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aurumacadicus · 10 months

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Sincerely, Yours (Chapter 11)

Over six thousand words so it’s under the cut this time.

Steve knocked on the door the next morning. “Tony?” he asked through the door. “You mentioned me waking you up to help with breakfast. Did you still want to? I can let you sleep for another hour if you want.”

Tony found himself sitting up before he even thought about it. “Yes, I want to help with breakfast.” He lifted his hands to rub at his eyes, jaw cracking on a yawn. “I’m awake. I’ll be right down.”

“Okay,” Steve replied. “I brought a pitcher for the wash basin so you can wash up. I’ll leave it here on the floor, okay?”

“Thank you!” Tony called out, biting back another yawn, and tossed the blankets aside so he could get up. The mattress was just as comfortable as it had been the first night, and he knew if he didn’t get up immediately, he’d sink back into it and fall right back to sleep. He paused just long enough to put on the robe he’d found packed in the bottom of his carpet bag, one that he remembered his father wearing and Jarvis hadn’t had the heart to throw out. The pattern was sort of busy, but it offered more warmth than the lacy one his mother had left after their passing, and he was sort of glad he didn’t have to ask Steve for one.

The pitcher was right outside the door as Steve had promised, and he scooped it up and brought it back inside, wondering what he should wear. He’d realized, as he was finally unpacking his clothes, that he didn’t really have… anything comparable to Steve’s work clothes. Sure, they weren’t considered his finer clothes back in New York, but they were much nicer than Steve’s, all clean whites and hand stitching. He and Steve were going on a ride today. He wasn’t entirely certain what he should wear. Maybe he could ask Steve to come up and help him choose what he thought was best.

Tony paused, pitcher tipped halfway toward the basin, then turned, hand drifting up to his mouth as he considered the logistics of it. He’d have to hide his undergarments. But he didn’t want Steve to think he didn’t wear any, either. Would Steve assume that? He’d seemed pretty appalled that people would send him letters about them when he’d mentioned terrible correspondence, but this was different—this was Tony’s wardrobe that he’d be allowing him to look into, and he wouldn’t lie and say he wouldn’t be thinking about it a little if the roles were reversed.

Maybe he’d just put a few outfits on the bed for Steve to choose from, he figured.

.-.

Steve wasn’t cooking when he finally got downstairs, but he was turning from throwing wood into his stove. He froze when he saw Tony. Tony couldn’t help but freeze as well, remembering with sudden clarity that the last time he’d seen Steve, he’d been nearly naked and quite damp. And he’d certainly looked quite nice, nearly naked and quite damp, with his wide shoulders and narrow waist and—

“Ouch!” Steve exclaimed, yanking his hand off the stove door. He jerked his hand up to begin blowing on it, as if that would help.

Tony finally remembered how to behave like a normal human and rushed over to him. “That won’t help. Come here,” he said, grabbing Steve’s arm and attempting to drag him over to the sink. He knew from experience, after all; Jarvis had had to do the same thing when he'd first started learning how to cook. He tugged again when Steve didn’t move, which thankfully got him to finally budge, and he allowed Tony to tow him over to the sink and shove his hand under the spigot. He let Steve’s hand go only once he was sure he’d hold it in place, then turned to begin pulling at the pump.

Steve watched the water begin to rush over his hand, mouth dropping open a little in shock. Then his cheeks flooded pink. “I’m not normally an idiot when I burn myself. I just… uh… had a lot on my mind.”

“I’m sure,” Tony said agreeably, swatting his free hand away when he reached to help. “What were you thinking about? Anything I can help with?”

Steve coughed, then sort of wheezed, flush splotching a darker shade of red. “It was nothing. Lunch,” he added belatedly, as if it didn’t sound like the complete lie that it was.

Tony stopped pumping water to blink up at him, lips pursing into a frown as he decided whether or not he wanted to call Steve on it. He hadn’t known Steve in person for very long, but in his letters, he’d come across as a very honest (if perhaps too straightforward) person. On the other hand, if he was willing to lie about it, maybe he shouldn’t push. They were only on their third day together, after all. People deserved privacy even from their spouses, he remembered Ana telling him once.

“I’ve only seen you in clothes,” Steve finally said, as if the silence hanging over them had been unbearable.

Tony’s mouth dropped open, and he couldn’t help another slow blink as he tried to work out what Steve meant. “…I’m wearing clothes,” he finally answered, unable to come up with anything else.

Steve waved his unburned hand at him, as if that was an explanation. Tony looked down at himself. He was still wearing his pajamas, but that was only because he didn’t want to have to bother changing a second time after breakfast, and they were covered by the robe. He looked at Steve. His clothes looked like pajamas as well. He couldn’t imagine Steve riding horses in matching pinstripes. He squinted up at Steve skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

Steve looked like he was in more physical pain because of their conversation than he had when he’d burned himself. He waved his hand at him again. “It’s… I’ve never seen…” He gulped in a breath of air, then let it back out in a sigh, lifting his hand to cover his red face. “It’s lacy.”

“Lacy,” Tony repeated, looking back down at himself. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the top hem of his nightshirt was visible where the robe closed. It wasn’t the finest lace he’d ever worn in his life (and the negligee Jan had sent for him was even lacier, he remembered shyly). Still, if Steve had only lived with his mother and then another alpha, maybe the peek of lace would have been pretty surprising. He looked back up at Steve, hesitantly asking, “Do you… like it?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered immediately, voice strangled. He groaned and lifted his other hand to cover his face as well. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be normal about this.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said, as if he had not gone to bed and stared up at the ceiling trying to reconcile Steve’s broad shoulders and narrow waist, while also desperately trying not to remember the way that drop of water had slid down his muscular back toward his low-slung towel. He lifted his hands to pull the edges of his robe closer together. “Should I go change?”

“No,” Steve barked, hands dropping, and he somehow looked even more mortified than before. “I want you to be comfortable. This is your home now. I’m—This is so embarrassing, Tony, I feel like such a—” He reached out to grab Tony’s hands to keep him from closing his robe. “I’m sorry.”

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then finally answered, “I mean, it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? We’re married. You shouldn’t be ashamed of seeing my—uh. Lacy things.” He pulled at the hems of his robe again, peering down at the simple shift he was wearing. The lace was only along the hems. He looked back up at Steve. “But maybe you shouldn’t be doing anything important until you get used to it.”

“You said that so nicely,” Steve said faintly. “But I still sorta want the ground to open up and swallow me.”

“Well, don’t,” Tony replied, shrugging, and took a step back. “It’s sweet that you’re trying to… do whatever you’re doing. But…” He felt heat finally rising on his cheeks, and he couldn’t help but lift a hand to scratch at his neck in embarrassment. “It’s… nice. You’re… different from the alphas back home.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, brows furrowing together into a concerned frown. “…How different?”

Tony didn’t think that the alphas back home would stop at just staring. He could imagine leers, jokes that he’d have to smile through and brush off without trying to offend them. Maybe even a heavy hand landing on his hip or shoulder, fingers curling in possessive and cruel. Perhaps… something worse, though he was hesitant to contemplate it. ‘Just alphas being alphas,’ Obadiah would chortle if Tony complained. Or they’d blame him for not covering up properly, tell him he shouldn’t have had any lace visible if he didn’t want them to comment on it. They’d tell him he was asking for attention, and the only one to blame was himself.

It was why he’d been so charmed that Steve had been outraged on his behalf when he’d told him about the correspondence that he’d considered truly bad.

“My eggs come out rubbery,” Tony finally said. “Maybe you can teach me how to cook them better than Jarvis could.”

Steve’s jaw worked, almost like he was trying to bite back a gnashing of teeth. He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, swallowing down his visible anger until his expression was just as kind and patient as it had been the day before. “I’ll show you how to do the first one, then let you try the others. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good,” Tony agreed, reaching out for his hand again. “How’s your hand?”

“I let go in time to avoid a bad burn, I think,” Steve said, allowing him to take it. His hand was pink, just bordering on red, but there were no blisters or puss. “The water helped.”

“I’m sure the blowing helped too,” Tony added, unable to help his lips curving into a cheeky smile.

Steve tipped his head back with a groan. “Oh my god. I swear I’m not stupid.”

Tony covered his mouth to smother a giggle, but Steve didn’t look angry when he failed.

.-.

Tony’s eggs had still come out sort of rubbery, but the last one was mostly edible. Steve had wolfed them down regardless, and Tony remembered Steve saying he’d eat most things, even if they tasted bad, in his letters. He hadn’t really understood what that meant until now. While he was worried about how he could expect to improve if Steve was willing to eat everything set in front of him, it also felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, knowing that food wouldn’t go to waste even when it didn’t turn out right.

He'd watched Steve put together their lunch in a nice wicker basket as he ate at a more sedate pace, “Something my ma insisted on buying while we were in town. We only used it a couple times before she was too sick to go out.” The last of the fried chicken from the ice box, salad, pieces of sausage fried in dough, a jar of apricot preserves, the remains of the pound cake, and three large, beautiful tomatoes so red they were almost purple.

“I take it you’re a fan of tomatoes instead of pound cake,” Steve said, amusement coloring his tone.

It took Tony a moment to realize he was still staring at the basket. He jerked his eyes up to Steve’s face, heat rushing to his cheeks. “What? Yes. Or—well, I’m just not used to pound cake yet.”

“You can have a different favorite food from me,” Steve cut in before he could babble on. “How do you like them? Oil and salt? On toast? I can cook some up and put it in the basket real quick.”

“I’ll eat it like an apple,” Tony answered. He was very kind in not telling Steve that he was not fast enough in hiding his disgust. Jan and Sue had wrinkled their noses at him back home, too. “I wasn’t entirely sure what to wear riding, so I set out a few outfits. Will you come help me decide?”

Steve blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. “Oh, um, sure?”

“I don’t really have a lot of clothes, and I think Jarvis didn’t have time to think about what he was packing for me,” Tony added, before Steve had to ask. He didn’t want to embarrass him anymore today.

“Oh,” Steve said again, frowning. “Of course.” He rubbed his chin, considering. “The next time we’re in town, let’s make sure to buy you a couple more outfits. Ranch work is dirty, even if you’re just doing the housework. It’ll be good to have spares.”

“Okay,” Tony answered, trying not to sound too cheerful. It had been a long time since he’d gotten to buy new clothes. Mostly, Jan had just given him whatever she felt like, and while he’d appreciated it (he never would have been able to keep up with changing fashion trends otherwise), he hadn’t ever really gotten to pick his own clothes out. Even if he had to okay it with Steve, at least he’d get a choice.

Steve followed him up to the main bedroom after they washed up the breakfast dishes, and Tony found it charming that he hesitated outside the door before he finally straightened his shoulders and passed the threshold like a man going to war. He was just choosing what pants Tony would be wearing on the ride. Then Steve grimaced as he looked over his clothes, and he couldn’t help but worry that he’d chosen poorly out of his meager offerings.

“Wow, these are all… really nice,” Steve finally said, reaching out to take a pair of pants between his fingers to rub the fabric. He frowned speculatively. “It seems like such a waste, using any of these to ride. Are you sure you don’t have anything a little more… worn?”

Tony shrugged, a little embarrassed. “This is all I’ve got.” Steve sighed, but Tony felt his shoulders relaxing a little with it, because it sounded more like the sighs Jarvis and Ana would utter as they tried to balance the household budget in a way that would get them yelled at by Obadiah as little as possible rather than actual frustration with him. “It’s okay if they get worn. We’ll just replace them when we’re in town, right?”

“Right,” Steve agreed vaguely, reaching out to test the middle set of clothes between his fingers as well. “I guess—these brown pants are alright, but your shirts are kinda… wispy? The sun’ll burn right through it… I’ll bring you one of mine,” he finally decided with a nod. “I’ve got plenty, and you need protection from the sun.” He turned. “Do you have a hat?”

“Yes,” Tony began instinctively, then stopped, hand coming up to his mouth as he looked at the pants Steve had chosen. “No. I think a hatbox would have been too much to carry. It was a church hat, anyway, not a sunhat.”

“I’ll grab you a hat, too,” Steve said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder as he turned to leave. “And who knows, maybe we’ll get you a replacement church hat in town, too. I’ll leave them on the doorknob, okay?”

Tony nodded, realized Steve’s back was to him, and added, “Yes. Thank you, Steve.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said, waving over his shoulder, and shut the door behind himself as he left.

Tony stared at the door for a long moment, hand coming up to touch where Steve had clasped his shoulder. Steve was handsy, but in a genuine way, not smarmy or anything. It sort of reminded him of the way he and his friends would touch—easy, casual, nothing behind it but a bid for connection. He supposed it made sense, if Steve had been as lonely and isolated as Tony had.

Tony hung up his robe and turned to step into the pants Steve had suggested. He figured Steve had chosen them because they were a little thicker than the others, would offer more protection from the saddle. He held one of his shirts up, frowning. He supposed the fabric was a little too thin for hours in the sun. It was very kind of Steve to offer up one of his own and a hat.

Tony squeaked, covering his mouth as the gravity of the situation hit him. Steve was bringing him a shirt and hat to wear on their ride and picnic. He was going to wear Steve’s clothes. He couldn’t help the nervous laugh that trickled out between his fingers and pretended he wasn’t blushing at the idea of having Steve’s scent on him like that.

It was too bad that it wasn’t safe to correspond with Jan. She would have foamed at the mouth to read about it.

.-.

Steve’s shirt was a little too big (maybe a lot too big around the chest, Tony thought, pursing his lips), but Tony hadn’t been friends with Jan since they were toddlers to have gleaned nothing from her. Steve had brought him a sewing kit, and Tony had quickly added some slapdash hems, so he wasn’t swimming in it, while Steve had gone to get the horses saddled. It was passable for a ride and picnic, he supposed, frowning at the messy stitches and uneven hems. He probably could have done better with more time, or even a machine. He decided he wasn’t ever going to tell Jan about it. She’d shout at him for not absorbing more from her.

He was glad that Steve had given him the shirt and hat. It was still early morning, but he could feel the sun beating down across his shoulders and back. He would have burned beneath his shirt if he’d worn his own. He had to keep adjusting the hat, but he was glad for the coverage, guarding his eyes from the sun’s glare and keeping the heat off the back of his neck. Steve had promised to get him a hat that was sized properly as well, and Tony had felt a smidge of guilt that Steve was having to put out so much money on him so soon, but Steve had somehow noticed and assured him that Dr. Erskine had also had to put out money when he first arrived—it basically came with the territory of moving from one climate to another.

“Besides,” Steve had added cheerfully. “You’re my omega! I’m supposed to provide for you. What sort of alpha would I be if I left you to fend for yourself, especially when you don’t actually know what all you need?”

Tony had glowed a pleased pink in response, and it had nothing to do with the sun shining down on him.

Steve led him to the closest waterhole, pointing out all the trees to him—spruce, and pine, and juniper. Sometimes he cut sickly and dying trees to use for firewood, but it was a pain to haul them, so he mostly got his wood from a neighbor who was in the lumber industry in exchange for a handful of steers each year. He said that other parts of the property had wild berries, and sometimes Bucky’s family would come out and stay in Steve’s big house so they could spend the week picking them and make jam. They usually left a few jars before they returned back home, closer to town.

“Maybe they’ll let me help this year,” Tony mused, biting into a piece of fried sausage as he stared across the rolling grass. He turned to look up at Steve. “Will there be enough room for all of them with you in the guest room?”

“I always sleep in the guest room when the Barnes family comes to stay with me,” Steve answered with a shrug. “The girls use the big bed.”

Tony blinked, then looked back out at the hills. “Oh.”

“But obviously I’ll tell them things have changed,” Steve added hastily, sitting up straight. “I’m not kicking you out of your room for them, I was just saying it won’t be weird to see me in the guest room.”

“Are there many Barnes girls?” Tony asked, looking back up at him.

Steve squinted at him, as if there might be some sort of trick behind his question, before he finally answered, “…Four.”

“Four sisters,” Tony repeated quietly, wondering. Most of the families he knew rarely had more than two children. He wondered if that was because they didn’t want to spread their money around as much. Rich people were kind of miserly, even as they doted on the children they had, he remembered. And Mrs. Barnes had had five. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Steve asked, sounding honestly perplexed at the idea that they wouldn’t. “You’re new, exciting. They moved out here when they were still pretty young, so they don’t remember New York at all. I’m sure they’re going to ask you about everything from fashion to whether automobiles are real or if Buck and I made them up to tease them.”

Tony couldn’t help but chuckle. “You must tease them a lot.”

Steve smiled back at him. “Yeah, well, there’s about a ten-year gap between Bucky and Becca. She's the next oldest. He says it’s to get back at having to help change all their diapers.”

Tony remembered the way Susan and Johnny Storm would bicker almost to the point of blows (at which point Johnny, terrified, would shy away). But he also remembered the way Sue’s eyes would narrow when she thought someone was slighting her brother, and the way Johnny’s hands would grip into fists if he didn’t like the way someone talked about his sister. Jan and Victor were only children, like him, but Ana had talked fondly of her siblings and how she missed them. He thought it might have been nice, having a sibling. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so lonely.

He looked up at Steve again. “Do you think they’ll teach me how to make jam, too?”

Steve blinked, surprised, as if the thought they wouldn’t had never occurred to him. “Yeah, of course. I’ll just tell Mrs. Barnes that you wanna learn and she’ll be happy to have an extra set of hands.” He looked Tony up and down slowly, then offered him a wry smile. “Maybe you’ll be strong enough to lift the canning pot for her. Usually she gets me an’ Buck to put them on, then chases us back out of the house.”

“Uh,” Tony said, suddenly remembering how easily Steve had lifted his trunk at the depot when he’d needed to struggle with a cart.

“…Or maybe I’ll still do it,” Steve added quickly, apparently also remembering him fretting about the possibility of anvil in his trunk with how heavy it was. “Although—hopefully we’ll get a little more muscle on you before then.”

Tony reluctantly lifted his arm and flexed. “I hope so. I wasn’t expected or even allowed to do more than the minimum at home. I just had to try and look pretty.”

“I don’t think you have to try at all,” Steve said, then coughed, looking away from him quickly. He lifted a hand to cover the way the back of his neck had gone red. “Anyway. Over the next couple days, we’ll figure out some chores for you to take on. I can do the lion’s share for now, until you get the hang of it, then teach you new ones. Then when I’m taking the cattle to market next summer, you’ll be prepared to be on your own.”

Tony was a little worried about being on his own that long, but Steve had said he could have guests, and by then he’d have been there for a year. Hopefully he would have made friends by then. If nothing else, maybe he could invite the Barnes family around. He nodded, firming his resolve. He’d come here to be Steve’s omega and he’d understood all that entailed. He wouldn’t back out just because he was a little nervous for the future. “That sounds good. Thank you, Steve.”

“Well, of course,” Steve began, shrugging. “It’s my job to make sure you’re prepared for—”

“I meant it for you calling me pretty,” Tony cut in, and watched, amazed, as Steve’s face skipped pink entirely and went straight to cherry red.

.-.

There was a wagon set up in front of the house when they finally rode back. Two people stood from seats on the porch, but they were still hidden in its shade.

Tony couldn’t help but pull Brownie up short, cold sweat breaking out on his back at the thought that Obadiah had somehow found him. He considered turning Brownie and just galloping away, until the horse literally couldn’t anymore, and then getting off to sprint.

Then Steve lifted his arm, waving his hat at them in greeting, and called out, “Thor! If I’d known you were going to come today, I would have moved our picnic to tomorrow!”

Tony sagged as if his strings had been cut, lifting a shaking hand to wipe his face. He hoped Steve didn’t notice he’d almost taken flight. Hoped the two men hadn’t noticed either, or if they did, assumed he was a skittish city omega and not someone who had fled his home in terror. He sucked in a deep breath and urged Brownie forward again, trying not to look like his heart was still fluttering frantically beneath his ribs.

“Tony, this is Thor and Loki Odinson,” Steve continued cheerfully, oblivious, as the two men stepped down off the porch at their approach. “They own the local sawmill. I’d asked them for some lumber to make raised garden beds a while ago without putting a time constraint on it,” he added, grimacing in apology to them. “I thought I’d have more time to work on it.”

“We heard that Tony had arrived when we went into town yesterday,” the taller man said, turning a wide and disarming smile on Tony. “So of course we got the wood together to bring it over as quickly as possible. It’s not too late to plant.”

“It isn’t?” Tony asked, unable to help smiling back at him. Thor came across as very jovial. He decided he liked him. And it was nice to know he hadn’t missed the planting season entirely, apparently.

Loki shrugged, looking vaguely bored. “Eggplants. Snap beans. Tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes!” Tony exclaimed excitedly. He hadn’t seen any in the icebox beyond the three Steve had packed in the picnic basket, and Steve had let him eat all of them.

Steve once again didn’t manage to hide his grimace in response. Loki saw this, turned to Tony, and said, “I can bring you seeds and starter plants for three varieties.”

“Why did you bring him,” Steve asked Thor, who simply laughed in response.

Tony finally stepped down off of Brownie, then immediately regretted it. Sort of. Steve was big, and somehow, Thor was even bigger—taller, and broader, and somehow visibly more muscular. Loki was slighter, but he still had a few inches on Steve. He looked between all three of them, feeling positively tiny, even though back home, he was the average height. He asked, somewhat plaintively, “Is everyone this big out here?”

Steve and Thor stared at him in response, agog. Loki just shrugged, still looking bored. He reminded Tony of Victor, somehow. Perhaps the air that he was above any drama going on around him, or that he didn’t even really want to be there. He considered this, and the fact that when it had mattered most, Victor had been there to help him. So he cautiously asked, “Do you have any pointers on growing tomatoes? I didn’t get a chance to study gardening as much as I’d have liked before I came out.”

Loki’s eyes were sharp, like a cat’s, Tony thought, giving him a languid up-and-down before he lifted his hand to toss his hair over his shoulder. “Okay,” he replied, shrugging.

Tony couldn’t help but smile in response, relieved. “I have a book inside for notes. I’ll go get it.”

“Why don’t you take Loki with you?” Steve offered, shrugging. “Thor and I will get the lumber unloaded.”

Tony couldn’t help but blink in confusion. He could tell that Loki wasn’t an omega. “That’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered blithely, already rolling his sleeves up, as if he saw no problem with Tony talking with Loki alone.

Maybe he didn’t, Tony realized. If visitors were few and far between, maybe people just trusted each other more out here. Then again, maybe it was a money thing, too—society omegas were held to even higher standards than families with lower standing, he remembered Jarvis and Ana saying. “Okay,” he said, still a little hesitant, then turned back to Loki and motioned back toward the front house. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” Loki began.

Steve thrust the picnic basket at him. For some reason, his eye contact looked more intense than it had been before. “Here, carry this, will you?”

Loki stared at him for a long moment, judgmental, before he repeated, “Sure.”

“I can carry it,” Tony offered, holding his hands out for it.

“Just get me a glass of water,” Loki said, not handing it to him.

It made Tony realize that he had no idea how long Loki and Thor had been waiting on the porch through the heat of the day. He nodded quickly, then turned, promising to bring a glass out to Steve and Thor, before he led the way up to the door. Loki followed him into the kitchen to set the picnic basket on the table, so Tony handed his glass directly to him before taking two more glasses of water out to Steve and Thor.

“Tony,” Thor began as he turned to take their empty glasses back into the house, and Tony turned back to him, wondering if he was going to be asked for a refill. Thor’s expression was solemn. “My brother can be a trickster, but his heart is in the right place. …Usually. …If he offends you, just tell me, and I’ll talk to him about it.”

Tony frowned, confused, and glanced at Steve, who simply shrugged in a way that somehow conveyed, ‘well, what can you do.’ “Oh, well. Um. Okay?” he offered, brows furrowing together. He didn’t quite understand why they were allowing him to be alone with Loki if they were that concerned about it, but he didn’t know how to ask without sounding like an asshole, so. He figured if Loki did anything untoward, he’d just scream, and Steve would appear out of thin air. It would probably be fine.

He returned to the kitchen with his notebook and pencil in hand. He knew a lot about beans and peas. He didn’t know much about eggplants or tomatoes. He wished, again, that he’d been able to prepare more before he came, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. Loki was… well, he sort of reminded Tony of Sue Storm’s cat, which waited until someone made eye contact with it before it batted fragile items off shelves. Except… taller.

Tony was beginning to expect the air out here bred giants.

“If you aren’t careful, your face will stick like that,” Loki said around a mouthful of fried chicken.

Tony hadn’t even been aware a piece of fried chicken had survived the picnic. He blinked for a moment, confused, then flushed in embarrassment. He must have been making a sour face. “Oh.” He schooled his expression into the practiced, vague smile he used back home when Ezekiel talked to him.

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What do you want me to do with my face then?” Tony asked in exasperation.

“Just sit down so I can tell you about tomato plants,” Loki told him flatly. “What’s in this dough?”

Tony sat down at the table obediently. “Sausage.”

Loki poked through the basket again. “Alright. You better write fast, because I won’t repeat myself.”

Tony hurriedly flipped his notebook open to a clean page and picked up his pencil. “You didn’t strike me as someone who did.”

Loki slanted him one impressed stare before he said, “When you plant your tomatoes, you’re going to want to plant them with a stake or a trellis, so they have something to climb as they grow.”

Tony started scribbling, nodding. That made sense. He thought he remembered the tomato plants having those in the garden, when he’d been growing up.

“Tomatoes need six to eight hours of sun to bring out the best flavor,” Loki continued, not waiting for him to finish, and Tony’s scribbling became a little more frantic when he realized that Loki hadn’t been lying about not waiting for him.

.-.

Tony had a lot of information, by the time Thor and Steve tromped into the house. He rubbed a hand over his face as Steve leaned over him, mumbling, “This is a lot of work. Maybe next year we can do tomatoes, so I can focus on eggplants. You don’t even like tomatoes.”

“I mean, I do like them, just not like a fuckin’ apple,” Steve replied with a shrug.

Tony tipped his head back to stare at him, stunned. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Steve had warned him he swore a lot. He’d been preparing himself for it. But Steve hadn’t sworn in front of him before, and he hadn’t expected it to be so casual. Well, he’d been doing hard work with Thor in the hot sun, if the way their shirts were clinging to them was any indication, so maybe they’d been talking… like that… the whole time he’d been inside with Loki. Maybe he'd forgotten he was coming back inside with mixed company, and that was why it had slipped out.

“…I mean not like a darn apple,” Steve added quickly, a touch of franticness to his voice.

“Are you telling me you’ve never sworn in front of Tony?” Thor asked, turning from pumping himself another glass of water. “Like, he’s been in your presence longer than an hour and this was the first time?”

Even Loki looked surprised. “I’m surprised you haven’t just spontaneously combusted.”

“Shut up,” Steve said, looking more miserable because of the conversation than he had when he’d walked in, exhausted, with Thor.

“It’s okay!” Tony hurried to assure him.

“It is not, this man is going to die,” Thor told him seriously. “He hasn’t watched his mouth so well since the last time his mother washed it out.”

“Shut up,” Steve repeated, glaring at him. “I’m absolutely capable of not swearing. We’ve been together for three days and this was the first time.”

Loki and Thor didn’t look convinced. “You sound weird. Normally you’d sprinkle in a couple swears in that,” Loki said, leaning his chin on his hand.

Steve swiveled to look at Tony again. “Tony. I’m going to ask you to go upstairs and cover your ears.”

“I can handle it!” Tony exclaimed. He wasn’t entirely sure though. Loki and Thor were making him have doubts.

“You should go upstairs and cover your ears,” Thor agreed, and Loki nodded sympathetically.

Tony looked back and forth between all of them, not quite feeling ganged up on, but almost. “Well… I guess I’ll go,” he finally said, gathering his notes and pencil before he stood up. He gave them all a supremely unimpressed frown. “But I’m going because I want to, not because you told me to.”

“Of course,” they agreed solemnly, and Tony took a moment to be incredibly weirded out by it before he left the kitchen and scurried up the stairs.

He paused outside the door to his room, then called out, “I’m going in my room now!” Only once he got a chorus of acknowledgment did he step inside. He waited with the door cracked, unable to help his curiosity, because surely they couldn’t be that loud.

The explosion started immediately, outraged ‘what the hell’s and ‘I’m tryin’ not to be an asshole’s and ‘We’ve known each other in person three fucking days can you give me a goddamn break?!’ They were interspersed with laughter (good-natured, he thought) and what sounded like ‘how did you keep your dumb ass from just exploding in frustration.’ It didn’t… sound angry, he thought. It sounded more like how Jarvis and Ana bickered, or the way he argued with Jan when she thought he should wear more daring colors and he didn’t want to stand out. It sounded… friendly? Like a disagreement with emotions high, but with low stakes, sort of like when he’d insisted cotton was fine and Jan had howled about linen, both of them knowing it didn't really matter but very passionate about it anyway.

“Oh no,” Tony murmured as more swears started to get slung around, finally turning the knob and pulling the door shut all the way. He could still hear muffled bellowing, but none of the words. He took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship that it showed, that Steve had built the house and door so that it blocked out most noise. He’d have to compliment him on that later. After things had been settled downstairs, of course.

He looked down at his notes, flipping through them. It seemed like there was a lot going on with each plant, but there was some overlap. Apparently, all of the plants needed something to climb up. He wondered if it would be too much. It seemed like a lot of extra work, and they were getting a late start. He didn’t want to make it too difficult, although Steve had said he’d have no problem with it. Besides, with the cattle gone to market, he’d said there wasn’t much to do anyway.

Tony paused, then let out a little hum, walking over to the bed and climbing on top of it. He opened the notebook to a new page so he could edit what he’d scribbled down properly. He didn’t know how long Steve was going to be entertaining(?) his friends or when he would be allowed down, so he could fill his time with getting his thoughts in order. After all, he wanted to be prepared when Loki brought over the plants for him, if he still wanted to. Steve had said the garden could be his responsibility, and he couldn’t help but want to prove that he could do it, especially with how much Steve had to teach him now.

He tipped his head as he heard the yelling stop, wondering if he’d be called back down, but then there was another shout, and a loud thump, like furniture being forced to move quickly. He’d become familiar with the sound when he visited Sue and she and Johnny would get into scuffles before someone separated them. He figured it probably wasn’t a real fight, but he also wasn’t going to go down there and find out. It was better to just wait until someone presented themselves to him, mussed up but pointedly ignoring it. He had a garden to plan, after all.

#aurumacadicus writes #stony #sincerely yours

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aurumacadicus · 2 years

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Sincerely, Yours (Chapter 10)

No under the cut we die like men. Blacklist long post if you don’t want to see it. Enjoy!

Steve hadn’t left much of a mess from cooking, which Tony privately thought didn’t bode well for him. He hadn’t quite gotten the hang of cleaning as he went while Jarvis was teaching him. Jarvis had assured him that once he got more confident at timing how long it took to prepare things and got a sense of how long they cooked that he’d be able to get dishes scrubbed in between. Tony wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t gotten to practice as much as he would have liked, especially since Jarvis just sort of naturally started cleaning up after him like he’d always done. He was worried about showing Steve how messy he was when he cooked. Steve had said he would be patient as Tony learned the new territory, but Tony wasn’t too keen on showing just how skilled he wasn’t in the kitchen.

Tony pushed the worry to the back of his mind. He was here. They were married. Steve was stuck with him, if he allowed himself to be uncharitable about it. He decided not to be uncharitable, though, because Steve had been incredibly welcoming, gracious almost to a fault, and he’d said they should be patient with each other as they learned how to live together. Besides, Steve’s stove looked a lot different from the one that Tony had done all his practicing on. He bent down next to it and reached out for the latch on the oven door, pausing when he felt warmth against his fingers. Cast iron retained heat for a long time, he remembered suddenly. Steve had used it to cook, and it was still warm. He wondered if Steve kept a fire going the entire time that he was home. It reminded him of the potbelly stove that Ana had talked about when reminiscing about her past, that had warmed her whole house during the winter back in Hungary.

Tony continued on to the deep sink, setting his plate in and then setting his hands on the earthenware edge. It was a simple sink, flat, no decoration. It was charming, though, in its own way—nothing like the copper one back at the mansion. He looked at the pump, considering, then reached out and carefully gave it two hard pumps.

Nothing happened. Tony wondered if it would be too dramatic to panic about breaking the pump Steve had been so proud of.

“You need to pump it a few more times before the water starts coming out,” Steve said behind him.

Tony spun around with a squeak, leaning back against the sink. “Steve!”

“Sorry,” Steve said, and he sounded sincere, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

Tony was used to sneers, though, or mean smiles that didn’t reach judgmental eyes. At least from alphas. Steve’s smile reminded him of Ana’s, when she was teasing him, or Jarvis, when he was trying to keep from fondly rolling his eyes. Tony found himself relaxing before he realized it, his own mouth spreading into a hesitant smile.

“I put the pump in later,” Steve added, motioning at the pump. “Didn’t think I’d be able to get it to work by myself. So, I built the house how I wanted. If I’d planned the pump, I would’ve put the kitchen closer to the well. It’s a ways off though, so it takes a few more pumps than you’d expect to get water.” He waved at the pump. “Give it another go.”

“Okay,” Tony said, turning back to the pump. He pumped the lever four, five, six times, and then water poured out the spout. He couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face as it splashed over his plate at the bottom of the sink. It was charming, in a way. “It’ll help me get an arm workout, if nothing else,” he offered, turning back to Steve. He blinked when he saw Steve was empty-handed. “Didn’t you say you were going to milk a cow?”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again, tilting his head. “I didn’t—oh, my note,” he remembered belatedly. “Yeah, I went to milk the cow.”

Tony stared at him, wondering how to ask his question without sounding like an asshole. Finally, he figured he’d just go for it. “Where’s the milk?”

Steve opened and closed his mouth again, then rubbed the back of his head, eyes darting to the window over the sink before they returned to meet Tony’s. “There was… an incident.”

“…An incident,” Tony repeated slowly.

Steve coughed, crossed his arms, then let them drop again, as if realizing it could be seen as threatening. “Well, there—there was a hoof.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, bewildered. “Okay?”

Steve crossed his arms again, shoulders sagging with a long, defeated sigh. “I didn’t give her my full attention, so she took the chance to kick at me, and I lost the whole bucket of milk. She’s a handful even on the best of days. She’s especially ornery because she’s running dry.”

“Running dry?” Tony repeated faintly, frowning. He’d never heard of such a thing. Then again, he’d never thought much about cows. Still didn’t, now that he knew most of Steve’s herd was off for sale. He’d figured he’d have plenty of time to learn more over the winter.

Steve tilted his head, squinting a little. “Um, bare bones explanation… Cows produce milk when they calf. After the calf is weaned, they’ll still produce for a while, but eventually the milk runs dry.”

“Forever?” Tony asked, then paused, wondering if he should feel stupid. He found himself bracing for an eyeroll or sigh, like the alphas back home would respond with when he tried to ask questions about their work.

“Well, until the next calf,” Steve replied with a shrug, which didn’t make him feel stupid at all. “Then she’ll produce milk again. Some people keep multiple cows to keep a steady supply, but I don’t use much milk. She’s an old gal that I foolishly named.”

Tony tilted his head. “Why is naming her foolish?”

“If you name a cow, you get attached to the cow,” Steve sighed. It sounded like he was repeating someone. “And if you get attached to the cow, you can’t bring yourself to butcher the cow.” He looked at Tony for a moment, then quietly added, “Her name’s Peggy because she kicked me as a calf, and it reminded me of a gal back in New York who punched me when she thought I was gettin’ fresh with her.”

The laugh passed through Tony’s lips before he even registered it was going to happen. Steve didn’t look upset about it, though—resigned, maybe. A little amused, too. He found himself relaxing. He hadn’t even realized he’d been winding tighter with anxiety, remembering all of the times Obadiah and Ezekiel had dismissed him as an idiot. Steve made him feel at ease. He made him feel like he wasn’t stupid for asking, just curious, like Jarvis and Ana and Jan.

Steve was kind, and patient, and had a sense of humor that didn’t come at the expense of others. It made him feel hopeful.

“Maybe Peggy needs an omega’s touch,” Tony said, turning to begin pumping water again.

“Well, I’ll show you how to milk her,” Steve offered, even though he sounded unenthused. “But I think she’s just mean. One time she chased me out of the barn.”

“I can’t imagine you being chased out of anywhere,” Tony mused. Steve was tall, and broad. Sturdy, they would have politely called him back home.

“She bit a hole in the seat of my pants,” Steve said morosely, and Tony let out another bark of laughter.

.-.

Steve took him back out to the barn at Tony’s insistence after showing him how he did the dishes. He’d done most everything already—the horses were ‘pasture horses,’ apparently, and he’d only kept them in the barn overnight to keep an eye on them after the ride out of town yesterday, since they weren’t usually used to pull wagons. He’d fed them a bucket of grain, sent them out to pasture, then turned his attention to Peggy, who was still in a stall.

“Maybe she doesn’t need an omega’s touch,” Tony agreed as Steve led him over to her. She stamped her front hooves and snorted in a way that made him slow to a stop behind Steve before he reached her. “She looks angry.”

“That’s just her face,” Steve said cheerfully, reaching over the door to pat her on her forehead.

Tony watched him yank his hand back when she snapped her teeth at it. “If you say so,” he answered. He didn’t believe him, but it would be impolite to say it to Steve’s face, he figured. “She has a baby somewhere?”

“A calf, yeah,” Steve replied, walking over to grab a pitchfork. “It’s about eight months old. I put it out to pasture with the other cows.”

“Eight months? That’s still a baby,” Tony said, following him. “What are we doing?”

“I am mucking the stalls Brownie and Pokey were in. You are sitting and asking me questions,” Steve answered.

Tony scowled. “I can help!”

“You’ll have plenty of time to help later,” Steve told him patiently. “In fact, I’ll put Brownie and Pokey up in the barn again tonight so we can go out riding tomorrow, so you can muck them then. I haven’t fed the chickens yet though, and the ladies get cranky when I’m late, so I’d like to hurry through this today.”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. He fidgeted for a few seconds, then hesitantly asked, “That’s all?”

Steve paused, pitchfork full of used hay halfway to the wheelbarrow he’d set up beside the stall doors. For a moment, he just looked at Tony, considering. Finally, though, he answered, “That’s all. Tony, I’m not gonna tell you no just for the sake of saying no.”

Tony flushed against his will, dropping his eyes to the ground. He didn’t know why he felt embarrassed, other than that it wasn’t Steve’s fault he’d been conditioned to believe that every alpha thought he was weak and stupid back home and treated him according to that expectation, regardless of whether he tried to insist that he wasn’t either of those things. It was wrong to push those expectations onto Steve. Steve had done nothing to deserve it—had been nothing but kind, accommodating, and concerned for his comfort on the ranch. He was the one being pushy.

“Tony,” Steve said gently, and he must have set the pitchfork aside, because his hands were coming up to rest on Tony’s shoulders. “Will you look at me?”

He hadn’t even heard Steve approach. Tony couldn’t bring himself to look up at him, though. He felt too embarrassed. Too ashamed. He couldn’t have looked up at Steve even if Jarvis had been there telling him to. He turned his head, attempting to shake it, but lost the will halfway through.

“That’s okay,” Steve said, voice softening. “You don’t have to look at me. I’ll just talk, okay?” He waited, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to do anything to answer, too scared he wouldn’t be able to swallow down the lump in his throat. “Okay,” Steve repeated quietly. “Tony, I know you want to learn about your new life here. You want to be able to help. But Tony… it’s your second day here. Your first one, if we’re counting full daylight. You don’t hafta learn everything in one day. You have plenty of time.”

Tony swallowed thickly, trying to figure out how to respond in a way that wouldn’t come across as selfish. Finally, he whispered, “I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“Tony, you’re not going to be a burden,” Steve answered immediately. He paused for a moment, then quietly added, “I don’t want you to ever feel like you are. You’re not a burden for not knowing things.”

“I had so many things I wanted to learn before I came here,” Tony said, finally looking back up at him. He blinked back the heat in his eyes with a sniff. “I wanted to be prepared, but I ruined all of it because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Steve,” he added, voice cracking. “I didn’t even get to learn how to make pound cake for you.”

“Oh,” Steve gasped, like it had been punched out of him. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth, stricken, then dropped it back to Tony’s shoulder, pulling him in closer, not quite chest-to-chest, but enough that Tony could feel the warmth radiating off of him. “Oh, Tony. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Tony croaked, because he honestly had no idea why Steve would be. He was the one having to teach him everything, not the other way around.

Steve’s fingers tightened around his shoulders before he let his hands drop, curling his arms around Tony’s back until he could pull him into an embrace. It was loose. Tony could have broken free of it if he really wanted to. He doubted Steve would have forced him to stay in his arms even if he held tighter, though.

Tony leaned in, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder with a hitch of breath he refused to call a sob. His hands came up to clench the back of Steve’s shirt in shaking fingers, too afraid to embrace him back fully. Too afraid Steve would push him away.

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated into his hair, soft, as if Tony might shove him away if he was too loud, run and never look back. “Oh, Tony. I keep talking about how brave you’ve been, how brave you are. You’ve done everything you could to get here safely and in one piece. Sweetheart, now you get a chance to rest.”

Tony’s breath hitched again, and this time he allowed himself to call it what it was—a sob. “What?”

“You’re safe now, Tony,” Steve told him, louder, voice firm with conviction. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you or take you away. You’re not running away from someone who’s going to hurt you anymore, because I’m gonna protect you.” He leaned back, hand coming up to brush the backs of his fingers along Tony’s chin, urging him to lift his head to look at him again. “Take a breath, sweetheart,” Steve told him gently. “You’ve been carrying such a heavy load, all by yourself, for such a long time. Please let me help you carry it.” He paused, then added, “Please. Let your husband help you carry it.”

Tony stared up at him, struck speechless. Maybe that was for the best, though, because the lump in his throat had become unbearable. He couldn’t possibly swallow it down anymore. Steve was right—he’d been so afraid, so anxious, for such a long time. He didn’t think he knew how not to be, anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night without fear that Obadiah would be announcing his marriage to Ezekiel the next day, or that he’d be told he was penniless, and he’d need to move out of his parents’ mansion and depend on his friends for support. He couldn’t remember not feeling ashamed when he had to ask for help, feeling like a burden despite all his friends telling him he wasn’t one, that he’d do the same for them if the situations were reversed.

“I don’t know how,” Tony whispered, ashamed.

“I’ll help you,” Steve promised, and somehow it seemed more tender and reverent than any of their wedding vows. He smiled a little, stroking the backs of his fingers over Tony’s jaw before he added, “And I’ll start… by telling you to take a long, deep breath.”

Tony sucked in a breath, uncertain how ‘long’ or ‘deep’ it really was. It felt shaky, more than anything, and while he did feel the lump in his throat shrink with it, he felt his eyes burn more. He almost choked. He held his breath for a moment, feeling nauseous.

“Let it out, sweetheart,” Steve said gently, and Tony exhaled in a puff of air followed by a choked off cough, then a sob, and another. Steve pulled him into his chest again, holding him tight. “There you go. There you go, Tony.”

Tony buried his face in Steve’s shirt, each sob feeling like it was loosening something hard and sharp in his chest. His grip on Steve’s shirt tightened until his fingers were sore; he was certain his knuckles would be white, if he looked at them. His knees were shaking, and he couldn’t help but lean more of his weight on Steve, feeling like he was falling apart.

“I’ve got you,” Steve said, like a promise—like a certainty. “I’ve got you, Tony. You’re safe now, and I’m never gonna let anything happen to you. You’ve gone through enough.”

“Steve,” Tony murmured, feeling hollowed out. But he also felt like he could be filled with something better, now, like he was making more room inside himself for the hope he’d been feeling all the way from New York.

All the way to Steve.

Tony let out another sob, and Steve tightened his arms around him, and held him until even after the roosters started crowing irritably.

.-.

Steve sent him back up to the house once he finished crying. He did it gently, with so much care that Tony figured he looked as bad as he felt—wrung out, exhausted, and surprisingly sore. Tony couldn’t bring himself to argue, too tired. But… not a bad kind of tired, he thought. Like he’d cried out everything that had been wearing on him, from the day his parents had died to the day he stepped off the train in Chicago and received Steve’s telegram that welcomed him with open arms, ‘come at once, I’ll be waiting.’

Tony found himself sagging onto one of the easy chairs, too tired to go up the stairs back to his room. He felt like he should be there when Steve came in, too, like sequestering himself away would be giving the wrong impression. He wanted to see Steve, to talk to him. He… wasn’t embarrassed for having cried, like he thought he might be.

He could still hear Steve’s words ringing in his ears. Let me help you. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. He couldn’t… remember the last time someone had said that to him. Or at least, the last time someone had said it and meant it. He let his eyes slide across the wall, taking in the framed sketches, the shelves full of knickknacks he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to examine closely.

Then his eyes landed on the portrait of Sarah Rogers. He stared at her, taking in her soft smile, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She had raised an amazing child into an amazing man, he decided. He wished desperately that he’d gotten the chance to meet her. Her portrait made her look approachable. Kind. Patient. Just like Steve.

Tony stood again, walking over to look up at her properly. She looked so small in the picture. He wondered if that was because of her illness, or if she was just petite. He tried to imagine her forcing someone as big as Steve to put a bar of soap in his mouth and couldn’t help a giggle at the image it drew up, especially with the knowledge that he was still apparently haunted by the specter of a mother who would beat him with a wooden spoon if he brought his intended omega he hadn’t wed into his house. He felt a pang of homesickness—his parents had had one portrait done together, when he was a baby. It had been hung in the library. He wondered if he’d ever see it again. At least Sarah Roger’s kind smile was here to bring him comfort, though. It made him feel at ease, a little.

It was a pity that Steve didn’t want to paint anymore, he thought. He had a fine hand at it. But, he supposed he could understand losing passion after a parent died—he’d been unable to leave his bed for weeks after his own parents’ funeral, never mind going out to buy the latest science journals to read or tinkering in his father’s lab. At least Steve still had it in him to sketch things.

Tony heard a throat clearing and turned, surprised, to find Steve standing in the door of the kitchen. “Steve?”

“I thought you might be resting, so I didn’t want to disturb you,” Steve admitted, rubbing the back of his head as he stepped further into the dining room. “I, um. I fed the chickens. And gathered the eggs. I thought you might… like that time to yourself. How are you feeling?”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again, really thinking about how he felt. “I don’t know,” he finally said, shrugging a little. “Empty, mostly.”

“Well, you cried hard enough I’m surprised you have any moisture left in your body at all,” Steve mused. He came closer, assured, at least, that Tony wasn’t going to fall to pieces again in the next few minutes. “Normally around this time, I’d grab a quick lunch and pack a snack, then I’d go out on the range, check for signs of people riding through or the cows acting strange, but I think we should stick close to home for the day instead. That sound alright to you?”

“You don’t have to stay on my account,” Tony rushed to assure him. “I can stay here by myself! Don’t let me stop you from doing what you need to.”

Steve coughed and lifted his hand to rub the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed. “I, uh, I mostly did it to get away from the house. I mean, I can go, if you want more time to yourself, of course!”

Tony remembered what Steve had said in his letter—It’s lonely out here. It would be nice to come home to someone. And those words, crossed out, that Tony had held up to the light to see when he was alone—I get very lonesome. I’m almost certain that this solitude is killing me. How sad, that he had this lovely house, that he’d built with his own two hands, and no one to share it with.

“Well,” he said carefully. “We could… stay in. Surely, we should get used to the other’s company.” He paused, then added, “And… maybe we can make lunch together.”

“Yes,” Steve rushed to say, then blushed. He rubbed the back of his head again, then seemed to realize just how long his arm had been in the air and dropped it, eyes falling to the floor as he let out a nervous little hum. “That sounds good. Great! I meant it sounds great. I can teach you how to use the stove and oven.”

“Oh, good,” Tony said, expertly ignoring his fumble. He began toward the kitchen. “It’s much different than the one I learned on. Am I meant to keep the wood burning all day?”

“It’s not such a big deal if you don’t during the summer. Just bank fire back up and it should get hot enough in no time,” Steve answered, turning to following him. His hand came to hover at the small of Tony’s back, then lifted to push the door open ahead of him instead. “In the winter, though, we’ll wanna keep the fires going. We don’t get a lot of snow, but it gets cold. I’ll be here to help, though.” His voice took on a more amused tone. “Winters are the easiest part of ranching. We just wait for the cows to birth the next herd.”

“Oh,” Tony said, coming to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. “I suppose that makes sense. What should we make for lunch?”

Steve came to a stop beside him. He crossed his arms, giving a low hum of thought. Finally, he glanced down at Tony, a glint in his eye that Tony recognized from every time Jan had had an idea that got them into just enough mischief that they earned a light scolding if they were caught and not a real boxing of ears. “What would your Jarvis have to say about eating dessert before lunch?”

Tony couldn’t help the thrill that went through him at the idea of breaking a rule, even though he was an adult and there was no way Jarvis would ever know about it. A smile came to his lips that he couldn’t have hoped to bite back. “He’d certainly never allow it.”

“I fear my mother would say the same. Luckily, neither of them are here. So, what do you say we wait for lunch… and instead we make a pound cake?”

Tony blinked up at him in surprise. Then what Steve said actually registered, and he couldn’t help but brighten up, excited at the prospect. “Okay!”

.-.

Pound cake was an astoundingly simple recipe—a pound each of flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. It was mostly the oven that Tony had trouble with, but Steve had assured him that the more he used it, the more he would get a feel for it.

The cake had turned out nice. Nothing like the sponge cakes Jarvis made back home, or the delicate chiffon cakes that were served at parties. It didn’t set heavy in his gut, though, especially with the strawberries Steve had cut up and spread on top of each slice. ‘This is my favorite dessert because you can top it with any fruit in season,’ Steve had explained as he’d grabbed an extra slice to sop up the juices on his plate. Tony had taken that as permission to take a second piece and do the same. It was kind of a plain cake, once all the fruit was gone, but he liked the bits along the edge that were brown and crunchy.

Steve had gone out to try and get Brownie and Pokey back in the barn, so that they could just saddle them up after taking care of the chores in the morning. He said it might take a while, though; apparently Pokey was a very obstinate horse, which was why Steve would be riding him. It was also why Steve had said it could take him a while to round them up, so there was no reason to wait up for him. He’d probably have to take a bath after, anyway, and he’d be going straight from the stream to his room.

Tony took the time to do the dishes. He’d watched the way that Steve had cleaned as he went as they made the cake, and it gave him an idea of how to do so himself. It probably wouldn’t be perfect until he figured out the best way to work the oven and stove, but it would be a start. Steve still wasn’t back by the time he was drying the last plate and putting it away, though, so he nosed around until he found a linen closet. He dug through it until he found a towel, because he hadn’t seen Steve take one with him. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Steve take a change of clothes with him either.

“…Well, maybe he has spares in the barn,” Tony decided. It wasn’t implausible. He didn’t know a lot about the ranch yet. Maybe he even had a spare towel in the barn. Tony stared at the one he’d grabbed for a moment, then shrugged, instead walking over to hang it on the doorknob outside. If Steve didn’t use it, he’d just put it back, wouldn’t he?

Tony turned to head upstairs to bed, deciding not to bother with a bath when they were going out riding tomorrow. He’d just use the wash basin again to freshen up; he hadn’t done anything strenuous that day except cry, and he’d fixed that with a quick splash of water from the pump in the kitchen. He paused when he noticed the paper and pen still sitting out on the little table of a secretaire near Steve’s room. That must have been where he wrote his letter that morning, Tony thought fondly. He took a step up the stairs, then paused again.

Well. Steve hadn’t said how long he’d be gone. Tony wasn’t quite ready to sleep. And Steve had said he could use any of his stationery for correspondence. If Steve came in while he was writing his letter, he could always just hand it right to him and hurry up to bed. He came back down the stairs and turned the nearest lamp up a little, then walked over to the secretaire, carefully pulling the chair sitting nearby to the table.

Tony couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought that Steve must have done this too, when he’d been writing his correspondence to him. He remembered what Steve had said, baskets full of scratched out attempts at letters. He imagined Steve bent over the table of his secretaire, balled-up pieces of paper surrounding him as he worked on his best version of his newest letter, late into the night, as he tried to find the perfect words.

He hadn’t, not really. He’d had to cross out swears, and struggled through keeping a conversation going when he wasn’t necessarily good at it, and had tiptoed around the reason for their correspondence until Tony had come out and asked outright what his intentions were. But he’d also sent him sketches that Tony would have framed if he could without Obadiah asking about them, and had sent him a little card with a smear of light yellow on it as his favorite color, and had told him the type of soap his mother had used to wash his mouth out as a child. Tony couldn’t imagine Steve writing anything else, and he loved the letters he’d received, faults and all.

Tony pulled a piece of paper close and looked at Steve’s pen, surprised to find that it was the old-fashioned kind, the ones that had to be dipped in an inkpot. For a moment, he worried he wouldn’t be able to write with it, and he should hurry and get his fountain pen out of his bag. However, after a nervous ‘dear,’ he found himself getting the hang of it, and his ‘Steve’ looked quite normal. Hopefully, Steve would be willing to overlook it.

Dear Steve,

I’d like to apologize for being pushy, today. I understand now that I was trying to do too much, too soon. I’m pretty sure you won’t accept my apology, though, so I guess I’ll just say… thank you for understanding. A lot has happened to me in a short amount of time, and I think I’m just now coming to terms with all of it. I think I have a few good cries in me left to go, honestly. I think I’ll do those in private, though. It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course, it’s just that there’s only so much embarrassment a person can take at once, you know? Especially when you’ve spent so long being told you’re overreacting, or hysterical, or stupid. You were the first alpha who didn’t treat me like I was being any of those things. You’re the first alpha who made me feel truly safe in a long time.

Aside from that, today was really nice. Breakfast was good, and I loved making the pound cake together. I wish I’d thought to grab my book of notes so I could write down some of your tips, though. Perhaps we can make another pound cake together soon, and I’d remember to bring my notebook down. Maybe we could go through it together, and you could pick a recipe for me to make for you. Or, maybe we could make it together, too? It was fun, being in the kitchen together. I’ll miss that when you have to take more work on again. Hopefully I’ll be more confident in the kitchen then, though, and I’ll have plenty of good meals for you to come home to.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow, too. I’ll try to do better and listen to you when you want me to slow down. I can’t promise I’ll always be good at it. It will be a learning experience for both of us. Maybe you can wake me so we can make breakfast together? I’ll need to learn how to use that stove to cook eggs eventually. Maybe we can even make a picnic lunch to eat on our ride. Perhaps the pound cake will travel well.

I’ll see you in the morning, Steve. Rest well. I hope Pokey didn’t cause you too much trouble.

Sincerely,

Tony

Tony found an envelope and slipped the letter inside of it, then looked around, wondering where to put it where Steve would be sure to see. Eventually, he decided on just setting it carefully on top of the doorknob to his room. It took some finagling, but eventually he got it pretty secure. Pleased, he turned down some of the lamps, leaving just enough light that Steve could see to relight them if he wanted, then went upstairs. He wondered if he’d sleep as well that night as he had before. A lot had happened that day, after all.

He heard the door open and paused, wondering if he should go back and say goodnight to Steve. Then he heard the sound of bare feet hurrying across the floor, and he couldn’t help but back up a few steps and look down the stairs.

Steve was rushing across the room in nothing but the towel Tony had left for him. Tony found himself staring against his will, mouth dropping open. Somehow, he’d never considered how muscular Steve must have looked under his clothes, having simply stopped himself at acknowledging Steve had muscular arms and he liked holding them. It looked like his muscles had muscles. He was truly built like a triangle. He was also still a little damp. He watched a bead of water roll down Steve’s back as he stopped to snatch up the letter Tony had left for him.

He let go of the towel to rip the letter open. Tony saw the way it hung loose around Steve’s hips without his hand holding it up and turned to throw himself into his room with a muffled squawk, hoping Steve was too focused on the letter to hear it.

#aurumacadicus writes #stony #sincerely yours #long post

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