For Beatriz: Tony cooking Steve breakfast?

A Normal Breakfast

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Well, what a normal morning.

The blonde rolled over on to his back, huffing at the empty space beside him. He let his hand fall against the mattress with a thump, letting out another heavy sigh. He blinked the fogginess from his eyes, peering around the dim room, swallowing a few times to moisten his dry throat.

He always found it astounding that Tony could climb out of bed without waking him up. Steve supposed he wasn't such a light sleeper anymore, but then he'd hear Clint a floor down from him barking at the TV and was forced to rethink his consideration.

"Good morning Captain," JARVIS's voice rang. The man stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows raised. Despite living in Avengers Tower for a while now, he still wasn't used to the all of the technology that came along with doing so. He knew how to use everything perfectly fine, he wasn't an idiot; he just wasn't accustomed to it. It was still amazing to him that, for example, thousands of songs could be held on a device smaller than his hand. Or maybe, you could communicate with people millions of miles away in seconds, face-to-face or over messages.

It just intrigued him is all.

Steve sat up, humming as the cool air of the room slid up his bare torso. He glanced to the tinted windows, and immediately they cleared, showing flecks of snow following down from a still dark sky. What time was it? He stared at the snow for a moment, lips slightly parted. The city lights caused the room to glow in various colors of light, and it was kind of beautiful.

Steve blamed the artist in himself.

"Morning JARVIS," he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck out of habit. "Where's the village genius today? The lab?"

"In the kitchen," the AI responded swiftly, "I believe he is endeavoring to cook breakfast."

There was a pause.

"What time is it?"

The engineered voice managed to sound amused as he replied, "4:26 in the morning, Sir."

"I'm not even going to ask why," Steve said, pulling himself out of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing it was only making it a bit messier. He made his way over to the dresser and tugged it open, pulling out a long sleeved shirt.

He pulled it on, deciding against putting on pants as well. He glanced down at his boxers and shrugged. If anything, living in this century has only made him more confident. Of course, the first few months, practically first year really, was terrifying and hard and felt entirely too much like surviving and not living; but the hardship brought him new confidence and finesse. Being plucked out of one life and thrown into another was the ultimate challenge, one Steve grabbed and took control of.

Was he used to it? Just like the technology, he was able to, but he wasn't too inured to do so. Sometimes it got tiring, and sometimes he didn't want to be the heart of the team. Sometimes he wanted to lay in bed and watch movies and forget about saving the world at least for a little while.

Having lived with Tony for about two years now, he realized he was able to do that. And it was great.

He shuffled down the hallway, hearing dull music playing. It was most likely whatever was on the radio, because he was certain Tony wouldn't voluntarily listen to Bruno Mars. The man must be in one of his funks. He wondered why the engineer hadn't ended up in the lab, but the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway, watching as the genius, dressed in a similar manner of boxers and a faded t-shirt, flurried about the kitchen much like the snow outside. Steve remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest, counting the seconds it took for the man to notice him there.

"Eggs," the brunette said, bending over to peer into the fridge.

"In the back on the second shelf, Sir," JARVIS supplied.

Steve rolled his eyes at the man's laziness as he pushed orange juice out of the way and grabbed them. He watched as Tony cracked a few open into a bowl, not bothering to throw the accumulating eggshells on the counter away. He stopped just as he grabbed the fifth egg, swinging around.

"You're up?"

"It appears so," the soldier said, pushing away from the wall. He walked into the kitchen, looking at the ingredients gathering on the kitchen table and the pots and pans in multiple places. Instead of grilling him on why he couldn't sleep tonight, he opted for another route. "Why breakfast so early?"

"Figured it'd take a few hours to get it right," the man said waving the egg at the soldier. "What number am I on J.?"

"Number seven," the bodiless voice answered, sounding a bit dry.

"See," the Tony told him, shrugging, "Why're you up buttercup?"

He let out a bout of laughter, turning around to the heating stove. God, he was laughing at his own rhymes. Steve raised an eyebrow, lips quirked with mirth.

"Because the bed got cold," the blonde said sitting down at the messy table. He saw the tablet with a recipe on it. It was a simple omelet, but it appeared to be much more difficult for the older man to make than the mother of four, or so the introduction said, claimed.

He watched Tony pour the beaten eggs onto the hot pan.

"The pans too hot," Steve pointed out. He stood and lowered the dial, watching as Tony stepped away. He was giving the eggs a pointed look, like they were mocking him. Steve's eyebrow's furrowed and when he caught the shorter man's gaze, Tony bit at his lower lip.

"It's snowing," Steve decided to share, hands resting on Tony's shoulders.

"Yeah, started at like, two I think," he responded, and then winced.

He let his own hands slip up and rest on the muscled chest, warm and firm beneath his fingertips. He stared up at the man with those big brown eyes of his, hoping not to be scolded.

"Since two? Really?" the taller asked exasperated, blowing past Tony's attempts at not getting in trouble, "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I don't like it when you trick me with your venomous words," Tony said pulling away from the casual embrace. He looked to the eggs sighing through his nose.

"Venomous words," Steve said faintly, "Do you even hear yourself, you dope? If you were in your right mind, you would have let JARVIS answer. Why have you been up since two?"

"Told you, I needed a few hours to practice," he said, pointing at the eggs.

Steve sighed in frustration and sat back down at the table, missing the hurt look on the brunette's face. Tony padded over and stood in front of him, hands in fists at his sides. He looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to sit on the man's lap, or turn around and fail at cooking his seventh omelet.

"Can you help me chop up potatoes?"

Steve let himself smile, and chuckled before standing. He bent down slightly to press a kiss the tired man's forehead. He ran his hand through the soft short hair.

"Yeah, sure."

He got to work, letting Tony watch the eggs since he didn't really trust the man with a knife when he was so tired. He didn't feel like rushing down to either Bruce or the hospital because he lost a few fingers.

"Why are they sticking?" Tony asked as he worked to get the spatula underneath the firming eggs.

"Did you grease the pan?" Steve asked, pursing his lips in amusement.

"Shit," the man grumbled. He poked at the eggs a little while longer, a pout forming on his face. "Why is this cooking thing so hard?"

"It's not," Steve snorted, taking the spatula out of his hand and placing it on the counter, "You just don't have any experience." He turned off the stove and Tony grumbled a few incoherent thing's, most likely curses aimed at the 'stupid eggs' and let his head clunk against the man's chest.

"Want to make me toast and some coffee?" Steve asked, hand's coming up to rest on the man's back.

"Yeah," the man nodded, muffled against his chest, "Let's do that."

Steve sat down and watched Tony set up the coffee machine, rather than telling JARVIS to brew a batch, and put some bread in the toaster. He got out two mugs, the carton of milk, and sugar. He managed to carry all three things, and push aside the variety of items on the table aside at the same time.

The coffee beeped in completion just as the toast popped up.

Steve, with a soft smile on his face, watched the man pour to cups. He prepared Steve's with two spoonful's of sugar and a dash of milk like it was trained into his brain. The younger accepted the cup with a soft 'thanks' and took a sip.

The brunette left his black of course, and with a bit of sugar. He took a sip of it before heading over to pluck the toast out of the toaster. He shuffled over to the fridge and straightened with the butter in his hands and got to work buttering the bread.

He placed the four pieces, two on each plate, down on the table and sat next to Steve, a small smile on his face like he had won a prize.

Steve picked a piece of toast up, meeting Tony's attentive gaze, and took a bit. The genius leant against his hand, eyes drooped in affection.

"It's great," Steve praised, after chewing. The brunette smiled, feeling his heart flutter in his chest. He blamed it on the fatigue, but with Steve's hair all rustled from bed, a coating of blonde stubble on his jaw, in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, eating the sorry breakfast Tony had concocted, he felt like a million bucks.

"It's burnt," Tony said, leaning over to kiss the man's lips soundly. He pulled back, a smirk on his face before he added, "But thanks."

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Authors Notes: Look who updated! I have come back from the depths of hell my faithful followers! It's been like a year, I think, since I updated this story. I feel SO BAD. Honestly, I'm really sorry about it. I also have been busy with my Star Trek one-shots and school, work, sports… It's been chaos in my life lately.

Thanks to all who have enough loyalty to check and see if this bad boy updated! I hope you liked it my requester! It was refreshing to write them after having not done so in so long.

Have a lovely evening people!

-rousey

Ps I proof-read but sorry for mistakes!