"Tony, do we have a hot chocolate maker?"
Steve stuck his head in the door of the workshop.
"I dunno."
Tony said.
"Probably? One time I found out we had a cotton candy machine and I didn't even know it."
"Thanks."
Said Steve.
"I'll check in kitchen two."
Natasha swore her hot chocolate recipe was far superior to those of her fellow teammates, backed up by a vehement , meanwhile, swore Asgard was the creator of the best hot chocolate in the world, and it would be an affront to believe otherwise.
Bruce had picked up a recipe in Switzerland, and Steve knew how to make a few ingredients go a long way.
Obviously, this led to a hot chocolate making contest.
Actually, Tony isn't really sure how it happened, but he's called upon to be the judge as he's the most impartial.
"I was working."
He complained, as he was dragged to his own kitchen. Who would have thought Tony usually had to be the voice of reason?
"Work, shmirk."
The assassin half ripping his arm off in his attempt to get him to the kitchen said.
"There's hot chocolate to be had!"
Tony swishes the dark brown drink around in his Captain America mug. He sniffs it like a wine connoisseur, and eyes it suspiciously.
He can't tell who's hot chocolate it is, because they had decided it should be anonymous, but he's still a little terrified to try it.
Tony steels himself. He is a superhero, dammit.
He's a superhero.
Taking a fortifying breath, Tony takes one large gulp.
It's good. Really good.
The chocolate melts in his mouth almost perfectly, and it's not too hot (like Clint's burning lava mouth, that guy can drink straight out of the kettle, practically), and not too cold. Tony is starting to get worried. Natasha looks venomous, and he's actually kinda worried Bruce will Hulk out if he loses, if just by principle.
Tony goes on to the next mug (a horrendously purple one of Clint's, and it actually has little purple LED lights on the front spelling Clint's name), and it's delicious, too.
It's so good. Exactly the same amount of good as the last one, even though it is different, subtly. If Tony would have to guess, he would say it was Natasha's. There's a little bit of a kick to it, almost spicy.
The next mug, another one of Clint's, a dog patterned mug so hideously ugly it's been thrown in the trash twice and subsequently rescued by a wounded Clint, has marshmallows floating on the top. Tony shoots an offended look at Steve, who looks unapologetic. Steve knows his weakness for those things.
And so it goes.
Tony literally cannot choose this. Besides the fact that they're all the most delicious hot chocolates he's ever had in his life, he thinks he might be in actual danger if he chooses wrong.
Natasha is giving him the throat cutting sign, eyes narrowed, Steve gives him a look that insinuates America will be disappointed in him if he chooses wrong, and Thor looks like he might cry. He's totally faking it. Probably.
Tony opens his mouth (he hasn't thought of what he was going to say, but that's usually what happens when he starts talking), when Pepper comes in.
"Hi, Pep!"
Tony says, perhaps a little too brightly.
"Hey, babe."
Pepper says, coming up to the table to kiss him on the cheek. She spots the hot cocoa on the table, and, after examining it to make sure there were no purple liquids (it happened once), took a drink out of each one, leaving a red lipstick stain on each of the rims.
"Mmm."
Pepper says, because she's probably Tony's soul mate,
"These are all delicious. But this one's definitely the best."
She snags Steve's "World's Greatest Grandpa" mug off the table, and sips it again, then leaves.
Thor looks inordinately pleased with himself, and Tony finally sees his opening.
"You heard the lady."
Tony says.
"Gotta jet."