Stony Oneshots

Secret Sketches Part 1

(Steve Rogers x Tony Stark)

I did my best on the title okay? I'm heccing exhausted and honestly the original title was gonna jokingly be "Draw Me Like One Of Your Fancy French Girls". So like. There's that.

NOTICE: IF THIS ONESHOT LOOKS FAMILIAR TO YOU, IT WAS PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ON AN OLD ONESHOT BOOK I OWNED, WHICH IS NOW CURRENTLY UNPUBLISHED. THIS IS NOT A STOLEN WORK.

-Tony's POV-

I sauntered up sleepily to the dining area of the tower. I'd just woken up for an invouluntary power nap on my workshop desk, the outline of a bolt still indented on my cheek. As I shuffled over to my beloved coffee maker I saw it. Steve's faded blue sketchbook. Everytime he's sketching in that damn thing and I walk by, even just casually, he either puts it away immediately and pretends he has something to do, quickly puts it away and acts as if he never had it, or he just shields it from my using that damn, gorgeous, perfect, broad chest of his. I really shouldn't be going through his things. It's an explicit invasion of privacy and I'd be fucking livid if someone did it to me. But. I need to know why he hides it from me. Just me. I've seen him let Natasha, or Thor, hell, even Clint look over his shoulder as he sketches or doodles away. So why won't he let me? I know we've had our ups and downs but he knows he can trust me. Not a second later did I have that old blue book in my hands, drumming my fingers on the hard, worn cover. I mean. As far as I'm concerned, nobody's home... I quickly exited the kitchen taking the elevator to my room, plopping down on the bed with Steve's book held securely in my hands. I felt some nausea swirl in my stomach. I shouldn't be doing this...but fuck, if I don't it'll kill me. The first 10-15 pages were sad scenes, from war memories, I assume. Pictures of battlefields lined with corpses of both friend and foe, mothers holding their young children close as they cry, their towns and villages crumbling around them, or maybe crying because they've recieved word of a dead husband and father. I've seen the same shit as he has. After I made my suit and sought out revenge on The Ten Rings, and justice for those I've harmed with my weapons. I've seen broken homes, families, and people of all ages. War is fucking terrible. And to think I used to enable it. As I flipped through more pages things got lighter. Pictures of a sparring Clint and Natasha, Bruce focusing hard as he scribbled something down in a notebook of sorts, Thor laughing, his features so perfectly detailed and copied it's as if I can hear his booming laughter now. And then. Me. A lot of different sketches of me. Me with my Iron Man mask lifted, smiling lightly, a picture of me laughing, smirking, sleeping on my desk with my face covered partly by my arms as I had a screw driver still held loosely in my hand. There's a picture that's colored, not left in black and white like all the rest. It looks to be dark around me. My eyes are closed, my arc reactor shining softly around me, highlighting my face in a beautiful, gentle cerulean. I never knew that my biggest insecurity could be made to look so gorgeous. The most recent sketch, and not quite finished with being shaded by the looks of it, caught me by surprise. It's a full page sketch of me and Steve, his arms are held protectively yet gently around my waist, my arms around his shoulders. And we're kissing. I blushed darkly at the art. I had no idea that Steve had ever returned my feelings. The kiss looks so soft and romantic and suddenly it all hit my like a sack of bricks. I just violated Steve's most private and precious possession. Just by leaving out in the open like that he was entrusting that I wouldn't go through it, and I took advantage of that. My face paled and just as I was about to exit and take it back I hear my door click open accompanied with an all too familiar voice. "Hey Tony, have you seen my-"

-Steve's POV-

I got back to the tower with the rest of the team from lunch and went straight to the kitchen to retrieve my sketchbook. I left it there before leaving because I didn't see any reason in moving it. I tried waking Tony earlier to see if he wanted to join us but he was completely out. He finally had his four-day-pent-up caffine crash. Okay, definitely didn't want to wake him then. He barely ever sleeps and he sure needs it. Due to Tony being completely passed out I was at ease to not put my sketches away. Even if he was awake Tony respects people's privacy. When I'd gotten to the kitchen however, my sketchbook was nowhere to be found. None of the others could have taken it because I was the last out and the first in. My stomach dropped. The only other person who could have it. Was Tony. I rushed down to his workshop immediately scourering the premisies for the genius. He was nowhere to be found. I had to take some breaths to calm down the anxiety rising in my throat. This can not be happening. "JARVIS? Where is Tony?" "Sir is in his bedroom." The AI responded. Shit. Maybe. Maybe he went to sleep in there. Maybe if he has my book I can sneak in, grab it and go. Who the hell am I kidding? I rushed to the elevator and basically punched the button that would take me to Tony's floor. As I opened his door as calmly as I could I steadied my voice and asked: "Hey Tony, have you seen my-" "Shit!" He cursed and quickly hid a blue something behind him. I'd recognize that anywhere. "Uh. Hey Cap. What uh. What were you saying?" My anxiety was quickly replaced with a searing anger. How could he? Tony would be ungodly upset if anyone did this to him! But once more Tony Stark just thinks he's so entitled! How could he disrespect me like this?! "Stark. Give me my damn book. Right now.".