It was after a long and hard face. The bruise on Steve's jaw could match his cowl. Tony's jet feet were fired. When they finally returned home (too late to their like) got out of their uniform and armour respectively, all they could do were falling on the same bed, exhausted. After one or two half-hearted kiss, Steve just held Tony in his arm, forehead touching his, and whispered to his lips, "Sleep"

They did.

The next morning Steve woke up in the usual hour and felt the weight of Tony's head on his shoulder, his mustache scratching Steve's skin, his warm breathing on him. Tony's body enveloped Steve, and he made a protesting noise when Steve tried to move.

Steve's hands lingered on Tony's back, feeling the muscle underneath. He closed his eyes again.

The morning run could wait.