#stonyweek

Tony scrunches his face into a grimace. “That’s not – right.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve tries to mitigate. If Clint and Tony both set their eyes on a target, it usually ends in tears and a blood-chillingly high number of dollars in property damage. “He’s just drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“He’s not even slurring his words,” Bruce chimes up, looking slightly guilty when Steve glares at him. Clint and Tony do not need any more encouragement, especially not from the probably most level-headed person in the group. Steve realizes the irony of him saying that about the Hulk.

Just as Steve is going to try to distract his teammates, the guy at the bar says, “What’s so special about him anyway. Bloody lab experiment playing Frisbee.”

It could be comical, the way Tony’s entire being tenses with sudden indignation, especially considering that he had said something very similar to Steve once. Everything special about you came out of a bottle. He just really does not like other people using his insults. More so when he has long since apologized for having been wrong.

“All right,” Tony says as he gets to his feet, face clouded with determination. “Hold my beer.”

Steve frowns, looking at the colourful drink Tony has been sipping. “You’re not drinking beer.” That is an important point to make, or so he feels, but Tony waves him off with a dismissive gesture.

“Semantics. Here,” he shoves his glass into Steve’s hand, sloshing him with cool liquid, “hold my completely non-alcoholic beverage.”

If Tony were drunk, at least, he would have a viable excuse for seeking a fight with some poor sod in a bar. The fact that he is sober makes it just worse. Although Steve cannot help but feel a little flattered that Tony would jump to his defence like that. That moment of irresponsible pondering of his boyfriend’s qualities costs him the chance to hold Tony back.

“He’s drunk on adrenaline and righteousness,” Clint says wisely, staring after Tony with open amusement, “that’s even worse.”

With the easy grace of someone who used to navigate bars all the time, Tony makes his way through the room, easily dodging other patrons, eyes set firmly on his goal. He moves with the purpose of someone knowing a fight is inevitable, hands curled slightly at his sides, every step eager.

“Things are about to get interesting,” Clint exclaims with an unholy amount of glee. “I need to see that.”

There is a reason the Avengers, as a whole, seldom go out together. In smaller groups or pairs, yes, but all of them exposed to small places and alcohol seldom ends well. Too much temper has to be contained.

Steve closes his eyes in anticipation of another night ending in chaos and split knuckles. By the time he has taken a deep breath, his whole team bar Bruce is on its way through the room.

“You should perhaps go after them,” Bruce advises calmly, eyeing the situation at the bar critically. He does not look upset or even particularly bothered. This is just another shade of normal for them.

“Come with me,” Steve says, despite knowing the futility of it. “They’re listening to you.”

Bruce smiles softly. “I don’t think a bar fight is the right place for me. I’ll wait back here.” Something wicked in his tone, he adds, “And don’t worry, I’ve got a first-aid kit with me.”

With a curse, Steve hurries after his friends, wondering how this has become his life. Then again, it always has been. Before the serum, it was just usually him jumping at every opportunity to fight, Bucky right by his side. It might be hypocritical of him to blame others for doing the same, just because they are somewhat respectable people now.

From close up, the scene at the bar does not look any better. In fact, the drunk guy is a lot bigger than anticipated. Alcohol, a bad temper, and enough muscle mass to do damage even when hitting blindly is never a good combination. Especially considering how small Tony looks in comparison. Small but ready for anything this guy is going to throw at him.

“Hey, asshole,” Tony calls, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Wanna repeat that to my face?”

Heads turn towards them, waiting for something to happen. When the man looks at Tony, small eyes full of the pointless anger of the drunk, Steve wants to step forward and shield Tony, tuck him into his arms to keep him safe.

“Is there something wrong with your ears as well as your brain?” Tony taunts. His daring is enough to stop Steve in his tracks, ruining his chance of stopping this before the situation escalates.

The man is visibly confused that his drunken ramblings have been interrupted, but he recognizes Tony’s words easily as a provocation. He gets to his feet with slow, swaying movements, building himself up like a mountain in front of the bar. He appears bigger because Steve is worried about Tony’s wellbeing, but even so, he is a massive man.

“Captain America,” the man says with deliberate slowness, tasting the words like good scotch, “is a cunt.”

Someone laughs – it might have been Clint, judging on the crazed delight in the sound – but Steve has no time to wonder about it. In a blur of motion, Tony steps forward, sidesteps the man’s readily raised fist and lands a hit of his own, squarely in the man’s face. At the same time, he uses a trick Natasha taught him, entangling his feet with that of his opponent so all it needs is a small push to bring the man down.

He crashes to the floor with a loud thump, blinking in confusion at his sudden change of position. Tony stands over him, his expression one of remorseless righteousness.

“I think I didn’t hear you correctly,” Tony says, another provocation right there in his voice. “What did you say?”

Quickly, Steve steps forward to pull Tony back. He manages at least a few feet before Tony shrugs him off.

“Let me deal with this,” Tony hisses and turns back, not waiting for an answer.

Unhappily, Steve thinks there would be nothing to deal with if they had just ignored the mindless comments. That man is just one of thousands who must be saying the very same things at this very moment. Being a hero means being held to different standards than other people. Doing his best is not enough anymore. But that is all right. He will still continue doing so.

In front of them, the man gets up from the ground and wipes the blood from his nose. From the bar, four more guys come towards them. Of course, the drunk guy has to have friends. Steve is not exactly worried that any of them packs more of a punch than the first one, but with five of them, there is no way the other Avengers are going to stay out of this.

“All right,” Steve tries anyway, “this is enough.” He is used to making his voice carry over a battlefield, but he might as well have not bothered because no one pays him the slightest bit of attention. “I get that tempers are high, but that’s nothing a nice new round of beer can’t cure, yes?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Natasha blink at him with pity plain visible on her face. That is how he knows his attempt at calming them all down has backfired before the drunk guys have even turned towards him.

“Look who it is,” their original opponent says, voice scathing. “Captain Spangled Pants himself. It’s nice of you to come by because we have something to tell you.”

Regarding their physique, Steve is a much better match for him than Tony, but Tony has never liked being pushed out of the limelight. “Oh no, you don’t,” he says, moving slightly in front of Steve as if he needs to protect him. “You were talking to me, remember? And I don’t think I’ve made my point yet.”

The man looks Tony up and down with the kind of dismissive leer that has an instinctive growl rising in Steve’s throat. No one looks at Tony like that and gets away with it.

“You think your money helps you hit less like a girl?” the man asks, clearly failing to see that it is not Tony’s money that makes him dangerous. A lot of people make that mistake.

“Says the guy who’s already bleeding.”

Tony grins the same, utterly delighted way he does right before a battle when the suit closes in around him. Steve almost expects Iron Man to materialize in front of them. Instead, Tony remains as he is, in his three-piece suit entirely made of cloth. No hidden lasers or rockets. Just him.

“Tony, stop,” Steve orders, reaching out to hold Tony back. “There’s five of them and we don’t need to ruin the evening.”

Shrugging, Tony looks as if this is exactly how he pictured the evening going. “They ruined the evening. And there’s five of us too.” He looks around and finds Bruce waving at them cheerfully from their table. “Well, six, because Tasha hits like three people put in one.”

“What about me?” Clint pouts, coming up on Tony’s other side. All of them are completely ignoring the danger building up in front of them.

“Well,” Tony drawls with a smirk, “your gymnastics will at least make us look good.”

“Are you done?” the drunk man asks, the kind of confused malice glinting in his eye that shows he is not sure what exactly is going on but he is trying to punch it better anyway.

“Yes,” Steve says firmly, “we’re done here. I hope you’ll have a nice –”

“Good,” the man says, and grins to show off his bloodstained teeth.

Everything dissolves into chaos then. The fight should have been over in seconds. The Avengers against some drunk idiots in a bar. What Steve has almost forgotten about these things is the thrill of it, the excitement of a fight that is not about life or death.

Steve sees Natasha pull her first punch and Clint making a complicated looking dance of flailing limbs around his opponent. They are not aiming to end this quickly. They are enjoying themselves.

Just when Steve decides that they are in for a hell of a lecture when they are all back at the tower and sober again, he almost gets hit in the face for all his trouble to stay back and appear non-threatening. Only his ingrained reflexes save him. The rest, as they say, is history.

Distantly, Steve realizes a crowd has gathered around them, cheering on either them or the drunk defenders of the public opinion. It does not matter. Laughter fills the air, accentuated by the groaning of men and the sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh. It feels like they are fighting against more men than the original five now.

Steve lets his fists fly, half his mind busy with holding back his strength. That means he earns himself some punches, but it is not as if he is not used to bruises. The fight drags on. He sees Natasha grinning and Clint adding insults to each of his movements. He sees Tony dancing, moving with the grace of someone who was formally educated in the martial arts but has not been made to use them with deadly intent. The sight, Steve has to admit grudgingly, is very hot.

Then, though, he sees blood on Tony’s shirt, dripping down from a cut above his eye. That is enough to return Steve to his senses.

“Avengers,” he calls, realizing too late that announcing their identities might not be the smart move. Then again, this fight started purely because of who they are, and if there are still people in the crowd who do not know – well, news travels fast.

“Already, Cap?” Clint asks, obviously pouting as he sidesteps a punch to the stomach. In a blur of motion, he throws the attacker to the floor for his trouble, hard enough to knock him out.

“Yes,” Steve replies, not bothering to waste breath on explanations. If they started this fight to defend the honour of their leader, they might as well have the courtesy of following said leader’s orders. “This ends now.”

The fight is over within mere moments then, which has Steve mentally adding at least half an hour to his lecture about proper behaviour. Natasha takes down the two men advancing on her without even blinking. Not a single hair is out of place as she sidles up to him, expression bored again, now that the excitement is over.

The crowd around them disperses with some disappointment that their evening entertainment got cut short. At least no one is calling for their blood. Steve counts that as a win.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, it is Tony who does not fall in line. He is kneeling over the man who has started this all, twisting his arm up his back and hissing something in his ear.

“Tony.” Steve scowls as he hurries over. “Let go. The fight’s over.”

“It’s not,” Tony argues hotly, glancing up at Steve for only a short moment before fixing his attention back on the struggling man beneath him. “This asshole here hasn’t apologized yet.”

“Tony.” Steve aimed to sound sterner, but he cannot help the amusement rising up in his stomach. He distinctly remembers the conversation they had when they first started dating and Tony warned him not to get upset every time someone insulted Tony. He said something along the lines of it not being worth it to waste energy on idiots. Steve is sure now is not the time to remind Tony of just that.

In response, Tony applies just a bit more pressure on the guy’s arm, who simply groans in pain.

“Listen here,” he says slowly, “you better not badmouth my boyfriend ever again, because he’s a better person than you could ever be. He’s good, you hear me, and that did not come out of a bottle.”

Steve has to admit, warmth blossoms in his chest at the vehemence with which Tony talks about him. They are still making even more of a spectacle of themselves than they ever should, though. Fury will be, well, furious. More so than usual.

“Tony,” Steve tries again, voice firm, “let’s go.”

Stubbornly, Tony shakes his head. “He hasn’t –”

“I know,” Steve interrupts him gently, “he hasn’t apologized, but you’ve sufficiently defended my honour. Let Bruce have a look at that cut now.”

While it is still bleeding sluggishly, it is nothing to worry about. They deal with real injuries on a daily basis. Steve does not like to see Tony bleed, though, and it is as good as a distraction as anything.

“I don’t –”

Tired of arguing, Steve reaches out to loosen Tony’s grip on the downed man’s arm. Without further ado, he picks Tony up and carries him back to their table.

If he thought that being carried away like an errant child would put a damper on Tony’s petulance, Steve was very wrong. Instead of keeping his head down, Tony sticks out his tongue at the remaining people watching them, before he shifts his position to snuggle closer into Steve’s arms. Steve tightens his embrace instinctively.

“You’re really using any excuse to get me to hold you,” Tony mutters against Steve’s chest, sounding smug but still somewhat disbelieving. Steve cannot blame him. Waking up every morning next to Tony still seems like a dream to him too.

“You see right through me,” Steve answers as lightly as he can, even while his heart becomes even heavier with his growing love for Tony.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Clint calls, appearing right next to them, “we’re taking the party elsewhere.”

Before the mob decides that their heroes beating up some sad drunks in the middle of downtown New York is not something they can let stand so easily. Steve agrees completely. Still, he cranes his neck to look for Bruce.

“Tony’s bleeding.” The worry in his tone elicits smiles on each of his friends’ faces. It does not even matter that they are somewhat tinged with mocking.

“I’ll live,” Tony says dismissively, the way he always is when it comes to his own wounds. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The cool night air is refreshing but makes their blossoming bruises sting. Instead of shame, though, it puts a new, exhilarating spin on their evening. Steve is not irresponsible enough to admit that he might have had some fun, but the lightness of his step is telling in itself.

They have made it two blocks when Clint turns towards Steve and Tony with an incredulous expression.

“Are you really going to make Steve carry you all the way, Stark?” he asks, then pulls his lips into a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d be a sissy because of a little blood.”

Steve half expects Tony to tense in his arms. While he is not exactly shy with publicly showing affection, he does not like to be called out on it, almost like it is something shameful.

Instead, Tony makes a show of getting more comfortable in Steve’s arms. “The cut has nothing to do with it, thank you very much,” he says, full of smugness. ”You’re just jealous no one’s carrying you.”

Clint’s face sours, but when he glances at Natasha in an obvious attempt to persuade her to give it a go, she glares at him so frightfully that he instinctively steps closer to Bruce.

“Not in this form,” Bruce declines immediately, then adds hastily, “Not happening,” anticipating that Clint is going to propose bringing out the Hulk just to one-up Steve and Tony. As if anyone could.

“Aw, does no one want to take the little birdie flying?” Tony mocks, feeling safe enough in Steve’s arms to tease someone who could impale him with a random stick found on the street from a whole block away.

“Next time,” Clint announces in a put-out tone, “I’m not going to save your ass when you anger a whole pub full of Cap antis.”

“As if you would sit out a fight,” Tony replies immediately. True enough, no one who saw him in that bar would believe that even for a second.

The adrenaline of the fight making him reckless, Steve adds, “I’m disappointed to hear that you wouldn’t defend my honour.” He does not want to encourage a repeat of this behaviour, but the looks on his friends’ faces are worth it.

Then, quickly, Clint’s expression sobers. “You sound pissed,” he says, sounding wary. “Let me guess, you already have a lecture prepared for us when we get home?”

Steve nods cheerfully, not bothering to hide his grin at his team’s groans. They really should know better.

“You’re not going to lecture me, are you?” Tony asks quietly, his breath hot on Steve’s ear.

Steve knows exactly what Tony is trying to do. It is working, of course, but Steve has a long memory.

“Especially you,” he responds, voice dipping low. “All night long.” He captures Tony’s lips in a kiss, tasting of copper and home. The combination is making him heady.

Eyes slightly glassy, Tony looks up at him. Steve can feel his heartbeat picking up.

“Let’s get home, losers,” Tony calls, never looking away from Steve. “I’m very much looking forward to the after-lecture program.”

Steve opened his eyes to a completely new world. People looked different, sounds were different, the skyline was different, the houses different and even smells were different. The first person that touched him was a man named Phil Coulson. Coulson's wings were already coloured, glittering in the lights of the jet they were in. Steve wanted to say something, didn't know what, and looked away again. His own soulmate was probably long since dead.

He didn't touch people after that. Took clues from Peggy – only shook people's hands when he wore gloves, stood far enough away that they wouldn't accidentally touch each other, stuff like that. It was easier than he thought, people in the new world were reserved. He was introduced to Natasha, to Bruce, to Thor and to Tony Stark. Only Bruce's wings had colours – two shades of brown and some green – the rest of them had white wings just like him, except for Thor who didn't have wings. He observed them, the way they interracted. Tony touched everyone. Occassionally a pat on the shoulder, a pat on the back, a firm handshake. Natasha's touches were reserved, careful, planned. Thor's were strong, abundant, friendly. Bruce's were shy, quick to disappear, as if he was afraid to hurt them.

Clint joined their group, his wings the same colours as Coulson's and Steve smiled, nodded at him. Clint was almost as touchy as Stark, but in a different way, a more natural way.

Once Steve tried to pat Tony's shoulder. Tony flinched, pushed his hand away and then patted Steve's shoulder instead. Steve made note of it but didn't know how to take it.

Tony Stark fascinated him, but their interactions left a lot of room for improvement. Half of the times it ended in shouting matches, the other half in cold shoulders and one of them leaving the room. Tony tried to introduce him to the new world's technology, Steve turned right around and asked Clint instead. Steve tried to teach Tony to draw, Tony turned right around and designed him a new suit to get him to stop.

”I can draw, I just draw different things than you do”, he had said when he gave it to Steve.

They all moved into the newly renovated Avengers Tower. Thor on the upper floor, then Steve, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Natasha. One floor for each of them. There was a communal floor between Tony and Clint where they could all gather. Most nights they did, all of them except Tony who was in his workshop.

Occassionally they would sit in the communal floor and take care of each others' wings. Thor would watch them as they worked, fascinated by the midgardian tradition. Tony never joined for that and yet his wings were always spotless, not a feather out of place. Clint laughed and joked about Tony going to professional groomers but the way Tony had flinched under Steve's touch made him doubt it.

”I can't have a soulmate”, Natasha confessed to Steve one day. ”It's easier to be a spy when your wings are clean.”

”But Clint and Coulson?”

”They don't use Clint for spywork any longer. He's still great when they need an assassin.”

”My wife hates that though. She'd prefer if I retired.”

Steve blinked and looked at the vent Clint's voice was coming from.

”Wife?”

”Yeah, man. Coulson's great and all but I'm a married man. Plus, I love her.”

”But...”

Steve shook his head and decided it wasn't his place to pry. The new world had its own rules and he had tried to learn them, but when you hadn't lived them it was hard.

Steve started feeling comfortable about touching his team mates after a few months. All except Tony, who now that he looked closer was equally careful when touching people as Steve was. Except the occassionally firm handshake of course and Steve just couldn't understand it. He came to understand it when he was going to the workshop after a mission to talk with Tony.

Tony stripped out of the armor, stretched. Steve stopped outside and watched him move. He felt a weird warmness in his chest whenever he watched Tony. Tony put a t-shirt and sweatpants on over the undersuit he wore for the suit. He blinked when he saw Steve outside the door, gestured for him to come in.

”Hey”, Steve smiled. ”That was... You did good during the mission.”

Tony picked a pair of gloves up from the desk, smiled at Steve.

”Well, we have a pretty great leader.”

He put the gloves on, pressed a button on them. They formed themselves after his hands, their colour changing to match Tony's skin and Steve let out a small ”oh”. Tony gestured to Steve's hands.

”I can make you a pair as well. I've noticed your habit of wearing gloves.”

”It's fine, thanks anyway.”

Tony nodded, brought up some holograms and started making notes. Steve decided not to risk another shouting match and left him alone.

They kept working together, kept living together. They became more and more of a family over the eight months they had shared lives. Tony was a little outside, spending more time in the workshop then on the couch with the rest of them, but he came up one afternoon when they had another grooming session. Steve put the finishing touches on Natasha's wings, then patted the stool Natasha left and smiled at Tony.

”Come on, let me do you next!”

Tony and Clint both burst out laughing and Steve blushed.

”Not... not like that, come on guys.”

The laughter died out. Tony looked at Steve, sipped a cup of coffee. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. After half a minute he held up a finger, then went to the elevator.

”Jarvis?” Steve asked, uncertain about what had happened.

He could feel the others exchange glances as well, Jarvis stayed suspiciously quiet. Then Tony returned with a bag, placed it next to Steve and sat down.

”Use those. And be careful.”

”I know how to groom.”

The others sat down around the room, their eyes all locked to the two. Steve was nervous. He opened the bag, pulled out the tools. The brush was the softest he had ever held and he placed it against his cheek just to feel it.

”Impressed?”

”Definately. These must have cost a fortune.”

”They did.”

Months ago Steve would have thought Tony was just flaunting his riches in their faces, but they had grown closer since then. He placed the brush against Tony's wing and Tony pulled away.

”Tony...”

”Sorry, sorry. Just... You need to tell me what you're doing.”

”Okay”, Steve laughed. ”I'll start brushing your left wing now, okay?”

Tony nodded. Steve gently pulled the brush through the feathers, used his fingers to make sure they ended up correctly. Tony flinched again. They all had their problems and Steve knew that even if he hadn't learned what Tony's were yet.

”I'm using my fingers as well”, he said. ”Does it feel okay?”

”Mm...”

Tony sounded relaxed and Steve continued. The others were still staring, Clint perched on the kitchen table, Natasha in the couch leaning against the back of it, Bruce on a chair sipping on tea and Thor sitting on the floor next to them.

”I'm stretching your wing now so I can get to all the feathers.”

Tony flinched, pulled away and fell of the stool as Steve grabbed the wing. It slipped out of Steve's hand and Steve stared at Tony.

”Sorry, shit, ow. Sorry I flinched. Don't... ow.”

Tony's wings pulled back and Tony turned around so he was between Steve and them. Steve blinked, stared at his hand and stared at Tony again. Now that he thought about it he had never seen Tony fly like everyone else did, he only flew in his Iron Man-suit. Was there a problem with his wings?

”Did I grip too hard? I tried being gentle.”

”They're just...” Tony hung his head. ”They're very sensitive.”

”I'll be more careful.”

Steve patted the stool again. Tony hesitated, then sat up again. He stretched the wings himself and Steve noticed how they didn't quite reached their full lenght. He decided not to comment on it.

Tony's armor broke during one of their battles. That's when Steve learned what was wrong with Tony's wings. The armor fell off him and he fell towards the ground, stretched his wings to slow his descent. He crashed to the ground, cursed loudly. Steve ran over to him, he was lying on his stomach, one of his wings was bent, bone sticking out and feathers ripped off and spread over the ground around them. Steve crouched, placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony hid his face in his arms and groaned.

”Again. Always the wings. Shit.”

”You stay there, I'll protect you and then we'll get you to medical, okay?”

Tony turned his head to glance at Steve, a frustrated smile on his face.

”At least it wasn't kidnappers that destroyed it this time. Should heal better now.”

Steve wanted to ask but it was neither the time nor place. He smiled at Tony, warmth spreading through him when he realized Tony hadn't waved him off, had actually agreed to let him play the knight in shining armor. He gripped his shield and went to work.

Clint had said he loved his wife even though Coulson was his soulmate. Steve hadn't understood it, but maybe soulmates wasn't always about getting married and living happily together ever after. The world was full of people after all, it should be statistically impossible to find one soulmate among all of them. Steve stared at Tony over the breakfast table. Tony was flipping through his tablet, working on new arrows for Clint. They had touched each other so many times, were always so close. There was no way Tony was his soulmate, statistically their skin must have touched sometime during the year they had worked together.

Still, he was certain he was in love with Tony. Not as head over heel as he had been with Bucky or Peggy. No, this love had built slower, started with laying a foundation. Friendship. When did friendship turn into love? Steve bit his lip, still staring at Tony. Tony's lips twitched and formed a smile but he didn't say anything. Steve kept poking at his breakfast.

”What is love?” he asked his cereal, not expecting Tony to listen.

”Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more”, Tony answered with a smile and Steve raised an eyebrow.

Maybe love was just stupid jokes shared over the table.

Tony used to dream about meeting his soulmate. Then Howard took that dream from him. Stark men are made from iron, they have no need for silly things like soulmates. He didn't need a soulmate, he kept himself happy with one night-stands and alcohol and stupid jokes. Kept himself busy with building weapons. Then Afghanistan had happened and his wings had been destroyed. After that he didn't even want to meet his soulmate. He stopped touching people, kept more to himself. Built himself a suit to be able to fly again.

Then he had met Steve freaking Rogers. Captain America. Who could in no way at all be his soulmate. More like his soul nemesis. They argued, fought, argued, helped each other and shared another shouting match. But with each game they played, each time they evaded each other, shouted at each other, praised each other, they got closer. Steve's wings were white as snow, beautiful, and sometimes Tony tried to imagine them with blue and brown feathers. Then he'd blush and hurry away from Steve.

They had worked together for eight months when Tony realized he was desperately in love with Steve freaking Rogers. He hid the fact deep in his heart.

Steve was there to help him when his wing broke during battle and Tony's walls crumbled hard. He let the truth slip out, the truth he had promised to never let anyone other then Pepper and Rhodey know. Had told Steve all about what happened when he was kidnapped.

They had worked together for one year when he realized Steve freaking Rogers was desperately in love with him.

”What is love?” Steve blurted out and Tony knew he wasn't supposed to react to it but he couldn't help himself.

”Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more.”

He smiled, but didn't look at Steve. Steve finally returned to eating his breakfast. Tony didn't need a soulmate, didn't need love. He had his inventions, his company, his robots and his found family. But when Steve got up from the table Tony did as well. He grabbed Steve's hand. He never made those gloves for him.

”Steve”, he whispered.

His courage was gone, he fell quiet. Steve looked at him, tilted his head. Warmth spread through Tony's body as he met Steve's eyes, made him feel a little more couragous. There was nothing to fear. Steve Rogers was in love with him. He was in love with Steve Rogers. He took a deep breath.

”I love you.”

Steve took a shaky breath. Tony didn't expect an answer. He pressed the button on his gloves, pulled them off. His hands were shaking. He had only ever allowed Pepper and Rhodey to touch him since then, had only ever touched them this intimately.

”I love you”, he whispered again.

The gloves fell to the floor. Steve wasn't wearing his, he didn't do so in the tower any longer. Nothing was going to happen, there was no way Steve Rogers was Tony Stark's soulmate, and Tony grabbed Steve's hand.

The world exploded in colours only for them. A jolt ran through Tony's body, through his wings. His eyes got wet when Steve's white wings slowly turned blue and brown and he could see Steve's eyes getting equally wet. The colours around them calmed down again, returned to normal. Tony was breathing heavily, hadn't gathered himself, when Steve pulled him closer, pressed his lips against Tony's, and they were warm, perfect, soft and Tony melted even though the kiss in itself was lacking, panicked and greedy.

”I thought I wouldn't find you”, Steve breathed out as he pulled back.

”I didn't want to find you”, Tony whispered, ”but I'm happy I did.”

They shared another kiss, less panicked, softer, full of promise of a lot more to come. They had both dreamed about finding their soulmates.