Chapter Text
The first Coulson-Stark Christmas spent as a married couple was equal parts amazing and terrifying. Their first two Christmases passed in an easy fashion, as they were dating on-and-off and Tony was testing the waters of monogamy. When Tony wasn't going to galas and charity balls, he was holed up in Phil's apartment in Oregon, where they engaged in drunk chess, strip poker, and Star Wars marathons, occasionally mocking the Christmas movies on Lifetime.
After they got married, Christmas seemed to take on new meaning, bringing with it a whole new set of issues. What did he get for his husband, who held the patent on placid smiles and seemingly bland taste? The man was an immovable rock, his main loves Captain America, his tazer, and immaculately kept three piece suits. Tony hoped that he ranked closer to Captain America than suits, but one could never be too sure. What was he supposed to do that wasn't ostentatious and over the top?
The worry plagued him, dogging his heels into Stark Industries where he attempted to be a good CEO for once and collaborate with R&D while getting some paperwork finished. After he missed the Sign Here line for the fifth time, Pepper finally got fed up with him and perched on the edge of his desk. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, Tony huffed out a breath and slumped in his chair, well aware that he was approaching over-dramatic.
"Care to tell me what troubles you, Mr. Stark?" She asked, folding her hands and leaning towards him. Once upon a time, Tony entertained a fleeting crush on strawberry blonde hair and freckles, but the idea of commitment had sent him running straight into the arms of a man who took what Tony gave and patiently waited for him to get his head out of his ass.
"Christmas," Tony muttered.
"Christmas? I thought you were an atheist?"
"I am. There's a thing. Or a person. Who still celebrates Christmas."
"Is it about your mystery keeper? The reason you haven't ended up in the tabloids for a few months?"
Huh. Glancing down at his phone, Tony had been sure that he had told Pepper he'd gotten hitched... Making a note to JARVIS, Tony looked up from the screen with a scowl.
"If that's what you want to call it." He didn’t sound defensive. No way.
"I'm not going to hunt them down, Tony. I could, but I won't. You've been behaving, which I for one am very grateful for."
"I'm not that bad," Tony protested, though he was well aware how untrue the statement was.
"Mmhm," Pepper hummed. "So, what are their interests? Do I at least get to know their gender?"
"He likes reading, watching TV, and long walks on the beach," Tony simpered. Phil hated long walks. Short walks were preferable.
"Tony."
"Two out of three ain't bad, Pep."
"Do you want my help or not?"
Tony spun in his chair, grunting when his knees knocked into his desk. He knew damned well what he could do, but he wasn't sure if it would be overkill or not.
"Captain America. He loves Captain America," he grumbled.
"That seems ironic," Pepper murmured, examining her nails as her thoughts undoubtedly drifted to the massive collection of Captain America memorabilia collecting dust in Stark Mansion. She knew how much Tony loathed that part of his legacy, the spectre hovering above the memories of his father.
"Yup. I call it shitty odds. Out of all the men that I would have chosen to play house with, this one had to have matching curtains of patriotism."
Pepper looked up sharply, but chose not to comment as she engaged him in a staring match. Tony had hired her for that tactical stare down. And the ballsy way she called him out on his bullshit. Once upon a time, it was a turn on. Now, it was one of the many things that impressed/terrified him.
"It seems easy, then."
"How is that easy? I should just buy him something. A car. An island. I bet he'd like an island. Who doesn't like islands?"
"Tony."
"I mean, he could use a tan. He's pretty pale, but he's got a badass pair of secret ninja sunglasses. He'd probably get a tan line from his dress socks."
"Tony."
"Dress socks can be very attractive. Did you know that? I think I have a new kink."
"Tony."
"Yeah, Pep?"
"Please be quiet."
"That is no way to talk to your boss."
"Do you want my help, Mr. Stark?"
"I do, Miss Potts."
"Captain America. Pick something from your collection. Don't be insensitive."
"I'm the definition of insensitive," Tony grumbled.
"Try to refrain."
"Why do I pay you again?"
"Because I made copies of those documents you signed incorrectly, and I work in tandem with your computer to run your life."
"Ah. All good reasons."
"If that will be all, Mr. Stark?" Pepper asked, sliding off the desk and replacing the ruined documents with their backup copies.
"That will be all, Miss Potts," Tony replied with a glare, knowing he was sulking. She smiled brightly at him, waiting until he finished signing before walking out.
Christmas morning was appropriately cold and snowy for Oregon. While Tony had wanted to retreat to Malibu and celebrate whatever it was they were celebrating in the warmth, Phil had insisted that they stay in Portland for their first Christmas. The apartment was livelier than Tony had ever seen it, given that there was a Charlie Brown tree in the corner with a few presents wrapped underneath and some other decorations scattered in the space. Pepper had sent along a package for Phil, still unaware that he was Tony's husband, with strict instructions that Phil be the one to open it.
Phil's bed, while smaller than Tony's, was ridiculously comfortable, meaning that Tony was loathe to get up when the alarm went off. They were still tangled together after a night of enthusiastic sex (did he call it lovemaking now that they were married? No? Maybe?), Phil moving away for a moment to turn the alarm clock off. He rolled back into Tony's arms, a dopey smile on his face that Tony found really fricking adorable for no real reason.
"Merry Christmas," he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to Tony's lips. Humming, Tony allowed a drowsy warmth to envelope him as he returned it. Snuggling closer, Tony broke the kiss and tucked his head against Phil's shoulder.
"Nngh. It's too early. Many happy returns or something, let’s go back to sleep," Tony grumbled.
"It's noon," Phil replied with a chuckle, reaching up to card his fingers through Tony's bed head. Tony nibbled on his neck, pleased when his husband started massaging his scalp.
"I'm only available every other Thursday," Tony said, voice muffled.
"Good thing it's that Thursday," Phil replied, letting his hand slip out of Tony's hair before he rolled away. Tony keened at the loss, slumping against the pillows for a moment before rolling out of bed with a grunt. Too damned early. Who needed Christmas? Nobody, that's who. Not if it meant getting out of bed before three.
Scratching his chest and tasting how nasty his mouth was, he shuffled to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Autopilot carried him through, and it only occurred to him later that he wasn't sure whose toothbrush he used, or when he had even put on a red t-shirt and some black boxers. The scent of breakfast lured him into the kitchen, where Phil was standing over the skillet in a white t-shirt, Captain America boxers, and dress socks. Christ, those dress socks. He got lost for a few moments while considering the uses of dress socks and Phil's (deceptively) toned calves, with the possibility of men's garters, which shouldn't have been hot, but could be-
"Tony," Phil barked, not unkindly as he shoved a plate into his hands. Remembering to grip the plate, Tony looked up to find a ghost of a smirk flitting across the other man's face.
"Daydreaming?"
"Oh yeah," Tony nodded, shooting Phil a lecherous grin.
"Go make the eggs before the pancakes and bacon get cold." Ouch. Shot right out of the sky.
"Ugh," Tony exclaimed, not caring that he sounded like a sulky teenager. Phil had been making him fix eggs since the early days of their relationship, when Tony confessed that he didn't really know how to cook anything. They hadn't progressed any farther than eggs, and they were always scrambled. Always.
Wiping out the pan, Tony sprayed it and then beat the eggs in a separate bowl, dashing in salt and pepper. Milk for extra fluffiness or some bullshit (don't knock Mama Coulson's recipes if you know what's good for you), and then he dumped them in the skillet, glaring as he prodded them with the spatula.
"That's right, eggs. Obey your overlord," Tony growled as he turned them over.
"Are you playing conquest in the skillet again?" Phil called from the kitchen table.
"No!" Tony denied, though he was most definitely playing conquest as he held a lump of egg down with his spatula, smirking as it popped while it cooked. "Bwahahaha," he cackled under his breath, while taking a moment to wonder when his life had come to this. Once the eggs were done, he carried the pan out and divvied them up between their plates, making another trip to drop the pan in the sink and grab the ketchup for Phil. Blech. Ketchup was all well and good, just not on eggs.
"So. What's on the agenda for the day, Agent Man?" Tony asked as he sat down across the table, immediately searching for Phil's feet underneath. After a moment his bare feet brushed against sock feet, and he was content to settle into his chair and drown his pancakes in the syrup Phil had brought out.
"Breakfast, presents, shower, and an early Christmas dinner with Meaghan and Virginia."
"Sounds good all the way up to that last part. I don't know if I'm a fan of that part."
Phil wiggled his toes, distracting Tony enough so that he could squirt ketchup onto his eggs without too much screeching. When he looked back up again, Phil was well into his eggs and Tony never got the chance to bitch. Dammit.
"Seriously. Pepper doesn't even know...You sly dog, you," he said, stabbing his fork near his husband's face. Phil was unperturbed as he began to cut his pancakes into uniform squares.
"I think it would be a great Christmas present to the woman who runs your life."
"Mmhm. 'Hey Pep. By the way, I've been married for over six months and neglected to tell you. But he brought a pot roast!'"
"Do you even know what a pot roast is, Tony?"
"Should I? If it doesn't run on electricity, process data, or go fast, I don't need to know what it is."
"I am going to pretend you didn't just say that. Eat your breakfast, Tony."
Muttering to himself between bites, he pushed the thought of dinner with Pepper and Lil' Potts to the back of his mind. What swam up instead was much worse: Christmas presents. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about what he could do for Phil without seeming over the top. He still thought that an island was a great gift, or at least a lavish two weeks somewhere warm that wasn't Oregon. Tahiti, maybe.
He had made his way through breakfast properly worshipful of his husband's pancakes, but he was still on edge. He didn't taste his eggs, and while bacon was usually a love sonnet, he couldn't process much more than 'this is crunchy' and 'damn this tastes good but shit's gonna hit the fan'.
For once, Tony was able to dump his plate in the sink without being scolded for not washing it. A second plate joined his, and then they were in front of the droopy little tree that he'd picked up from a roadside vendor a few days prior. It was almost too small for ornaments, but Phil had wrangled a few colorful bulbs onto it (red, silver, and blue of course) and some garland. Tony had shot down the idea of popcorn strings. Hell no.
"I'm not good at this," Tony blurted.
"I would have never guessed," was the dry reply as Phil tugged him down onto the carpet.
"Seriously. Christmas was fucked up in my house."
"This isn't your house. This is our apartment. I would consider it a marked difference."
"Semantics."
"I'll taze you."
"...Fair enough."
"There aren't that many here. It will be painless."
"Lies," Tony hissed while scrabbling for the perfectly wrapped present from Pepper. It was a bright blue monstrosity with silver snowflakes, rattling when Tony chucked it at his husband. Phil deftly snatched it out of the air and looked it over with a bemused smile.
"I can't even really imagine what this is," Phil confessed as he methodically lifted each taped end and slid nondescript wooden box away from the paper. Tony watched in horror as Phil pressed the still sticky ends of the tape down before refolding the paper.
"You've got to be kidding me. You save wrapping paper? Really?" He spluttered, brow furrowed as Phil leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"I do. There's no reason to throw it away if it's still usable. Trim it, repurpose it. You never know when you might need it."
"Just open the damned box," Tony sniped, crossing his arms. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what Pepper had sent.
Opening the box so that the lid concealed the contents from view, Phil's face remained blank a few breathless seconds before he laughed. Not just chuckled – laughed. Tony watched in confusion as his husband laughed for a good two minutes straight while clutching the box. It became disturbing when the laughter slid into a lecherous grin that had Tony crab-crawling backwards.
"Do I want to know what my P.A. put in that box?"
"Virginia Potts is conniving. I never would have guessed," Phil said in explanation, before turning the box so that Tony could see. Inside, a red leather leash was coiled around a StarkPhone (from Tony's personal production line, which was way more awesome than anything else on the market).
"I don't get it," Tony mumbled, his mind racing. Instead of replying, Phil handed him the attached card while rummaging through the presents under the tree.
Mr. Coulson,
Merry Christmas, and congratulations on managing to wrangle Mr. Stark into something resembling complacency. If you keep him on a short leash, he completes his projects on time and can be very well behaved. Don't let him get away. I have included a phone with my number programmed in, and JARVIS (I hope you've met him) has been instructed not to delete it. I look forward to Christmas dinner with the two of you.
Sincerely,
Virginia Potts
After rereading it, Tony could smell conspiracy in the air.
"How does she know your name? I brought this last week. Did you two plot this? Are you plotters? Do I have to worry that you're going to run off with my P.A.? Phil," Tony whined, irritated that he hadn't looked up from present sorting.
"Virginia is a very resourceful woman, Tony. If I hadn't stepped forward, then she would have hunted me down to contain the press fallout on her own. In any case, I'm sure we could put a matching collar to good use."
Phil's voice had remained completely level as he spoke, but Tony's face was heating and his libido abruptly returned in full force. It wasn't that Tony hadn't thought of those things. His former bed partners had always been willing women (and sometimes men) who weren't interested in taking the reins. That had been perfectly fine with Tony, until Phil came along. Phil, with his calm demeanor, deceptive strength, and oddly attractive dress socks. When all the factors were added up, Tony was more than happy to be the one thrown on the bed. Among other things.
Clearing his throat, it took Tony a moment to croak out, "Yeah." Desperately searching for some kind of distraction, he grabbed the closest present and thrust it at Phil, forcing him to close the wooden box and set it aside. Pepper had refused to wrap any of it, so Tony and the 'bots had worked on wrapping the presents under JARVIS' patient tutelage. The presents still looked as though they had been wrapped by five year olds, and Phil's expression reflected the sentiment, but it still elicited a smile from the man as he carefully unwrapped it.
Tony wriggled in place, nervous as he watched Phil pull out a pair of socks.
"Socks?" He asked, though there was no recrimination in his voice. He compared them to the ones he was wearing, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Tony itched to bring up the price tag, but that was something Phil didn't appreciate. Instead, he scooted forward a bit and pulled a business card out from the folds.
"Yeah, uh. You look good. In socks. Dress socks specifically. That card is for my tailor. I know, I know. Living in the lap of luxury isn’t your game, blah blah blah. Just one suit, is all I ask. It’s Christmas, right?” Tony rambled, ignoring the way his face heated. He fiddled with the card, refusing to be embarrassed.
The card was plucked out of his fingers, and a kiss pressed to his cheek.
“This is great, Tony. I was afraid you were going to buy me an island or a fleet of Audis,” he said with a chuckle.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Tony was glad Pepper had talked him out of most of his extravagant ideas. While he was ruminating on his gift giving skills (was he really that bad?), Phil pulled out a small package wrapped in red, pressing it into Tony’s hands. The wrapping was as meticulously done as Pepper’s had been; he almost had the urge to chuck it at the wall due to uniformity. Instead, he ripped open the paper with a wicked grin in Phil’s direction, relishing the wince he got in return.
Without the paper, all that was left was a small black box, which could have held anything from a watch to a wallet. Resisting the need to shake the box and guess what was inside (it was a proven method), Tony pulled the lid off and blinked when he saw a silver tie clip nestled in black velvet. He had plenty of tie clips, though this one was set apart by its intricate design: on the end of the clip, set in a circular base were gears of various sizes and colors, fitted together in a steampunk style (that he not-so-secretly loved). In the middle of the clip, the letters C-S were engraved, and he would not cry, he would not cry, dammit Stark men don’t cry.
"What do you give the man who has everything?" Phil murmured, cupping Tony's hands in his. "I want you to wear this, and know who you come home to."
"I definitely know," Tony leered, if only to cover up the emotion that was threatening to bubble over. He was Tony Stark. He didn't give a damn about feelings. Except when his husband gave him gifts that were simple but insanely thoughtful and he really couldn't deal without the presence of alcohol.
Gathering himself, Tony pulled the next to last present from under the tree, handing it to Phil. It was smallish, and wrapped in paper that featured American flags coupled with snowflakes.
Pepper needed a hell of a raise for her brilliant ideas.
Tapping a finger on the paper, Phil smiled as he opened it with utmost care. Watching him fold the paper set Tony on edge, and he nearly vibrated in place while waiting for him to open the damned present.
"I know you aren’t into holidays, but I appreciate the effort you put into this," Phil murmured, sliding a finger under the last bit of tape and popping the paper. He fell silent as the paper was peeled back to reveal a comic book that Tony was damned sure Phil didn't own.
"Tony...Is this...?"
Tony met Phil's gaze, wanting to soothe the fragile hope shining back. Phil looked back down at the comic, gingerly pulling it out of the sleeve. Treating the pages as if they were spun glass, Phil slowly flipped through it with an expression of stunned awe.
Shifting in place, Tony fidgeted as his husband reached the end of the comic, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he waited for Phil's reaction. Hopefully it would be a good reaction; it should have been, considering the comic was a first edition Captain America #1, signed by one Steve Rogers with accompanying doodles.
Howard Stark had gotten a hold of the comics on the front, telling Tony the story over and over again about how he and Steve had laughed about it for weeks. For posterity and Stark Jr., Steve had signed Howard's copies and scribbled in some extra bits. The comics had been Howard Stark's pride and joy, not for little boys with more curiosity than sense. A lifetime and a dusty weekend later in the Stark Mansion basement, Tony had decided that Phil deserved the comic far more than he ever did.
"I'm guessing that's shocked silence. Which means that I am fabulous and you are yet again basking in my presence."
"Did you buy this?" Phil hadn't looked up, still running light fingers over the cover.
"What? What does it matter?"
"I've seen first editions only a handful of times, and they cost a fortune. And with Captain Rogers' signature? How much did you spend?"
"Oh, uh..." Tony scratched his nose, deliberately staring past Phil's ear at the wall.
"Tony." Uh oh. That tone sounded an awful lot like 'doghouse' or 'couch'.
"My dad. He was a Captain America nut. He knew the guy, right? Made his tech and shit. They were friends, and after the good Captain disappeared, he got obsessed. So. There's this collection. Of things. In my basement."
"You have a massive collection of Captain America paraphernalia in your basement?"
Tony ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a breath.
"Yes. I knew you didn't have that one. No one has that one. I thought that maybe I could show you sometime? The collection. At my mansion. The place is dusty and haunted with the memories of Starks past, but I know that you would probably get off on the sheer amount of patriotism, pants on and everything."
Rolling his eyes, Phil tucked the comic back into its sleeve with the sort of reverence usually found at church altars and in cults. Tony knew going in that he'd already drank the Kool-Aid, so there was no going back.
A moment's inattention had Tony flat on his back, Phil straddling his waist in those damned boxers and dress socks. God.
"You are one of the most infuriating men I've ever met," Phil growled, leaning down so that his nose touched Tony's.
Tony's stomach dropped a bit, because he always figured that Phil would be the one to end things. Logic kicked in just in time to stay the doubt, insisting that Phil wouldn't be grinding down if he was truly mad. Lifting his hips a bit to participate, Tony grinned at the hitch in his husband's breath.
"But you love that about me. How could you not?"
"How could I not," Phil repeated, pressing his mouth to Tony's. The kiss was brief but intsense, sensation flaring up his spine to tingle over nerve endings to his finger tips and toes. Phil was everywhere and then he was gone, pupils blown with a thin rim of blue irises.
"I guess your next present lends itself to that, though I had no idea."
"Oh?" Tony asked, not really interested. Christmas Sex was within his grasp.
Phil reached back to the tree without moving, dropping the last present on Tony's chest. It was wrapped in silver, which he didn’t feel bad about ripping into to reveal another black box. It rattled a bit before the lid was popped off, revealing a set of keys.
"Did we get a firesafe? Honey, you shouldn't have."
"Shut up, Stark," Phil quipped, though the upwards tilt to his mouth meant only good things for Tony.
"Never. So what are the keys for? I'm absolutely dying here," he retorted, tilting his hips for emphasis. Phil’s low groan was reward enough, though it was disappointing when he regained his composure.
"We've got an apartment waiting for us in New York. It's near Stark Industries headquarters, near my offices, and close enough that you can't talk your way out of showing me that treasure trove of Captain America paraphernalia," Phil explained dangling the keys from the tip of his finger.
"I'm guessing there's more?"
"I've got an assignment coming up that will keep me in New York for long enough that I need you nearby, lest I stray into celibacy,” he delivered with deadpan expression.
Tony's eyes widened and his mock gasp echoed throughout the room.
"Christ. No. That was in my vows, baby. You will get laid, and that is guaranteed. I guess New York wouldn't be so bad."
"Mmhm. I hate to have sex because of my idol, but I am very close to listening to you whine about rug burn all day."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Tony said with a grin.
Stumbling to their room, Tony let himself be tackled onto the bed, smirking as Phil kissed him again. Shirts were yanked over heads, boxers were shucked, and the only thing between Tony and Christmas sex was a pair of dress socks. Dear god.
"Leave them on," Tony croaked when Phil got off the bed to slide his socks down his calves. A devilish smirk crept across Phil's face as he straightened, then stalked straight backed over to the bed, both predatory and authoritarian all at once. If asked, Tony wouldn't be able to say that he wasn't turned on.
"You want the socks to stay?"
"Mmm. Yes, please."
"I believe that can be arranged, Mr. Coulson-Stark."
Tony looked up at his husband as he crawled onto the bed, a picture of lean, wiry muscle that was littered with scars and a thousand stories that Tony wanted to hear. Hearing his real last name sent a thrill of pleasure racing up his spine once more, and he tilted his head back without prompting so Phil could kiss his neck.
"I would thoroughly enjoy that and you, Mr. Coulson-Stark," Tony hummed, pulling Phil up for a kiss while reflecting that there were some things he would leave out of his tale to Pepper, as he recounted the success of the first Coulson-Stark Christmas.