Fuckers
6.
Tony was turning forty-five.
He was getting old, too old for birthday cakes. Tony had told the team that, too, he'd specifically requested no surprises. No cakes - never cake, he hated cake, there were far too many drunken Monday mornings - cough, Rhodey's twenty first - where he'd puked up the substance. No gifts. Nothing. It'd be a normal Sunday.
At least, it was supposed to be. Until he'd gone into the communal kitchen that morning, it had been.
"Shit, Jarvis, you were supposed to warn us when Tony came down-"
"Sir has advised against surprises and has warned me to alert him of such. Therefore your request was overridden, I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Barton."
Tony took one step into the kitchen, a hesitant leap of faith that the team hadn't done anything he'd asked them not to; he'd literally made a list.
The Avengers were shoved into the kitchen, wearing aprons and what appeared to be dozens of pounds of baking materials. Clint looked as though he was leading the pack, a bag of icing in his palm. Bruce and Natasha were sitting on stools, sprinkles pinched between their fingers. Steve was opening the oven, pulling out more and more pans of whatever they'd made. Thor was hovering over what Tony could now confidently identify as cupcakes, suspicious crumbs on his fingers and around his mouth as he pulled the tiny creations from their baking pits.
Cupcakes. He hadn't even thought to put cupcakes on the list.
"You guys look like you swam in cake batter-"
"Cupcakes, Tony. You didn't tell us not to make cupcakes, so we did."
"Clint, you do realize that cupcakes are in fact, baby cakes in cups?"
The archer shrugged petulantly, licking his finger, red icing coating his teeth.
Tony face palmed.
"Hey, no, don't be sad. What have baby cakes ever done to you?"
"Yes, Anthony, we have only done this to make you happy! For it is the day of your birth! I am honored to congratulate you."
Bruce grinned devilishly, "Do you want to hug it out?"
They started migrating near, coming from their stations, covered in flour and icing and paper cups and Iron Man shaped sprinkles.
"Do not touch me-"
"But Tony, it's your birthday. We're practically family." Steve looked hurt, even though Tony knew that he had a major part to play; he was the best baker, and he wasn't nearly as innocent as he looked (experience had taught them all that, back in my day my ass), the fucker.
"You're practically uncooked cupcakes."
Natasha's hair had turned white, and she had a dollop of purple icing on her nose, but it didn't stop her from looking intimidating (so much so that if she'd asked him to eat a cupcake, he would've cut a hole into his abdomen and placed it into his stomach right then and there - gods, he hated cake). "Happy Birthday Tony."
"No, no. You need to get back. I will- I'll, I'll do something-"
How were you supposed to threaten a team of superheroes?
Clint came near, looking like a cannibal with crimson teeth. He was covered in a plethora of icing, looking as though multiple birds had eaten multiple berries and had promptly shit on him.
"Nopity, nope, nope." Tony dodged every attempt at contact, until he'd somehow been corralled to the center of the kitchen, crouching on the island in the center, his team surrounding him.
"Aw, com'ere you cutie." Clint murmured, pulling him in close. Tony fought against it, but then there were five pairs of arms around him, and he was pulled into an embrace like no other.
Tony came out of the situation unscathed, save for the blots of icing on his face and the never ending flour dusted upon him.
"We're a family of uncooked fucking baby cakes, Clint, are you happy?" Tony looked around, far too angry for someone so adorable. "Are you all happy?"
There was an amused shout, snorts of laughter following:
"Somebody's a little raw."
Tony shook his head, clicking his tongue as he left the room, a catapulted sprinkle was aimed with accuracy (Natasha) at his back before he managed to get through the threshold.
In hindsight, it had all started and ended with Clint, who had no personal boundaries whatsoever (Tony was positive they'd be cuddling on the couch together after everyone had showered), and had made it his personal goal to make sure nobody else did either.
Fuckers.
FIN