Chapter Text
Phil had never described himself as a masochist, and no one else ever had, either. But as he watched Tony Stark navigate the crowd and felt that distant stir of warmth in his stomach, Phil decided that a masochist was what he must be.
SHIELD had a hefty file on Stark, who had been the wold's premier weapons developer only five weeks ago. Phil had seen the file a time or two before, and this morning he'd given it a cursory glance-over before attending this little soiree in order to prepare himself for the shit storm that was Tony Stark.
But as he eyed Stark's nervous energy and crowd-pleasing smile, as the man brushed Phil off with an I-know-what-you-want-and-you-can-just-fuck-off roll of his eyes, and as he watched the man shamelessly flirt with his P.A. while she wore a backless dress, Phil realized he'd need to prepare himself for a whole different ball game.
Stark gave Ms. Potts a wide smile, a true smile, and Phil decided he wanted that smile for himself.
The other guests gathered near the bar looked at him in alarm when he stated, “The Director's going to be pissed.”
“What the hell is going on out there?” Fury hissed. “You assured me you were writing him a script!”
“I did, sir. And he promptly discarded the notes I gave him when he reached the podium,” Phil calmly explained. “I suggest we register Iron Man as a Special and begin preparing for any legal ramifications.”
“Deal with it, Coulson.”
“I will, sir.”
Phil ended the call and turned back to watch Tony Stark's grandstanding. The man wore a proud, cocky smile and he was positively beaming as cameras flashed and reporters yelled questions at him.
Phil allowed a grin to briefly stretch across his lips because no one was watching, and because it would take at least a month, if not two, to clean up this mess and stabilize the situation.
Phil was a bureaucrat. He was also a seasoned SHIELD agent and one of the organization’s finest handlers, but he was primarily a paper-pusher. And he took advantage of every extraneous form and bureaucratic bull shit protocol that he knew of in order to ensure that he enjoyed an extended stay at Stark's Malibu mansion.
“After you're finished with the preliminary documents, you'll need to fill out forms A-7 through A-15 as well as CA 438 and D797 – and you'll need those in triplicate-”
“Pepper!” Stark whined, turning towards his PA. Ms. Potts was leaning against the bar with a martini in one hand and her cell phone in the other.
“Don't even,” the woman snapped. “We wouldn't have to register your Iron Man as an 'Advanced Technological Prosthesis' if you'd just read the note cards. And I wouldn't have to deal with the Board or the press. You dug your grave, now lie in it!”
Stark knew better than to argue further – the press storm following his announcement had swamped Ms. Potts, and she'd been short tempered and ill mannered towards Stark for the past week.
Tony turned back to the piles and piles of paper spread across his coffee table. There were seven distinct piles that he could see, not to mention a full box which Agent hadn't dug into yet.
Tony felt helpless in the face of all that Times New Roman. Baddies with guns and jack-ass business partners trying to kill him and steal his company, he could handle. But paperwork? Reading all those pages in order to make sure there wasn't any fine print stating that he would be selling his soul to the devil (or the government) was exhausting. Not to mention the fact that he couldn't sign papers with his finger or a stylus. His hand hurt after holding a pen for an hour. Seriously, people had to get over their sentimentality towards pencils and paper and start living in the future.
“Why do I even need to do this?” he complained. “Iron Man is my personal intellectual property. And I refuse to build any for the government-”
“But you're flying into foreign countries and engaging hostile forces in battle. Half of this paperwork is to absolve the U.S. government of any involvement in the event that Iron Man causes massive damage or starts an international incident,” Agent explained with a bland smile. “These,” he continued, “are for your insurance company. Those are private patents to insure that your private intellectual property remains your private intellectual property. Those pages are a formal registration of your Iron Man as an 'Advanced Technological Prosthesis.' These are property damage reports related to the destruction of Stark Industry's development facilities, and those are the damage reports in relation to the incident on the highway.”
“And those?” Tony asked, motioning to the untouched box of documents by Agent's feet.
“I've agreed to assist Ms. Potts with the transfer of Mr. Stane's property and holdings into your name.”
Tony's heart sank at the reminder of his dead business partner and (faux) friend. The jackass hadn't changed his will before orchestrating Tony's kidnapping and attempted murder, probably as a ploy to divert speculation and suspicion of his involvement if fingers started pointing towards him. Therefore, upon his death, Tony inherited the entirety of Stane's assets as well as his portion of Stark Industries.
“Are you ready to begin, Mr. Stark?” Agent asked with a small, bland smile.
Tony wanted to smack the man. Or dump his drink on that pristine, generic suit. Or any number of other impulsive, immature actions.
Except that when they'd sat down to begin their discussion, Agent had very neatly flashed the gun holstered beneath his suit jacket and the stun gun at his belt. Pepper only ever had those sharp stilettos that he had to dodge from time to time. It figured that Agent would have neater, more effective means of making him behave.
Tony decided he'd give the man an hour of his time before wandering off to his workshop and locking the place down.
Working with Tony Stark was certainly entertaining, Phil found. He thought of the whole thing as a game. Stark would play nice for thirty minuets or an hour at a time, reading over the pages Phil put in front of him and absentmindedly filling them out. Then, he would throw a small but distracting tantrum or claim he had more pressing matters to attend to or he would stand up for a cup of coffee and simply disappear. Phil would have to track him down, interfere with his projects or simply provide a distracting presence while Tony tried to escape to his workshop. Eventually, Phil would drag the man kicking and screaming back to the living room to fill out a bit more paperwork.
Phil didn't mind when Stark was evasive or dragged his feet. The billionaire’s tantrums were works of art, lacking in any true motive but full of loud words, wide hand gestures, and unfounded accusations, effectively working anyone in the vicinity into a light rage. It wasn't until latter, after everyone had removed themselves from the situation, that they realized they weren't really angry about some guy on twitter said or why aren't there more milkshakes in front of me right now or whatever benign comment Stark decided to use to initiate a confrontation. Phil soon realized that while SHIELD agents were highly trained in controlling a situation by always maintaining a level head, Tony Stark had learned to control situations by causing chaos. It was highly effective, and Phil considered teaching the technique to new agents.
Then, when Stark realized that Phil was onto the game and wasn't rising to the bait, Stark turned to complaining, which was fun in an entirely different way. Stark said the most entertaining things while he complained. He made up fantastic and exciting excuses to avoid anything he didn't want to do, and he pouted beautifully when Phil remained unmoved by his pleas for freedom.
“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Stark groused as Phil revealed that he'd had all of the coffee pots removed from the premises save for one so that the only available taste of caffeine could be found sitting next to a number of forms Stark needed to fill out. “You're driving me insane! And you're doing it on purpose! I know you are!”
“For a genius, it took you an astounding amount of time to figure that out,” Phil said easily. “Of course, your avoidance is only making it worse, you know.”
“Wait, did you just admit to drowning me in paperwork on purpose? What is this, SHIELD's passive aggressive form of punishment for going off the cards? But wait, we finished filling out all that SHIELD crap days ago. So where did the rest of this come from – Have you literally been pulling paperwork out of your ass?”
“Not from my ass, no.”
“I mean, when I see those piles of paper every day, I do notice that they're getting bigger, not smaller. That's an impressive skill set, Agent. Although I would have thought you'd want me out of your hair sooner rather than latter. Then again, I can understand why you'd want to live it up in my super amazing Malibu house for a while instead of sitting in whatever dank cubical your secret government organization gives you to work in. But still, I come with the house, and people usually only hang around me and my house for one thing and one thing only-”
Stark abruptly froze, his steps faltering, his eyes widening, and his mouth hanging open.
It was fun watching him work it out.
“Oh, Agent! You sly dog! Is this how you flirt with handsome, rich geniuses? Really, I'm flattered, but unless you didn't hear, I'm a pretty easy lay. Give me a drink and a leer and I'm good to go. You don't need to file and organize enough paper to kill a whole forest. Although I have to say, killing a forest is certainly one of the more impressive things anyone has ever done to get in my pants-”
“I'm not trying to get in your pants,” Phil said blandly. He kept his placating, unassuming smile glued to his face as he continued, saying, “At least, not yet.”
Phil was gratified by Stark's stunned silence.
Stark was much more accommodating when he knew that Phil was trying to flirt with him. Stark still didn't get much work done, now preferring to spend his time and energy coming up with paperwork related come-ons and innuendos. But he sat at his desk and fiddled with his pen and shuffled pages around and generally looked productive for most of the morning and early afternoon. However, he spent most of his time speculatively eying Phil rather than actually doing anything. Phil suspected that Stark didn't really believe in his intentions and was trying to test the waters to figure out how far he could push Phil until the man backed off or blushed or something equally as unlikely to happen.
Again, Phil didn't mind. Stark didn't seem to know what to do with someone who wanted to sleep with him but wasn't jumping into his bed. Phil knew from Stark's file that he'd never been in any sort of serious relationship for more than three months with someone who wasn't a super model or a self serving scientist looking for a foot up in the world. The man didn't know the first thing about healthy, normal relationships.
So Phil tolerated Stark's awkward flirting and stilted work ethic.
“So you're a super secret agent for a super secret spy organization, right?” Stark asked one day as he watched Phil double check some forms they'd just finished filling out. Stark had gotten bored of trying to make Phil blush, and when that happened he usually resorted to treating Phil with a bit of real conversation. “So shouldn't you be infiltrating evil government conspiracies or something? Do all agent spy people do this much paperwork?”
“No,” Phil said absently as he carefully whited out some machine schematics which Stark had drawn in the corner of one of the pages. “I was injured a few years ago and I was banned from active duty for a long period of time. I found that doing paperwork kept me from getting too bored and killing myself. I found it was also a fantastic way to keep tabs on my coworkers. At one point in time, I knew if anyone so much as sneezed while wandering around headquarters.”
“Huh. So what happened? Were you shot?” Stark asked.
“I was thrown out of a fourth story window and broke my spine along with several other rather important body parts.”
“Well crap,” Stark said sympathetically. “How long were you laid up for?”
“It was two years before I was pronounced fit for duty again. And in that time, I had become very comfortable with my desk job.”
“From getting thrown out of buildings to baby-sitting billionaires... Sounds boring.”
Phil gave Stark one of his most unimpressive smiles. “I find that there are certain perks.”
“So how does that work, going from regular ninja to paper ninja? If you're upset or angry, do you have to file your intent to punch someone in the nose instead of just going for it?”
“Sometimes,” Phil hummed as he made note of a section of paperwork where Stark had written an equation on the signature line instead of his name.
“Is there a form you have to fill out before you jump into bed with me?”
“No. I can fuck whoever I want. However, I'll have to write a letter of intent before properly seducing you. At which point I'll probably be called in for a psyche evaluation and drug testing. Once it's apparent that you aren't cohering me in any way, I'll be called in to defend my actions and decisions to the Director.”
“Sounds like a pain in the ass. I vote we skip the whole seduction thing and go strait to bed.”
Phil gave a bland smile before telling him, “Not until we're finished with your paperwork.”
Phil was heartened by the slight pout that Stark adopted.
“Tony tells me you're trying to seduce him,” Ms. Potts said in greeting. The woman looked thoroughly harassed. Phil recalled that she'd been spending the last two days liquidating Stane's assets and absorbing them into Stark's accounts. The Board of Director's of Stark Industries were in a tizzy about Stane's death, especially considering the man had done his damned best to lock Stark out of the company, and the Board held firm that this was still the best course of action, even with the reveal of Iron Man. Stark was very forgiving about the whole thing – the Board didn't know that Stane had been selling Stark weapons to hostile enemy forces. But Potts was the one left scrambling to appease the Board and ensure that Stark kept control of his company.
Phil gave her one of his warmer smiles as he told her, “Not yet, I'm not. I haven't submitted any letter of intent to my supervisor. And my interactions with Stark remain professional, except for some basic light flirting. Until we are no longer working together in a professional capacity, it would be best if some level of distance and discretion was maintained. I'm simply laying some groundwork at the moment.”
Pepper smiled, a small, bright, happy thing that made her appear years younger. “I was going to warn you off, but it seems like you know what you're doing.”
Phil nodded. “I've read his file and I've outlined a seven step plan. I anticipate settling into a steady long term relationship with Mr. Stark in six to eight months.”
Pepper's eyebrows rose. “Wow. That's... specific. Do you do this every time you have a crush on someone?”
“No, Ms. Potts. But I find that excessive bureaucracy simultaneously annoys and amuses Mr. Stark, so I've gone out of my way to create extraneous lists and filing systems on his behalf.”
With another small smile, Pepper said, “You'll do fine, I think. As long as you know what you're getting into... Has he been behaving during all of this? Do you need any help?”
“I was actually going to ask you the same thing,” Phil said, eying the deep circles under her eyes and her stiff posture.
Phil recognized the set of her shoulders and well-grounded stance. Ms. Potts had the look of someone who had grown accustomed to being attacked. Between the Board and the press, Pepper Potts was being run ragged.
“I've given Stark enough paperwork to keep me here and him busy for at least two weeks more. I suggest you take some time off.”
Pepper sighed. “I couldn't... I need to fly to New York tomorrow for another meeting with the Board, and there are several reporters who are making right nuisances of themselves-”
“They've been humored enough for the past two weeks,” Phil interrupted. “I suggest you let them sit on what they have for a few days and take some time for yourself.”
Pepper eyed him speculatively. “And you'd keep an eye on Tony?”
“Yes.”
“And I can trust you to keep an eye on Tony?”
Phil responded with a confident nod.
Pepper eyed him for a minute more. Then she straitened, saying, “Happy and JARVIS will be sending me regular updates and reports. Remind Tony that if he hacks my phone, turns it on, and calls me excessively, I'll make him attend every board meeting in New York for a month. Phil, it was a pleasure to see you again. I'll be back in five days, and I wish you luck.”
“Enjoy your vacation, Ms. Potts,” Phil said in parting.
Tony refused to touch the pages regarding Obidiah Stane. He would have put it off indefinitely, if his lawyers and Stane's weren't breathing down his neck to cross his Ts and dot his Is. They wanted their piece, and when push came to shove, Tony was happy to give them whatever little tidbits they could find, but that didn't mean he was eager to deal with the mess Stane left behind.
Luckily, the ever wonderful and amazing Pepper Potts (Tony made a note to design and build her a cabin on that lake that she always vacationed at when she had time to herself. And maybe he would buy her the lake as well, to be thorough) had dealt with most of the liquidation. Stane's properties were being sold off, Tony was now the sole CEO of Stark Industries, and Tony was playing hot-potato with Stane's money, handing it away as if it would burn him if touched.
But there were still those pesky Ts and Is to worry about.
Tony finished off a bottle of liquid courage at two in the morning and made his way to the living room, where he found a second bottle of liquid courage and a box full of Stane related paper work shoved surreptitiously under an end table.
So Tony sat down and began sorting through all of Obi's blood money and lies. And if he crossed those Ts and dotted those Is with a little more force than strictly necessary, well that wasn't anyone else's business but his.
“Need coffee? Whiskey? Both?”
Tony jumped as Agent wandered into the room.
It was the first time he'd seen Agent in anything other than that pristine, overly simple business suit he wore all the time. And Tony could only stare in mild horror at the Agent's matching two piece pajama set, his comfy house slippers (worn with socks) and the long blue night robe the man was wearing.
Seriously.
“What are you doing up and about, Agent?” Tony asked, his words lightly slurred. “Not waiting around for the Polar Express, I hope. Christmas isn't for another five months.”
“Couldn't sleep,” Agent answered. “I got up for some milk.”
Tony eyed the mug clasped in Agent's hand. “Warm milk?” he asked.
Agent nodded.
“Beaver called. He's suing you for copyright infringement. He'll be taking the milk and those slippers.”
“Beaver can have these slippers over my dead body. You can have the milk.”
True to his word, Agent dropped the warm cup of milk into Tony's hands and began sorting through the pages Tony had finished signing.
Curious, Tony took a sip of the drink in his hand. He found it to be just as appetizing as cold milk, which is to say it wasn't appetizing at all. Tony made his displeasure known by “accidentally” spilling some of the milk over Stane's documents as he set the mug on the table in front of him.
Agent actually chuckled a bit at Tony's childish actions. “He doesn't have a grave to piss on, so I suppose that will have to do.”
“Pepper says I'm doing a fine job of pissing away his money. I donated a couple of his favorite houses to an organization which boards refugees from war-torn countries. I donated another huge chunk of his fortune to some people who search for live land mines and deactivate them. How's that for a fuck-you-jack-ass?”
“Very appropriate,” Agent nodded. “And look, you actually wrote 'fuck you jack ass' under your signature on this one.”
“Huh. I don't remember doing that. Don't cover it up or cross it out or anything.”
“I won't, while you're looking,” Agent agreed.
It took longer than Phil thought it would, but Stark eventually noticed that something was off.
“Where the hell is Pepper? Why isn't she answering my texts? JARVIS! Where the hell is Pepper?!”
“Agent Coulson suggested she take a vacation. Ms. Potts will return from Brazil in six days, sir,” JARVIS politely informed him.
Stark spun around to point an accusing finger at Phil. “Saboteur! You're trying to kill me!”
“I'm not,” Phil argued, a smile quirking the corner of his lips.
“You are! Why else would you send her away?!”
“Ms. Potts has already been away for four days, Mr. Stark,” Phil calmly explained. “JARVIS and Happy have been keeping her informed of your health and continued sanity. And since you're doing well despite her absence, she decided to extend her stay.”
“Conspiracy!” Stark cried, furiously pacing from one side of the living room to the other. He was waiving his arms and flailing his hands. Phil found his antics mildly entertaining. “All of you are conspirators! JARVIS, I'm concerned for my safety! Call Pepper!”
“By your admission, sir, I'm included in your list of conspirators,” the A.I. pointed out.
“What did you do to JARVIS, Coulson? And why does Pepper get to go to Brazil? I totally deserve a vacation!”
“You'd deserve a vacation if you actually sat down and did any of the paperwork I've been handing you,” Phil told him, adding a note of stern steel to his admonition.
Stark paused, and a small, devious smile quirked the edge of his lips. “So, if I finish all of this paperwork, I can join Pepper in Brazil?”
Which suggested that Stark intended to finish all of his work within the next three or four days. Phil had estimated that he'd have two or so more weeks with Stark in Malibu before they were finished with their work at the pace Stark was currently working at. And on one hand, even Phil was getting a little tired of doing all of this extraneous paperwork. But on the other, he thought he'd have more time to lay some groundwork with Stark before telling Fury about his intentions and beginning to seduce Stark in earnest.
Que sera, sera.
“Yes, if you finish all of this paperwork, you can join Pepper in Brazil,” Phil told him.
“And you'll come with me?”
Now that was a pleasant surprise. While he knew Stark was no longer put off by his very presence, he didn't know that Stark found him agreeable enough to actually want them to spend time together.
And he'd never been able to enjoy Brazil before. Last time he was in the country, Phil had been too distracted by the former Nazi scientist he'd been sent to assassinate to properly enjoy the sights or culture.
Surely Fury would understand. Even he'd enjoyed Brazil in a non-work capacity a time or two.
“Deal,” Phil told him.
“You let Stark drag you to Brazil?” Fury said quietly, calmly. Which was a Bad Thing. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Agent Coulson?”
Phil was nervous, but he'd be damned if he let the Director know that. And so with the calm confidence he'd used to approach anything having to do with the situation thus far, Phil said, “Yes, Director. I intend to seduce Stark.”
Fury took a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. “Coulson, tell me. Have you lost your god damned mind?”
“Quite possibly, sir.”
“You're going to compromise yourself for Tony Stark?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have half a mind to ship you to the facilities in Cambodia for an attitude adjustment, Agent.”
“Stark would track me down before the plane could take off, sir. I'm expected for dinner tonight. Apparently Ms. Potts makes an excellent Chicken Florentine.”
“If you don't marry this man, I will cut off your balls.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Get out of my sight. I don't want to see your face for at least a month.”
Which in Fury-speak translated to “I think you're crazy so take some time to figure your shit out. If you haven't gotten this guy out of your system by then, I'll maybe take you seriously.”
At least the psych eval and drug tests hadn't been demanded.
Yet.
At dinner, Phil played footsie with Stark under the table. It was the first time Phil had initiated any sort of physical contact with the other man. He knew Stark would love it because it was a form of attention and it was utterly juvenile.
Phil and Pepper talked about Italy and their haunts in Milan. Phil and Stark talked about Iron Man and debated whether Iron Man or super-secret-spy-man were greater heroes.
Pepper's Chicken Florentine was indeed delicious, but Phil preferred the part of the meal where Stark got bold and while Pepper's back was turned, he leaned over and licked a bit of sauce from Phil's upper lip and mumbled, “Yum.” Phil rewarded his boldness by trapping one of Stark's feet between both of his and keeping him pinned there for the rest of the meal.
The entire thing was very domestic, a word Phil never would have thought could apply to a situation involving Tony stark. But Tony spent the evening talking about Iron Man and Brazil. Pepper spoke about Stark Industries, and Phil didn't talk about SHIELD while wearing an enigmatic smile.
After dinner, Pepper left, and Stark had adjustments to make to his armor, so Phil joined him in the man's workshop and alternately gave his attention to a movie Stark put on for him and idly eyed Stark as he worked.
“If Stark Industries doesn't produce weapons anymore, what will your new claim to fame be?” Phil asked after the movie had ended. “You won't be producing a bunch of technological prosthesis, will you?”
Stark snorted. “No. I haven't exactly figured that part out yet, which is half of why the Board wants me gone. Weapons weren't the only things made by Stark Industries, though that was the most lucrative aspect of the company. I'll be giving more attention to our electronics and medical departments until I figure out SI's next big thing. It will probably be a couple of years before SI finds it's new niche and starts turning a real profit again.”
“And SI's weapons plants?” Phil asked. “And the employees who have found themselves without work?”
“They have work,” Stark said dismissively. “The plants are being outfitted to build electronics instead of weapons. And in the meantime... My dad had this idea for a giant science expo. Like a World Fair only with a more exclusive guest list. I'm thinking of putting some of my people to work on that while they're waiting around for the plants to reopen. Pep and I will be meeting with our lawyers and planning committees about it next week.”
“A science expo,” Phil hummed. “That would also be a fantastic place to scout for new talent and ideas.”
“Sure,” Stark said with a grin. “There will be several buildings dedicated to middle school and high school science fair projects, as well as amateur presentations. There will be all sorts of fun sciency ideas floating around.”
“And maybe you'll find a new niche,” Phil concluded.
“Sounds about right,” Stark agreed.
“Well right now, bed sounds about right to me. It's almost one in the morning,” Phil told him.
“Alright. Good night,” Stark absently replied.
It was fifteen minutes before Stark realized that Phil hadn't moved from his place on the workshop's couch.
“What?” Stark snapped in irritation when he noticed Phil. “Are you waiting for me or something?”
Phil gave him silence and a raised eyebrow as a reply.
“Oh. Oh,” he breathed. “So, like, tonight? We're finally going to pop this cherry?”
“Hardly,” Phil said, rolling his eyes at Stark's crude remark. “I just think it would be a little awkward if I went to sleep in your bed and you weren't in it with me.”
Stark stared at him as if the idea of bed minus sex didn't quite compute.
It made sense. Stark usually slept on the couch in the living room or on the rather comfortable looking cot in his workshop. His actual bed was generally reserved for other activities.
“You actually want me to sleep right now?”
Slowly, Phil stood. “I call dibs on big spoon.”
“Are you going to wear a matching pajama set?” Stark asked.
“Yes,” Phil replied.
“Huh.” Stark moved to stand, as well. He hesitated, though, glancing between Phil and the project he was working on.
“It will be there in the morning,” Phil promised him. “The same can not be said for me.”
“Well if you're going to twist my arm,” Stark grumbled.
“I could, if that would make you feel better about it.”
Tony gave him a small smile. Not one of the big, bright smiles he sometimes gave Pepper, but the curve of his lips and the crinkling at the edges of his eyes produced something very, very similar.
“I'll come quietly,” he promised. “No excessive force required.”
“Good,” Phil said with a smile of his own.
Despite Agent's bid for big spoon in bed, by three in the morning the two men were facing each other. Agent's arms were curled against Tony's chest while Tony had an arm tentatively wrapped around Agent's shoulders.
Tony couldn't fall asleep. He never could, when he consciously tried to. But usually he was kept awake by equations and blueprints. This evening, his mind was occupied by Agent's scent. And the collar of his ridiculous pajama top. And then the feel of Agent's skin when Tony pushed his hand against the other man's neck.
This was nice, Tony decided. It was quiet – the house was quiet, his machines were quiet, and his mind was quiet. And Agent smelled really good.
“Are you always this twitchy?” Agent murmured as his eyes blinked open.
“Yeah. Did I wake you up?” Tony asked.
“No. Internal alarm. I never sleep for more than three hours at a time.”
“That sounds horrible,” Tony said. When he passed out, he usually slept for 14 hours without interruption.
“I'm used to it. Combination of years of keeping on my toes during missions and avoiding nightmares. Do you want some milk?”
“God, no,” Tony huffed.
“Tea?” Agent tried.
“Doesn't tea have caffeine in it?”
“Not if it's decaffeinated. At least, not much. Relax. I'll bring you something bitter.”
Agent stood up, put on his slippers and robe, and he shuffled out of the room. Tony rolled into the warm spot Agent had left and breathed his scent until Agent returned.
Agent sat in bed for half an hour, reading through some secret internal SHIELD reports and sipping his drink. He didn't say anything about Tony's untouched mug of tea or how Tony just laid next to him, blinking up at the ceiling as the other man worked.
“You're smooth, aren't you?” Tony asked as Agent put his papers aside and situated himself back in bed.
“I shave every morning,” Agent informed him, the ass.
“You're trying to make an honest man out of me,” Tony accused as Agent easily maneuvered him to lie on his side.
“I've found that you can be brutally honest at times. I don't think I could handle you if you were any more so,” Agent told him as he assumed the position of big spoon. He curled neatly around Tony, back to chest, and his knees nestled into the back of Tony's. He pressed his palm against Tony's stomach, curling his fingers into the dingy t-shirt Tony wore to bed.
“I know what you're up to,” Tony groused.
“Then you'll know better than to put up a fight,” Agent breathed against the back of Tony's neck, preparing for another two-to-three hours of sleep.
Tony also settled, and when he closed his eyes, he quickly began to drift to sleep. Half way there, with his eyes closed and Agent pressed against his back, he remembered Agent's words – You'll know better than to put up a fight. Even in this happy place between alert and asleep, he knew that nothing was ever that easy, and a fight (probably a few fights) were inevitable. But at the same time, he thought Yeah, okay. Not fighting could be nice every once in a while.
As Stark fell asleep, he was incredibly pliant in Phil's arms, and the man didn't even notice as Phil slowly and gently turned the man so that they were facing each other in the bed.
Generally, he liked to sleep back to front with his bed partners (his SHIELD mandated therapist said it probably had something to do with protective instincts, when it had briefly come up in conversation once several years ago), but he was curious as to what Stark looked like when he slept. The other man very rarely sat still for any length of time, and Phil couldn't really imagine the man at rest.
Phil waited patiently for the man to fall into sleep. Stark shifted a bit, tilting his face down towards his chest, flexing his toes against Phil's calves, and occasionally releasing a breath that was more drawn out than his natural breathing yet wasn't quite a sigh.
Then, it happened. For a single, brief moment, Stark smiled, and Phil knew that it was one of Stark's true smiles, and it was just for him.
And Phil almost, almost had a panic attack. Because he was so compromised, and Fury was going to give him so much shit for this.