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Every near-death experience she’d had in the last five years – and there had been many – found Hermione in Tony’s arms. They often found her in his bed covered in a thin sheen of sweat with his arms wrapped around her.
They didn’t have to be her own near-death experiences; Tony’s worked just as well at drawing the two of them together. They were best friends, and every time things cut too close they took the time to cherish one another, to shower each other with kisses and beg each other to be safe, not to take so many risks.
They always knew they weren’t going to keep those promises; they had a world to save.
Hermione had broken most of the bones on the right side of her body and spent a miserable two nights on a Skelegro regiment before she was able to steal away for time with him. The healing bones were still tender when she found herself in Tony’s room, but it was okay, he was always gentle with her.
“I love you,” he would always tell her, and she would say it back, and then the next day they would act like none of it had ever been said and they would joke with each other like two good friends should.
“Tony,” she whispered from his open bedroom door. She still preferred to ask permission before entering. It felt… presumptuous, otherwise.
He rolled over, sleep clouding his eyes. “Hermione.” He blinked the fog away and patted the bed next to him. “Come here.”
She did.
“I missed you,” she said earnestly, quietly.
One of his hands found its way to her cheek and he stroked her face softly. “I missed you, too. How are you feeling?”
“Feeling fine,” she lied. She pulled back the blankets and slid underneath them, reveling in the warmth of his skin.
He pulled a face. “Don’t give me that shit, Granger.” He sounded much more awake now. “How bad is it?”
“I’m just a little sore,” she soothed. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“I always worry about you,” he said, voice low.
She sighed, massaging his upper arm. “I know.”
“Do you?” He said it gruffly, taking her by surprise.
Her hand stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, nibbling gently on her lower lip and sighing into her.
Her toes curled and her hand found the back of his neck as she moaned lowly into the kiss. He knew exactly how to make a mess of her without even trying, all soft kisses no one but her would expect from such a gregarious man. He enveloped her completely, rolling her onto her back to pin her against the mattress between his arms, trailing kisses down to her collarbone.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you so much,” he returned, and she could feel it in his touch, the way he stroked her hairline, the way he looked into her eyes and she felt like he was the only person who had ever truly seen her. “So much.”
“I’m tired,” she said apologetically. “Is it alright if we just lay here?”
“For sure.” He rolled onto his back and she wrapped herself around him, resting her head on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. “Hermione,” he said suddenly in a strangled sort of voice. He took her chin and brought her face up to look her directly in the eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, eyes wide. Breathless.
“Nothing.” He kissed her again, deeply, and it felt like he was pouring himself into her as he pulled his arms from beneath her to cradle her. “I just love you.”
She left in the morning before he woke.
They didn’t need the morning.