony in his room?"
"Yes master Rogers."
"Good...um, would you let me know when he wakes up? I have some waffle batter ready and I don't want him burning the kitchen down again."
"Of course master Rogers."
Oh, how thoughtful.Setting aside the fact that it actually was kind of thoughtful, and that he fucking loves waffles- especially Steve waffles -that cooking thing kind of burned (that was only one time, why couldn't they all just let it go?).
"Then should I alert you that Master Stark is indeed awake?"
What? Awake? Who's awake?
"Oh, alright. Let him know then."
"Master Stark."
Traitor. He let out a raspy cough before pulling down the sheets slightly to peak up at the camera placed to the upper corner of his room. "Shut up."
He pulled the covers right back up, and burrowed down deeper into the warm, fluffy, cave.
"I am to alert you that master Rogers has prepared waffle batter, and is currently preparing you breakfast."
He responded with a tired groan, just burying his face into his pillow rather than making any move to actually get out of bed. Sleep came back to him fairly easily, dragging him back down into a comfortable darkness.
…
A large hand gripped his shoulder softly. Gentle shakes rocking his body. God he hated sleeping on ships. That's why they had casinos and bars, to help you avoid feeling like nauseous shit. When did he get on a ship anyway?
"Tony? Tony wake up."
He let out a string of incoherency, trying to shrug off the hand, and burrow infinitely deeper into the sheets. "Mmmhum nuh sick, ship num nuh ruck nuuu…"
The hand let out a breathy laugh. Hand's can't laugh though, or say Tony. So that must be a person.
"Tony."
Person. Yes. Genius.
The blankets began to shift, and his cocoon of warmth was broken by the "lukewarm" air of peasants. He meet the air with a high pitched whine, and curled into himself. He feebly bat at the hands that were trying to pry him from the bed. Okay, maybe not pry. More like gently suggest with small rocking motions that it was 9:15, and he should get up because he has a meeting today.
It must be Pepper. Man...when did Pepper's hands get so big?
Man hands. Not Peper. A man? He has man hands, 'cause he's a man. Oh, oh! Steve. Yes.
"Tony, you have a meeting in an hour, you need to get up, and there's some fresh coffee in the kitchen."
He opened his right eye, blinking blearily into the light flooding in from the windows. "...Waffles? ...waffles 'n...'n coffee?"
"Yes. Waffles and Coffee."
He let out a low groan, and slowly maneuvered himself into a sitting position. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly as he bend forward slightly, arching up the top of his back and shoulders. His mouth opened up in a gaping yawn, and he his feet more or less gracefully to the floor, opening his eyes to an already empty room. Why the hell did everyone turn into Natasha when he got tired?
The walk to the kitchen was slow going, or at least felt like it. Tony was a busy person, and not only thought and talked at a mile a minute, but tended to walk that was as well. So, shuffling down the hallway, pyjama pants bunching around his ankles, he felt kind of like a slug. A really thirsty slug. Although, maybe he was a snail. He was rich enough to afford some big fancy shell. A gold and red, gold titanium alloy shell. Iron Snail. God he needed coffee.
He turned wobbly around a corner, hand skimming the wall as if just being in contact with it would keep him upright. He was assaulted with the strong odor of nutmeg and cinnamon as his feet hit the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Weird, Steve's waffles usually only had chocolate chips and blueberries in them… (Hey, don't judge okay? Tony loves blueberries and chocolate, and Steve's waffles are fucking heaven.)
"Good morning Sleeping Beauty." Baby blues eyed him playfully from the breakfast bar, a big blue coffee mug pressed to the super soldiers bottom lip.
He let out a short hm, and scooped up the white cup of fresh coffee from it's place in the espresso machine. "So, I guess that would make you Prince Charming?" He shot a grin back over his shoulder, and picked up a big plate, piled high with three fluffy waffles.
Steve rolled his eyes, and popped a small piece of waffle into his mouth, turning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands. Newspaper, blech.
Tony wasted no time in sitting on the other side of the back, and digging right into the waffles. Mouthfuls washed down with coffee.
"The team 's meeting at the shield base at 1 today."
Tony let out a hum of brief acknowledgement, far too preoccupied with the fucking deliciouswaffles -which by this point had been doused in vanilla maple syrup, also a Steve contribution- to actually care.
"Don't be late, okay? I know that it's right after your meeting, so I asked Happy to come and pick you up so that you can't be stalled. But, I really need you to be there okay?"
God. How were these things even possible? Like, every time he's ever made waffles they were just sub par, but then Steve comes along and Bam! Jesus waffles.
"Tony?"
It's like he never really knew what a waffle was supposed to taste like before this. His whole experience should just be labeled within the confines of, B.S.W and A.S.W, Before Steve's Waffles and After Steve's Waffles.
"Tony!"
His head snapped to the side, mouth full, and a bit of syrup clinging to the sides of his lips. "Wuh?"
Steve let out a sigh, his eye rolling up and to the side. "Just don't be late to the SHIELD meeting today, okay?"
He swallowed. "Sure, why?"
"Just, don't be late."
"Okaaaay...What time is it?"
The blonde slid off of his bar stool, and placed his dishes in the dishwasher, tucking the newspaper up under his arm. "Happy'll pick you up."
"Oh, okay. Right, good." He pushed the waffle around the plate, sopping up the syrup, then on one last big bite, shoved the waffle into his mouth just as Steve turned back around.
Steve shook his head fondly, a small smile on his face. One of those smiles that said you're crazy, but I love you anyway, and walked over to Tony. He gently brushed up Tony's hair, away from his forehead, and dropped a small kiss in its place.
"Have a good meeting Tony, I'll see you at one."
Sleepy Tony is great.
I hope that you guys enjoyed this first little bit, and
Happy Christmas!
~Castor
