How about some Mafia!AU Tony and Bruce fluff? :3
(Aye Aye Captain!)
It had taken several weeks to grown accustomed to Tony’s bizarre antics. Bruce knew each morning that the likelihood of Tony having slept wasn’t high, that Explosions were a common occurrence at the house, and that strange guests visited whenever they damn well pleased. tony did his best to make it comfortable for Bruce but even he couldn’t manage everything and Bruce would have to become used to the life eventually.
A month into Bruce’s stay, which by that point had been decided was now a permanent residence, Tony came bursting into the Library where Bruce was reading and demanded he dressed and dolled himself up immediately, because they were going out. Bruce panicked, expecting to be carted off to a murder or something equally horrid, but when he met Tony down by the car, one of the Roles Royces he never drove, It was just the two of them, no militia or artillery guns hooked onto the car, no bloodstains on Tony’s shirt, just a devilish smile and an outstretched hand.
"Please god tell me those are not your glad rags?" Tony asked in disbelief.
Bruce looked down at the clothes he was wearing, the faded trousers and vest, the pale yellow shirt and scuffed shoes. “Well I… I thought they were alright. Everything else is kind of ruined by this point.”
Tony made a noise of disgust and ushered Bruce into the car, giving the driver, Happy, orders for their adventure. Instead of drinks and a show, which was the initial plan, Tony lead Bruce on a hunt across Manhattan, to various department stores, Macy’s was almost too big to be real, and little boutiques hidden in back alleys. Bruce protested when Tony went to pay, buying him new trousers and shirts in a wide variety of colors, lots of yellows and blue and purples and the occasional rare shade of emerald. As he tried each on in the curtained back room, Tony provided a lengthy commentary critiquing the clothes and Bruce’s figure, always adding a light kiss to his cheek or shoulder, hands sliding around his waist in a light embrace whenever he was particularly pleased with something. He saved that for the boutiques he had personal connections with, not the department stores with thousands of patrons.
He saved the fingers dipping below the waistline of Bruce’s trousers for the curtained back rooms, the hot kisses for when the shop girl turned away to help someone else. He saved the filthy words for when no one was around to hear, when they were nestled in the back of the car, Bruce’s face hot and flushed as Tony whispered and tickled his ear.
Never had he ever owned so many fine things, never in his life. Bruce didn’t know what to do with half of them. But as Tony dragged him from the car, ordering Happy back home, Bruce didn’t much care. Tony led him into the bar, the Russian starlet Natasha perched on stage, her voice echoing around them to the hum of a cello and the sweet tune of the sax. He didn’t care, for the first time in forever, as Tony pulled him into his lap, kissing his neck, Bruce’s eyes dizzy from the glitter and the color and the lights.
He was happy.
And god did it feel grand.