Tony isn’t a fiction kind of guy. If he’s going to read anything, it’s fact based. And usually, it’s a teaching tool. His brain absorbs information, almost to the point where it simply can’t hold anymore. He’s a sponge. When it’s too full, it doesn’t just overflow, but he loses some valuable data too. He’d rather that information include last names and his social security number than anything else, however.
Without turning, Tony’s eyes lift as if signaled by the smell of tea tree oil and lavender. “Shampoo first,” he says softly, which is more intoned like a ‘thank you’ than an admonishment of any sort.
Tony doesn’t know how to be genuinely appreciative, even if he feels it. Expressing those feelings takes effort. More sponge-effect.
He follows it up by subtly leaning against Steve’s broad and solid like a tree. He’s watched the HUD replay of their fight many, many times and he knows the amount of force he was pulling with each punch and forward momentum. It still surprises him how sturdy Steve is, given Tony’s own weight. He does the math in his head, solving for breaking points, as if he’s forgotten that Steve and Captain America are the same person.
He feels cozy. Lazy. Heated, but not so much that he can’t pay attention to anything else. The feel of the now softened but still impressive muscle against his skin reminds him of the release he’d been given.
Steve can get a few minutes without all of the snark. You know. As that thanks he can’t say. Besides, what’s one of the most beautiful people in the world doing giving him compliments like that?
no subject
Tony isn’t a fiction kind of guy. If he’s going to read anything, it’s fact based. And usually, it’s a teaching tool. His brain absorbs information, almost to the point where it simply can’t hold anymore. He’s a sponge. When it’s too full, it doesn’t just overflow, but he loses some valuable data too. He’d rather that information include last names and his social security number than anything else, however.
Without turning, Tony’s eyes lift as if signaled by the smell of tea tree oil and lavender. “Shampoo first,” he says softly, which is more intoned like a ‘thank you’ than an admonishment of any sort.
Tony doesn’t know how to be genuinely appreciative, even if he feels it. Expressing those feelings takes effort. More sponge-effect.
He follows it up by subtly leaning against Steve’s broad and solid like a tree. He’s watched the HUD replay of their fight many, many times and he knows the amount of force he was pulling with each punch and forward momentum. It still surprises him how sturdy Steve is, given Tony’s own weight. He does the math in his head, solving for breaking points, as if he’s forgotten that Steve and Captain America are the same person.
He feels cozy. Lazy. Heated, but not so much that he can’t pay attention to anything else. The feel of the now softened but still impressive muscle against his skin reminds him of the release he’d been given.
Steve can get a few minutes without all of the snark. You know. As that thanks he can’t say. Besides, what’s one of the most beautiful people in the world doing giving him compliments like that?