established relationship, steve comes back from a long mission, already slept for 12 hours straight and is still exhausted but came to the kitchen because it’s sunday and he needs to cook brunch but conks out instead over some cereal
Steve wakes up because his stomach is trying to eat itself.
He still desperately wants to be asleep, despite having slept—he cracks one eye open and peeks at the alarm clock on the bedside table.
And lets out a long slow sigh.
He slept twelve hours and he’d gladly go back to sleep right now if—ugh.
His stomach growls again and Steve pries himself up off of the mattress, grimacing as the sheet slides off his bare back, cool air raising the hairs all the way up to his neck. He chafes his hands up his arms and then slides into his slippers and shuffles over to the bathroom to get his robe from the inside of the door. With that wrapped securely around his body he feels a little warmer and he heads out to the kitchen to find something to eat, yawning into his fist.
The mission had taken place over the better part of five days, three of which had robbed Steve of sleep. He aches all over from the toll it had taken on him physically, though there aren’t many visible marks. He’d gone without food the last twenty-four hours, which his fast lane metabolism had not taken kindly to.
Steve smiles when the lights come up to twenty percent and mutters, “Thanks, JARVIS.”
“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS murmurs back. “Shall I put on the coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Steve says fervently.
While it burbles in the background, the scent wafting intoxicatingly around him, Steve leans on the fridge door and looks at what’s inside. There are plenty of eggs and bread and milk and dimly, Steve recalls that it’s Sunday and he’s supposed to make brunch for the fellas, but just imagining going through the process of making French toast and frying the bacon and the eggs makes him tired and his jaw stretches wide in another face-splitting yawn.
He decides he’ll make it up to them and pulls a box of Cheerios out of the cabinet and pours himself a bowl. The coffee finishes about the time he’s added in the milk and he retrieves a mug of it before heading to the table and slouching into one of the chairs.
The coffee’s good and hot, bracing, and he makes it through half the bowl of cereal. Then his head starts to droop and his eyes grow heavy, the heat from the coffee seeping through the mug into his hands.
JARVIS lets Tony know Steve’s up, and he decides to take a break from the schematics review to go and see how he’s doing.
He smiles when he steps into the kitchen and finds Steve slumped in a chair, head lolling to the side. There’s a still-steaming mug of coffee curled loosely in his left hand, the other having slid back into his lap. The bowl of cereal next to it is only half-eaten.
Tony huffs and stands there for a minute, just looking at him.
His hair’s a mess, flattened on one side from sleeping on it and there are dark circles under his eyes. His jaw is scruffy, covered in a layer of vaguely reddish gold hair. God, he’s lucky.
Tony reaches forward and curls his hands around Steve’s jaw, running his thumbs over the line where the soon-to-be-beard gives way to skin. Then he drags his nails lightly through the scruff. “Steve,” he murmurs. “Steve, honey.”
“Mm,” Steve mumbles and shifts slightly, though his face doesn’t move a centimeter away from Tony’s hands.
Heavy-lidded eyes creep open and Tony smiles at the sliver of blue that peeks out. “Hey, there, Sunshine.”
The hand in Steve’s lap lifts to curl around Tony’s arm. “Hhmnony,” he mumbles eyes drifting toward the table. “B'kfast.”
“I see that,” Tony says, and drags his nails slowly down Steve’s cheeks, feeling the coarse hairs catch under his blunt nails.
Steve’s eyes flutter, rolling back in his head a little and Tony grins.
“You wanna try and finish, or you want to go back to bed?”
Again, Steve’s eyes crack open, surveying the half-eaten breakfast. “Bed,” he sighs.
Tony presses his smile into Steve’s cheek and follows it with a kiss. “That’s what I thought. Come on. Upsie daisy.”
Steve groans as Tony helps haul him to his feet. Then he curls his arm around Tony’s shoulder and shuts his eyes and leaves it to Tony to direct his heavy steps back to the bed. That trust is a beautiful thing, and Tony does the best he can to keep it.
In the bedroom, Steve folds into the bed, sighing as he sinks into the pillows. Tony sits on the edge, catching the hairs on the end of Steve’s chin gently between his fingers. “Love you,” he says, casually as he can.
Steve is already asleep, but his fingers, wrapped tight around Tony’s, say everything.
SQUISHY SCRITCHY FLUFF