itsany62
StvTn
Steven Rogers & Anthony Stark
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The animation set that sat in my drafts for over a month because life kept getting in the way. After all the stops and starts this demanded to be put out into the universe so here it is after what feels like forever. Steve and Tony (with Nick Fury) in Avengers Age of Ultron.
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Tony Stark & Steve Rogers in Avengers Assemble 1.26 The Final Showdown
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For the first time in ages I was in the mood to rewatch the movies and it made me want to draw these 2 assholes.
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7 for the ficlets 💜
Steve saw Natasha's hand reaching for him and turned so his back was to her with a growl.
"Steve," Tony sighed in his arms. He sounded tired. "You're drunk."
"Am not," Steve said. It only slurred off his tongue a little. He adjusted his arms around Tony and settled him more firmly in his lap. "Not possible."
"You and Thor have been knocking back Asgardian mead for two hours," Tony said, tipping his head back to frown sternly at him.
Steve did not like when Tony frowned sternly at him. He leaned down to pepper his face with kisses, because Tony never frowned when he did that.
"Steve, maybe wait until you get back to your room?" Bruce tried kindly. "Tony, could you maybe--"
Steve growled and turned again. "Go 'way."
"Steve, you can't get jealous just because one of our other friends is talking to me," Tony chided, frowning at him again.
"I'm not jealous," Steve said. He noticed a hand reaching from around him and snarled, turning to snap at it with his teeth.
Natasha grabbed his face tightly, and he whimpered as she glared down at him. "Did you just try and bite me?"
Steve took a moment to think about it. He was in a very precarious position, probably. She could snap his neck. But! He had a stronger neck than she was used to. Maybe it would be fine. "Nnno," he answered slowly. Just because it might be fine, he was pretty sure Tony wouldn't like it if he had to watch him be murdered.
"Go to bed, Steve," Natasha told him. There was a threat in her tone maybe? Steve couldn't be sure. Her face was blurry.
"...Only if I can take Tony," he decided.
Tony swiveled his head to glare at him. "Of course I'm going with you. The novelty of me getting to take care of you is not lost on me."
Steve immediately popped to his feet, swinging Tony up into his arms like a princess. Prince? He stared at Tony's shocked face for a moment, then nodded firmly. Yes.
"What the fuck are you talking about," Tony sighed, exasperated.
Steve wasn't sure he was talking about anything. "I should eat something," he finally decided.
Tony patted his chest, shaking his head fondly. "I can order pizza."
"I think I'll eat you," Steve plowed on, headed toward the elevator, but didn't make it very far before Tony want back to frowning at him sternly. "Vitamin D."
"WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT," Tony bellowed, and Thor yanked Tony from Steve's arms before Tony could thump him soundly about the head.
Steve scowled up at Thor's blurry face. "Give him back." He put up his fists. "Or else. He's mine."
"I hate it here," Tony sighed as Thor passed him over to Natasha so they could start punching each other. "I should just leave them here."
"Maybe we should order that pizza," Natasha said, easing him down onto his feet, as Steve and Thor fended off the sudden broom attack that Clint went at them with.
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142 for the stony ficlet thing!
Steve hummed as Tony began to shift beside him. Tony was a warm weight on top of his arm, breath puffing softly against his chest. He curled his arm in a little, pulling Tony closer so he could bury his face in his hair.
"Mmh," Tony grunted, and Steve felt his eyelashes against his skin as Tony's eyes fluttered open. "You're still here?"
Steve blinked, frowning, then ground his teeth against a sting of hurt. "Did you really think I'd leave?"
Tony tipped his head back to meet his eyes, eyelids still heavy with sleep. "You'd be the first not to."
Sleep made Tony honest, Steve thought, lifting his other hand to gently press the backs of his fingers to Tony's cheek. He couldn't imagine Tony ever admitting that if he were fully awake. He watched Tony lean into his touch, rubbing his cheek against his fingers like an affectionate cat, and wondered how the fuck anyone had managed to leave a bed with Tony in it.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to know how many people had left Tony to find the other side of the bed cold, hand reaching out for a body that wasn't there. He wanted to know if Tony just expected him to leave because he was used to it, or if he actually thought Steve was the type of fella who'd fuck and run. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to put Tony's mind at ease, make him realize that Steve was in this to stay.
"Can I kiss you all over?" he asked instead, carefully taking Tony's chin between his thumb and index finger to tip his head back a little further.
Tony blinked at him again, slow and syrupy, and he watched as the question registered in his mind. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, and he had fabric marks on his cheek. It was the most beautiful he'd ever seen him. He wanted to see him like this every morning. He'd wait to tell him that, though, he thought, watching as Tony's lips parted. Until they were a little more settled. Until Tony didn't seem surprised when Steve stayed.
"Of course, Steve," Tony answered, voice soft. His hand came up to wrap around Steve's wrist, holding his hand steady so he could turn and press a kiss into his palm.
Steve slid his hand back into Tony's hair, holding him steady as he leaned in to press their lips together. He thought that was a good place to start, kissing Tony until he was breathless and then trailing his kisses back to his ear, down his jaw and throat, until all Tony could do was gasp and moan beneath him.
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couldn't sleep, here's ... this (。・ω・。)
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the next stop on my past fandoms art tour features these two idiots (yes i did make a frozen 2 meme leave me alone)
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Steve quietly helping a “finally at the end of his wick&burnt out” Tony out of his suit and into bed
The button was sticking to his fingers. It had to be. There was no other reason as to why the hell this was taking so long.
Tony looked down in confusion, observing his index and thumb as they battled to wrangle the slick white button out of its buttonhole. It wasn't going very well from the looks of it, which was strange, because he could've sworn he started to work at them almost as soon as he'd stepped through the door. That meant he'd been at it for at least 20 seconds now. This was not something that Tony could say he usually struggled with.
He watched his own fingers as they fiddled desperately at the contraption for a few more moments before, finally giving up and falling dejectedly onto the countertop. He could give that another go later, he figured. For now...
Well. Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Blinking slowly, Tony attempted to orientate himself. He knew he was in the kitchen at the tower. He knew it was... well, Tony didn't quite know what time it was because the meeting with the Secretary of Defence had run over, but it was dark now. 11, maybe? He knew that there was probably something else he needed to get done before he could call it a night. His to-do list had only been growing since he started it at the beginning of the week, and they weren't the kinds of things you could put off until the next day. They were the kinds of things that, if left too long, could get people killed.
Right. Okay. He needed a refuel. A bagel, maybe. And a coffee. And then he would... yeah. The kit for Natasha. Top priority. She was heading out to Alaska tomorrow and her old suit had been torn to shreds in the debacle last Tuesday. So bagel, coffee, workshop. Bagel, coffee, workshop. Bagel-
"Could I suggest, sir, that you substitute your coffee and workshop plans for bed instead? It has been two days since you last achieved REM sleep."
Tony was quiet for a moment. He stared at the wall, and then glanced up to the ceiling slowly, a frown folding into his forehead.
"Did you just read my mind?" He asked JARVIS.
"No sir. I listened."
"Oh. I was speaking?"
"Indeed sir."
"Ah."
See, this was the slight problem that came with spending a week hopping straight from one obligation into another. He started to lose track of himself a little. The overuse of caffeine probably didn't help either. But it was that or fall behind, and he quite simply didn't have time to fall behind. At this point, he'd never catch back up again. He had to do more. Keep going.
So he chose to ignore JARVIS's advice, and instead reached a hand into the pack of bagels on the side. His mind whirred disjointedly as it tried to work through the current set of problems plaguing Stark Industries. The biggest issue was tied into the aforementioned meeting he'd just had with the Defence Secretary. As a general rule, Tony Stark and military personnel did not get on too well. They'd never gotten out of the sulk they fell into with him after his whole 'no more weapons' epiphany, which was just fine by Tony. They talked a lot of shit about him behind closed doors and, occasionally, in public meetings, but they were normally content to leave it at that.
Except now they'd gone ahead and appointed this new guy into one of the top brass roles, and his sole mission seemed to be wrangling Stark Industries back into the weapons business. By any means necessary.
Tony would come out victorious in this stupid little power play, obviously. This wasn't the first time a government official had used thinly-veiled threats and blackmail against him. It was, however, the first time the pressure had come right from the top of the chain. And it implied there was a wider cultural change in the ranks of the US Military, which meant Tony, The Avengers and Stark Industries were all going to have to tread more delicately if they wanted to weather the storm.
He sighed, gaze losing its focus for a few moments. In front of him, the toaster ticked away. The smell began to permeate the air. Tony realised he wasn't even sure he was hungry. He had been, a few hours ago, but the sensation had since faded when it realised it wasn't being listened to. Now he just felt hollow. Like someone had scooped out his brains with a melon baller. He realised he was swaying back and forth on his feet - a slow, repeated motion that was starting to make him feel dizzy. He told himself to be still.
The bagel popped out of the toaster, and it was only then that Tony remembered there were extra steps to this process. Butter. And a knife. He needed both. Hopefully his hands would be able to handle this one.
Turning on his heel, he headed over to the fridge, because he was 90% sure that was where they kept the butter these days - but as his hips swivelled to the left, he felt himself bump against something that had not previously been in the kitchen. It was firm, but soft. Warm. It smelled familiar.
Tony was staring in mild surprise at the chest in front of him, and it took a moment before he realised that that wasn't where you were supposed to look when you bumped into people. And Steve was a stickler when it came to being polite, so he promptly lifted his gaze.
"Hi," he told Steve. This, he thought, was an appropriate thing to say - not too much, not nothing at all, just right. "I'm making a bagel."
Steve, however, didn't seem to care much about the bagel. He didn't even look at it when Tony gestured over to it, which was unusual, because Steve was a very food-oriented man. Instead, Steve was staring down at Tony, a strange kind of intensity in his eyes. They'd been arguing earlier this morning. God, he hoped Steve wasn't coming back to pick up where they'd left off.
Then Steve did something strange. He lifted his hands. Curled them gently around the place where Tony's shoulders met his biceps: soft at first, but then adding just a touch of pressure, enough that Tony's brain noticed it and perked up, flared back into life just a little. The sensation of it kicked off a chain reaction. He realised his thumb hurt, and he needed to pee, and that he'd somehow forgotten to turn on the light as he'd been walking through the kitchen because it was dark as shit and he could actually barely see the other man an inch away from him.
"Tony," Steve's voice was calm, firm, and left absolutely no room for argument. "You can stop now."
Tony didn't respond, too busy trying to process that in his head. It didn't sound right - he knew there was a list, he did, and it was his job to do it and he'd been working at it for the last five days and there wasn't time to stop, there just wasn't. That was what he'd been telling himself, over and over and over. But then, if that was true, it would mean that Steve was wrong. Steve was rarely wrong.
"You can stop," Steve said again. "It's okay to stop."
Was it really?
"Natasha needs--"
"She will be fine. You've created dozens of variants of that uniform for her. Her wardrobe is literally full of protective gear." Steve gave him another gentle squeeze, and it felt good, it felt really good for Steve to touch him. It'd been days since they'd touched. Tony had just been so busy, and then when they had seen eachother they'd been fighting about the fucking portal debacle from Tuesday and now, wow, it felt so good to be touched. The care, the love, it seemed to seep out from Steve's fingers. He'd not even realised he'd been in fight or flight mode all day until he was reminded, right now, of how it felt to be safe.
"I shouldn't," Tony's voice was quiet. He shook his head.
Steve just nodded his. "Yes you should. Come on sweetheart. You know you need to rest. You're doing no-one any favours by running around half-delirious."
"I'm not half delirious."
"JARVIS told me you couldn't even undress yourself. And you're bleeding all over our floor, by the way." Steve's head nodded downward, and Tony looked to see that yeah, Steve was actually right. There was a smattering of small, delicate crimson drops staining their cream tiles.
Tony frowned, recalling the vague memory of his thumb hurting. He glanced down, and spotted the nail that he'd accidentally removed about 20% of. It was a bad habit. Howard had absolutely fucking hated his nail biting - he used to rip Tony's hand straight out of his mouth if ever he got caught in the act, often taking the rest of the nail he'd had his teeth clamped around with it.
"Oh," was all Tony could say.
Without changing a shade, Steve moved again, hand slipping around Tony's and lifting it. He efficiently slotted Tony's thumb into his mouth, sucking off the blood, and then leaned sideways, delving into the drawer where they kept (amongst a plethora of other random assorted crap) the band-aids. He wound it around Tony's thumb, taking extra care to ensure that the raw skin of his cuticle was padded by the gauze and didn't touch the adhesive. When that was done, he shifted his attention to Tony's dress shirt, popping open the first few with frustrating ease. They'd definitely not been playing ball when it'd been Tony trying to make them open.
"It's time to call it a night," Steve told him. Now his hand was on Tony's jaw. His thumb was rubbing a little circle just in front of Tony's ear, like a massage, and God it felt so good that in that moment Tony lost sight of everything else. The work, the sting of pain, the frantic cacophony of 'do more, do more, do more' that had been looping uncontrollably in his head. The one thing that stood between Tony Stark and oblivion was Steve Rogers' right thumb, and man, it was fucking holding up.
Then, slowly, Steve pulled him into his arms. With one hand still pressing into the side of Tony's, the other circled around the his shoulders. They drew him into the impossible feeling of safety that came with being immersed in Steve's hug, and that was it. That was just it.
Tony sagged. He felt Steve's mouth press a gentle kiss against the top of his head. He was so, so, so fucking tired.
"Wanna go to bed?" Steve asked softly.
Tony nodded.
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