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snowsnapdragon · 14 hours ago

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A New Tradition

(Whatever you celebrate, where ever you are, may the remainder of your year be peaceful and happy, and may the coming year be kinder to us all. And may we all have the family we need, and the one we deserve. Merry Christmas. -Sci)

“This is… Interesting.”

“You know what, Stark?” Steve maneuvered himself behind the bar, holding a massive dutch oven out in front of him. “I have survived the last month without complaint.”

“Huh, I seem to recall hearing some grumbling from your general direction-” Tony started, and Steve gave him a look. Tony grinned at him, unrepentant.

“I have survived the last month with minimal complaint,” Steve corrected. “I have lived through every holiday party, every fund raiser, every charity event, every hospital visit, every political meet and greet, every time our friends asked us over for a dinner, a drink, or a white elephant exchange.”

“I mean, we did end up with some amazing elephants,” Tony said. “You have to admit. The elephant to social gathering ratio was excellent this year.”

“I don’t ever have to buy another coffee cup, that’s for sure,” Steve said. “Get a trivet, please?”

Tony stepped around him, pulling out a drawer under the bat. “You realize this bar has seen much worse than this, right?”

“It’s hot,” Steve said, waiting for Tony to slide a trivet in front of him before he put the pot down. He propped his hands on his hips, and Tony grinned at him. Steve glanced at him. “What’s that face for?”

“Love the outfit,” Tony said.

Steve looked down at himself. He was wearing a Christmas themed apron with a distinct row of ruffles along the hem and a pair of matching oven mitts. “I’ve worn worse,” he said with a wry smile, tossing one of the mitts onto the bar.

“You make it work,” Tony admitted. He paused. “Somehow.”

“Look, I”m clean under it, that’s all I care about,” Steve said. “But I did everything I had to do this month and it’s over, and all I want-” He lifted the lid off the dutch oven, releasing a swirl of steam. “Is my Ma’s Irish stew.”

Tony leaned his arms on the bar across from him. “Smells great.” He looked up. “Sure you don’t want to have this tomorrow? On, you know, actual Christmas?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, I know we have a fancy dinner planned, and that’s nice, but honestly…” He pulled a ladle out from behind his back, giving the stew a quick stir. “This feels right. Just you, and me, and a good, solid bowl of stew.”

“I brought the bread. As instructed.” Tony pointed at the massive peasant loaf on the breadboard. “I do have a question though.”

Steve opened a cabinet, frowning up at the fancy bar glasses. “What’s that?”

Tony straightened up. “Where the hell did you pull that ladle from?”

“I tucked it into the ties of the apron,” Steve said, as Tony ducked around him, pulling out a drawer and giving Steve a bowl. Steve gave it a suspicious look. “Why do you have bowls in a drawer?”

“It’s a bar, Steve, we… We don’t usually use bowls here,” Tony pointed out. “Slice the bread, I’ll find some spoons.”

“Sounds fair.” Steve snagged a pepper grinder off of the shelf, dropping it next to the pot. “Did you grab some butter?”

“In the crock.”

“Something smells good.”

Tony didn’t even look up. “No.”

“It’s stew,” Steve said. “Want a bowl? I made plenty?”

Clint leaned in the lounge door. “Sure.”

“No,” Tony repeated. “We’re having a date. This?” He pointed to himself, then Steve. “This is a private function. Off you go now.”

“I want stew, though,” Clint said, utterly unbothered by any of that. He wandered over, a plastic jug thrown over his shoulder. “And honestly, I’m a little hurt. I came down here to see if you two wanted some cider; I got an extra gallon of the stuff with my grocery delivery.”

He dropped it onto the bar with a thud. “And this is the thanks I get?”

Tony stared at him. “Date,” he said, the word succinct.

“Maybe have dates in your own apartment,” Clint said. “Instead of the public areas. If you don’t want the public to show up.”

“I own the building,” Tony said.

“And you made the terrible choice to let me live here.” Clint shrugged. “Bet you regret it now.”

“I regret it literally every day.” Tony filled a bowl of stew and shoved it at Clint. “There, Tiny Tim. I’ve fed you. Off you go.”

Clint ignored him, ducking behind the bar. “Where are the spoons?” His phone beeped, and he dug it out of his back pocket. “Nice apron, Steve.”

“Thanks!” Steve picked up the cider. “We should heat this up.” He looked under the bar. “Where’s the coffee urn? The big silver one you keep for parties?”

“Want some mulling spices?” Clint leaned back against the bar, frowning down at his phone.

“No,” Tony said, even though it was clearly pointless.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Steve heaved the coffee urn onto the bar. “Tony, get some cups?”

“I will get two cups,” Tony said, holding up two fingers. “Two. No more.” He glanced at Clint. “Since when do you have mulling spices?”

Clint grinned. “I mean, I don’t. But Nat does.” He tossed his phone aside, and picked up the bread knife. “She’s on her way.”

Tony considered him. “I hate you. You know that, right?”

“I’m aware. I don’t care,” Clint said.

Tony opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Steve slid an arm around his waist, tugging Tony into the warmth of his body. The kiss was quick and firm, his lips lingering against Tony’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, and I’m waiting for the ‘but.’”

Steve grinned. “No ‘but.’” His hand slid down Tony’s back, giving his ass a quick squeeze. “Except this one.”

“That one’s fine,” Tony said. He leaned into Steve’s chest. His apron was liberally dusted in flour, and smelled of garlic in the best possible way. “Can we throw Clint out now?”

Steve rested his chin on Tony’s head. “No. And stop telling Clint you hate him.”

“See, there’s the ‘but,’” Tony said. Behind him, Clint was laughing, and Tony flipped him off without even looking in his direction. “I’m evicting him.”

“On Christmas Eve?” Clint asked. “That’s cold. Even for you.” He wandered into Tony’s line of sight, a bowl of stew in one hand, a slab of bread balanced on the rim. “That’s Ebanezer Scrooge behavior.”

“I find I’m okay with this,” Tony said, and he could feel Steve laughing. “Get out.”

“Are you throwing Clint out again?” Natasha asked. She walked into the lounge with a tray of cookies in one hand She was dressed in flannel pajamas with cartoon cats all over them.. “I bring mulling spices. And snickerdoodles.”

Behind her, Jane poked her head into the lounge. “Hi,” she said. “I have mince pie tarts? If you’d like some?”

Darcy ducked past her, carrying an armload of blankets. Beneath the pile of throws, her pajamas were printed with corgi puppies wearing santa hats. “We were having a pajama party, but this sounds like more fun.”

“We were having a date,” Tony told her.

“Cool idea,” Darcy said, tossing the blankets onto the lounge couch. “We’ll join you.”

“See, that’s what I said.” Clint waved a spoon at her. “Steve made stwe.”

“So we’re heating the cider?” Natasha asked, checking the urn. “How do we feel about cloves?”

“Does it matter how we respond to this?” Steve asked her, grinning.

Natasha dumped the packet of whole spices into the urn. “It matters in that I’ll warn you not to drink the mulled cider.” She reached for the jug. “Or the jam thumbprint cookies.”

“Or the mince pies,” Jane said, setting the plate down on the bar. The mini pies were the size of a turnover, perfectly brown and crisp. She adjusted the top of her pajamas, which had a pattern of whales dancing along the hem. There were more at the cuffs of her pants.

“I haven’t had a good mince pie since I was a kid,” Steve said, and she smiled up at him.

“Well, it’s better than what Thor’s bringing,” Jane said. “He’s got a treat from Asgard.”

“Fruitcake,” Darcy said. “He brought us interdimensional fruitcake.”

“I… Actually like fruitcake,” Steve said.

Darcy patted him on the shoulder. “Gonna be a good night for you, Cap.”

“My date has turned into a board meeting,” Tony said. But he headed behind the bar to pull out another stack of bowls.

“Why did you come to the lounge if you didn’t want company?” Natasha said as Darcy found a carton of eggnog in the mini fridge.

“Steve wanted the good tv,” Tony said.

“Yes, because the one in the penthouse is so small,” Clint said, deadpan. “And low res.”

“Also I like this couch,” Steve said, slicing the rest of the bread. “Where’s Thor?”

“He went to get Bruce,” Jane said. She picked up the remote. “What’re we watching?”

“Cristmas Carol,” Tony said.

“It’s a Wonderful Life,” Steve countered. Tony looked at him, and Steve pointed a finger in his direction. “You promised.”

“I was hoping you’d forgotten, honestly,” Tony said.

“Polar Express,” Clint said, and everyone stopped. He grinned. “C’mon, Tom Hanks uncanny valley body horror. For children!”

“I… I always manage to show up at the wrong time,” Bruce said, walking in with a large platter of sliced cheese and sausage. “Because, what was that?”

“We’re not watching Polar Express,” Tony said, but Darcy had already stolen the remote.

Thor had a large, paper wrapped package braced on one shoulder and a bag of tortilla chips in the other. His pajamas were covered in dancing Yetis. “What is Polar Express?”

“Possibly the worst holiday movie ever made,” Jane told him.

“No,” Tony said, even though it was clearly useless. Collecting a bowl of stew, he headed for the couch as Thor and Bruce added to the mess on the bar. At least he had his pick of the blankets.

Steve dropped down on the couch next to him. “Hi,” he said.

Tony gave him a look. “Hell of a date.” Around them, their friends bickered and talked, filled plates and bowls and cups. Darcy had found the Polar Express somehow, and Tony was resigned to at least a double feature now. “Did you have to bring the kids?”

Steve grinned at him. “I’ll make it up to you. For now?” He grabbed a corner of Tony’s blanket, dragging it over his lap. “Kind of nice to have everyone here.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony stirred his stew, trying not to smile. “Should’ve known this was your plan when you made a vat of soup.”

Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Christmas Eve. Everyone should be warm, and welcome, and have plenty to eat.”

Tony rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I only put up with this nonsense for you. You know that, right?”

Steve kissed his head. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

“Merry Christmas.”

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