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When Pepper had sighed and rolled her eyes in mock irritation and said, "Tony's built you an apartment," Steve realised, she had actually meant, "Tony's built you an apartment." He shifted his kit bag from one shoulder to the other and stepped out of the elevator onto the high-polished wooden floors, JARVIS saying, "Welcome home, sir," from some hidden speaker.
Steve turned in a slow circle, whistled softly to himself. Tony's brand of offhand generosity could still startle, both because of its scope and because of who it came from. Steve knew that he and Tony hadn't exactly gotten off to the best start, but now they were something close to good friends—and you know, Steve had received some pretty nice gifts from friends in his time, but none of them had come with floor-to-ceiling windows, a breathtaking view out over Manhattan, a bed about the size of Steve's old apartment in Brooklyn, and what looked like a hot tub in the bathroom. Everything was sleek, chrome fittings and curved glass, like an illustration of the future in one of the pulps he'd devoured as a kid. In his jeans and t-shirt, carrying his beat-up kit bag, Steve felt scruffy and out of place.
He dropped the bag on the floor and sat down gingerly on the foot of the bed. The bed-frame looked as if it had been carved out of one solid piece of cherry and had been polished to a rich, warm sheen. It was probably worth more than everything else Steve owned combined. The thought made him uneasy, made him start to think that he should go back downstairs and tell Tony that it was a very generous gesture but it was way, way too much—and then Steve put his hands down on the comforter. It was incredibly soft under his palms, and the down inside it was dense but gave easily beneath his touch. Steve had never felt anything like it before. He stroked it a couple of times before looking around the room furtively. There was a little time before dinner, after all, and he was pretty sure that JARVIS wouldn't tell, so he toed off his shoes and tugged off his jeans, slipping underneath the covers in just his t-shirt and boxers.
Steve sighed happily. The mattress was just the right amount of firm and seemed to mould itself to his body; the comforter was fluffy and deliciously warm above him, and the sheets were cool and soft against his skin. In the army, he'd grown used to sleeping on board-like camp beds or on rickety cots or once, memorably, halfway up a tree in southern France, but even before the war he'd never had a bed like this. He'd relied on layers of sheets and blankets and quilts to keep him warm, and even then he'd had to take a hot brick to bed on winter nights to help keep chilblains at bay. Now, nestled underneath just one layer, Steve felt cosy enough to drift right off to sleep.
He wriggled deeper under the covers, seriously contemplating doing just that, when he heard a low, amused noise from the direction of the door. Steve cracked open one eye to see Tony standing there, hands in his pockets and grinning.
"So," Tony said, "Pepper was saying you didn't seem so sure about the whole, you know, Avengers commune idea, but you seem to have settled in nicely."
"Can I fight crime from this bed?" Steve said. He curled his toes against the sheets, and maybe he was being serious, just a little.
"Organic Egyptian cotton," Tony said, rocking back on his heels. "600 thread count, Pepper had it imported special. You like it?"
"It's like lying in a really warm cloud," Steve said blissfully.
"You know what's also awesome about these beds?" Tony said, "Those mattresses are specially engineered to make for excellent trampolines. Perfect staging place for a pillow fight, if you like that sort of thing."
Steve sat up slowly. He remembered running battles with Bucky across the beds at the orphanage, goose-down spilling everywhere and the sisters yelling at them. "If?" he said.
Tony's grin was wide and wicked.
(Pepper yelled at them a lot when she found out that they'd broken the bed frame. Steve didn't really regret it that much.)