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Tony is no stranger to stress, but he thinks that his recent-ish stint into superheroing has skewed his perception of stress and, by virtue of that, how he processes said stress.
Supervillain rampage? Stressful. Suit malfunction during flight? Stressful. Imminent destruction of the world? Hella stressful. But these examples of stress all lead neatly into the work that needs to be done. Every action has an equal reaction, and all of Tony’s energy is instantly directed into solving the problem at hand, be it supervillain, suit, or apocalypse.
However, this mode of action isn’t useful in less urgent situations. After all, there’s only so much brain power that Tony is willing to utilize in figuring out which shareholders are pissed at each other this week and what SI can possibly do to make it up to them and also Pepper is CEO now so why are people still looking at him to get stuff done? He barely got stuff done when he was CEO. And how dare some of them joke around that Tony’s green tech and Avengers work is a waste of his time? Sure, none of any of this is brand new, but Tony had rather foolishly assumed that they'd have moved on by now.
So it is that Tony flies back to the Tower feeling less than upbeat. In fact, he’s positively cranky, and feels ready to bite the head off the next person who talks to him.
It’s not a nice feeling.
He could, if he really wanted to, shove the feeling in a box and plaster a smile on top, but he’s trying not to do that so much anymore. What was the other option? Oh, right. Be upfront about how he’s not in the mood, and excuse himself from the situation. (Thanks, Steve, not that the guy always takes his own advice.)
Luckily, however, no one seems to be around the Tower’s common area when he lands, and Tony is able to send his suit away and make it to his rooms without seeing anyone.
Ah, his room. A private space all his own, where he can be irritable to his heart’s content.
He kicks off his shoes and crawls into bed, tie and jacket and all. He makes a half-hearted attempt to pull the covers down, but fails to do so because he is also lying on top of said covers and doesn’t want to get up. He gives in to the lone remaining of option of just breathing straight into the Egyptian cotton.
Undignified and pathetic? Perhaps. But who cares. No one cares. Okay, some people care, but they’re not here right now and Tony has less than absolute zero interest in having anyone here right in this space where he is busy wallowing in the fact that portions of the world are full of unrelentingly selfish assholes who take, take, take, and Tony has greater things to lose these days than stakeholders’ opinions of him.
The door opens.
Following some absurd impulse, Tony holds his breath as though that would make him invisible.
But that doesn’t work, of course. Footsteps approach the bed. These are Steve’s footsteps, because Tony knows what Steve’s footsteps sound like. Though even if he didn’t, there are only three people in the world who’d dare to enter his rooms without so much as a by your leave, and the other two are at least polite enough to say something from the doorway instead of sneaking up to the bed like a creeper.
The mattress shifts when Steve sits on the bed. Tony tenses up, and his ears strain to follow the rustle of Steve’s clothes as he knee-walks over towards Tony. Steve is otherwise perfectly silent, a ninja zeroing in on his target, and upon lying down behind Tony, promptly wraps him in a bone-cracking hug.
Tony opens his mouth. He means to say something precise and direct, like “No!” but what comes out instead is warbled walrus half-roar.
Steve only holds him tighter. Which is the absolute worst, because Steve is warm and solid and smells great and is not saying anything stupid to give Tony a headache and is in fact everything that’s wonderful about coming home.
Tony tenses up, limbs locked stiffly. Steve throws a leg over him, a super-soldier octopus determined to hold onto its prey and squeeze the tension out of him.
“I’m angry!” Tony barks. “Just let me be angry!”
“Who are we angry at?” Steve adjusts his hold, and props his chin on Tony’s shoulder so he can look down at him. Tony scowls up at Steve, who promptly matches the scowl with one of his own. “Who are we angry at? The Board?”
“Yeah,” Tony snaps.
Steve nods. “What’d those hellions do now?”
“They… I…” Tony realizes that he can’t hold his scowl. Oh he tries, but it wavers, because there is no mocking indulgence in Steve’s expression. Steve’s earnest in this, as he’s often (though not always) earnest in other matters, so when he says that he wants to know the reasons for Tony’s bad mood, it’s not to offer platitudes, but to shoulder his share of it. Because that’s what partners do, apparently.
Angry Tony may be, but can he stay angry upon a reminder than he’s the only person in the universe who has Steve like this?
Perspective. Which is its own kind of annoying, because Tony’s bad mood is fucking valid, thank you.
“Doesn’t matter,” Tony says.
“It does matter,” Steve insists. “But it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t.” Tony adds quickly, “Maybe later. But right now I just want to be alone and stew.”
“Okay,” Steve says, easy and understanding. He starts to pull away, only to be stopped by Tony grabbing at his arm.
Tony coughs. “I don’t mean alone alone. But I still just want to be angry for a while.”
Steve nods. He doesn’t smile, or try to be soft, or anything else that would make Tony’s blood pressure spike out of contrary stubbornness. Instead, he just settles back on the bed, pressed firm and comfortable against Tony’s back, an arm slung tight around Tony’s torso and his hand flat against Tony’s chest to hold him steady.
They stay there and stew. Steve eventually matches his breaths to Tony’s, in and out and in and out, steadying and hypnotic. The full-body knot of Tony’s body slowly unwinds; Steve’s efforts vs. Tony’s efforts, and Steve is winning. But Tony’s also winning, really, since he’s the one who’s being cuddled by Steve.
“This sucks,” Tony says. He already sounds calmer to his own ears. “I can’t stay mad like this.”
“Do you want me to apologize?” Steve says.
Tony takes Steve’s hand and lifts it up so that he can kiss Steve’s knuckles in a thank you.
“No,” Tony says with a sigh, which Steve perfectly understands as a request to hold him closer.