The sixth time it happened, it was all Steve's fault.
It was a few days after the incident with Natasha (and yeah, he was definitely never thinking about that ever again, thank you very much), and Tony was heading into the kitchen for some more coffee because you could never have enough coffee in life, besides the fact that he was running on empty down in the workshop, which sucked. That just meant going to the kitchen, which sucked even worse. Going to the kitchen meant interacting with the general populace of the tower, and even though he was fairly certain it was past midnight, that didn't mean no one would be up scrounging around for a snack, and he wanted no part in talking to any of them until he was semi-coherent. He could at least form half-intelligent sentences and hold a one-sided conversation when he was semi-coherent. When he was going through coffee withdrawal… well, it wasn't pretty, to say the least.
So. Coffee. Kitchen. Avoid everyone in the vicinity. Good plan.
Blinking drowsily as he exited the elevator, because there was nothing like good old insomnia to make him work himself to exhaustion at night, he shuffled in the vague area of the kitchen and cursed under his breath at the dim light he could see emanating from it. Someone was awake enough to have JARVIS turn the lights on for them; usually, when sneaking about for some late-night food runs, the lights would stay off – mainly because it stung the hell out of everyone's eyes, but also because Clint and Natasha were ruthless bastards and liked to scare them out of their skins if they got there first. Darkness was the key to spying successfully, after all. However, Tony supposed that since the lights were on, the two weren't present and preparing to pounce on him from the cupboards or wherever they usually hid themselves. It also, unfortunately, meant that someone was still awake. He had hoped it wouldn't have to come to this.
The genius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wiping grease and oil on it in the process, which he ignored. He needed coffee, preferably as soon as possible, and if that meant fighting the fucking Kraken he was going to do it. He moved into the room as casually as he could, which meant he nearly tripped over thin air, which, to be honest, wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. He honed in on the coffee machine, in all of its unbridled glory, because it was a fucking beautiful thing and Tony had never been happier in his life than to see it just across the kitchen. He made a bee-line for it and ignored everything else in the room.
Or at least, he did, until someone decided to step in front of him and make him slam into their (decidedly fabulous) brick-wall like chest. They didn't even budge at the rather hard contact, which Tony felt a slight twinge of jealousy for, but he crushed it like a grape and stumbled back away from the (amazing) torso he'd run head-first into. And it was head-first, his nose had squashed against the (ridiculously toned) pecs when he'd hit. The wall of muscle caught his wrist before Tony could fall flat on his ass and hauled him back onto his feet with an ease that Tony wanted to scowl at, because he may have been short (a little), but he wasn't that light. They had no right to lift him about like a rag doll.
Except now he could see who the wall of muscle was and that it was Steve and his stupid, boyish smile (because fuck that smile, it made women swoon and babies giggle) who had set him back onto his feet and was still holding his wrist. Tony furrowed his eyebrows at him, because what the hell was Steve doing up? He was America's golden boy, and America's golden boy wasn't supposed to get up in the middle of the night for snacks, it defeated the purpose of telling children not to do it. The giant idiot just looked at him, as if Tony knew what he was saying just by a look – and yeah, usually he would, he was a genius, thank you, but he kind of needed coffee before he could really bring himself to make any Sherlockian deductions, which just brought them back full-circle.
Steve seemed to get the memo. Tony supposed he was starting to take a page out of Pepper's book and learn Starkenese. The soldier had the gall to chuckle at him (people don't just chuckle at Tony Stark, Tony Stark did the chuckling, dammit!) before he dropped his wrist and instead placed both of his hands on his shoulders to turn him around.
Away from the coffee machine.
Tony couldn't hold back the petulant whine, struggling as hard as he could to get free from Steve's grip (which, in his fatigued state and against Steve's inhuman strength, did absolutely nothing). "Steeeeeeve…"
His big blond puppy-like enemy just chuckled again. Tony shot him a glare over his shoulder that burned with the scorn of a thousand suns and promised revenge. Steve just quirked a little grin at him (and no, it wasn't cute, no matter how much his stomach twisted) and marched him from the kitchen into the common area and back towards the elevator, JARVIS obediently switching the lights off without being told. "Traitor," Tony hissed, and JARVIS didn't say a word even though Tony knew damn well he heard him. Snippy English bastard.
"Tony," Steve said, and his voice was soft, but it still felt a little loud in the silence of the common area. Tony just pouted and dug his heels into the floor, determined to make this as difficult as possible for Steve and get back to his beloved coffee and his work. If he couldn't get to sleep, he'd do something useful with the extra time he had. No need for Steve to cut into that valuable time and waste it trying to make him sleep.
But the blond just sighed and before Tony could really fully process exactly what was happening, his feet weren't on the ground anymore and he was flailing in Steve's arms. Well, flailing was a relative term. It was more like half-heartedly pushing and wriggling in an attempt to free himself, because Steve was bridal carrying him, which was in no way any part of what Tony had in mind to ever happen, ever. It just got worse when JARVIS opened the elevator doors for them and Steve just waltzed right into the lift. Tony scowled, mostly to the air, because scowling at the ceiling was pointless, but he was sure the AI got the message. Steve just ignored him and pressed the floor button to his own suite, and Tony wanted to feel slighted that Steve could multitask while holding him with one arm, but his body had decided to betray him and relax a little, which he took as a personal affront. How dare his body – he had work to do, it can't be relaxing! Least of all in Captain America's arms!
Steve seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil, but Tony knew damn well how skilled he was at faking obliviousness. Bastard. He'd find a way to get back at him, he would, oh, how he would. But he couldn't really think as straightly as he wanted to with his body deciding to shut itself down and his brain starting to consider the idea. It wasn't fair. Tony just wanted coffee.
When the elevator doors opened, Steve stepped into his room with purpose. Tony would have appreciated it more if he wasn't still being carried by the guy. He'd stopped struggling, but had crossed his arms and was glaring at Steve, who was ignoring it with a grace Tony respected, at least a little. The blond carried him into the bedroom, and Tony had the split-second oh shit alarm go off in his head, but Steve just dumped him on the mattress and moved around to the other side to hop on, himself. Tony just looked at him, because it was dark and the only light they had was coming from the reactor, and even that wasn't much. The black Aerosmith shirt he was wearing was thick and dulled a lot of the light, but he could see Steve roll his eyes and felt him shuffle over to him. He rearranged Tony and the blanket that had been folded neatly underneath them so that they were under it, instead, and Steve pulled him close to his chest. They were sharing a pillow, despite the three that were on the bed, and the arc reactor was humming against Steve's ribcage. Tony could feel his heartbeat. It was… strangely comforting.
Tony's body didn't have the will or energy to try to get up and untangle himself from the (extremely cozy) Steve-Blanket cocoon it was a part of. He just sighed, annoyed, and tucked himself in, resting his cheek against Steve's collarbone. The man hummed, running his fingertips lightly down his spine, and Tony's brain started to relax more and more.
It took a while to actually fall asleep, but between the abnormal warmth coming off of Steve in waves and the snugness of the blankets around them, Tony's insomnia decided he'd had enough for one day. He was sure Steve didn't say anything, but between the quiet humming and the comforting prods to his back via a certain super soldier, he didn't really need to. It was calm enough to quell the raging thoughts in his head and actually let him… sleep.