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cap_ironman2011-12-30 09:00 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2011-12-30 09:00 pm
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Happy Holidays, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tsukinofaerii!
Operation: Aisle
Author:dorcas_gustine
Universe: Ultimates
Rating: PG-13
Betaed byvaltyr. Timeline is set sometime after Ultimates 2. Prompt at the end.
Tony didn’t think much of it at first; after all, he was used to seeing Steve bent over folders and S.H.I.E.L.D. documents that ranged from personnel evaluations to the latest memo regarding the coffee machine’s maintenance cycle, or so Steve said. Tony had never bothered to check, but he surely got to hear how many resources and paper S.H.I.E.L.D wasted on ‘these useless memos. What do we care the machines on the fourth floor won’t have milk on Tuesday?’. Tony had tried to explain to him that modern society mostly functioned on caffeine, but the concept was lost on Steve, who couldn’t be affected by any type of drug.
It had been a couple of weeks without any of said rants, so Tony had figured that either Fury had gotten the hint, or Steve had finally given up on the whole memos thing. They were sitting down at breakfast, Steve as always buried behind folders and Tony with the limited mental functions of his pre-caffeine brain.
He was reaching over the table to get some sugar from Steve’s side of the table (Steve was a sugar hoarder because of his super-fast super-soldier metabolism, eating whole spoonfuls when he thought people weren’t looking; you’d better have your coffee sugared before he did or you’d be doomed to drink it bitter) that his eyes accidentally fell on an open folder.
He stared, his hand frozen in mid air as it reached for the sugar jar.
“Steve?” He only got an absent-minded sound of acknowledgement, as Steve went on studying intently some documents. “Are you infiltrating a high-society event?”
“No.”
Tony scratched his nose. “The wedding of some Royals or others?”
“No.”
“... Charity event at some consulate?” he tried as a last resort.
Steve raised his eyes from the stack of papers he was so intently reviewing. “No,” he frowned. “Why?”
“These brochures must have ended up in your work stuff by accident then,” he said, pushing the folder over to Steve so he could have look.
“No, they didn’t.”
“They are brochures of flower arrangements and shops that specialize in selling flowers. Large quantities of flowers,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then why-”
Steve reached over and closed the folder. Under the SHIELD crest, written in Steve’s clear letters was, helpfully, “Flower arrangements.”
“For the wedding,” Steve said, as if that should have been the first thought in Tony’s mind.
Tony stared. “Steve, it’s more than a year away.”
Steve cleared his throat. “I like to be prepared,” he said, matter-of-factly, but Tony thought he heard the hint of embarrassment in his voice.
Tony pushed away the “Flower arrangements” folder and opened another one. “Color schemes?” And it was meticulously organized at that. Ordered alphabetically and by gradient. Tony frowned and skimmed quickly through the pages. “We’re not having red, white and blue as a theme.”
Steve stood up suddenly and snatched the folder out of Tony’s hands. With a vaguely disapproving noise, he then gathered all the folders, files, photos and sheets of paper he had spread all over the table.
“It’s an important event,” Steve said. “The most important event of our lives. I want to be prepared, I want to leave nothing to chance.”
Tony blinked up at him. “Look. I don’t think I’m ready to have this conversation before coffee, but what’s the deal? I hired people to do what you’re doing. Well, I told Pepper to sort it out and she hired people. All we have to do is show up in thirteen months, as sober as we can make it.” He frowned. “Or as drunk as we need to be, considering.”
“Right,” Steve shook his head. “Of course. You hired people,” he said, with that mix of disappointment and resignation Tony had only ever heard mothers use.
Tony, his coffee finally sugared, took a sip from his cup. He made a face, but drank again anyway. Coffee was coffee, even when it had become nothing more than a cold sludge. “And what’s wrong with that, Rogers?” he asked. “I’m hiring people in these times of recession. I’m doing the right thing and all that,” he waved a hand vaguely.
“If you say so,” Steve sighed.
Tony’s newly caffeinated brain deduced that something was most definitely not right at all. “What is it?”
Steve remained silent for a long moment, he just looked at him, his eyes dark. “This thing...” he started finally, “this thing is ours. I just want to make sure it goes as planned.”
“Of course it will! These people are professionals, either it goes as planned or I’ll sue them for all they’re worth,” Tony took another sip of coffee. “Unless... No, don’t tell me. You’ve been planning your dream wedding ever since you were a kid.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’m not joking, Stark,” he growled and with that he left, folders and all.
Tony watched him go, then turned to his cup of coffee. “That went well,” he said.
The coffee had no answers.
It was six hours later, thanks to the helpful advice of a couple of Martinis and a dozen olives, that Tony decided he might as well try and help Steve with the wedding plan. He still thought it was pointless (he had hired people, after all!) and too early to worry about such things, but he had to marry the man and having the first marital crisis before they were even married was a little too much even for him.
He secretly hoped Steve would leave the whole thing to the professionals once the novelty of it had worn down, so they could go back to kicking bad guys’ asses and participating in covert ops.
Not that there would be much chance of Steve letting it go, though. First, he was Steve Rogers, Captain America, and secondly he had probably even come up with a code name. Operation: White Dress, or Operation: Aisle.
Tony finally found him in the kitchen, once again with folders spread all over the table. Carol Danvers was there as well, and Tony fervently hoped she wasn’t going to offer any ‘helpful’ advice. This whole operation was already too military-flavored for Tony’s tastes.
“Hey, Danvers,” he wiggled his fingers at him, “how’s life treating you?”
“Stark-” Carol started, but Tony was already ignoring her.
“Good for you!” he grinned, then turned to Steve. “Now, Steve, as I was saying, I get it. You’re old-fashioned. Weddings were a big thing back in your day and all that, so you want it big and stylish.”
Tony reached over and snatched the folder Steve was reading out of his hands. “So here I am, helping you out.”
“Tony-”
“Stark-”
Tony batted Steve’s hands away and flipped through the pages. “Nonsense, it’s my wedding too, I can help...” he trailed off. “Either there’s something vital I missed about the reception, or this is the training roster.”
Steve took the folder back. “What tipped you off?” he said. “The obstacle course scheduled at 0900 or the firing range drill at 1100?”
“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony shrugged. “You know there will be a lot of press. Unless we get married in the Triskelion.”
Carol was probably trying to kill Tony with the force of her glare alone, and Steve had a most interesting expression.
“Great! Glad we cleared that up,” he patted Steve’s shoulder. “As you were.”
He hurried away before Carol could develop the power of death-glaring by effort alone. It was time for some maintenance on his armor, anyway.
And maybe some more Martinis.
And olives.
It was past midnight when Tony made for his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes along the hallway. He was only wearing his boxers when he fell face down on his bed, exhausted. It wasn’t late - at least, not by Tony Stark’s standards - but between upgrades on the armor and meetings he hadn’t slept much in the last three days.
Steve was already in bed, and Tony threw an arm over him and used it to pull himself closer. He ended with his face against Steve’s ribs. “Hey,” he mumbled.
It was Steve who brought up the subject again. In his Steve Rogers way, but still.
“It’s ours, you know.” Tony raised his eyes to look at his pale profile in the darkness. “Yours and mine. Ours. No one else’s. We should be the ones to...” Steve trailed off and and then urned to meet his eyes. Tony could barely see them, a flash of white. “You know?”
Tony sighed. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Of course. I see.”
“I just-”
“I get it, Steve.”
“Good.”
Steve went back to stare at the ceiling and now that Tony’s eyes had gotten used to the dark, he could see his eyelashes move as he blinked.
“Captain Rogers,” Tony whispered. “What’s your opinion on a little pre-marital sex?”
“I’ve been told I’m old fashioned.”
“I’m sure they were drunk, whoever they were.”
And so it came that Tony found himself sitting down with Steve, sorting through an endless to-do list (helpfully printed by Steve the night before; it had bullet points). The folders seemed to have bred overnight and were now color-coded.
“You have the seating plan,” Steve told Tony, then he handed him a long list of names. “These are the guests.”
Tony nodded and started flipping through. “Just how many do people we know?” he asked. There were names he had never even heard of. “How come you know people I don’t know?”
“They’re S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents,” Steve replied, then he handed him a huge sheet of paper filled with eight-row tables. “I’ve not yet decided on a place, but the layout should be the same for all. Eight people a table.”
Tony looked from the list to the tables and sighed. He started jotting down a couple of names, then tried to come up with an algorithm to randomize the distribution of guests, but gave up when Pym ended up at their table.
Having reached no conclusion, ten minutes later, he looked up at Steve. “How much drama do we want?” he asked, grinning and waggling his eyebrows.
Steve glared down at him. “None,” he said, but Tony could see he was fighting to keep a straight face.
“You’re no fun,” Tony sighed. “Weddings are supposed to be all about the drama,” he said. “It’s not like I plan to be there. At the reception, I mean,” he hastily added. “We’ll just- run away. You, me, the road and nothing else.”
Steve gave him a long look. “Tony, you wouldn’t survive two hours without indoor plumbing.”
“No, I’m serious. Listen, as soon as the rings are on we’re off to some undisclosed location in the Pacific. We’ll jump out of a plane to get there if it makes you happy.”
“Tony.”
Tony sighed and went back to the guest list. He put Thor right next to Fury in revenge.
“I’ve rescheduled the video-conference with Mr. Sugimoto at 12,” Pepper said, leaving a stack of paper on Tony’s desk. “And QA has started with the final tests on Project SI-586, they should have the results by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Tony nodded absently as he stared at his computer screen.
“And here’s your coffee, sir,”
“All right, Pepper,” Tony said, accepting the cup of coffee from her. “What do you know about flowers?”
Pepper frowned. “They grow on plants, sir,” she said. “Sometimes people give them as a gift.”
Tony snapped his fingers. “Flowers and weddings, I meant,” he said. “I’m in charge of the flower arrangements for the wedding.”
Pepper gave him a long look. “You are in charge of the flower arrangement?” she asked, clearly too shocked to remember their professional relationship. “Scratch that, you are in charge of anything at all involving your marriage?” She shook her head. “I’ve hired people, sir.”
“That’s what I told Steve,” Tony nodded. “But apparently I violated some code he has in doing so. I was originally in charge of the guest seating plan, but I was demoted to flower boy when Steve found out I was trying to keep the reception interesting.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“I’m telling you, Pepper, sometimes he’s very boring,” he said as if revealing a great truth. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters now is flowers. What do you know about flowers?”
“As I said, sir, I’ve hired people,” she replied. “Maybe you should ask them.”
“Maybe we should skip the flowers, many people are allergic to pollen,” he looked down and wrote “NO FLOWERS” on his clipboard. He considered it for a moment, then he turned to Pepper. “Didn’t you hire people for this, anyway?”
“Apparently, I’ll have to un-hire them, sir,” Pepper said as her fingers flew quickly over the buttons of her Blackberry.
“What’s so important about formalities, anyway?” Tony sighed. “Look at me, worrying about food and where people are sitting. I don’t care about this stuff, and they call me frivolous?” Tony leaned back against his chair. “You know,” he said. “It wasn’t like this, before,” he swallowed. “With Natasha, I mean. She didn’t care about wedding arrangements, about flowers or about where people should sit, and stuff like that.”
He’d thought she only cared about getting married to him; he’d thought they shared that, too.
Pepper gave him a long look. “It’s important to Captain Rogers, sir.”
Tony rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “So it is,” he said.
“So it’s important to you,” she said. Then, “sir.”
Ten months away from The Day, Pepper had finally convinced him to announce the engagement. She said it would be better in the long run. Ten months would be plenty for the medias to digest the news and move on to other saucy subjects. Or so Pepper had said.
Two months later, they still hadn’t been able to escape the circus following them around.
A mike was shoved right into his face, almost taking out an eye. “How do you feel so close to The Big Day?” the journalist screamed so she could overcome the noise of the crowd of journalists that had amassed around them.
Before Tony could even attempt to think up an answer, the ever-gentleman Steve came to the rescue. No matter that Tony was a master of Dealing With The Press-Fu. He could probably open schools and hold seminars on the subject. “No comment,” he said, shoving the woman away without any effort at all.
Together they made it through the sea of people, arms, microphones and cameras and reached the safety of Tony’s house interior.
“You know when the article comes out they’re going to title it “America Turns Gay”, don’t you?” Tony said. “They want to see if we go through with it, I bet that’s why they haven’t used it yet.”
Steve sighed and leaned against the wall.
“This isn’t easy for you, is it?” Tony asked, suddenly. “All the press, and the gossip and the gay stuff. The 40s weren’t big on the gay thing, I bet.”
Steve shook his head. “It’s exactly like the 40s,” he said. “I’m marrying the person I love.”
Apart from a memorable fight centered around the color scheme (Tony was not having red, white and blue) which had needed the intervention of Pepper, the planning went on as smoothly as Tony and Steve could make it, considering Tony had to run a company, Steve had his duties with S.H.I.E.L.D. and they both had the Utlimates.
Despite all that, they still managed to find at least a couple of nights a week to sit down and work on their wedding plans. Well, Steve worked on it, Tony just kept him company and offered helpful advice.
Tony stretched on the sofa and let his feet fall on Steve’s lap, pushing all the papers and folders to the floor. “I declare us done for the night,” he said.
Steve looked at the mess on the floor, he seemed to consider it, but whatever he was thinking, he tossed down the list he was holding as well and let his hands rest on Tony’s ankles. His thumb brushed against Tony’s skin, right under the hem of his trousers.
“You do know I’m only doing this for you, don’t you?” Tony said. “I don’t care about flowers, or menus, or how many steps we should take to reach the altar. I’m only in this for you.”
Steve stared at him for a long moment, then he smiled and bent down to give him a light kiss.
Tony blinked, cleared his throat and then twisted around to pick up a folder from the floor. “Color schemes”, it said on the cover. “I can go as far as white and blue,” he said. “But not red.”
Steve chuckled.
I’m marrying the person I love, Steve had said. And, This is ours.
“Oh,” Tony said, quietly. “I get it.”
Steve mumbled an unintelligible question and rolled around in the bed to face him. “Tony?” he tried again, this time in English.
“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve been told I’m terribly egocentric,” Tony said. “On the other hand, you’re a control freak on every aspect of your life.”
“Did you wake me up to insult me?” Steve frowned.
“But that’s the point, isn’t it?”
Steve gave him a long look. He twisted around to get a good look at the clock on his nightstand. “It’s- three o’clock in the morning,” he pointed out, “can you be a little less cryptic?” He scratched his head, making his hair stick in every direction.
“You’ve finally got something that’s only yours, not the Government’s, not the Nation’s, not the Army’s,” Tony said. “You can indulge in your control-freakness unchallenged.”
Steve stared at him. “I’m glad you get it, then,” he said, somewhat stiffly.
“I do, I do,” Tony nodded and gave him a quick kiss, before settling back. “It’s our goddamn wedding.”
“It is.”
Tony closed his eyes. “So,” he said. ”Jumping out of a plane down somewhere in the Pacific?”
Steve snorted. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”
Prompt #1: Steve and Tony are getting married and Steve treats it like he's planning a military campaign
Universe: 1610
Things you'd like to see: Humor and lightheartedness, serious debate about china styles and color choices
Things you don't want: Arguing or major fights between Steve and Tony
Author:
dorcas_gustineUniverse: Ultimates
Rating: PG-13
Betaed by
valtyr. Timeline is set sometime after Ultimates 2. Prompt at the end.Tony didn’t think much of it at first; after all, he was used to seeing Steve bent over folders and S.H.I.E.L.D. documents that ranged from personnel evaluations to the latest memo regarding the coffee machine’s maintenance cycle, or so Steve said. Tony had never bothered to check, but he surely got to hear how many resources and paper S.H.I.E.L.D wasted on ‘these useless memos. What do we care the machines on the fourth floor won’t have milk on Tuesday?’. Tony had tried to explain to him that modern society mostly functioned on caffeine, but the concept was lost on Steve, who couldn’t be affected by any type of drug.
It had been a couple of weeks without any of said rants, so Tony had figured that either Fury had gotten the hint, or Steve had finally given up on the whole memos thing. They were sitting down at breakfast, Steve as always buried behind folders and Tony with the limited mental functions of his pre-caffeine brain.
He was reaching over the table to get some sugar from Steve’s side of the table (Steve was a sugar hoarder because of his super-fast super-soldier metabolism, eating whole spoonfuls when he thought people weren’t looking; you’d better have your coffee sugared before he did or you’d be doomed to drink it bitter) that his eyes accidentally fell on an open folder.
He stared, his hand frozen in mid air as it reached for the sugar jar.
“Steve?” He only got an absent-minded sound of acknowledgement, as Steve went on studying intently some documents. “Are you infiltrating a high-society event?”
“No.”
Tony scratched his nose. “The wedding of some Royals or others?”
“No.”
“... Charity event at some consulate?” he tried as a last resort.
Steve raised his eyes from the stack of papers he was so intently reviewing. “No,” he frowned. “Why?”
“These brochures must have ended up in your work stuff by accident then,” he said, pushing the folder over to Steve so he could have look.
“No, they didn’t.”
“They are brochures of flower arrangements and shops that specialize in selling flowers. Large quantities of flowers,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then why-”
Steve reached over and closed the folder. Under the SHIELD crest, written in Steve’s clear letters was, helpfully, “Flower arrangements.”
“For the wedding,” Steve said, as if that should have been the first thought in Tony’s mind.
Tony stared. “Steve, it’s more than a year away.”
Steve cleared his throat. “I like to be prepared,” he said, matter-of-factly, but Tony thought he heard the hint of embarrassment in his voice.
Tony pushed away the “Flower arrangements” folder and opened another one. “Color schemes?” And it was meticulously organized at that. Ordered alphabetically and by gradient. Tony frowned and skimmed quickly through the pages. “We’re not having red, white and blue as a theme.”
Steve stood up suddenly and snatched the folder out of Tony’s hands. With a vaguely disapproving noise, he then gathered all the folders, files, photos and sheets of paper he had spread all over the table.
“It’s an important event,” Steve said. “The most important event of our lives. I want to be prepared, I want to leave nothing to chance.”
Tony blinked up at him. “Look. I don’t think I’m ready to have this conversation before coffee, but what’s the deal? I hired people to do what you’re doing. Well, I told Pepper to sort it out and she hired people. All we have to do is show up in thirteen months, as sober as we can make it.” He frowned. “Or as drunk as we need to be, considering.”
“Right,” Steve shook his head. “Of course. You hired people,” he said, with that mix of disappointment and resignation Tony had only ever heard mothers use.
Tony, his coffee finally sugared, took a sip from his cup. He made a face, but drank again anyway. Coffee was coffee, even when it had become nothing more than a cold sludge. “And what’s wrong with that, Rogers?” he asked. “I’m hiring people in these times of recession. I’m doing the right thing and all that,” he waved a hand vaguely.
“If you say so,” Steve sighed.
Tony’s newly caffeinated brain deduced that something was most definitely not right at all. “What is it?”
Steve remained silent for a long moment, he just looked at him, his eyes dark. “This thing...” he started finally, “this thing is ours. I just want to make sure it goes as planned.”
“Of course it will! These people are professionals, either it goes as planned or I’ll sue them for all they’re worth,” Tony took another sip of coffee. “Unless... No, don’t tell me. You’ve been planning your dream wedding ever since you were a kid.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’m not joking, Stark,” he growled and with that he left, folders and all.
Tony watched him go, then turned to his cup of coffee. “That went well,” he said.
The coffee had no answers.
It was six hours later, thanks to the helpful advice of a couple of Martinis and a dozen olives, that Tony decided he might as well try and help Steve with the wedding plan. He still thought it was pointless (he had hired people, after all!) and too early to worry about such things, but he had to marry the man and having the first marital crisis before they were even married was a little too much even for him.
He secretly hoped Steve would leave the whole thing to the professionals once the novelty of it had worn down, so they could go back to kicking bad guys’ asses and participating in covert ops.
Not that there would be much chance of Steve letting it go, though. First, he was Steve Rogers, Captain America, and secondly he had probably even come up with a code name. Operation: White Dress, or Operation: Aisle.
Tony finally found him in the kitchen, once again with folders spread all over the table. Carol Danvers was there as well, and Tony fervently hoped she wasn’t going to offer any ‘helpful’ advice. This whole operation was already too military-flavored for Tony’s tastes.
“Hey, Danvers,” he wiggled his fingers at him, “how’s life treating you?”
“Stark-” Carol started, but Tony was already ignoring her.
“Good for you!” he grinned, then turned to Steve. “Now, Steve, as I was saying, I get it. You’re old-fashioned. Weddings were a big thing back in your day and all that, so you want it big and stylish.”
Tony reached over and snatched the folder Steve was reading out of his hands. “So here I am, helping you out.”
“Tony-”
“Stark-”
Tony batted Steve’s hands away and flipped through the pages. “Nonsense, it’s my wedding too, I can help...” he trailed off. “Either there’s something vital I missed about the reception, or this is the training roster.”
Steve took the folder back. “What tipped you off?” he said. “The obstacle course scheduled at 0900 or the firing range drill at 1100?”
“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony shrugged. “You know there will be a lot of press. Unless we get married in the Triskelion.”
Carol was probably trying to kill Tony with the force of her glare alone, and Steve had a most interesting expression.
“Great! Glad we cleared that up,” he patted Steve’s shoulder. “As you were.”
He hurried away before Carol could develop the power of death-glaring by effort alone. It was time for some maintenance on his armor, anyway.
And maybe some more Martinis.
And olives.
It was past midnight when Tony made for his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes along the hallway. He was only wearing his boxers when he fell face down on his bed, exhausted. It wasn’t late - at least, not by Tony Stark’s standards - but between upgrades on the armor and meetings he hadn’t slept much in the last three days.
Steve was already in bed, and Tony threw an arm over him and used it to pull himself closer. He ended with his face against Steve’s ribs. “Hey,” he mumbled.
It was Steve who brought up the subject again. In his Steve Rogers way, but still.
“It’s ours, you know.” Tony raised his eyes to look at his pale profile in the darkness. “Yours and mine. Ours. No one else’s. We should be the ones to...” Steve trailed off and and then urned to meet his eyes. Tony could barely see them, a flash of white. “You know?”
Tony sighed. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Of course. I see.”
“I just-”
“I get it, Steve.”
“Good.”
Steve went back to stare at the ceiling and now that Tony’s eyes had gotten used to the dark, he could see his eyelashes move as he blinked.
“Captain Rogers,” Tony whispered. “What’s your opinion on a little pre-marital sex?”
“I’ve been told I’m old fashioned.”
“I’m sure they were drunk, whoever they were.”
And so it came that Tony found himself sitting down with Steve, sorting through an endless to-do list (helpfully printed by Steve the night before; it had bullet points). The folders seemed to have bred overnight and were now color-coded.
“You have the seating plan,” Steve told Tony, then he handed him a long list of names. “These are the guests.”
Tony nodded and started flipping through. “Just how many do people we know?” he asked. There were names he had never even heard of. “How come you know people I don’t know?”
“They’re S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents,” Steve replied, then he handed him a huge sheet of paper filled with eight-row tables. “I’ve not yet decided on a place, but the layout should be the same for all. Eight people a table.”
Tony looked from the list to the tables and sighed. He started jotting down a couple of names, then tried to come up with an algorithm to randomize the distribution of guests, but gave up when Pym ended up at their table.
Having reached no conclusion, ten minutes later, he looked up at Steve. “How much drama do we want?” he asked, grinning and waggling his eyebrows.
Steve glared down at him. “None,” he said, but Tony could see he was fighting to keep a straight face.
“You’re no fun,” Tony sighed. “Weddings are supposed to be all about the drama,” he said. “It’s not like I plan to be there. At the reception, I mean,” he hastily added. “We’ll just- run away. You, me, the road and nothing else.”
Steve gave him a long look. “Tony, you wouldn’t survive two hours without indoor plumbing.”
“No, I’m serious. Listen, as soon as the rings are on we’re off to some undisclosed location in the Pacific. We’ll jump out of a plane to get there if it makes you happy.”
“Tony.”
Tony sighed and went back to the guest list. He put Thor right next to Fury in revenge.
“I’ve rescheduled the video-conference with Mr. Sugimoto at 12,” Pepper said, leaving a stack of paper on Tony’s desk. “And QA has started with the final tests on Project SI-586, they should have the results by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Tony nodded absently as he stared at his computer screen.
“And here’s your coffee, sir,”
“All right, Pepper,” Tony said, accepting the cup of coffee from her. “What do you know about flowers?”
Pepper frowned. “They grow on plants, sir,” she said. “Sometimes people give them as a gift.”
Tony snapped his fingers. “Flowers and weddings, I meant,” he said. “I’m in charge of the flower arrangements for the wedding.”
Pepper gave him a long look. “You are in charge of the flower arrangement?” she asked, clearly too shocked to remember their professional relationship. “Scratch that, you are in charge of anything at all involving your marriage?” She shook her head. “I’ve hired people, sir.”
“That’s what I told Steve,” Tony nodded. “But apparently I violated some code he has in doing so. I was originally in charge of the guest seating plan, but I was demoted to flower boy when Steve found out I was trying to keep the reception interesting.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“I’m telling you, Pepper, sometimes he’s very boring,” he said as if revealing a great truth. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters now is flowers. What do you know about flowers?”
“As I said, sir, I’ve hired people,” she replied. “Maybe you should ask them.”
“Maybe we should skip the flowers, many people are allergic to pollen,” he looked down and wrote “NO FLOWERS” on his clipboard. He considered it for a moment, then he turned to Pepper. “Didn’t you hire people for this, anyway?”
“Apparently, I’ll have to un-hire them, sir,” Pepper said as her fingers flew quickly over the buttons of her Blackberry.
“What’s so important about formalities, anyway?” Tony sighed. “Look at me, worrying about food and where people are sitting. I don’t care about this stuff, and they call me frivolous?” Tony leaned back against his chair. “You know,” he said. “It wasn’t like this, before,” he swallowed. “With Natasha, I mean. She didn’t care about wedding arrangements, about flowers or about where people should sit, and stuff like that.”
He’d thought she only cared about getting married to him; he’d thought they shared that, too.
Pepper gave him a long look. “It’s important to Captain Rogers, sir.”
Tony rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “So it is,” he said.
“So it’s important to you,” she said. Then, “sir.”
Ten months away from The Day, Pepper had finally convinced him to announce the engagement. She said it would be better in the long run. Ten months would be plenty for the medias to digest the news and move on to other saucy subjects. Or so Pepper had said.
Two months later, they still hadn’t been able to escape the circus following them around.
A mike was shoved right into his face, almost taking out an eye. “How do you feel so close to The Big Day?” the journalist screamed so she could overcome the noise of the crowd of journalists that had amassed around them.
Before Tony could even attempt to think up an answer, the ever-gentleman Steve came to the rescue. No matter that Tony was a master of Dealing With The Press-Fu. He could probably open schools and hold seminars on the subject. “No comment,” he said, shoving the woman away without any effort at all.
Together they made it through the sea of people, arms, microphones and cameras and reached the safety of Tony’s house interior.
“You know when the article comes out they’re going to title it “America Turns Gay”, don’t you?” Tony said. “They want to see if we go through with it, I bet that’s why they haven’t used it yet.”
Steve sighed and leaned against the wall.
“This isn’t easy for you, is it?” Tony asked, suddenly. “All the press, and the gossip and the gay stuff. The 40s weren’t big on the gay thing, I bet.”
Steve shook his head. “It’s exactly like the 40s,” he said. “I’m marrying the person I love.”
Apart from a memorable fight centered around the color scheme (Tony was not having red, white and blue) which had needed the intervention of Pepper, the planning went on as smoothly as Tony and Steve could make it, considering Tony had to run a company, Steve had his duties with S.H.I.E.L.D. and they both had the Utlimates.
Despite all that, they still managed to find at least a couple of nights a week to sit down and work on their wedding plans. Well, Steve worked on it, Tony just kept him company and offered helpful advice.
Tony stretched on the sofa and let his feet fall on Steve’s lap, pushing all the papers and folders to the floor. “I declare us done for the night,” he said.
Steve looked at the mess on the floor, he seemed to consider it, but whatever he was thinking, he tossed down the list he was holding as well and let his hands rest on Tony’s ankles. His thumb brushed against Tony’s skin, right under the hem of his trousers.
“You do know I’m only doing this for you, don’t you?” Tony said. “I don’t care about flowers, or menus, or how many steps we should take to reach the altar. I’m only in this for you.”
Steve stared at him for a long moment, then he smiled and bent down to give him a light kiss.
Tony blinked, cleared his throat and then twisted around to pick up a folder from the floor. “Color schemes”, it said on the cover. “I can go as far as white and blue,” he said. “But not red.”
Steve chuckled.
I’m marrying the person I love, Steve had said. And, This is ours.
“Oh,” Tony said, quietly. “I get it.”
Steve mumbled an unintelligible question and rolled around in the bed to face him. “Tony?” he tried again, this time in English.
“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve been told I’m terribly egocentric,” Tony said. “On the other hand, you’re a control freak on every aspect of your life.”
“Did you wake me up to insult me?” Steve frowned.
“But that’s the point, isn’t it?”
Steve gave him a long look. He twisted around to get a good look at the clock on his nightstand. “It’s- three o’clock in the morning,” he pointed out, “can you be a little less cryptic?” He scratched his head, making his hair stick in every direction.
“You’ve finally got something that’s only yours, not the Government’s, not the Nation’s, not the Army’s,” Tony said. “You can indulge in your control-freakness unchallenged.”
Steve stared at him. “I’m glad you get it, then,” he said, somewhat stiffly.
“I do, I do,” Tony nodded and gave him a quick kiss, before settling back. “It’s our goddamn wedding.”
“It is.”
Tony closed his eyes. “So,” he said. ”Jumping out of a plane down somewhere in the Pacific?”
Steve snorted. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”
Prompt #1: Steve and Tony are getting married and Steve treats it like he's planning a military campaign
Universe: 1610
Things you'd like to see: Humor and lightheartedness, serious debate about china styles and color choices
Things you don't want: Arguing or major fights between Steve and Tony