Archive of Our Own

“Hedgehog, incoming on your right!” Captain America warns through the comms.

“What—whose right?” a confused Hawkeye responds.

“You’re not telling me there’s an actual murderous hedgehog robot we should be looking out for?” Black Widow asks skeptically.

“Thanks, already took care of it,” Iron Man straightforwardly says, a beat later.

The mission continues as usual. It was one of their easier ones — a classic mad-scientist-turned-villain situation, attacking New York with a few monstrosities he created through an alloy of organic tissue and technology.

Any of the Avengers could have managed this single-handedly, but since the call came when the four of them were hanging out at the Tower, it made sense to team up and get it over with quickly.

Steve was pleased that the damage had been minimal. Stark Relief Foundation was already at the scene by the time the team regrouped, so they started making their way back home in no time, each picking pieces of smelly, wirey goo from different parts of their suits.

“So, what was the hedgehog thing about?” Clint asks once they’re in the Avengers Tower elevator.

“Oh, that’s nothing, sorry. Just a slip-up.”

Steve hoped they either forgot about it or chose to let it go — how naïve.

“A slip-up? Why were you thinking of hedgehogs, out of everything?” Nat intervenes.

“Give him a break guys. That mission was so boring, I was calculating the energy absorbed by electrons jumping through energy levels to make it interesting.”

Three pairs of eyes blink at Tony.

“Yeah, but you’re Tony. You probably do… that in your sleep. Does Cap think of hedgehogs in his sleep?” Clint says.

“And is it specifically them, or any spiny mammals?” Nat adds.

“Wait, wait. Is it a sex thing? Oh god, it is, isn’t it—”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Steve says, feeling his face burn. “Can you please just shut up about it and go get yourselves cleaned up?”

“Jeez, who put a hedgehog up your ass?” Clint gives Tony a knowing look before his eyes widen. “Unless that’s exactly what it is, then—”

“Okay, time to go!” Tony shoves them both out of the elevator when the door opens to the communal quarters.

“I was going to my floor for a shower, Tony,” Natasha says.

“Take the stairs,” he deadpans.

The doors close and open again a few seconds later, at the penthouse. Steve kicks his boots off by the door and heads straight to the bedroom.

“Hey, angry kitty, hold on a jiff,” Tony says as he’s waiting for his suit to retract. “I bet you’re jealous none of that gunk got on my body.”

“Eh, it’s easier to throw my suit in the washing machine, I think yours would cause some damage,” Steve chuckles.

Tony’s quips always make his frustration go away.

“Right now, it looks more like Iron Muck’s armor,” he jokes as Tony steps away from the last piece of his suit, laughing.

“I can’t believe I actually find that funny.”

“That’s what loving me for an extended period of time does, darling,” Steve says, leaning down for a kiss. “We’ve become one. I absorbed some of your humor, you lowered your standards, and we’ve created an averagely funny person, between the two of us.”

Tony scrunches his nose at him (who’s the angry kitty now?) and grabs his forearm as they head to the bedroom. They pick out some clothes and extra towels, then cross the room to enter the master bathroom.

As Steve disgustingly peels off his suit, he can feel Tony’s gaze on him.

“You gonna tease me about it, too?”

Tony rolls his eyes and starts helping Steve wiggle out of his damp clothes.

“I would’ve by now. But I don’t find it a particularly teasing matter. It was sweet.”

Steve huffs and steps aside, finally naked.

“It wasn’t nice that they joked about it but you have to admit, honey — it was a bizarre thing to hear, and they’re a curious pair. We would’ve done the same.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not actually upset, but I don’t wanna talk to them about it. It was like, our thing.”

Tony smiles and cups his cheek.

“Oh, Stevie, is that what actually got to you? You’re upset it escaped our bubble? If it’s any consolation, they didn’t realize you called for me. I think they honestly thought you saw a hedgehog incoming or were losing the plot.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and nuzzles into Tony’s palm, before taking him into the steaming shower.

“Ugh, it’s on my palm now. Your body is covered from head to toe, you’re wearing your ugly helmet, and you got hit on the cheek of all places?”

Steve snorts at that — apparently a bad idea, as he feels slime go up his nose.

He relaxes into the shower and starts to feel very grateful for modern living conditions when the immaculate water pressure, combined with a delightful almond oil body scrub, gets him clean.

As he’s working on his calves, Tony lathers Steve’s hair with shampoo and gently massages his scalp, the smell of pine diffusing through the room.

Steve loves the shower routine they’ve developed over the past two years that they’ve been together. It’s always a quiet moment of peace that acts as a demonstration of trust and love, a constant through the high and low moments of their lives.

When he finishes with his own body, he returns the favor to Tony. Working his hands through his hair, Steve is elated that he hasn’t gone for a haircut in some time; he adores Tony’s messy curls. Using the foam, he forms a few spikes with his fingers, and laughs as he shows Tony his reflection.

“My little hedgehog,” he whispers into his shoulder.

“Bottlenose whale,” Tony responds, twisting his body to boop his nose. “’Cause you have a button nose?”

“Mmm… I don’t, really, and the pun is a bit disappointing, but I’ll accept it. JARVIS?”

“Bottlenose whale has been added to the list, Captain Rogers.”

“Yay!” Tony warbles as he turns around fully, wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, and kisses him lovingly.

Steve doesn’t know where his love ends and Tony’s starts, but in the embrace, he feels whole.

—⎊—

Steve realizes he’s in love with Tony on a random Thursday morning in August.

Their relationship is fairly new, limited to secret dates and the occasional (mind-blowing) sex, as they want to keep it sheltered from the rest of the world for a while longer. Tony’s busy schedule doesn’t allow for too much anyway; between being Iron Man, developing several projects for Stark Industries, leading two foundations, doing PR for the Avengers, and conducting all fixes and updates for the team’s uniforms and gear, Tony is absolutely overdoing himself. And somehow, he still manages to put some time aside for Steve nearly every day.

Some mornings, Tony will pop by just to say hello before work. On other days, Steve will bring lunch to his office, or dinner to his lab. On rare occasions, they will organize some more elaborate dates, such as making pizza together or having a picnic on the balcony. Regardless of all that, Steve would often end up tucking himself in Tony’s bed at the end of the day, even when their sleep schedules didn’t match and Tony was hours away from even considering getting some shuteye, because they both realized they rest better when they’re not alone.

This was the morning following one of those nights. Steve is still asleep when he feels a caress on the side of his face. He opens his eyes confusedly — he seldom sleeps past sunrise, and it seems to disorient him a bit.

“Sorry, dear. Didn’t mean to wake you. It’s rare that you’re still in bed by the time I get up, and I was admiring how lovely you look,” a beautiful Tony with unruly hair whispers to him.

“Hedgehog,” Steve replies.

“What’s that?”

“Mmm…” Steve tries to think some big boy thoughts, but his brain is still asleep. “You look like a hedgehog,” he manages to mumble, his eyes closed again, pointing in the general direction of Tony’s head.

A hearty laugh drags him closer to consciousness.

“Is it the hair?” Tony says, checking his reflection in the mirror. “I kinda dig it.”

“I love it when it gets all messed up on missions, or when you’re sweaty in the lab. I wanna throw all of your gel away,” Steve says with a yawn. “Good morning, honey.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve been promoted to hedgehog now. And keep your grimy grandpa hands off my styling products.”

Tony sits down on the bed and leans over for a chaste kiss.

“But, if you ask nicely, I can throw them away myself. Anything to look good for you.”

“Silly man,” Steve says, pulling him on top of him, a note of Dior Fahrenheit following a second later. “You’re already the most handsome man in the universe. Literally, I’ve got several People Magazine editions to prove it. I just like it when you’re soft and less polished.”

Tony settles his head in the crook of Steve’s shoulder and purrs. It reminds Steve of their first morning together, merely two months ago. The warmth of that memory and of Tony’s breath against his bare skin wraps around him like a soft blanket.

“I save that side for you only.”

“It’s a great side,” Steve says, playing with a lock of his hair.

When Tony lifts his head and drinks him in with eyes that could rearrange the constellations of his soul, like he’s the North Star guiding the course of his heart, Steve can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“I love you,” he says, simply.

It feels effortless and natural, like the rays of dawn breaking through their windows.

He half expects Tony to panic or, at the very least, show surprise. But instead:

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Hearing his sincere confession echo back feels like coming home.

That morning holds a permanent spot in Steve’s top favorite moments of his whole life.

—⎊—

As December unfolds, and their inaugural Christmas as a couple draws near, Steve’s beginning to sense a tinge of panic as he doesn’t have any gift ideas yet.

Tony knew when they started this relationship that there wasn’t much Steve could give to him, besides his presence and his devotion. He knows Tony is not expecting anything, but that doesn’t bring him any comfort.

And so, Steve spends the better half of a day mulling over this.

He never anticipated it, but now he has full access to order anything he could ever want through JARVIS, supplied by Tony’s bottomless bank account. It doesn’t feel right to use it on a gift to the man himself, though.

But even if Steve’s own income could somehow improve overnight (he’s basically dependent on Tony in this regard as well, because Avengers money comes from Stark money, and his SHIELD pay is a joke), it wouldn’t matter — there isn’t much Tony doesn’t already have.

He reckons the only way to go about this is to make something with his own hands. He considers his options; he hasn’t knitted in a long time, and he doesn’t want to give Tony anything less than perfect. A sketch wouldn’t be so special as Tony has been on the receiving end of Steve’s doodles for quite some time now. But maybe a painting would be touching? He already has a blank canvas and some supplies from the last time he painted, months ago — a project he sadly abandoned in the end.

“Hey, JARVIS? Could you find me a secluded space in the Tower where I could work on a painting, away from Tony? And can you order me some oil paints? I believe I added my favorites to my wishlist a while ago. Get me all the colors, and two spare canvases while you’re at it, same as last time. Actually, get a larger one, too.”

“Your order has been received, Captain. May I suggest new brushes as well, a more appropriate set for these paints?”

“Sure, buddy, thanks.”

It only takes a few seconds for JARVIS to confirm that the order has been placed. Steve will never not be amazed by Tony’s creation.

“I have identified six rooms on various floors of the Tower that match your privacy requests and have enough space and light to allow for painting. Would like like to see them?” the AI quips.

“It’s okay, JARVIS, just choose the one Tony frequents the least. But um, would you be able to keep it a secret when I’m in there? If he asks you where I am?”

“Sir has been asking for your whereabouts less and less, Captain Rogers, and prefers to find you himself when he needs you. This is a boundary he felt was important to establish when you moved into shared living quarters.”

“Oh, that’s so lovely of him, I never even noticed. It’s okay then, I can lie about it myself, like normal couples do,” Steve giggles with enthusiasm.

Over the next few days, however, Steve spends hours staring at the canvas and feeling extremely frustrated. Ridiculously, he hadn’t thought this far ahead, and he’s currently struggling to conjure something meaningful enough to paint for Tony.

A picture of them together seems a bit too obvious, and Steve cringes at the idea that he’d basically be pressuring Tony to hang that up. A portrait of Tony alone, on the other hand, sounds perfect in theory — he’s the most exquisite object a painting could have, after all, and Steve would love to show Tony his magnificence filtered through his partner’s eyes. However, the few times he tried to paint him in watercolor, he quickly realized Tony is one of those people whose essence you simply cannot capture through art, and Steve’s painting would never do his beauty justice.

Back to square one, he sighs and gets up, just like every other day this week. He retracts to the penthouse for a cup of tea as he considers whether or not he should bother Tony in his lab when his enhanced hearing picks up on a tiny, strained noise.

Faster than he thought was (super)humanly possible, he reaches the bedroom where the sound came from. He can hear water running, as well as Tony’s shower playlist, and frowns. He had no idea Tony was home as it was still early in the day, and he’s confused at his own brain for not registering the signs of life sooner.

The bathroom’s sign flashes red to indicate that the door is locked, something they rarely do these days, and that brings more concern to Steve. He knocks on the door before he can think about it, and hears a surprised inhale and a brief sniffle.

“Steve, is that you, dear? Do you need something? I’m in the shower,” Tony says after lowering the music. “If you need the toilet, I recommend going for one of the other bathrooms. I won’t be finished here soon.”

“Can I come in, baby? I need to see you.”

Tony must sense the urgency in his voice because Steve hears a commotion, and in no time, a wet Tony opens the door. Steve briefly wonders why he didn’t just ask JARVIS to unlock it, but upon catching Tony’s bloodshot eyes, he understands that he is not at his best right now.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” Tony asks, grabbing Steve and scanning his body with a worried glance.

“No, I’m not hurt. Are you?”

Tony stills. “What do you mean?”

“I was in the kitchen, and I heard you. It sounded like a wince, maybe, like you hurt yourself? Not to mention you’re taking a shower in the middle of the day when you’re supposed to be at work. I thought maybe you had a lab accident.”

Tony rubs his eyes with the heel of his right palm, before subconsciously dropping his arm to slowly rub a spot above his heart.

“No, no accident and no injury. Sorry for worrying you.”

He puts on a forced, sad smile, and Steve can read in his eyes that he’s wrestling with whether to open up. Steve can also sense a fragility that he’s never seen before, and he worries that Tony might fall apart any second.

“Hey, hey, hedgehog,” Steve gathers him in his arms. “You’re safe.”

Tony’s tense posture eases into the hug, and he lets out a deep, shuddering breath, as if a heavy shroud of lead, a constant weight on his shoulders, has been lifted.

Without any spoken words, he takes Tony back to the shower. While this is not uncharted territory — there’ve been pre-sex showers, post-sex showers, and, well, sex showers — they never did it just for the practical reason of getting clean. It’s the first time it feels weighty and vulnerable, with no ulterior motives, and no playfulness.

Steve pauses the music, allowing the silence in the room to crescendo into a peaceful aura. He reaches for the shower gel without a second thought and starts to wash Tony’s body with gentle touches, like mapping a sacred temple, as they remain silent. Tenderly tending to Tony’s hair as he cries, Steve understands that this is the most profound testament of trust they could ever offer each other.

Later, when Tony is ready to speak again, Steve finds out that December 16th carries an unfathomably painful significance to his boyfriend.

On Christmas day, Tony cries again as he unwraps a breathtaking oil portrait of Maria Carbonell Stark and her young son Anthony. Steve holds him all the way through and promises to himself that he will never let the man go.

—⎊—

The notorious whale list doesn’t start until the following summer.

Tony is sprawled across Steve on the couch, head on his lap, and Steve’s fingers mindlessly comb through his hair as they often do when they relax together.

Notting Hill is projected on the big screen and Steve loves to watch every detail, even though he has the film memorized by now. Tony just loves to watch Steve.

When the “I’m also just a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to love her” line comes on and Steve mouths every word, Tony scoffs.

“You’ve got all this rom-com material in you and the best declaration of love you could give was a plain ”I love you“ in bed when we both had morning breath and I had to rush to work?”

His eyes are shiny with mischief and Steve rolls his in return. He knows that morning is as special to Tony as it is to him, but he chooses to play along.

“I thought you’d find it corny if I ever did something like that.”

“Well — yes, of course I would. I would make fun of you forever and never let you live it down. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to do it, though.”

A whole year of being together has made Steve such an expert in Tony-logic that he understands his nonsensical point instantly.

“Fine. Do you want it now? Or should we wait until there’s some rain and I’m out there, barefoot and wearing a tight white t-shirt with no jacket, and no umbrella, and I call you outside, and we’re all wet when I finally kiss you?”

“You’re making fun of me. This is a serious conversation.”

“Mhm, of course it is, hedgehog.”

Tony dramatically crosses his arms, pretends to frown, and turns his head away from Steve. It takes him a total of eight seconds before he starts laughing and breaking character, all by himself.

Steve cradles his head and light-heartedly declares that he loves him “to the moon and back,” but as Tony must always have the last word, he responds by saying he loves him “to the edge of the universe and back, times infinity. What’re you gonna do about that?”

“I don’t wanna do anything about that, I am very honored that your love for me spans across galaxies.”

“You’re just gonna admit that you love me less?” Tony says incredulously.

“We are grown men, baby. Do you seriously wanna argue over who loves the other more?”

“You’re no fun,” Tony mumbles. “I don’t know Stevie, to me it sounds like you’re backing away from the fight a bit too easily…”

Steve can effortlessly tell when Tony is trying to rile him up, and he rarely takes the bait, but he also knows his boyfriend well. If there is even a tiny crumb of real insecurity under all those jokes, Steve needs to put that spark away before it consumes Tony.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. It’s a silly debate, and there’s no point even engaging in it, ’cause I would win. I know I would win since I love you so much, and it’s impossible that you’d be able to carry that amount of love with you every day. Not even the arc reactor could store it. I’m the only person in the world burdened with loving someone so hard, and the only one capable of living with it.”

Tony looks both pleased and insulted by the speech, and Steve smiles.

“Hm. But, how hard?” Tony challenges.

Steve ponders for a second.

“As hard as one million blue whales sitting on you.”

“One million?” Tony looks genuinely in awe. “I reckon that would crush one tiny hedgehog, don’t you think?”

“Nah. You’re all spiky. Small, but feisty. The whales wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tony sits up to cuddle closer to Steve and smiles into his shoulder.

“That’s crazy, Steve. I might have to give it to you,” Tony says licking his lips.

Steve’s eyes follow the gesture. “Told you there’s no fight.”

They kiss softly for a bit, then Tony pulls back abruptly, with an idea written all over his face.

“Wait, wait. Does that mean you’re a blue whale?”

“Erm. I mean, sure, I guess? Where are you going with this?” Steve eyes him suspiciously.

“Well, I’ve been thinking for some time that I gotta start calling you something unique as well. I considered what animals you remind me of, and something like puppy is just creepy, and bear is a whole’nother can of gay worms I am not ready to open. But blue whale is so cute!”

“Tony, do you genuinely think that blue whale is a cute nickname?”

Tony scrunches his face. “Okay, no, fair. But—oh! How about I start naming those one million whales? You can be a different one each time.”

Steve retracts his previous statement about understanding Tony-logic, as he’s totally lost at how that’s a solution.

“Do you mean like, call me a new name every time? Like what, Bob? How would that relate to the whales?”

“No, you oddball. I meant you don’t have to be a blue whale. I can choose a different type of whale whenever I say it.”

“Are you really implying that there’s a million species of whales out there, Anthony?”

Tony looks affronted by Steve trying to use logic to dismantle his argument.

“I’m not a marine biologist, Steven, but I grew up with an ocean hyper-fixation. I know there’s plenty of them. I can start naming different kinds, and we’ll keep count. I’m sure I’ll reach a million eventually.”

Steve thinks he will never get tired of witnessing Tony ramble excitedly about something that interests him — from world-changing revolutionary technological advancements, to juvenile ploys that tickle his brain.

“You know what? Sure, loopy man. Let’s do it.”

Tony lights up and jumps to stand.

“Okay, okay. Let me think of my first one.”

“Ah, you raise a good point — you can’t look ’em up. You need to think of them. But I am easily fooled, you know? They have to be real species,” Steve warns.

He has no idea why he’s making up rules for an arbitrary game with no stakes or prizes, in fact not a game at all, but he knows Tony responds well to dares.

“JARVIS will verify and keep count, and make sure I don’t repeat any. Won’t you, J?”

“Of course, Sir. Why wouldn’t I?” JARVIS only sounds half annoyed, and that’s a quarter less than usual.

“Okay! Then, as a first log, let’s start with the original. Hello, my blue whale.”

Tony looks so enthusiastic about this and Steve feels so in love at the sight, so much so that he doesn’t even think the idea is so childish anymore.

“Hello, hedgehog—”

“Wait! I have a reason for it.”

“A reason—”

“Guess why you’re a blue whale?”

Steve tries to keep up. “Because of my blue eyes? Captain America’s suit?”

He knows the answer won’t be an obvious one by any means.

“Because you blue me a-whale!”

Steve’s mouth cartoonishly drops open. Never in a million years did he think Tony was capable of such horrendous puns, and he feels special once again, knowing Tony would never show this cringy side of his humor to anyone else.

“I sure hope you mean that I blew you away, and not that I blew a whale for you, otherwise we’re gonna have a really uncomfortable conversation.”

Tony snacks him across the chest.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. Why must you ruin a sweet moment, you neanderthal? For once, it wasn’t an innuendo. But if you’re offering some blowing…”

“I wasn’t offering anything, you homo sapien,” Steve laughs. “But, there you go.”

He gently blows on his face, and they both erupt in laughter. Tony’s one of the most influential people in the world and Steve can’t help the pride he feels at the fact he’s the only one who can reduce this deeply respected man in his forties to giggles.

“JARVIS? Did you catch that? Make it his first entry. And keep track of the one-liners too. I bet it’ll be worth it.”

“Request received, Captain Rogers. I have logged blue whale as the first entry on the list, and noted that Sir likes to blow whales.”

It’s clearly a joke, but Tony still corrects him — last word, once again.

“Buddy, you better rectify that before I donate you to MIT. The days of being on FBI watch lists are way behind me, and I’d like for it to stay that way.”

It’s now Steve’s turn to playfully smack him, and he wonders when his life turned into this. He doesn’t want to change a thing.

—⎊—

The list becomes rather impressive over the following year.

Steve expected Tony to start using the nicknames all the time, which would make him run out of whale varieties within a few days. He doesn’t know if Tony had the same train of thought or if it’s completely unintentional, but the whales ended up making appearances during rare and precious moments.

✿

In one instance, Steve is just finishing cooking some tagliatelle alla crema di scampi when his boyfriend walks into the kitchen, and moans at the smell.

“Baaaby, did you make my favorite?”

“Indeed, hedgehog. It’ll be ready in a sec,” Steve says after giving him a kiss. “You can take a seat.”

Tony follows the instruction and he yawns into his elbow.

“You’re so good to me, beluga.”

“Mmm?” Steve is stirring the sauce and waiting for the remaining part of that postulation.

“Oh, that’s an easy one. You’re extremely friendly just like them, and we belonga together”.

Steve might roll his eyes, but his heart flutters betray him.

“JARVIS?”

✿

One other night, they’re having a pretty steamy make-out session when Steve slides his knee between Tony’s legs and starts to grind down fast.

“Mmm, narwhal, let me take my clothes off before I blow a load in my pants like a teenager seeing a Captain America picture for the first time.”

“Speaking from experience?” Steve teases, nibbling at his ear.

“Most definitely,” Tony says between gasps.

It was a bit odd at first to learn about Tony’s childhood obsession with him, but these days Steve can’t help the possessive heat that arises when he thinks I was his first-ever crush.

As they both quickly undress, Steve’s brain catches up.

“Wait, was narwhal a blowhole joke or a horny joke?”

“Double entendre. Unicorns of the sea, baby. Now, get back here,” he demands and Steve follows like a dog.

✿

Before a mission, Steve is trying to create a plan of attack, and he and Tony are disagreeing on who should go on the field first. It’s not like he enjoys butting heads with anyone, especially not his partner (mixing business with pleasure does have its occasional hiccups), but Steve knows it should be him taking the risk — Tony is just so stubborn.

Before any serious argument could unravel, Tony drags him into a corner and locks him in with a determined gaze.

“Not to be a pygmy whale, but you have to pick me.” Despite the pun, nothing about his demeanor indicates he’s less than earnest and unswerving.

“Dammit Tony, you can’t use the whales to win this!”

Tony loses a bit of his steadfastness at that.

“Ugh, c’mon, Steve! You know I’m the least likely to get injured if they start a fire. That shield can’t protect you from all angles like an armor does. Please?”

Steve closes his eyes for a few seconds and sighs, feeling the fight leave his body. It’s crazy how he wants to give Tony anything he asks for, the second he’s on the receiving end of his unbearable pleading looks. He should start avoiding all eye contact whenever he wants to maintain his position.

“Fine, hedgehog. I pick you,” he says, defeated.

He can hear JARVIS‘ confirmation that he’s intercepted the joke through Iron Man’s HUD, and basks in the bittersweetness of putting a triumphant smile on Tony’s face.

✿

For his birthday that year, Tony deliberately bakes him the most hideous cake he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s meant to resemble a hedgehog, and it’s complete with googly eyes, human-lips-shaped gummies, and less-than-appetizing brown swirls of chocolate that serve as spikes.

Next to it sits one single cupcake with bright blue frosting and a little whale decoration mounted on top by a toothpick, and a birthday card that reads “You might not be a minke whale but you’re minke-credible!”.

Steve’s absolutely holding onto that card for the rest of their lives.

✿

Once, after a long and satisfying three hours with a record amount of orgasms between the two of them, Tony looks up, all blushy, breathless, and beautiful, points at Steve, and simply says “sperm whale”.

Steve doesn’t reckon he needs an explanation for that one.

✿

One autumn evening, JARVIS alerts Steve that Tony is in distress — a new protocol they have in place as their relationship evolved — in the main lab. As in, the one in the basement.

Steve is out the window before remembering the speed overwrite code for the elevators.

“AAAH!” he hears as he’s approaching the entrance. The scream is followed by the familiar sound of an Iron Man gauntlet loading, and a loud blast.

“Tony!” In his rush to get where Tony is, Steve momentarily forgets his strength and pushes one of Tony’s steel worktops out of the way — the table ricochets into the glass display housing the Marks, shattering it, and lightly denting one of the earlier models.

Tony, perched up on a different table, is aiming the gauntlet at the wall, where he already made a hole. Steve stops in his tracks to scan the lab, but he cannot identify any threat.

“Hedgehog, what’s going on?”

As if snapped out of a trace, Tony finally acknowledges Steve, winces, and rubs the nape of his head. Then, he clocks the mess he left behind.

“What the fuck, Steve, what did Mark III ever do to you?”

“Are you serious right now? What happened here?”

Tony groans and plops himself on the worktop. “…there was a spider.”

“A spider.”

“Yes, a spider. He’s gone now. Well, I think so. Point is, I’m fine, you’re fine, everyone is fine.”

“Not the spider, he’s not.”

Tony gives him one of his iconic Stark deadpan stares. DUM-E approaches and starts to beep insistently toward Tony, before dropping a nickel into his palm.

“What was I supposed to do with this, huh? Flip it and decide if I should sell you for parts or not?”

DUM-E deflates.

“Hey, don’t take it on him. Whatever plan he had, sure seems better than firing at the spider!”

“It was a reactive move, okay? But the threat is gone, and like I said, everything’s fine. We’re all fin-tastic whales. But thanks for coming to the rescue. No idea how you made it here so fast.”

“I took a shortcut. I thought you were in danger!” There’s little Steve wouldn’t do for his man — jumping from the top of a 96-floor building barely scratches the surface.

“I was!”

“Tony!”

One sigh, two feet hitting the floor, three steps before he’s in Steve’s arms.

“Just shut up and help me clean up before one of these fools starts putting glass shards in my smoothies.”

Steve inhales the scent of motor oil from his hair and nods.

✿

After long office hours one night, Tony returns home and collapses face-first onto the couch.

“I am so fucking tired of idiots,” he mumbles.

“Hey, baby hedgehog,” Steve warmly greets as he walks in his direction.

He knows that Tony will later rant about his day, unprompted, as it’s his way of letting go of frustration before it bottles up.

So instead of asking what happened, Steve rubs his back and asks if he would like a distraction.

“What kind are we talking about?” he asks with a curious tilt of his head.

“Mmm, the phallic kind, if you’re interested?”

That definitely awakens something in him.

Sometime later, Tony’s slouched and short of breath on the couch, and Steve is on his knees, nuzzling up to his thighs.

“Oh my god, you set me up perfectly for a bowhead whale joke,” Tony says once he recovers some of his brain. “Thought I’d have to figure out some sort of shellhead, winghead connection, maybe imply it’s Barton’s new nickname, but turns out I just had to get my dick sucked.”

Tony unceremoniously gets up, then does a small curtsey in front of Steve, who graciously doesn’t point out the ridicule of doing that to someone on their knees. Somehow, this moment sums up their power dynamic perfectly.

“I’m a bowhead; I bow after you give me head,” Tony proudly states.

It does ignite a laugh in Steve, but also makes him come to a realization.

“You’re aware that the whole point was to find me nicknames, but so far you’ve assumed some of them for yourself?”

“What’s mine’s yours, dear,” Tony lazily declares before pulling Steve up on the couch to return the favor.

✿

For their anniversary, Tony gifts him a total of three motorcycles.

Well, sort of. The first one already belongs to Steve and he’s been riding it with no complaints. It’s a red Harley-Davidson Softail Slim that got a bit beaten up during some missions, and somehow survived. He never asked Tony to fix it even though he knew he would, in an instant. Despite how far Steve’s come in terms of communicating, it’s still hard to ask for favors. He feels Tony already does so much for him. And if the bike works, who cares if it’s a bit jagged?

Tony does, apparently. He took it upon himself to not only repair, but fully upgrade the bike. In all fairness, it seems there was more to it than the botched paint job and side denting — Tony said he was on the verge of a heart attack seeing the condition of some critical motor functions. He loves to hyperbolize, but Steve senses some truth in it.

Steve loves that he painted some tiny details in gold, a beautiful contrast against the red. He sees it for what it is — not a claim on Steve, but a grounding reminder of Tony’s presence in his life, useful during Avengers missions or Steve’s long rides when he needs to clear his head. Tony’s main love language is acts of service, as they discovered one date night, and Steve feels the intensity pouring from the gift.

But that’s not all. Tony continues by showing off a brand new Street 750 Harley, which is only supposed to hit the market at the end of the year. It’s a glamorous, jet-black bike, reminiscent of the stealth suit he designed Steve months ago, more so for Tony’s own peace of mind when he’s on SHIELD missions, or tracking down the Winter Soldier — something he made clear to Tony he needs to do alone.

“It can also serve as your cool, sexy, bad-boy bike,” Tony says with a hunger that he tries to conceal under a laugh. Steve makes a mental note to order himself some black leather clothing, as a special thank you for Tony.

“It needs an inauguration ride, don’t you think?” Steve says with a passion that knocks Tony senseless.

He doesn’t get to put his money where his mouth is (or his mouth where Tony’s money is), because Tony walks him over to a mysterious third bike, engulfed by a white sheet.

“Ooh, you’re gonna uncover it, like Howard did at the Stark Expo! Is it a flying motorcycle? Do you have a speech, too?” he jokes.

Tony ignores him and looks at him with utmost emotion.

“I think you’ll find this one more special than a flying motorcycle, Stevie.”

Before he can say that he already finds the two other gifts special, and that he’s absolutely overdoing it, all air is knocked out of Steve’s lungs. In front of him is his Liberator, the 1942 Harley-Davidson WLA that he rode during the war. He touches it with tentative fingers and feels soft tears gather at his crow’s feet.

He means to say “This is a replica, right?” because it must be. There’s no way. But he’s seen the replica in his museum — it was so close to reality, but not the same. Steve traces the scratches on the faded green paint, the little familiar crack in the headlight, the missing corner of the star. He can even pick up on the distinct note of old leather and the ironic perfume of gunpowder, something he hasn’t smelled in decades. This is his bike.

“How?” he manages to utter throatily.

“Wasn’t easy,” Tony admits. “She wasn’t in secret government storage or anything like that, you know I’d have started hellfire if that was the case. But I had this inkling a while ago, so JARVIS and I have been looking for her, just in case, and we found some blurry photos from after ’45. She’s a sturdy gal, so she survived it all. Her engine’s even running. She was secretly collected and sold in the aftermath of the war, then passed on to the buyer’s children. Those children are now old and one of them wanted to sell her for retirement, on the black market, and J flagged it instantly.”

Steve is trying to focus on the words, but the emotion is drowning him.

“The woman didn’t seem to know she was yours specifically,” Tony continues, “or didn’t wanna risk trouble, ’cause she was only listed as a World War II motorcycle. I was gonna go ballistic on her and threaten some lawsuits but, to be fair, she didn’t seem to fully grasp that her father bought a stolen item, and she just wanted to provide for her family, so I paid up and collected her anonymously. But JARVIS and I cross-referenced every record and she’s authentic, I promise.”

There is no doubt in his mind that it’s his Liberator he’s touching, but he appreciates Tony’s reassurance.

“I didn’t put my grubby hands on her more than it was necessary to clean her up. I was so relieved to see that the previous owners didn’t, either. I had a hunch you don’t want this one to be fixed in any way.”

“Yeah, that’d be right, she’s perfect like this.” Steve clears his throat and dares to look into his boyfriend’s eyes. “Tony, I—”

He’s too overwhelmed to speak.

“It’s okay. I know,” Tony soothes with tenderness. As they often do, they communicate all that needs to be said through their looks.

To bring Steve out of his fuzzy state, Tony chooses this moment to hit him with a whale. Metaphorically, that is.

“You must be a killer whale, because you’re worth all the effort it took to orca-strate this whole ordeal.”

That makes Steve laugh then instantly break into sobs, as he clings onto Tony with his entire being, trying to be mindful of the fact he could actually squish him to death.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says over and over.

“Happy anniversary, bravest soldier,” Tony whispers in his hair.

✿

A couple of days after the gooey-robots incident, Steve is working up a sweat in the gym, since his morning run didn’t quite do the trick. He woke up with a slight restlessness, without any specific reason, and wasn’t fond of the unease it brought along.

He’s currently squatting with a barbell when someone jumps on him and attaches to his back.

“Tony, I could’ve injured myself!”

“Sure, sure, supersoldier,” Tony just clings to him tighter.

“Pest. Whaddya want?”

“Missed you,” he murmurs into the back of his neck. “And I saw you come down here.”

“Hedgehog, you’re supposed to be working, not humping my back. Pep’ll have your head—”

“Nooo! You stole my line!” Tony starts squirming in protest, so Steve puts the barbell down and peels him off his body, giving him a chance to explain.

“Humping your back? Humpback whale? I swear I was about to say it!” Tony wails adorably.

Steve loves his little tantrums.

“No need to pout, darling. I believe you. We can still count it. JARVIS?”

“Entry confirmed, Captain.”

Steve downs his entire water bottle, while Tony fidgets beside him, a look of impishness painted on his face.

“I don’t need your pity, Rogers.”

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that,” Steve says, taking a step closer and grabbing his wrists.

Tony gulps, “I thought you were concerned with Pepper’s intentions with my head?”

“Eh, she’s not my boss.”

Steve backs Tony into the wall and forgets all about his morning nervousness.

“Help me release some pent-up energy?”

✿

In their bathroom on a Sunday, Tony is applying some clay face mask on Steve, who can’t sit still. The peppermint in the mask brings tears to his eyes, and the cooling sensation feels more like torture than relaxation.

He makes his displeasure very clear to Tony.

“It only needs to be on for 15 minutes, Duracell. Can you stop vibrating for that long?”

“It just doesn’t feel good,” Steve mumbles.

“If you have any reaction such as itching or burning, we’ll take it off. If you’re just hating the smell, you’re gonna have to suck it up, soldier,” Tony responds absentmindedly, washing his hands.

“But I have good skin! I don’t need it. Why do I have to do it?”

As soon as he says the words and sees Tony still and his mouth quiver for the slightest bit, he understands. Tony suggested it as a sweet, bonding activity — which it is — but in reality, he wanted to this with Steve so he doesn’t have to do it alone.

Tony already has a specific 3-step routine for his face that he adheres to every morning (and evening unless he passes out on the couch), separate from his hair and goatee routine. At first, Steve did find the habit unusual, given that he hadn’t come across men using such intricate products before. He figured it was a vain billionaire thing, or maybe a gay man thing (though he never observed Tony showing interest in other traditionally feminine things, which would have been perfectly fine with him).

That was until Sam, who always has glowy skin and a perfect beard, straightforwardly called his old-fashioned mindset sexist and homophobic. “Men wanna feel good about their looks, too,” he’d said to Steve, “and it probably doesn’t help his insecurities when his boyfriend is not only 15 years younger, but has this hocus pocus in his veins that slows down aging and makes every inch perfect. Tell me, Steve, when was the last time you had a black head on that perfect nose of yours?”

Steve made a point after that to remind Tony of his routine in the evenings, to order him refills, and to make his support as clear as it can be.

So, he knows that Tony isn’t embarrassed about doing a face mask because Steve would find it emasculating. No, it’s more that Tony is self-conscious that he’s the only one whose skin needs it, and he desires a sense of equality with Steve.

Steve’s suspicions are confirmed when he notices that Tony, all fidgety and exposed, is currently screwing shut a face mask pot that has “anti-aging” written on it, and is looking at Steve with tentative eyes.

He wants to start kissing every single wrinkle on his boyfriend’s body and remind him over and over just how beautiful he is, and how he will only get lovelier with time.

But he also doesn’t want to turn this into a thing, when Tony already seems on the edge.

“It’s not so bad, you know,” his voice fills the silence. “I’m just a coward. And green clashes with my eyes. Suits you, though. You look good in any color, but you’d easily be the hottest Hulk. I would totally bang Tony-Hulk”.

Tony seems to appreciate Steve’s unspoken understanding of the situation, and smiles at the joke.

“Master of sei-duction, are you, sei whale?”

Even with the face mask on, Tony is as handsome as ever. Steve takes his hand in his.

“Just master of loving you.”

That earns him a forehead kiss and a slap on the butt.

“Get out of here, Cap Sap!”

—⎊—

When the team finally solves the hedgehog mystery, they’re having dinner together at the penthouse.

Tony places a beer bottle in front of Steve, with a kiss on his cheek and a rub on his back, before sitting down across from him.

“Thanks, hedgehog,” Steve replies on autopilot.

Bruce continues to talk, unaware of the gravity of the moment, as Clint and Natasha freeze.

“Oh my god, you were the hedgehog all along!” Clint exclaims with unjustified enthusiasm.

“Why on earth are you still thinking about it months later?” Steve groans.

“What am I missing?” Bruce asks.

“Steve calls Tony hedgehog sometimes. It’s cute,” Nat says, then turns to Clint. “I figured it out the day it happened, by the way.”

“What?! And you let me dwell on it for so long!”

“Why is this a big deal?” Bruce butts in, confused.

“Not my fault you didn’t consider one of the most obvious explanations,” Nat answers, then faces Bruce again. “It’s not”.

“Obvious? Sorry, I call my wife sweet things, like honey. Why would I call her prickly? Oh, are you just calling him a prick?”

“Yeah, that’s the one thing I didn’t work out. But you know, I thought about it for like, five minutes, months ago,” Nat laughs at him.

“Sorry to disappoint, guys,” Tony intervenes. “I must have said some funny hedgehog joke once and it stuck with Steve. I bet there’s a thrilling origin story there but I don’t remember it,” he shrugs and sips his soda.

Steve catches his eye over the table as they exchange a subtle, charged smile, and they continue to eat while Bruce picks up where he left off before.

Later, they clean up the dining table, and Tony bumps his hip into Steve.

“Tonight went really well. We’re great hosts, dolphin.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow.

“I dolphin-itely ran out of whales,” Tony admits with a cry.

He looks vanquished and Steve’s heart breaks a little — he will definitely miss the nicknames.

“Oh, that’s alright, hedgehog, I am sure we have enough!”

“J, how did I do?” Tony crosses his fingers for a dramatic flair.

Steve checks the list he’s been mentally keeping — because he has an eidetic memory, and because of the unforgettable nature of these treasured moments — and realizes Tony successfully remembered 27 species. Steve Googled it in the beginning and knows the total number of known whale varieties is around 90, but he’s still impressed with Tony’s efforts.

“There’s one million entries in your list, Sir. Congratulations!”

Steve asked him to say that the day they set up the list — already a year ago.

“Hey, hey, who taught you to lie? Steve? Have you been corrupting my children?”

“I don’t know, beloved, JARVIS has never been wrong before. So, yay! I knew you could do it!” Steve kisses the corner of his mouth as Tony huffs.

“I guess we just gotta start a new list, then. I was thinking plants suit you well. What do you think, buttercup?”

Steve looks at his handsome partner and his thoughts are consumed by the circular, custom-made, vibranium-gold alloy band resting within a tiny box in his desk drawer, with one word, eight delicate letters, engraved on the inside.

“Tony, as long as you’re my little hedgehog, you can call me anything.”