What's in that bag?
Steve didn’t usually wander the halls of the tower after dark. He liked sleeping. Loved sleeping. In fact, if left alone, he would most likely wake up at eleven every day and then go back to sleep by eight after eating six-thousand calories (in the form of cake, if he had any say in the matter).
Unfortunately, Natasha had discovered this early on in their friendship, resulting in morning runs, scheduled brunches, and other activities that in general were created so she could laugh at his bedhead and patriotic scowl before ten in the morning.
So it was odd for him to be walking towards the kitchen closer to midnight than to noon, but it happened on bad days. A combination of back-to-back missions (Serbia. Why was it always Serbia?), a hospital visit for a crushed hand (Fingers are...not supposed to bend that way.), then a stern talking to from a doctor for trying to hide a broken nose (Blood. All over his shirt. Not subtle.), and Steve Rogers was unfortunately forced to stay awake due to minimal brain damage (A brick wall jumped in front of him when he was running.)
Walking inside the tower, instead of wandering the streets of New York during the sweltering July heat, was the only concession Steve made to the doctor before leaving, which is why he was still awake and not cocooned in his blankets, sleeping and ignoring his three alarms set to various times.
After checking in on Natasha, who had laughed before saying good night and shutting the door in his face, Steve figured he would pass the time by doing something the rest of the world seemed obsessed with: working out and then eating something extremely unhealthy right after.
Having spent a couple hours prior running on the treadmill and kicking a heavy-bag, because hands took longer to heal than a broken nose, Steve deemed himself hungry enough for something delicious. Like a mixing bowl of cereal. A mixing bowl filled with Cap’n Crunch. A cereal sugary enough to give him a buzz. A cereal that fought back by ripping up the roof of his mouth. A cereal worthy of the title “Captain”.
Grinning to himself, because he was hilarious and a national treasure, Steve walked into the community kitchen, taking in the bowl of fruit with a slight grimace of disgust and trying to ignore the tiles that were slightly sticky underfoot.
What he could not ignore was seeing Tony Stark, on his hands and knees, halfway inside of a cabinet.
Distracted for a moment (because that butt was great, wait, what?), Steve only noticed on a second pass that the older man was actually doing something, namely shoving something into the cabinet.
New task in mind, because the billionaire being awake and outside his workshop trumped massive amounts of cereal any day, Steve let his curiosity get the better of him and sauntered over to the quietly swearing man. When a few moments passed, and Steve allowed his eyes to become uncomfortably aware of Tony shifting in, and out, and in, and out, and in, and out of the cabinet, he coughed quietly and casually propped his hip on the counter top.
“Hey, Tony,” Steve said, noting how the other man abruptly stopped swaying his hips in time to silent music, “Didn't expect to see you out here, all alone, mysteriously trying to dispose of something under the sink.” Steve turned slightly so he could hop onto the counter, hands bracing on the edge as he leaned over the cabinet door to try and catch a glimpse of the older man, “Possibly a bomb? Maybe a classified design? Hiding from your CEO?”
Tony finally shimmied out from underneath the sink, huffing, and Steve could tell he was tired from the way he swayed slightly and...was pouting. That was definitely a pout. Plus the man looked worse for wear, gaze fixed vacantly under the sink as he kneeled back onto his feet, hands braced on his thighs. Once everything met an invisible order, he sighed and his body listed sideways to rest against Steve’s dangling leg..
“I am not hiding from Pepper. I’m not hiding anything. Just...checking the pipes for leaks.” A crinkle was heard as a plastic bag slumped out, only to be nudged back in by a calloused hand, “Lots of leaks under here, have to hire a different contractor. Maybe get a couple of...couplings and o-rings? Some extra-”
Steve sighed, it was way too late for this, “Tony, what’s in the bag and why are you hiding it here? In the kitchen, under the sink?”
Tony seemed to be weighing pros and cons, squinting up at Steve as if staring into the sun, before a mulish frown slid onto his features. “Just, okay, did you know Bruce never watches TV? Never.” Steve shrugged in agreement; he didn't watch that much television and usually him and Bruce would sit on the couch awkwardly while everyone was actually watching the new series that was better than the last.
“Well, I found out that’s because he hates television. Hates cable! Man only likes watching movies, but not the great movies I have, hell no, he has to watch these weird subtitled monstrosities with the music and dancing and-” Tony took a big breath, seemed to catch himself, “Anyway, I bought him a bunch of movies. A bunch of Bollywood movies. But I don’t know what he likes, or what he’s seen, and did you know there are movies released almost ten-years ago that are still playing in theaters over there? It’s crazy the amount of movies they've made with the same plot of two guys and one girl and…”
Tony groaned, “And I...might have gone overboard?” At Steve’s lifted eyebrow Tony continued, “Did you know around 1000 movies are released in India a year? Twice the amount of Hollywood? Do you know how many DVDs that is? My workshop is full, Jarvis is trying to upload everything to the media server, but it’s slow going, and I know Bruce is going to find this all by tomorrow, and I’m still not 100% sure that he’ll like-”
“Do you want some cereal?”
Tony looked up with wide eyes at the abrupt question, cheek rough against Steve’s jean-clad leg, and gaped for a second before catching himself. “It’s two in the morning?” He asked, still proceeding to stand when Steve pushed off the counter in the direction of the stove.
“Yeah, but I’m hungry, you’re having a crisis over some movies,” a splutter from Tony, “and I know you probably forgot to eat dinner.” Steve reached up to open the cupboard, grabbed the box of cereal, and then moved over two steps to grab the bowl sitting in the washing rack from earlier in the day (it had been filled with a much healthier alternative for breakfast). Placing both items on the table, he turned to grab the milk and turned when he heard a strangled noise from behind.
Tony stared at the bowl in horror, then lifted an eyebrow at Steve, “You do know that this cereal is considered candy in other countries? That the recommended serving size is less than a cup and- and you’re just pouring the whole box in, aren't you?” Tony stated, unable to hide his amusement when Steve came back over with a gallon of milk, ripped open the plastic bag, and dumped the contents into the bright orange bowl.
“Yes,” Steve responded, pouring enough milk into the bowl that the pieces floated on the surface. “And there’s only one spoon. Thor keeps putting them in the garbage disposal.”
Tony slumped in his chair, “I can’t keep buying silverware. I am not wasting my sizable income on replacing flatware.” He eyed the first couple mouthfuls Steve shoved into his mouth, noted the wince when Steve opened his mouth too wide and the skin around his nose pulled painfully.
“Then we’ll share. No harm in that,” Steve grinned, “We’re both grown men. Nothing wrong with swapping some spit.” Steve tried to ignore Tony’s throat when he swallowed. “So,” he scooped up a heaping spoonful, watching the milk drip from the edge and prayed it didn't end up in Tony's beard, “Wanna share?”
Tony’s fingers clasped around Steve’s wrist as he guided the soggy mess of corn starch and sugar to his lips, “Sure thing.”