Chapter Text
November, 2015.
Steve had woken gasping for air, tripped out of bed, and smacked his knee off the nightstand before he could finally escape, and though Tony had roused, calling after him, all it took were two placating words, I’m fine, and he was snoring again. Steve considers this a success, really. Tony’s been on the off again side of his relationship with sleep for a few weeks, and tonight is one of the first times he’s managed to find it.
And so, that’s why he finds himself yanking on his running shoes at four in the morning. Truthfully, he would have woken up two hours later regardless and done the same thing, but he feels a little nauseous with exhaustion this morning when he greets the dawn running away from his mind.
Running helps. It’s like a physical shake, honing in on just this, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four, this constant cadence in his head that his feet are always trying to fall into. It’s distracting right up until the rest of Manhattan starts to wake up. He makes a mental note to add this to the list of reasons why he wants to live somewhere more secluded, somewhere with more trees than there are people during his morning run.
As he’s turning back, Steve touches one hand to his ear and says, “Jarvis?”
“How can I be of assistance, sir?” Tony’s AI asks.
“Please check for any messages.”
Steve waits, the cement clicking underfoot, until Jarvis says, “Several work-related emails, sir, that I’ve compiled into different folders for your perusal after breakfast. I am also showing one email from Miss Potts regarding the house hunt, and a voicemail from Miss Carter.”
“Voicemail first, please, Jarvis,” Steve says, nodding in the direction of another runner passing him by.
“Steve,” Peggy’s voice cracks around his name, “Sharon’s pregnant. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” It ends there, but Jarvis is already redialing. Peggy is talking as soon as she picks up, “I’m sorry, I know it’s early.”
“Peg,” Steve says, trying to let his voice sound soothing even though there’s blood rushing in his ears, “It’s okay. I’m out for a run, I’ll head your way.”
“She’s going to abort, Steve,” Peggy says, her voice wavering, “Her parents told her she had two options, to have an abortion or to fucking leave. God, I hate my sister for marrying that man. She has no problem with leaving, she could come live with me, but it’s not realistic, and I know it isn’t. Fuck. I’m leaving in four months, Steve.”
“Shit,” Steve says, and turns left instead of continuing straight deeper into Manhattan and back to Tony, “You got an assignment?”
“I’m going to be gone for two years, at the very least. I don’t know what to say to her. God, she was so upset when she called me. I have to call my sister, and make her see reason. She can put it up for adoption.”
When Steve finally arrives at Peggy’s apartment, he walks in to find her already on the phone with her sister, arguing. He sighs, and goes into her kitchen to make tea, eggs, and toast, texting Tony once everything’s started. Had to stop by Peggy’s, I’ll be home in a bit. Sorry.
He gets no response by the time Peggy’s off the phone and dumping into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, so he assumes he’s either still asleep or already working. He spends the next hour with Peggy, listening to her rant and comforting her when she eventually starts crying. 6:30AM creeps around, though, and she hastens to get ready for work while Steve tries to psyche himself back up for running home.
“Call me for anything,” Steve reminds her, dropping a kiss on her cheek before they head out.
There’s a sleek black car sitting outside, and as soon as Steve steps foot onto the sidewalk, Happy gets out, coming around. “Good morning, Captain Rogers,” he says amicably, “Mister Stark thought you might prefer a ride home.”
“He always knows,” Steve says, smiling as he turns Happy’s way.
When he had first started dating Tony, he was shocked to learn that he drove anywhere. Howard had never sat behind a wheel, though he could wax poetic about his love of cars after a few fingers of whiskey. He had met Howard first, when he was barely 19 and brand new to the army, trying to look impressive as the famous creator of every single one of their weapons had stepped out of a Humvee for a weapons demonstration. He was cold and calculated, and Steve had been in awe of him for nearly four months until the next demonstration came, and his son was there. He’d watched Howard treat him like he was no better than the dirt crunching underfoot, and, just as quickly as he’d been inspired by this forward thinking man, the image was shattered. He was nothing more than a father who hit his son behind a Humvee when he thought no one was looking.
Howard had stalked off, furious, and Steve had opened the back door of the Humvee, startling Tony, who ducked his eyes to hide the bright red mark across his face. Steve had knelt to pick up his fallen sunglasses and handed them over with a quiet, “You don’t deserve that.”
One year later, Steve was holding his hand while he buried his parents, and despite many attempts on Tony’s part to self-sabotage, Steve had weathered it all, and here they stood, fourteen years later and unbelievably—Tony had once told him that he would only marry him after a decade of not fucking this all up—three years married.
And yet, they’re still right here, at this argument, “Dogs shed.”
“Not only do you have a maid,” Steve points out, flipping his omelet, “I enjoy cleaning.”
“Which is also a sin,” Tony says, and then wrestles his way in front of Steve to drop a yawn into his chest. “Why do you want a dog so bad?” Tony mumbles.
It comes out before Steve can stop himself, “It’s not like we’re going to have children anytime soon.”
“What makes you say that?” Tony says, not moving, and Steve knows it’s to hide a grin, so he tugs on one of his ears. “Ow,” Tony whines, starting to back away.
Steve turns, steering him away from the danger of burning himself on the stove. “Go make coffee before you die,” Steve says, and pushes him toward the other end of the kitchen.
“Yes,” is all he manages to say, but, even still, Steve smiles fondly at him.
“Jarvis,” he says, still tending Tony’s omelet, “Please pull up the email from Pepper.”
“No,” Tony moans by the coffee machine, “You’re going to love it.”
He does. Jarvis shows him several pictures of the property Pepper’s found, as well as its surrounding location, and then he pulls up the blueprints. “Tony,” Steve sighs, transferring the omelet from skillet to plate, “It’s perfect.”
“Told you,” Tony mutters into his coffee.
“Please,” Steve says, kissing his jaw, “Just look at it with me?”
“What is wrong with where we currently live?” Tony says, following the food as Steve goes over to the island. Steve’s got two forks, and he starts to tell him he’s not allowed to share when he sees the sheer size of the omelet he’s made.
“This place is massive,” Steve says, “There are twelve bedrooms. I don’t even know where some of the bathrooms are half the time. I got lost the other day. Your father lived here.”
“You did not,” Tony accuses, and Steve’s bitten back grin confirms that, “It’s not that big.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“Okay, well. Truth, but still.”
Steve spears a pepper, points it at Tony, and says, “You said you would compromise.”
“Oh my god,” Tony groans, reaching for his mug, “You’re trying to move me to the country.”
“Obnoxious is not enough,” Steve says, still grinning, “It’s still in New York.”
“It’s in Copiague,” Tony says like it’s a chore, “It would take me, at minimum, an hour to get into Manhattan.”
“You’re a Stark, I’m sure you can arrange something,” Steve says, and he says it so easily that Tony outright guffaws at him.
Steve takes it in stride, stealing another bite of eggs and vegetables. He shrugs when Tony settles, and says, “I know, it’s too far. I’ll ask Pepper to keep looking. Anything on deck today?”
Tony can see it clearly in his face, how badly he wants to get out of the city, and even though he knows Steve would stay here with him always, they’ve spent nearly half their lives fighting the traffic, the noise, and the insanity of it all, which is to blame for why he says, “How big is the dog?” Steve looks up at him unsurely, but Tony just keeps on eating, waiting him out right up until he opens his mouth, and then he says, “Not a puntable. Is there at least a guest bedroom?”
Steve is startled into a laugh, and he looks at Tony with such fondness and something that might be joy that Tony almost makes a face at him. “What the hell is a puntable?” he asks.
“You know,” Tony says, and mimes punting a football, “A Chihuahua or something.”
“God, no,” Steve says, “A German shepherd or lab, maybe.”
“A husky?” Tony says, lifting an eyebrow.
“If you’re into huskies, I definitely am,” Steve says, “I can work with that.” Tony just stares at him, eyes narrowing, so Steve continues, “Four bedrooms. And a pool. Also, an indoor and outdoor living room. Separate ones. Perfect for hosting.”
“Stop using words you know I like,” Tony says, waving a piece of egg at him, “It’s lacking a basement, isn’t it?” When Steve just smiles sheepishly, Tony lets out possibly the most obnoxious noise and says, “Oh, fine. When is the showing?”
“Miss Potts can arrange one for this afternoon, if you’d like,” Jarvis says, “And there appears to be a shelter not far from its location.”
“You’re the devil in disguise,” is the last thing Tony says before he disappears with his coffee, and Steve just grins and finishes their omelet.
——
“Jay, you up?” Tony asks as he enters his workshop, making a beeline for his desk.
“For you, sir, always,” Jarvis says evenly, “How may I be of assistance?”
“It’s only a matter of time before Steve sends down the listing. Can you do a background check on the neighborhood? Maybe ring the local shelter and see what kind of dogs they have right now? I had a third question.”
Tony dumps into his chair, letting it turn slowly as he tries to remember. “Alternate routes to the Tower from Copiague?” Jarvis supplies.
“Atta boy,” Tony says, grabbing his desk to pull him to a stop. He draws his legs up underneath him and spreads a hand across his desk as he lifts his mug with the other. A holographic keyboard comes to life as several screens displaying his latest project flicker to life in front of him.
It’s strange to think that he’ll be back to work on Monday. Steve got back from a tour this month, after nearly a year gone, and Tony had taken off a few weeks to spend with him, but now it’s back to falling asleep during board meetings and running a company he watched swallow his father whole.
“Jarvis, any chance Pepper left me an agenda for Monday?” he asks, frowning at his screens. He doesn’t want this to end, this unlimited time with Steve. He’s been able to wake up to him every day, kiss him good morning, and start his day off as leisurely as he wants to. He’s made Steve in breakfast so many times, he’s not even sure he knows how to eat in the kitchen anymore.
“Sir?” Jarvis’s voice brings him back, “You asked for an agenda?”
Tony turns to the new screen Jarvis has pulled up, attempts to review it, and ultimately gives up, saving his work before he strips out of his shirt and goes to yank at the underbelly of one of his cars.
Like clockwork, Steve shows up around noon with food, coaxing Tony out from under the car by dropping down beside him and circling his ankle with one hand. “Okay, definitely a success this time,” he says, thumb swiping over the bone jutting out there.
“Did you try sushi again?” Tony asks, other foot pushing against the ground to give him momentum to roll out from underneath the car.
When Steve hands him a pair of chopsticks, Tony gladly sits up, leaning their shoulders together as they try Steve’s latest foray into the world of making his own sushi. He’s got a mug of tea next to him, and Tony frowns when he sees it. “You left early this morning,” he says, gaze lingering on the tea before he lifts it flicker over Steve’s face, looking for anything there that he missed earlier.
He shrugs the shoulder resting against Tony’s. “You haven’t been sleeping,” Steve says, and then turns his head, dropping a kiss on Tony’s bare shoulder, “It’s okay.”
“Steve,” Tony says, “You’re supposed to wake me up for that.”
“It’s okay, really.” Steve kisses his shoulder again and then reaches for another piece of sushi. “I saw Peggy this morning anyway, so it turned out alright. Well.”
“Yeah, Happy was there forever. Something happen?”
It’s a long moment before Steve responds, and Tony watches him, knows what the slight downturn of his mouth means. Something has happened, but something he’s nervous talking to Tony about, and then he puts a period on that train of thought by sipping his tea. Tony waits him out, though it’s absolutely killing him to do so.
“Sharon’s pregnant,” he says finally.
Tony gapes. “What is she—fifteen?”
“About to turn sixteen,” Steve says, “It was her first time. Her parents are in a right fit, and she’s a mess. And—Peggy just got an assignment.”
“Jesus,” Tony says, and shakes his head, “Of course. She wanted to take her in, help her keep the baby, didn’t she?”
“She’s going to try to convince her sister to let Sharon have it and give it up for adoption.”
“Well, what’s the other alternative?” Tony asks, and then makes a noise of disbelief when Steve just looks at him. “Seriously?” Tony says, “They’re going to make her abort it?”
Steve nods slowly, looking down at his tea.
God, Tony hates seeing him like this, unsure of what to do and what to say, unsure of how to help. He grew up with Peggy, enlisted with her, and was there for every single one of Sharon’s birthdays until her mother uprooted them for Wisconsin and a hateful piece of shit that once tried to goad Steve into a fight by saying every possibly offensive and derogatory thing about his relationship with Tony that he could think of. He can still remember Steve’s face that night as he’d curled close and sobbed about just everything.
“Hey,” Tony says, setting down his chopsticks and reaching for his hand, tangling their fingers together, “What if—well, when is Peggy leaving?”
“Four months,” Steve says miserably.
“So Sharon stays with her for four months, and then—” Tony shrugs, and Steve looks over at him, brow furrowed. “Well, I mean, we have an extra room,” he says.
“Tony,” Steve says, looking at him like he’s hung the sun in the sky, “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“Don’t have to what?” Tony says, “It’s not like we’d be harboring a fugitive.”
“She’s pregnant, Tony. You don’t want kids, let alone everything that comes with being pregnant. I don’t want to put you through that.”
“I never said—well, I don’t know,” Tony mumbles, releasing his hand and grabbing the last roll of sushi.
“Sleep on it,” Steve says, leaning over to kiss his temple, “We’ll talk more tomorrow night. Who knows, maybe Peggy will have convinced her sister to let her keep the baby and stay there.”
Tony doesn’t respond verbally, just drops his head onto Steve’s shoulder and wonders if he’d turn into his own father given the opportunity.
——
“This,” Tony says, gesturing wildly.
Steve watches him, trying to decipher what exactly it is that’s bothering him since they’re driving well over the speed limit. He tried to convince Steve to let him drive with the top down, but then Steve had tossed a scarf around his neck and drawn him in for a kiss, so he’d settled for something more reasonable. Now, they’re about twenty minutes out from the house, and the traffic has been kind.
“I’m going to need a few more words before I can formulate a response,” Steve says, and Tony barks a laugh at him.
“I love when you get snarky. I’ve been a good influence on you.”
“Well.”
“Hey, you’re the one that made this ass your permanent place of residence. If this was what the roads were like on a Monday, I’d be fine with country living.”
“Oh my god,” Steve says, shaking his head, “Tony, we can stay in the city, it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Tony says, “Or shall I reference vacation number—”
“Oh my god, you’re such a diva,” Steve says.
“Just trying to make a point,” Tony says, “Which happens to be a point in your favor, doofus. You and I are both better off away from the city, I’m just going to bitch for a while about the drive. Listen, if this makes you happy, then I’m happy. Oh, the suburbs.”
“Pepper said it was out of the way,” Steve says, peering at Jarvis’s directions, “We should be seeing the coastline pretty soon.”
“Wait,” Tony says, glancing at him, “Wait. It’s on the coast?”
“Did you not look at the listing at all?”
“Did you send it to me?” Tony counters with.
“Yes. After breakfast.”
Tony waves a hand dismissively at him, and Steve rolls his eyes. “I was downstairs. Oh my god, there’s no downstairs. How am I going to live, Steven?”
“If you’d looked at the listing, you would have noticed the garage,” Steve says, “It’s enormous.”
“Enormous enough?”
“I’m selling you on EBay,” Steve says, and then points to a turn Tony’s about to pass.
Somehow, they make it in one piece, though Tony’s still laughing about the EBay comment when they finally turn down a long road with only a small scattering of houses. The ocean sits to their right, as does a newly paved drive up to the house they’re interested in.
“Okay,” Tony says as he gets out, gaze wandering over the front.
There are two garage entrances, one of them larger than the other, and the house sits at an angle, the front entrance built beneath a covered porch on the other side. Pepper’s arranged a private showing, so the door is open. Just inside is a vaulted ceiling that opens on the right into an open concept kitchen, dining room, and great room, on the left into a guest area and indoor entrance to the garage, and straight through into an outdoor living and dining space. Steve goes right while Tony goes straight, stepping outside into the brisk November air.
They both cook, and with typically unlimited resources, they’re always trying out extravagant recipes, so Steve is impressed by the large, spacious kitchen. He can already imagine turning the rest of the space into solely a dining area as they’re usually the ones to host. He passes by the stairs leading up to the second level in pursuit of the master suite, which does not disappoint. To the right of the master hall is a laundry area, straight through leads to a study, and to the left is the master bedroom, which has a positively absurd walk-through closet, a covered pavilion off the left, and a master bath to rival even some of the ones back at the mansion.
He hears footsteps on the stairs, and wanders off to follow Tony, who’s busy appreciating the view while Steve checks out the other two bedrooms, loft, and living area upstairs. When he finally joins him halfway down the stairs, he can’t stop smiling, and Tony says, “Yeah, I know. I’ll get in touch with the realtor.”
“Tony, really?”
“That smile?” Tony says, and kisses him, “Yeah, I’d like that every day, please and thank you.”
He walks away before Steve can respond, and he’s already on the phone by the time Steve joins him back downstairs and heads outside to check out the back. The outdoor living and dining area is split in half, one set just beyond the doors and another just around the corner of the house, both bracketing a massive pool. The yard is dead, so late in November, but it’s vast with a small garden space along one side of the house and areas circled off throughout the yard itself.
“It’s cold out,” Tony says as he comes up behind Steve, arms circling him and dipping beneath his shirt to press chilly fingers against his warm, hard stomach. Steve just hums and lays his hands over Tony’s, closing his eyes to the sound of the ocean in the distance. Tony turns his head until he can lie his cheek between Steve’s shoulders, listening to the thrum of his heart. “I put an offer down,” he says softly.
“Already?”
“She accepted.”
“What?” Steve exclaims, jerking away from Tony and turning, “Already?”
“Well, I overbid,” Tony says, rolling his eyes, “Didn’t want to chance having to humiliate someone in a bidding war. Plus, Pepper already let her know we’d likely be interested, so she got final offers from the other interested parties. They were short a few zeroes.”
“Tony.”
Tony panics. “Shit. Do you not actually like it?”
“I love you,” Steve says, and crushes him in a rib-breaking hug that Tony melts happily into, burrowing against his husband.
“Mm, I love you, too,” he whispers into his chest, “Remember that feeling when I tell you Pepper’s got me on a schedule straight out of hell next week, so I’ll be home late every day.”
Steve just laughs and holds on tighter.
——
Monday comes before either of them are prepared for it. Steve wakes at five—he’ll never be able to shake the up and at ‘em attitude, no matter how much he enjoys staying in bed with Tony—and by the time he’s returned around six, Tony’s in the shower, still half asleep and whining at Steve to get in here and love him. Steve happily obliges, sidling right up behind him and peppering his wet shoulders with quick kisses.
He’d forgotten what this routine was like, mornings with Tony. They shower together, dress around one another, arguing about colors and if gold really is too absurd for a Monday or what particular shade of blue goes best with Steve’s eyes, they fight over counter space and the best way to cook eggs, Tony begrudgingly makes tea while his coffee is brewing, and he’s always late because Steve won’t stop touching him, whether it’s a hand curled around his elbow, a thumb pressing against his wrist, or a kiss frustratingly placed anywhere but his mouth, Pepper always sighs loudly at him when he arrives twenty minutes late every day.
“We should just agree on a later start time,” Tony always says.
This morning, however, he’s late because he’s every bit needy as Steve is, not wanting to leave him after so long not having to. “So,” Steve says, tearing a piece of bacon in half, “When can we move in?”
Tony shrugs. “Whenever we want. I got an email from the realtor last night, everything’s good to go. Now listen, Steven.”
“Uh oh.”
“Indeed,” Tony agrees, “Let me do this for us, okay?” Steve narrows his eyes, but lets Tony continue, “I want to pay for it outright.”
“The house? Tony, that’s—that’s huge. I saw what they were asking.”
“Billionaire,” Tony reminds him, “Come on. I hate bills. They’re boring. And even if we do eventually move back into the city, we can keep it as a country house.”
“You do realize we’d still technically be in a city?” Steve reminds him.
Tony snorts. “Sure. I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. We can play house, and pay our mortgage like every other asshole in the world. But. I’d be much happier if you let me just get it over with.”
Realistically, Steve knows it makes sense, but it still bothers him sometimes, that he feels like Tony is their sole provider. He knows it isn’t true, knows that he supports them as much as he can financially, and even more so emotionally, but even so, it would be nice not to have to worry ever. “Ha,” Tony says when Steve’s expression shifts, “Okay, settled. I’ll have my lawyer settle everything. Ah, I’m late.” He shoves a last bite of toast in, grabs a handful of bacon, and says, “I’ll be home past dinner probably. Pepper’s hounding me about an international meeting. When’s your next drill weekend?”
Steve kisses him before he answers, “This weekend.”
“Oh, boo,” Tony says, frowning, and then kisses him again before he heads out of the kitchen, “Start packing, if you want. I can pretend to help when I get home!”
And then he’s gone, and Steve just shakes his head as he leaves. Some days, he feels like a trophy husband, particularly on days like these, when Tony’s dressed to the nines and working to absurd hours at night, but Steve just keeps reminding himself that he was in Afghanistan for the last year of his life, and he deserves to relax.
Though Steve knows that Jarvis can easily jump between the mansion and SI, he tries to refrain from bothering him, which Tony has also reminded him is impossible. However, Tony will be en route for at least the next fifteen minutes, so Steve says, “Good morning, Jarvis.”
“Good morning, sir. Shall I select a playlist of music to your liking?”
“That would be excellent, thank you,” Steve says, smiling as he gets up from the island.
All it takes is one good Justin Timberlake song, and Steve is dancing while he cleans up.
He allows himself four full seconds of missing dancing with Tony in the morning before he swallows it down and gets to work.
The mansion is, for lack of a better word, ostentatious. When Tony had first asked him to move in, nearly six years after they’d started dating, he’d outright refused. He was not going to live in the house Tony grew up in, the house where Howard beat him and Maria ignored them. Tony, however, was not going to leave, and thus, four months later, here he’d been, trying to feel at home in this barren place and never really accomplishing it.
Now, though, he’s almost glad for it. He doesn’t have a wealth of belongings, and there’s much Steve already knows Tony won’t want to keep, and so he imagines packing will be a breeze until he’s wandering through the various rooms they inhabit, and he hates the idea of taking any of it with them. It all feels like a world he’s unfamiliar with, a world he’s been playing at for too long.
Around 8:30AM, he texts Tony, I’m about to ask you a Stark level question of absurdity.
See, I was thinking new everything, is Tony’s response, and Steve’s reminded, immediately, of why he first asked him, “Hey, you wanna get out of here?”
Is that too much? I feel like that’s too much. You’re rubbing off on me.
I’ll rub something on you.
Steve laughs despite himself, clicking out of Tony’s message and thumbing through his contacts, tapping into one first and then the other. “I hate when you conference call us,” is the first thing Natasha says.
“I think it’s fun,” Sam says, “Feels like we’re about to go on an adventure.”
“So, we bought a house?” Steve says.
Sam, predictably, starts yelling, and Natasha’s eye roll is palpable. “Is this the part where you ask us to help you move?” she asks, nearly whining.
“Nah,” Sam says, the sound of his car door opening in the background, “This is the part where he says he’s ditching all of Howard Stark’s old relics, and we’re going plate shopping!”
“He’s not wrong,” Steve says, and Natasha hangs up.
They both live outside of Manhattan, so Steve grabs an armful of collapsed boxes from the foyer where they left them last night and heads into the library. This, at least, is something he knows he can’t replace. He’d always admired Howard’s library, even when he was here under the pretext of just Tony’s friend, and then later, when they would spend hours in here, Tony working and Steve curled up with his head on his lap, slowly making his way through Howard’s collection. And really, he’s not that surprised when the doorbell rings, and he’s only got half a box done, but he’s three chapters deep in Moby Dick.
“Damn it,” he mutters, marking his page and stowing it away in a box before heading out. “Nat, stop!” he yells when she keeps ringing the bell, but she ignores him, so he suffers through the shrill noise bouncing around the foyer as he yanks on his shoes and grabs a jacket.
“Plate shopping?” she says when he opens the door.
“Is this Stark plate shopping, or Rogers plate shopping?” Sam asks.
“It’s a combined effort,” Steve says, “Tony actually has excellent taste, but we already had sets of everything, so it seemed wasteful.”
“I think this argument still applies,” Natasha says.
Sam flicks her ear, and she very nearly throws him to the ground. Instead, he holds his own, deflecting her blows and only delivering one of his own before Steve’s starting the ignition in his car and calling an end to their fight.
It turns out to be more of a productive day than he expects. Natasha hates lingering, though, and so her presence alone forces him to cut his debates short over whether he wants gold trim or red on the plates, but then Sam finds these wooden square ones, and they’re back to the beginning. She ultimately groans at them and goes off in search of throw pillows, which leads to a sofa war, which leads to blankets. Overall, they spend about five hours in Pier 1 before stopping for lunch, but Steve still manages to send Tony an annoying amount of pictures and buys what feels like half the store.
“Are you refurnishing entirely?” Natasha asks over lunch, “Because I’m down for that if that’s the case. Schedule’s wide open for complete house makeover, but if it’s just little things, I’m going to be busy tomorrow.”
“Honestly, I never thought something like that was possible,” Steve admits, “But—yeah, I think so.”
“Sucks being married to a billionaire,” Sam mumbles, so Steve punches him.
After lunch, Natasha provides vague directions to a furniture store she’s listened to Tony drone on about before, and that’s the last time they see the sun. “I’m wasting away,” Sam bemoans around 7PM, leaning heavily against Steve.
“I’ll make you food if you help me box up the library,” he says, draping an arm over Sam’s shoulders as he looks between two different beds.
“Lots of food. Italian food,” Sam says.
“I just bought fresh parmesan yesterday,” Steve says.
“You’re my hero.”
“I think I like the black one.”
“Huzzah!” Natasha exclaims, and collapses back onto it. They settle up for the day, head back to the mansion, and Steve cooks while Sam packs in the library and Natasha starts planning for tomorrow. “Tell me if I’ve forgotten anything,” she says suddenly, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the marble countertop, “Bedroom, kitchen, living room, dining room, both times two but outdoor for one set of each.”
“Times two and a half,” Steve says, “There’s something like a sunroom in the master suite.”
“I can’t wait to see this place,” Natasha says, typing, “Are we furnishing the other bedrooms, as well? I mean, right now?”
“Honey, I’m home!” Tony’s voice echoes over to them.
“I’m not sure yet,” Steve says.
“Fair enough,” Natasha says, “Well, we covered almost the entire kitchen minus appliances. We can do that tomorrow, as well as start on the outdoor furniture. Unless you want to wait until warmer weather to shop for that? That makes sense, never mind. Appliances and bath tomorrow. Evening, Anthony.”
“Natalia,” Tony says, making a face at her back even as he comes around to Steve. “Mm, hi,” he hums, ducking under Steve’s arm and tucking up under his chin.
“How was work?” Steve asks, kissing his mess of hair.
“Boring,” Tony mumbles, “I’ll be in Hong Kong this weekend. How’s packing?”
“Slow going,” Steve says, stepping back to give Tony room to move when he pulls away, “We got a lot done today, though. We’ll be out again tomorrow, but I might be at the house late. They’re delivering a few things.”
“Jeez, you work fast,” Tony says, dropping a kiss on his cheek before he heads out to change and bother Sam.
Sam and Natasha leave after dinner, and Tony takes a tablet into the library dressed in sweats that hang low on his hips and one of Steve’s shirts, his toes curling around the edge of the leather armchair when he sits down. “Tell me you didn’t get any leather,” he says as he opens up the project he’s working on.
“Did you look at any of the pictures I sent you?” Steve asks from his place on the ladder, piling books onto one arm to carry them down.
Tony doesn’t respond, but when Steve looks over, he’s browsing through the several pictures. “God,” he says eventually, and Steve looks up, smiling when he sees him zoomed in on the sofa, “Next life, you need to be an interior designer, I love this shit. Hey, idea. Are we keeping the walls beige?”
Steve’s smile widens, and he sets his armful of books down in a box before he comes over. Tony gets up without even looking at him, and Steve drops into the armchair, Tony settling in his lap. Steve winds an arm around his back, the other draping over his shins as he tucks his knees in close, and Tony leans against him, temple coming to rest on his shoulder. “Blue for the bedroom?” Steve asks.
He expects Tony to keep working, but instead watches him shut down the tablet and drop it to the floor with a thud before he curls closer to Steve, taking the arm around his shins and winding their fingers together, keeping it tucked in close between them. “Red somewhere,” he says, “I hated how white this house was growing up. I still hate it.”
“No yellow.” Tony rumbles his agreement and kisses Steve’s neck, though it’s just a soft thing, not meant to arouse, but rather just to let Steve know he’s not going anywhere. “Red for the dining room?”
“And the kitchen,” Tony says, “Black cabinets.”
“Tony—”
“Nope, it’s going to be punk rock, get over it. Black furniture. The living room can be pastels or whatever.”
“A new color for each room, then,” Steve says, and Tony laughs softly, closing his eyes. He’s been yearning for this all day, Steve’s arms around him, the warmth of him surrounding him. “Are you falling asleep?” Steve whispers into his hair before he kisses his forehead, “It’s still early.”
“Navy bed,” Tony says instead of answering, “Ugh, transferring Jarvis is going to be a pain in the ass. New idea. Hire someone to paint.”
“Tony.”
“At least the kitchen,” he mumbles, shifting until he can lean his knees against Steve, as well, “You can do the bedroom, but leave the weird colors to professional people.”
“Fine,” Steve says, shaking away from Tony’s hand until he can tuck it under his knees.
“Don’t you dare,” Tony threatens, though his voice is muffled against Steve’s shirt.
“I’m not falling asleep down here with you,” is all Steve says before he stands up, carrying Tony easily.
“How come you didn’t do this on our wedding night?” Tony asks, tipping his head back to kiss Steve’s jaw.
“I carried you into the house,” Steve protests.
“You threw me over your shoulder!”
“You were being lewd, you had to be stopped.”
Tony’s kiss turns into a bite.
——
The rest of the week passes in a blur of shopping for linens, discussing shades of colors over dinner, and Tony collapsing into bed later and later each day until he comes home around 10PM on Thursday, and Steve kisses the back of his neck before he asks, “Can you go in late tomorrow?”
“Mm, yes, definitely, come here,” Tony says, and rolls up and over until he’s straddling Steve’s waist and pulling up the hem of his shirt while he kisses them both awake.
He can’t actually go in late, and though Steve knows this, it still hurts a little when Tony says, over breakfast, “I won’t be home tonight, catching a red eye for Hong Kong, but I’ll try to be home at a normal person time on Sunday. I know,” he adds at Steve’s face, though it’s followed by him gulping the rest of his coffee and getting up, “Next week will be better, after I haven’t been away for nearly a month.” He hums before kissing Steve, lets himself linger there, and then he’s gone.
He spends Friday in Copiague, painting the bedroom and spending at least an hour in total staring at the blank walls of the study and trying to decide what he wants to do with them. Tony had the brilliant idea to turn it into a studio, and while Steve had loved that idea, now he’s stuck being nervous about the color of the walls.
Peggy saves him for certain domestic death. She’d texted him that morning asking for the new address and told him not to eat lunch, and that’s how they end up eating pizza on the floor. “I’ve been on the phone all week with my sister,” Peggy says as they dig in, “She finally agreed to let Sharon have the baby and give it up for adoption under one condition, of course.”
“Oh boy,” Steve says, frowning.
“She has to arrange everything before the baby’s born. Her fucking husband has the audacity to say that if she’s going to have it, she has to make sure it’s going to a good home. I can’t stand him, Steve.”
“Jesus, what a hypocrite,” Steve says, shaking his head, “He doesn’t want her to have it, but now that she is, well, better take care of it.”
“Exactly,” Peggy mutters, “And I’m an idiot, so I tried to get out of my assignment.”
“Peg,” Steve sighs.
“I know. I know. Bad idea.” They lapse into silence, eating, until she looks up and around, taking in the new area, and asks the last question Steve is expecting, “Do you think you and Tony will ever have kids?”
“No,” Steve says immediately, almost laughing, “Tony doesn’t want kids.”
“But you do,” she says, dropping her gaze back to him, “You always have.”
Steve shrugs. “I don’t see it ever happening,” he says, “And I’m okay with that. I love him, and I knew when I was marrying him that that was part of the deal.”
“This is a perfect neighborhood,” Peggy says, “I’ve been looking at schools all around New York, and Copiague has a really great preschool program that they just started a few years ago.”
“Maybe in my next life,” Steve says, and grabs another slice, “For now, I’ll settle for a dog.”
“No,” Peggy gasps, “He said yes?”
Steve just grins.