#researching those mit cheers was definitely interesting lmao

[robertdowneyjjr]

kiss the beaver’s ass

(inspired by this post by @imaginestevetony)

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“Here, these should last you a whole week.”

A long and heavy sigh escapes from Steve’s lips as Bruce drops a heavy stack of clothes on the table. “You know, Tony’s not going to talk to me all week.”

“You should have thought of that before you agreed to the terms of the bet,” Bruce says unapologetically.

“I was just so sure I’d win,” Steve lets out an undignified whine. “I can’t get drunk! Of course I thought I’d win a drinking challenge!”

“Well, you didn’t.” Bruce smiles serenely, and Steve can see the glint of mischief in his eyes as he continues, pointing out each item as he goes. “Anyway, I got you everything you’ll need for the week. A hoodie you can wear in public, a few t-shirts for everyday wear, sweatpants you can wear at home, flannel pants for sleep, shorts and joggers for working out. Here’s a cap if you want to keep a low profile when you go out. A water bottle, because you should stay hydrated. And of course, a tie and cufflinks for that event you and Tony need to attend on Thursday night.”

By the time Bruce is done, Steve can feel a few stray tears prickling at his eyes. He’s not going to survive this week.

“So not only is Tony not going to talk to me, but he probably will make me sleep on the couch all week too.” Steve glares at the flannel pants. “He won’t let me into bed if I’m going to wear those.”

“Hm. That’s too bad.” Bruce folds the clothes back up neatly and hands them to Steve. “Oh, by the way.”

Judging by the smirk that’s creeping onto Bruce’s face, Steve is not going to like what he’ll say next.

“I’m sure Tony’s mentioned this to you already, but Rhodey’s flying back tonight. Good luck.”

Well. Fuck.

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Steve drags his feet as he makes his way back to his and Tony’s suite. He drops the clothes off in their shared closet, picks up the shirt at the top of the pile, and quickly changes into it. He debates for a while, then decides to put on the sweats as well. Might as well go all out.

He heads to the kitchen to get started on dinner. It doesn’t take long to decide what to make. He knows the grovelling process should start now if he wants to be forgiven soon, so Steve settles on making Tony’s favourite -- carbonara, from the recipe that Maria had passed down, and chocolate bread pudding for dessert, a dish Steve learned from his mother.

A little while later, he hears Tony and Rhodey’s voices filtering in from the hallway and braces himself for what he’s sure to be a whole boatload of judgment.

“Hey babe,” Tony greets as he walks through the door. “Smells amazing in here. Hope you don’t mind that I invited Rhodeybear over for dinner? He’s had a long flight, so I figure you wouldn’t mind if we kept him company.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Steve replies. He looks over his shoulder and gives the colonel a quick wave. “Hey Jim. Hope the flight wasn’t too rough.”

Rhodey pours himself a glass of water as he waves back. “It was alright. Mostly slept the whole way through. There was a bit of turbulence, which is always awful, but nothing I’m not used to anyway.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just one thing.” Steve takes a deep breath before he turns around, gesturing down at his outfit. “Can you let me explain before you throw me out the door?”

Aside from the slow fire sizzling behind him, the kitchen falls into a dead silence. No one moves for a solid minute, and Steve can feel the disgust at his clothes pouring out in waves from the two men in front of him.

“What,” Rhodey starts. “The fuck. Are you wearing?”

“Before you say anything else, I just want you to know, I’m so sorry.” Steve looks pleadingly at Tony, then at Rhodey. “I lost a bet. When you were away in Aspen for that tech conference a couple months ago, Bruce and I got into a drinking contest. I don’t even remember how it happened, but it did, and he bet me that I wouldn’t be able to outdrink him. And of course I agreed to the bet. I thought I’d win! But I didn’t, and his term was that I needed to wear Harvard gear for every outfit, for a whole week, if I lost. So here we are.”

Tony continues to stare in disbelief. “Why would you bet Bruce you’d be able to outdrink him?! He’s the fucking Hulk! He absorbs alcohol like it’s water!”

“I forgot! I just knew that I couldn’t get drunk, so I figured I’d win! And I really wanted to get him to reenact the whole Single Ladies video, so I agreed to the bet!”

“Steve, you’re such an idiot.”

“I know.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch this week. I don’t want that shit anywhere near me.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to sit down and have this nice dinner. You cooked -- which is very lovely of you, by the way, thank you -- so Rhodey and I will do the dishes while you get your stuff for the couch. Then I’m giving you the silent treatment for the whole week, because this is the worst betrayal I have ever experienced, and I refuse to talk to my dumbass husband when he’s dressed as a Harvard Hottie. Alright?”

Steve sighs and slumps into a chair. “Alright.”

They all settle into their seats at the table and dig in, making casual conversation throughout the meal. Steve savours every moment, knowing that this will be the last civil moment he’ll have with his husband for the rest of the week.

After the plates are clear, Steve helps bring the dishes to the sink. As he walks the short distance from the kitchen table to the counter, a butter knife slips off a plate, but Rhodey manages to catch it.

“Careful, Cap. Wouldn’t want to accidentally stab yourself with this.” Rhodey pauses, then smirks. “Though the blood would blend beautifully into that crimson shirt you have on.”

Before Steve can think of a retort, Rhodey takes the dishes from him. “I can grab these. Why don’t you call it a night, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Great! Night, Steve! Enjoy the couch!”

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The next day, Steve wakes up to the sound of plates being set down on the coffee table in front of him. He opens his eyes to see that Tony and Rhodey have apparently made breakfast for all three of them, and are bringing the dishes out to eat in the living room. The two of them are wearing matching MIT shirts, which isn’t generally out of the norm, but judging by their shit eating grins, they’re doing it mostly to fuck with Steve this particular morning.

“Good morning,” Steve croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “This all looks delicious. Thank you guys.”

Tony only raises his eyebrow at Steve before turning around and going back into the kitchen.

“Morning, traitor,” Rhodey says as he sets the cutlery down. “Nice flannel pants.”

“Thanks. You want a pair?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Steve shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

A moment later, Tony returns with the coffee pot and three mugs. He pours each person a cup and sits down next to Rhodey, barely even sparing Steve another glance.

“Before we eat,” Tony says, “I’d like to make a toast.”

“A toast?” Steve asks.

Tony doesn’t look at Steve, addressing Rhodey instead as he continues to speak. “More of a cheer. Actually, a song.”

A smile spreads across Rhodey’s face. “A drinking song?”

“A drinking song.”

With that, Tony and Rhodey launch into a tune together, holding their coffee up high and practically shouting the words out: “MIT was MIT when Harvard was a pup. And MIT will be MIT when Harvard's time is up. And any Harvard son of a bitch who thinks he's in our class, can pucker up his rosy lips and kiss the beaver's ass!”

They clink their mugs together and start in on their food, ignoring Steve completely.

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Somehow, by sheer willpower, Steve makes it through what feels like the longest week of his life.

Every time he’s in the same room as Rhodey, the colonel hisses at him and makes snarky remarks, making fun of Steve’s outfit. Steve gives back as good as he gets, which he knows Rhodey appreciates. But with each half-conversation, Steve looks forward to the end of the week when he can talk civilly with his friend again.

Tony makes good on his promise not to speak to Steve the whole time he has to fulfil this bet. When Steve asks a question, instead of responding directly, Tony texts his reply. Sometimes, he even tells JARVIS to relay a message back to Steve. Even when Steve is sitting right there, next to Tony, in the same room.

So it’s a bit awkward, having to attend the charity gala for their favourite animal shelter together, but not talking to each other at all. Well, Steve talks, and Tony hums. Nods and reacts, but never with actual words.

The worst is when the press takes notice of Steve’s tie and cufflinks and start hounding him with questions on why he’s chosen to wear these accessories to the event. Is he going to be a guest lecturer at Harvard soon? Did he make a recent donation? How does his MIT alumni husband feel about this? His MIT alumni husband, who poses for pictures with him while flashing his shiny class ring for the press.

Steve dodges all the questions and changes the subject every time it comes up. It’s exhausting, but he gets through the night, then the rest of the week.

Finally, Steve gets to remove the comfortable but forbidden Harvard hoodie, kick those sweatpants off, and put on his own clothes for the first time in seven days.

The first thing Steve does is go down to the workshop to find his husband. Sure, they were in each other’s orbit all week, but Steve still misses Tony. He’s so glad things can go back to normal, and Tony can speak to him again, and they can make up for the awful week he’s sure they both just had.

He keys in his passcode, barely waiting for the doors to slide open before he swiftly walks through and makes a beeline for where Tony’s sitting on table, holographic displays floating in front of him. Steve crowds up against Tony’s back, sliding his arms around his waist and nuzzling behind his ear.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Bet’s over.”

Tony turns around and flings his arms around Steve’s neck. “Oh thank god. That was brutal. Do you know how hard it was to not talk to you all week?”

“Well you didn’t have to. You decided to do that yourself.”

“I needed to make a statement.”

“By not saying anything?” Steve asks, amused.

“Yes, exactly. I love you, honey, but I can’t accept any Harvard gear in this household.”

Steve places his forehead against Tony’s. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“We are taking those clothes up to the roof and we’re gonna have a bonfire. But first.” Tony leans in and presses a long, lingering kiss on Steve’s lips before pulling back. “We’re going to go back to our room. We’re gonna get naked, get you into the shower and wash off that Harvard stench. And you’re going to pucker up your rosy lips and kiss this beaver’s ass.”