"Which is to advise me on the best preventive care possible," Tony counters, waving the wrap at him. This is all a moot point, anyway, given that he's hoarded the burger and fries.
"If you're so concerned about that, maybe you could hit the gym a little more," Steve suggests innocently. Not that he's suggesting that Tony's out of shape, he's just not as in shape as he could be. "Go jogging every now and then. It's not all about food, after all."
His cheek puffed out from another bite, Tony tilts his chin up and looks down his nose at Steve, expression studious, like a scientist down at a pinned bug. Slowly, he crunches the mouthful down. He's stalling until his sleep-starved brain can settle on a comeback out of the hundred that zoom by.
Steve just keeps munching through his food, leaving a swath of destruction before him. "With all that complaining, I'm going to assume that means you don't want ice cream for dessert?" October isn't exactly the time for ice cream, anyway, but odds are pretty good that won't stop Steve. "Or any dessert?"
Tony balls up the empty paper wrapper as the turn in conversation stalls his wonderful comebacks. (He stores them for later. Steve might appreciate Tony getting his aerobics in via lap dance.) "That depends. How smug would you be if I got some? Keeping your ego in check would taste just as sweet," he teases. Fry basket reduced to crumbs, he bites into the burger. He melts in his seat a little with a grunt.
"You're talking about keeping my ego in check?" Steve fires back with a grin. "I didn't know you had any room to talk about ego, Stark. But I'm gonna have a sundae, and I don't want you stealing it or giving me puppy dog eyes." Because he'd probably cave and let Tony share it (okay, there's no probably about it), and he'd even let him get away with theft with only mild ribbing. He's already eating the burger and fries; that's victory enough for Steve.
Tony just waves a hand, dismissive, as he devours the cheeseburger; been a few months since he indulged in this particular fashion. After he sucks his fingers clean, and wipes with a napkin, he slouches back and lays a hand on his full belly. "Mmh. Feel that bloat," he says. By now, Madison has delivered Steve's sundae. Right when Steve scoops some into his mouth, Tony offhandedly announces, "I can already imagine the massive bowel movement I'll have in the morning." A beat, then: "It'll remind me of you!" and he grins widely and toothily, amused by his own self.
Steve just gives Tony an unimpressed Look; he's starting to develop an immunity to the most outrageous attempts to troll him. Besides, after everything he's seen and done, it'll take more than a little scatological humor to ruin his appetite.
"At least I've been promoted from little shit to big shit," he offers after a few more spoonfuls of ice cream, and without any indication he's willing to let Tony have any. Because now he's keeping it for himself, thank you very much.
Still smirking over the lip of his cooled coffee mug, Tony says, "And maybe one day, in addition, I'll have you stuck up my ass," his eyes locked on Steve behind the shades.
"Tony, no matter what happens, I'll always be a pain in your ass," Steve retorts dryly. "But for that in particular, you'll have to ask nicely first." He doesn't quite meet Tony's gaze; it's the only way he can remain deadpan about it. He's gradually getting used to trading innuendo, but sex remains a big deal for him - something that makes him equally excited and nervous - and Tony knows that.
That smirk turns knowing. "That so? Gee. I thought you'd be gung-ho about keeping me stuffed," Tony says, but turns his gaze aside as he sips and mercifully spares Steve of anything further.
Whatever nebulous fantasies might exist in Steve's head, he clearly doesn't care to share them in public. There's no sense in getting himself worked up over something when he doesn't know how long it'll take to materialize - if ever. So he glances up at Tony again to roll his eyes, then goes back to eating his sundae in peace.
Once Steve's done, he pays the check, adding a generous tip for Madison, and glances at Tony. "You ready to go?" The diner's starting to get a few more patrons drifting in, and not all of them are as polite about the Avengers in their midst as they could be; Steve's noticed more than a few glances and people whispering behind their hands. Best to get out of here before people start asking for pictures and autographs.
Tony nods, slurps up the last of his water, and straightens his blazer. He motions for Steve to head out first; if any civilian tries to catch them on the way out, he can run interference. He knows Steve prefers a low profile, and Tony is much more at ease with their fame and abrupt social interaction. The uninitiated or outsider would say he basks in the attention and praise, and he does to a degree, but it's more than that: Tony loves the people he protects. His patience with their shy approaches or outright hero worship, his willingness to indulge them, the general philanthropy, it all stems from how deeply he cares. Steve can do worse in his choice of partner, no matter what Tony says otherwise.
By now, the sky's started to tinge pink and orange with the colors of a fall sunset, mirroring the leaves on the ground, and the sun dips lower in the sky. There's more than a hint of a chill in the air as it gets darker, especially with the wind rushing by as Steve drives. In retrospect, the car might have been the better option - but if Tony huddles close, Steve puts off a pretty decent amount of heat.
Back at the compound, Steve tucks the bike back into its corner of the garage and makes sure everything's in its place before he turns to Tony. "You heading back tonight?" he asks. It's still early, after all, and he wouldn't be surprised if Tony makes the drive back to the city.
During the trip, with the wind blasting his fingers, Tony slips his hands beneath Steve's jacket on automatic to protect them. The moment he does, he snaps out of the driving-induced daze and glares at the back of Steve's head. First thought: Steve machinated the cycle ride to make Tony cuddle up for body heat, but that's stupider than most of Barton's macho-man dares. Steve isn't capable of that level of deceit, not consciously; he'd either vomit justice trying it or stumble onto it with good intentions, as previously shown.
In the diner, Steve talked about trust going a long way in relationships. Tony trusts Steve one-hundred percent on the battlefield. He trusts Steve as a friend to share a joke with and a business partner to manage their avenging empire with; and when Tony grew desperate from self-imposed isolation and guilt, he trusted Steve with his submission. But without that desperation, with Tony in full possession of his faculties and not using Steve as a crutch, how deep can he allow his trust to run? Slowly, Tony shields his bare face farther down.
Back in the garage and on his own two feet, nose and ears reddened by the wind, he rubs his hands together and peers at where he parked his orange Audi, his expression distant. "Yeah, I better," he mutters. "But this was ... enjoyable. Maybe we can make this a thing, you know, grabbing some grub at curiously prideful locations whenever I'm on-site."
Steve doesn't think anything about Tony huddling close to him on the bike; it's October, and it's a little chilly, and that blazer can't do too much good. It's entirely platonic, and it doesn't even give Steve inappropriate thoughts. It's as if he had Natasha or one of the others sitting behind him.
"Not sure you're gonna find too many of those in the Hudson Valley," Steve replies dryly. He hasn't lived in a cave since he was thawed out; he knows what rainbows mean. The choice of diner wasn't intentional on his part - as far as he knows, the color scheme isn't even intentional, although he's never come out and asked.
He pauses briefly then adds, "If you wanna do some work and then crash here, you can." Maybe he needs to lose himself in subspace before he can sleep, but if just spending the night with him will help, Steve's willing to offer. "We can even find some pillows and build a wall down the middle of the bed." It's only half a joke. If Tony wants a physical barrier to stop him from cuddling, then he's okay with that.
"Not one that are that obvious, anyhow," Tony says, already pulling out his keys from his pocket. The Audi beeps, and then, eyes down at the swaying keys, he freezes at Steve's offer with a spike of fear. "Can't. Sorry," he says, voice high and tight. He needs to draw his line here. Too many things become a slippery slope for him.
Steve just nods at the response - accepting, not trying to push him into anything. It's an offer made largely out of altruism, though not entirely; Steve does sleep better with Tony there, too. "Thought I'd ask." He reaches out to pat his shoulder. "Have a safe drive home, Tony."
Tony sends him a quick smile and ducks into his car without looking back. The engine purrs to life, but the car idles there for a minute or two, before it finally backs out and zooms off.
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"At least I've been promoted from little shit to big shit," he offers after a few more spoonfuls of ice cream, and without any indication he's willing to let Tony have any. Because now he's keeping it for himself, thank you very much.
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Once Steve's done, he pays the check, adding a generous tip for Madison, and glances at Tony. "You ready to go?" The diner's starting to get a few more patrons drifting in, and not all of them are as polite about the Avengers in their midst as they could be; Steve's noticed more than a few glances and people whispering behind their hands. Best to get out of here before people start asking for pictures and autographs.
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Back at the compound, Steve tucks the bike back into its corner of the garage and makes sure everything's in its place before he turns to Tony. "You heading back tonight?" he asks. It's still early, after all, and he wouldn't be surprised if Tony makes the drive back to the city.
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In the diner, Steve talked about trust going a long way in relationships. Tony trusts Steve one-hundred percent on the battlefield. He trusts Steve as a friend to share a joke with and a business partner to manage their avenging empire with; and when Tony grew desperate from self-imposed isolation and guilt, he trusted Steve with his submission. But without that desperation, with Tony in full possession of his faculties and not using Steve as a crutch, how deep can he allow his trust to run? Slowly, Tony shields his bare face farther down.
Back in the garage and on his own two feet, nose and ears reddened by the wind, he rubs his hands together and peers at where he parked his orange Audi, his expression distant. "Yeah, I better," he mutters. "But this was ... enjoyable. Maybe we can make this a thing, you know, grabbing some grub at curiously prideful locations whenever I'm on-site."
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"Not sure you're gonna find too many of those in the Hudson Valley," Steve replies dryly. He hasn't lived in a cave since he was thawed out; he knows what rainbows mean. The choice of diner wasn't intentional on his part - as far as he knows, the color scheme isn't even intentional, although he's never come out and asked.
He pauses briefly then adds, "If you wanna do some work and then crash here, you can." Maybe he needs to lose himself in subspace before he can sleep, but if just spending the night with him will help, Steve's willing to offer. "We can even find some pillows and build a wall down the middle of the bed." It's only half a joke. If Tony wants a physical barrier to stop him from cuddling, then he's okay with that.
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