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It’s @musicalluna‘s bday! She asked for
Feb. 27th, 2017 12:10 amvia http://ift.tt/2lKdsdB:
It’s @musicalluna‘s bday! She asked for Tony patching Steve up while they chat and are domestic and sappy. I ended up with more sleepy than anything, but I hope you like it! Happy birthday! :D
About 1900 words, watch out for the cut!
“You should take better care of your skin,” Tony admonished from the bathroom. The light clicked off a moment later and he walked back into the room with the vintage first aid kit that Jan had given Steve as a gag on his last birthday. Steve had never used it himself, but it was packed with new “made to look vintage” packages of bandages, alcohol wipes, gauze rolls, and glass bottles of heavy duty pain killers.
Steve smiled at Tony’s bare feet under the trailing hem of a pair of Steve’s pajama pants, and then looked pointedly at the first aid kit. “You don’t need to do that, Tony. They’re just scratches. I’ll be healed in a couple days.”
“Shut up, and let me take care of you,” Tony advised sweetly. He knelt down between Steve’s feet and made himself comfortable. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t even give Steve a heated look and make a joke about being on his knees. He unpacked the first aid kit and arranged the items he needed in neat piles, and then pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves.
“I have a vested interest in keeping your skin in one piece,” Tony said, glancing up at Steve through his eyelashes. “It would be nice if you would try to help.”
He gently turned Steve’s arm over to examine the thick swathe of abrasions curling up his arm from the base of his palm to his elbow. Tiny pieces of gravel, glass, and asphalt were embedded in the scratches. Steve had planned to just climb into the shower and scrub them out with a loofa, but he’d found Tony sprawled out on his bed, and plans had changed. He was grimy and coated in sweat, dirt, and soot, but when Tony had ordered him to strip, now he hadn’t argued. So he was perched on the edge of his studio couch with his boyfriend kneeling between his knees and he wasn’t even getting any fun out of it.
Humming reproachfully, Tony levered himself up to his feet and crossed to the small kitchenette in the corner. He returned with a shallow plate, went back to his knees, and peeled the tweezers out of their sterile bag. Steve did his best to cover up any sounds of discomfort as Tony set to picking the largest slivers out of the gashes.
“What did you do?” Tony asked finally. When Steve had first walked in, he’d gone through the emergency questions: are you alright? Are you in immediate danger? Do I need to suit up? But hadn’t asked for another explanation as he was bustling about getting Steve water and grabbing the first aid kit. “I’m guessing by the placement of the scratches that you laid your bike down at least.”
Steve winced and used his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah… it might need some of your first aid tomorrow too.”
Tony snorted. “I guessed as much. Run of the mill risking your life to avoid running over a family of quails on the road, or baddies shooting at you kind of situation?”
“There was a cat in the road,” Steve confessed. “I tried to find it after I crashed, but it was gone. I hope it’s alright. I don’t think I hit it.”
“Cats are resilient creatures,” Tony said, teasing out a long sliver of Steve’s headlight from his thigh. “Should we go look for it tomorrow?” he asked, glancing up again.
“You know me so well.” Steve leaned down and kissed the top of Tony’s head. He rested his forehead in the mess of Tony’s hair until Tony reached up and pushed him back so he could get to the scrapes on Steve’s ribs.
Tony finished picking the largest pieces out, and then held the plate of shards up and rattled it at Steve’s face. “Did you bring half the road home with you?”
“Considerably less than half,” Steve said, and then added, “Maybe twelve percent.”
Tony groaned. “That will never die,” he complained, but set the plate out of the way, pulled the gloves off, and held his hands out to help Steve up. “Come on. The rest will come out in the shower.”
Steve resisted saying finally! but only just. He took Tony’s offered hands and stood up slowly. The muscles in his back had seized up while he’d cooled down on the couch, and his joints were stiff and achy. Tony watched him with a concerned frown, but he didn’t say anything – they’d watched each other hobble around after enough accidents and fights that they’d both gotten a pretty good handle on what was ‘normal’ stiffness, and what required the intervention of a wheelchair or a bridal carry. Steve had to admit that he wouldn’t really mind being carried just then, but he settled for slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders and leaning into him under the pretense of kissing his temple.
“You take good care of me,” he said as they shuffled to the hotel sized bathroom. His apartment was really just a quiet escape that was mostly dedicated to his art, and occasionally used as a crash pad when it was closer than the tower. He hadn’t been looking for much by way of amenities when he’d bought the place, but sometimes he really missed the hot tub in Tony’s palatial bathroom.
Tony eased him out of his boxers while the shower groaned and hissed and generally complained about being used. It took a subjective eternity to heat up, so Steve just leaned his uninjured shoulder against the wall while Tony went back into the main room to pick up Steve’s motorcycle clothing and cluck at the tears in the fabric. Steve had a feeling that he would have an armored motorcycle suit within the week and chuckled in fond exasperation.
The water had reluctantly warmed by the time Tony made it back with a handful of soft, paint stained but clean cloths. He’d stripped out of his own clothes on the way back in, but didn’t even give Steve time to appreciate his nudity before nudging him under the water. He’d left one cloth on the edge of the sink and used the other to softly clean out the scrapes while Steve just luxuriated in the hot water. The cloth smelled like lavender detergent and dryer sheets and felt like clouds of marshmallows against his skin. He heard himself making happy noises as Tony brushed it along uninjured sections of skin and didn’t even try to stop.
Possibly the one amenity benefit of his tiny studio apartment was the giant hot water heater. Hot showers after disasters was one luxury he’d given himself permission to indulge in, and he’d never yet exhausted the hot water once it warmed it. Steve lost track of how long they’d been in the shower and was starting to drift off a bit by the time Tony was satisfied that the grit had been cleaned out of the scratches. He didn’t immediately flip the water off, but dropped the cloth and wrapped his arms around Steve’s chest.
Feeling warm and relaxed and comfortable, Steve leaned into Tony’s chest and reached up to hold on to his wrists. Tony set his forehead carefully to Steve’s neck and laid gentle kisses over his spine that traveled across his shoulders, and then turned to soft bites, and then darting, ticklish little licks.
“You are giving me gray hairs, Steve Rogers,” Tony murmured against his skin.
“You don’t have a single gray hair,” Steve argued back, curling his spine to encourage more kisses.
Tony laughed, but obliged him with a line of kisses from the nape of Steve’s neck to his right shoulder. “You can thank my hairstylist for that,” he said between soft presses of his lips. “Trust me, many grays. All of them have your name inscribed on the follicles.”
“I do like my name on things,” Steve hummed. He turned in Tony’s arms and ducked down to capture his lips. Tony tasted like sleep and the faintest memory of cinnamon toothpaste, and Steve was sure his mouth tasted like dirt and asphalt, but Tony didn’t complain. They kissed languidly with the hot water pouring down around them until Steve had to pull away to hide a yawn behind his hand.
“Let’s get you bandaged and into bed,” Tony suggested, but they stayed under the water for several more seconds, swaying, both of them about one long blink from falling asleep. Tony finally curled an arm around Steve’s hip and turned off the water. The benefit of a tiny bathroom was that the entire space had warmed up admirably under the steam, so it wasn’t an agony of cold air to climb out of the shallow tub and hunt for towels.
Despite his eyes being half-lidded, Tony insisted on drying Steve off with the remaining soft towels, and then bundled him up in a bathrobe, and got him back to the couch where the bandages were still sitting out. He knelt naked on the rug, put on another pair of gloves, and soaked cotton balls with peroxide to swab all the scrapes. It was uncomfortable, but Steve was still too warm and too sleepy to really care. The cotton balls disappeared into a paper bag that he would burn later – Tony was even more paranoid about anyone getting their hands on Steve’s blood than Steve was himself – and then he smeared antibiotic cream on large bandages and applied them to the worst of the scrapes.
Steve considered reminding him that the serum would do a better job of heading off infection than the Neosporin would, but he just leaned back against the couch and watched Tony work instead. It had been a long time since someone had taken care of him like this. He typically ended up in Medical for major injuries and got neatly patched back together by a detached professional, and he ignored minor injuries beyond making sure he was wearing clothing that covered them so he didn’t get blood on his sheets.
Tony had him slide out of the robe so he could get to the scratches on Steve’s back, and then tucked the soft fabric around him again, striped out of the gloves with elastic snaps, and carefully repacked the first aid kit. Steve thought about going to bed, but the further he got was turning his head to stare at it while Tony put everything away, sealed the bag of bloody cotton balls, shards of road debris, and gloves up in a plastic bag, and refilled Steve’s water glass.
“Come on,” Tony cajoled through a yawn, “You will regret falling asleep on the couch. Drink the water and let’s cuddle in the nice big bed instead.”
“Best offer I’ve had all night,” Steve said. He managed about half the glass of water and set it down when it felt like it was starting to slide out of his fingers. Tony hauled him off the couch and they weaved drunkly to the bed. He lost a couple seconds of time between one blink and the next, during which he’d apparently taken off the robe and gotten under the covers, and then another few seconds disappeared between getting his arm under his pillow and the light turning out.
“I am so making Rhodey help us find that cat tomorrow,” Tony mumbled. “He’s gonna love it.”
“Mmm,” Steve managed, and then said, “I love you.”
Tony kissed his neck and snuggled up tightly behind him. “I’ll remember that when we’re crawling through the underbrush looking for the cat.”
Steve meant to respond, but forgot to open his mouth, and the last thing he heard was I love you too before drifting off to sleep.
It’s @musicalluna‘s bday! She asked for Tony patching Steve up while they chat and are domestic and sappy. I ended up with more sleepy than anything, but I hope you like it! Happy birthday! :D
About 1900 words, watch out for the cut!
“You should take better care of your skin,” Tony admonished from the bathroom. The light clicked off a moment later and he walked back into the room with the vintage first aid kit that Jan had given Steve as a gag on his last birthday. Steve had never used it himself, but it was packed with new “made to look vintage” packages of bandages, alcohol wipes, gauze rolls, and glass bottles of heavy duty pain killers.
Steve smiled at Tony’s bare feet under the trailing hem of a pair of Steve’s pajama pants, and then looked pointedly at the first aid kit. “You don’t need to do that, Tony. They’re just scratches. I’ll be healed in a couple days.”
“Shut up, and let me take care of you,” Tony advised sweetly. He knelt down between Steve’s feet and made himself comfortable. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t even give Steve a heated look and make a joke about being on his knees. He unpacked the first aid kit and arranged the items he needed in neat piles, and then pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves.
“I have a vested interest in keeping your skin in one piece,” Tony said, glancing up at Steve through his eyelashes. “It would be nice if you would try to help.”
He gently turned Steve’s arm over to examine the thick swathe of abrasions curling up his arm from the base of his palm to his elbow. Tiny pieces of gravel, glass, and asphalt were embedded in the scratches. Steve had planned to just climb into the shower and scrub them out with a loofa, but he’d found Tony sprawled out on his bed, and plans had changed. He was grimy and coated in sweat, dirt, and soot, but when Tony had ordered him to strip, now he hadn’t argued. So he was perched on the edge of his studio couch with his boyfriend kneeling between his knees and he wasn’t even getting any fun out of it.
Humming reproachfully, Tony levered himself up to his feet and crossed to the small kitchenette in the corner. He returned with a shallow plate, went back to his knees, and peeled the tweezers out of their sterile bag. Steve did his best to cover up any sounds of discomfort as Tony set to picking the largest slivers out of the gashes.
“What did you do?” Tony asked finally. When Steve had first walked in, he’d gone through the emergency questions: are you alright? Are you in immediate danger? Do I need to suit up? But hadn’t asked for another explanation as he was bustling about getting Steve water and grabbing the first aid kit. “I’m guessing by the placement of the scratches that you laid your bike down at least.”
Steve winced and used his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah… it might need some of your first aid tomorrow too.”
Tony snorted. “I guessed as much. Run of the mill risking your life to avoid running over a family of quails on the road, or baddies shooting at you kind of situation?”
“There was a cat in the road,” Steve confessed. “I tried to find it after I crashed, but it was gone. I hope it’s alright. I don’t think I hit it.”
“Cats are resilient creatures,” Tony said, teasing out a long sliver of Steve’s headlight from his thigh. “Should we go look for it tomorrow?” he asked, glancing up again.
“You know me so well.” Steve leaned down and kissed the top of Tony’s head. He rested his forehead in the mess of Tony’s hair until Tony reached up and pushed him back so he could get to the scrapes on Steve’s ribs.
Tony finished picking the largest pieces out, and then held the plate of shards up and rattled it at Steve’s face. “Did you bring half the road home with you?”
“Considerably less than half,” Steve said, and then added, “Maybe twelve percent.”
Tony groaned. “That will never die,” he complained, but set the plate out of the way, pulled the gloves off, and held his hands out to help Steve up. “Come on. The rest will come out in the shower.”
Steve resisted saying finally! but only just. He took Tony’s offered hands and stood up slowly. The muscles in his back had seized up while he’d cooled down on the couch, and his joints were stiff and achy. Tony watched him with a concerned frown, but he didn’t say anything – they’d watched each other hobble around after enough accidents and fights that they’d both gotten a pretty good handle on what was ‘normal’ stiffness, and what required the intervention of a wheelchair or a bridal carry. Steve had to admit that he wouldn’t really mind being carried just then, but he settled for slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders and leaning into him under the pretense of kissing his temple.
“You take good care of me,” he said as they shuffled to the hotel sized bathroom. His apartment was really just a quiet escape that was mostly dedicated to his art, and occasionally used as a crash pad when it was closer than the tower. He hadn’t been looking for much by way of amenities when he’d bought the place, but sometimes he really missed the hot tub in Tony’s palatial bathroom.
Tony eased him out of his boxers while the shower groaned and hissed and generally complained about being used. It took a subjective eternity to heat up, so Steve just leaned his uninjured shoulder against the wall while Tony went back into the main room to pick up Steve’s motorcycle clothing and cluck at the tears in the fabric. Steve had a feeling that he would have an armored motorcycle suit within the week and chuckled in fond exasperation.
The water had reluctantly warmed by the time Tony made it back with a handful of soft, paint stained but clean cloths. He’d stripped out of his own clothes on the way back in, but didn’t even give Steve time to appreciate his nudity before nudging him under the water. He’d left one cloth on the edge of the sink and used the other to softly clean out the scrapes while Steve just luxuriated in the hot water. The cloth smelled like lavender detergent and dryer sheets and felt like clouds of marshmallows against his skin. He heard himself making happy noises as Tony brushed it along uninjured sections of skin and didn’t even try to stop.
Possibly the one amenity benefit of his tiny studio apartment was the giant hot water heater. Hot showers after disasters was one luxury he’d given himself permission to indulge in, and he’d never yet exhausted the hot water once it warmed it. Steve lost track of how long they’d been in the shower and was starting to drift off a bit by the time Tony was satisfied that the grit had been cleaned out of the scratches. He didn’t immediately flip the water off, but dropped the cloth and wrapped his arms around Steve’s chest.
Feeling warm and relaxed and comfortable, Steve leaned into Tony’s chest and reached up to hold on to his wrists. Tony set his forehead carefully to Steve’s neck and laid gentle kisses over his spine that traveled across his shoulders, and then turned to soft bites, and then darting, ticklish little licks.
“You are giving me gray hairs, Steve Rogers,” Tony murmured against his skin.
“You don’t have a single gray hair,” Steve argued back, curling his spine to encourage more kisses.
Tony laughed, but obliged him with a line of kisses from the nape of Steve’s neck to his right shoulder. “You can thank my hairstylist for that,” he said between soft presses of his lips. “Trust me, many grays. All of them have your name inscribed on the follicles.”
“I do like my name on things,” Steve hummed. He turned in Tony’s arms and ducked down to capture his lips. Tony tasted like sleep and the faintest memory of cinnamon toothpaste, and Steve was sure his mouth tasted like dirt and asphalt, but Tony didn’t complain. They kissed languidly with the hot water pouring down around them until Steve had to pull away to hide a yawn behind his hand.
“Let’s get you bandaged and into bed,” Tony suggested, but they stayed under the water for several more seconds, swaying, both of them about one long blink from falling asleep. Tony finally curled an arm around Steve’s hip and turned off the water. The benefit of a tiny bathroom was that the entire space had warmed up admirably under the steam, so it wasn’t an agony of cold air to climb out of the shallow tub and hunt for towels.
Despite his eyes being half-lidded, Tony insisted on drying Steve off with the remaining soft towels, and then bundled him up in a bathrobe, and got him back to the couch where the bandages were still sitting out. He knelt naked on the rug, put on another pair of gloves, and soaked cotton balls with peroxide to swab all the scrapes. It was uncomfortable, but Steve was still too warm and too sleepy to really care. The cotton balls disappeared into a paper bag that he would burn later – Tony was even more paranoid about anyone getting their hands on Steve’s blood than Steve was himself – and then he smeared antibiotic cream on large bandages and applied them to the worst of the scrapes.
Steve considered reminding him that the serum would do a better job of heading off infection than the Neosporin would, but he just leaned back against the couch and watched Tony work instead. It had been a long time since someone had taken care of him like this. He typically ended up in Medical for major injuries and got neatly patched back together by a detached professional, and he ignored minor injuries beyond making sure he was wearing clothing that covered them so he didn’t get blood on his sheets.
Tony had him slide out of the robe so he could get to the scratches on Steve’s back, and then tucked the soft fabric around him again, striped out of the gloves with elastic snaps, and carefully repacked the first aid kit. Steve thought about going to bed, but the further he got was turning his head to stare at it while Tony put everything away, sealed the bag of bloody cotton balls, shards of road debris, and gloves up in a plastic bag, and refilled Steve’s water glass.
“Come on,” Tony cajoled through a yawn, “You will regret falling asleep on the couch. Drink the water and let’s cuddle in the nice big bed instead.”
“Best offer I’ve had all night,” Steve said. He managed about half the glass of water and set it down when it felt like it was starting to slide out of his fingers. Tony hauled him off the couch and they weaved drunkly to the bed. He lost a couple seconds of time between one blink and the next, during which he’d apparently taken off the robe and gotten under the covers, and then another few seconds disappeared between getting his arm under his pillow and the light turning out.
“I am so making Rhodey help us find that cat tomorrow,” Tony mumbled. “He’s gonna love it.”
“Mmm,” Steve managed, and then said, “I love you.”
Tony kissed his neck and snuggled up tightly behind him. “I’ll remember that when we’re crawling through the underbrush looking for the cat.”
Steve meant to respond, but forgot to open his mouth, and the last thing he heard was I love you too before drifting off to sleep.
