make-down

musicalluna:

because i took off my make up

–

Steve loves to watch Tony take off his make-up at the end of the day.

He doesn’t wear it all the time, but whenever he has a big press junket or a special event, a TV taping, anything like that, he does. Foundation and concealer, a touch of blush, lip balm, touches of a light color that catches the light and accents his cheekbones, his eyes. It’s all very subtle, but the effect is striking. It easily takes off ten years.

Not that Tony looks old.

The make-up just makes him look young.

Anyway, Steve likes to watch him go through the process of cleaning it off, his nimble hands gentle as they smooth cream over his skin. He wipes it away with a washcloth, soaked in warm water. Presses it over his face for a moment before dragging it down and revealing his skin, flushed a little from the treatment. His eyelashes stick together in pretty little black spikes.

He checks the rag to see where he has a few clean spots and then wipes the nooks and crannies of his face where the make-up is still managing to cling. When he inspects it and finds it cleaned to his satisfaction, he tosses the rag into the hamper and then bends forward over the sink, splashing his face with warm water. Sometimes he just presses handfuls of it against his skin and stays that way for a handful of breaths.

Then he dabs his face dry with a towel and all that’s left is pure Tony, with little wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, skin different colors and speckled with scars and freckles and sometimes bruises.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Steve says when Tony turns toward the door, and reaches to curl his hands around Tony’s waist, delighting in the blush that rises in his cheeks.

“You’re weird,” Tony tells him, because he’s long since accepted that Steve tends to say things like that when he’s stripped bare like this and means it. He accepts the kiss Steve ducks down to offer him.

“And you’re stunning,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbles. He smiles.