jingle bell rock (or, christmas is for schmucks)
It’s not that Tony hates Christmas. He has no reason to oppose a holiday where people buy shit-- including billions of dollars of Stark Industries products-- out of some perverted sense of honoring the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. (And Tony’s all about perverted senses. Really.) But he just doesn’t understand the whole love aspect of it all.
He knows what love is and, theoretically, has been in love a few times himself, but he’s still never understood why sitting in front of a fire with hot cocoa and an ugly sweater somehow means you love another person. Or how waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to open presents is supposed to be fun.Just gift ‘em and go, Tony always says. It’s the best way to go about things, because then he doesn’t have to deal with thank yous or oh my god was this expensive or oh my god did you make this how is that even possible. It’s just awkward and annoying and Tony is a Very Busy Man. He doesn’t have time for questions. Or Christmas celebrations or shopping or just anything to do with Christmas.
In any case, Tony doesn’t hate Christmas so much as he hates Christmas parties, especially the one that the other Avengers want to throw in the tower. Tony doesn’t give a shit about the actual party. He gives a shit about the fact that they have to decorate.
“Tell me again why I wasn’t allowed to hire a crew to do this?” Tony asks, feet tangled in an obscene amount of Christmas lights. Seriously. It’s much easier to pay people to do this than to risk a broken ankle.
“Because it’s better to do it ourselves,” Steve answers, elegantly sliding a piece of popcorn onto fishing line while humming what Tony is sure is a Christmas carol. Tony wants to tell him that they’re not ten years old and that people are expecting a certain level of class from Tony Stark, but he doesn’t want to deal with the hurt puppy look on Steve’s face. And he’s also slowly beginning to realize that he’s not just Tony Stark anymore. It’s not even Tony Stark and the Avengers. It’s just-- the Avengers, and who knows what anyone expects from them. Besides saving the world, at least. But a Christmas party? Their first Christmas party? It’s a terrifyingly clean slate, and Tony’s always had dirty hands.
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to tell that we spent six hours stringing popcorn onto fishing line by hand, Steve. They’ll just think we bought it.”
“First, I don’t see you stringing any popcorn, and second, we can tell them that we did. They’ll appreciate it.” Steve smiles and Tony narrows his eyes. God, he doesn’t want to be here. And where does Steve get off, smiling like that at him? Not fair. It’s almost as bad (and efficient) as the puppy dog face.
“Where are Natasha and Clint?” Tony asks, picking up one end of the string of lights to untangle himself from it.
“They’re getting the tree.”
Ha! One foot free! “And Bruce’s with them?” Tony leans down to untangle the other.
“He doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”
Tony stops and looks up at Steve. “So?”
Steve frowns. “So what?”
“So he doesn’t celebrate Christmas?”
“No. He’s a Buddhist. What are you--?”
“And that means he doesn’t have to be out here getting stuck in ancient strands of Christmas lights that will probably short-circuit and light the tree on fire?” Tony straightens, dropping the lights.
“Ah, no. I didn’t want him to feel like--”
He cuts him off with a hand. “Steve, I don’t celebrate Christmas. That’s completely unfair!”
Steve’s frown deepens, and his forehead gets a crease. The confused crease, as Tony likes to call it. It generally only happens when Tony’s around. “But you do celebrate Christmas.”
“No, I don’t.”
“But Fury said you throw a Christmas party every--”
Tony throws up his hands. “Stark Industries throws one, but I don’t! I barely even go to those parties. Seriously, check my attendance records. Pepper probably has them. I haven’t been to a Christmas party in ten years.”
Steve sits for a moment, looking down at the ground, hands clenched into fists. This is bad. If Steve goes quiet, it’s usually really, really bad. Tony would feel like a dick about it, but he also doesn’t want to decorate his house for a party that he’s not going to enjoy.
He’s expecting Steve’s eyes to be blazing when he looks back up, but they’re not. They’re bright in a different sort of way, and his jaw looks tense.
“I’m sorry, then,” Steve says, but his voice sounds tense too, and Tony’s kind of worried, actually. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. I’ll tell Fury we need to have the party somewhere else.” And then he’s standing and up the stairs before Tony can tell him to wait for a goddamned second.
Instead, he’s left tangled in the Christmas lights, brow furrowed and a hand outstretched in front of him.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, and no one answers.
---
Thwack. An arrow lands in the wall, right next to Tony’s nose. He blinks, glances over to Clint, and sighs. “Those cabinets are expensive.”
Clint ignores him. “What the hell did you do to Steve?”
Tony frowns. “I didn’t do anything to him.”
“Then why’s he walking around like someone put his puppy out to pasture?” Clint asks, pulling another arrow out.
“Nice alliteration.” Clint strings the arrow and points it at him. Tony holds his hands up in protest. “I don’t know! We had a fight, I guess. He wanted to decorate and I kind of told him that I hate Christmas parties.”
Clint stares at him for a moment before lowering the bow. “You serious?” he says, narrowing his eyes and Tony nods.
“You know you can’t do that! Not to a guy like Steve! He loves Christmas. Like, Tiny Tim style love and now you’ve made yourself Scrooge.”
It’s not a new comparison, but it still makes Tony bristle. He’s not Scrooge. He’s not! He gives all of his employees the whole week off for Christmas, paid, every year. And if, for some reason, someone has to work, he makes sure they get paid double-time. He’s not Scrooge! He sighs and leans against the counter. He really hadn’t meant to upset Steve. He just didn’t want to have to decorate the whole house when he could spend time in the lab, and it totally wasn’t fair that Bruce got an out! Tony can’t stand for that kind of unfairness in his own home.
“I have to make it up to him, don’t I?” he says, looking into his coffee cup. Clint claps a hand to his shoulder, jostling the coffee.
“And then some.”
---
Tony can’t believe he’s doing this.
Okay, he can believe it, because he’s wearing the stupid hat and the stupid sweater and spent all night decorating the stupid living room. But he still can’t believe that this is his life now. Sometimes, he swears he liked it better when he answered only to himself. And Pepper, but that’s beside the point. The point is that he can’t believe his life is in a place where he’s expected to make a fool out of himself for the good of other people. (And, not that he’d admit it, but he can’t believe he doesn’t mind it.)
He’s worked it all out so that none of the Avengers are home-- they’re all out to a fancy dinner and then they’ll come back to presents and party planning. But right now? Right now it’s just Tony and Steve. Or, it would be if Steve would come into the living room.
“Please Steve?” Tony’s basically pressed against the outside of Steve’s door. “I just want to show you something.”
“I’m really not in the mood.”
“That’s not in the Christmas spirit, Steve! What if the Three Wise Men had said they ‘weren’t in the mood’ to follow the star or whatever? Then where would we be?”
There’s a long pause, and Tony hears shuffling, the click of the lock on Steve’s door and he backs up before it’s pulled out from under him. Steve stares at him for a good ten seconds before smiling.
“What are you wearing?”
“What, this old thing?” Tony looks down at his sweater-- handpicked many years ago by Pepper as some sort of act of revenge. It’s green and features three reindeer, all with large antlers that have lights on them. When he presses a button, they light up. He thinks it used to sing, but he can’t be sure. Tony is pretty sure it breaks all kinds of fire codes simply by existing, but he’s also always wanted to go out with a bang.
“Come on, you’re just jealous. But this isn’t what I wanted to show you. Here.” He holds up a scrap of black fabric and motions for Steve to turn around. When he does, Tony ties it around his eyes and takes his arm. “This way.”
He leads Steve slowly down the stairs, resisting the urge to lead him into a wall or a table-- the jerk would probably be able to sense it or something because of the serum, so there’s not much point anyway-- and stops at the bottom.
“Okay. I have to say a few things first. Before we do this,” Tony says, scratching the back of his neck.
“Do I still need to be blindfolded?” Steve asks, turning his head in the direction of Tony’s voice.
“Yes. It’s much easier to speak to someone if they can’t see you, I thought you knew that. Anyway, I was a jerk about Christmas the other day, and I know it’s your first one since the whole ice thing, and I know you just wanted it to be fun and I--” Tony stops, sighs. This is getting out of hand; since when did he talk about feelings? Right. To the point: “So I just wanted to apologize. And make it up to you. JARVIS, lights please.” He reaches up to untie the blindfold around Steve’s eyes as the display he’s spent all day and night working on lights comes to life.
The lights hang from almost every available surface; long strands of white lights descend from the high, arched ceilings while strips of multicolored lights line the doorways and the fireplace. The tree has been wrapped to high-heaven-- so much so that it’s almost definitely a fire hazard, but Tony doesn’t care. It’s worth it for the look on Steve’s face.
Tony watches Steve look over the lights with wide-eyes, watches him step closer to the lights to reach out a hand to almost touch one of the bulbs and watches him take a deep, steadying breath. The colored lights reflect in Steve’s hair and Tony finds himself mesmerized by it.
“Lights weren’t like this, you know,” he says finally, making Tony blink. “In the forties. They were bigger, thicker. Not that we ever had any Christmas lights, but the ones on the tree at Rockefeller Center. Much bigger.”
He turns to face Tony, smiling. “Thank you,” he says, and Tony’s sure he’ll never get used to the too-honestly-earnest way that Steve thanks people.
“It’s nothing. Like I said, I was a real jerk, and you hadn’t done anything.” Tony shrugs, feels the back of his neck heat up and huh, that hasn’t happened to him in at least twenty years. “Also, the party’s back on. Tomorrow night. Ugly sweater required.”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “Where am I supposed to find one on short notice?”
Tony smiles, slow and easy. “I’ll have one of Pepper’s minions find you one. Don’t worry about it.”
---
Pepper’s minion-- Sarah, her name might be, but Tony’s not too sure, he doesn’t make it a point to remember the names of people who look terrified of him-- does, indeed, come through and delivers Steve’s ugly sweater the very next morning. It’s red, which isn’t all that surprising when it comes to sweaters, but it seems to be hand-knitted and lumpy. Ribbons have been weaved into the design, framing a scene of reindeers pulling Santa’s empty sleigh.
“Did you make this?” Tony asks Sarah, holding the sweater to his chest. She shakes her head.
“No sir. My boyfriend’s mother did.”
Tony laughs, loud enough that Sarah flinches back. “If that’s all,” she says, backing away toward the door, leaving Tony to double over in his own entrance way. She’s long gone by the time he regains his composure, still breaking out into giggles at the thought of Steve in the sweater. It’s possible he may be suffering from hysteria.
Still, he takes the sweater up to Steve, who’s in the gym-- like always-- and calls his name loud enough that he stops breaking Tony’s expensive gym equipment.
“Told you Pepper would come through,” he says, holding up the sweater. Steve makes a face, which sends Tony into more giggle fits and really, he’s usually much better than this. Really.
“I’ll put it in your room,” Tony tells him. “Make sure you shower before the party. 8pm, sharp!”
---
The party is, as Tony suspected, incredibly lame.
Well, okay, it’s not lame per se, because people show up and they’re having fun and laughing and wearing ugly sweaters. Which is fine. That’s great. It’s just that Tony still kind of hates Christmas, and Bruce isn’t even here to act as a buffer. Tony knows the thing about Bruce being Buddhist is bullshit-- well, not that he’s a Buddhist, but that he doesn’t celebrate Christmas because of it. He just doesn’t like crowds, which is understandable, but still incredibly fucking frustrating for Tony.
Especially since Steve has decided to look so good in that ugly sweater. He’s even wearing a pair of felt reindeer antlers, and Tony would still like to kiss him senseless. He’s felt this way for awhile, but always figured it was just Pepper breaking up with him in combination with the winter blues and just-- no. Whatever. It’s never gonna happen, so Tony isn’t even thinking about it.
He grabs his third (fourth? third.) glass of eggnog off a passing tray and stares at Steve some more as he talks to Natasha about something, laughing.
“You should tell him, you know,” Clint says from beside him, and Tony nearly throws his eggnog against the wall in shock.
“Jesus fuck, Clint give a guy a little warning, would ya?” Clint grins at him, and Tony notices the Santa hat, and the red turtleneck covered in--
“Is that mistletoe?” Tony asks, leaning closer for a better look. Clint holds up a hand and Tony stops in his tracks, not wanting to know what his holiday arrows look like. “Right. Hands to myself.”
“It is mistletoe, yes. You jealous?” There’s a good five second pause.
“Sure am,” Tony says, finishing off his eggnog in one drink and hoping that by the time he’s done Clint will be somewhere else. He lowers his glass and finds he hoped in vain. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah, for you to get your head out of your ass and tell Rogers you’d like to have his All-American babies.”
Tony blinks and looks away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Clint snorts and leans in to murmur in Tony’s ear, “You’ll tell him in the holiday spirit, or I’ll make you tell him.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s abuse,” Tony says as Clint backs away, eyebrow still raised. “I’m telling Fury!”
“Do it. I dare ya.”
They both know Tony won’t.
---
Tony finds himself half-asleep on the stairs around midnight. He’d blame the eggnog, but he found out too late that it was non-alcoholic. Whatever. He just wants to go to bed. On his way he runs into something warm and solid, and figures it’s the wall.
“Tony?” the wall says, but that’s weird. Walls don’t speak. “Tony? Are you alright?”
Tony looks up and finds that it’s not a wall, but is, in fact, Steve and Steve’s chest, which does a lot to wake him up.
“Steve! What are you doing here?”
“I live here, Tony.”
“No, I know, I’m not drunk, come on. I mean-- on the stairs. What are you doing here and not down there with the people.”
“Oh, I uh--” Steve turns red, which makes Tony smile, because it’s so cute when he blushes like that. So cute! (Oh god, Tony needs to sleep.) “I was looking for you, actually.”
Tony blinks. He feels a little like an owl. “Why?”
“I have a present for you.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“That’s okay. It’s not a Christmas present,” Steve says, his warm hand enveloping Tony’s and leading him up the stairs. He takes Tony to his floor, which is weird because Tony’s never been in here, except when he was designing it and hasn’t been back since then. It’s mostly the same, and if Tony weren’t so out of it-- and distracted by how warm Steve’s hand is-- he’d notice the little things that were different.
He gets led to a room he vaguely remembers designing as an art room with lots of big windows and good sunlight throughout most of the day. It’s been filled with paintings and drawings that Tony can’t really comprehend his too-tired state but it doesn’t matter, because Steve takes him by the shoulders and puts him in the middle of the room.
“Now I don’t-- I’m not so good at talking about my art, and I don’t--” Steve stutters and Tony shakes his head.
“You’re fine, you don’t have to--”
“--Stop it, let me finish.” Tony shuts his mouth. “I’m not good at talking about my art, but I’ll try. You’ve done a lot for me, Tony. You took me in and gave me a place to live. You always treated me like I was a person, never just a lab experiment like everyone else. You never thought I was fragile. And I-- well, I just wanted to repay that the best I could.” Steve grabs a painting off an easel and turns it so Tony can see it.
It features all of them-- Natasha, Clint, Bruce all in one corner, Thor in another with Jane, and Tony and Steve, right dab in the center. They all look so happy, and Tony reaches out to touch it before he realizes he shouldn’t.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, and Steve scoffs. “No, really,” Tony insists, glancing up to catch Steve’s gaze. “I have one of the largest art collections in the world. Well, had. No, still have, actually, I only donated the modern-- no, not the point, anyway. No matter what Pepper tells you, I have an eye, and you are good.”
Steve flushes all up his neck and along his nose, and Tony swears it’s still the cutest thing he’s ever seen. God damn it, Coulson was right. Tony’s got to do something about this.
“Can I tell you something, Steve,” he says, taking the painting from the other man’s hands gently and leaning it against the easel on the ground. Steve nods and Tony steps closer, not breaking their gaze. He takes another step, puts a hand on Steve’s side and curls his fingers into the fabric of the lumpy sweater. “I’d really like to kiss you.”
That makes the tips of Steve’s ears turn red, and Tony smiles, slow and easy, tugging him closer.
“You gotta tell me ‘no’ if you don’t want me to,” he murmurs, but even as he says it, Steve’s leaning down to meet Tony halfway, and yeah, this is definitely the best Christmas present he’s ever gotten.
So maybe Christmas doesn’t suck all that much after all.