One moment they’re fighting, yelling scathing insults and ugly accusations at each other, and the next they’re kissing, all teeth and anger-fuelled desperation. Steve backs him up until Tony’s shoulders hit the closest wall, and hoists him up, giving Tony no choice but to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist for support. Tony bites Steve’s bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and Steve growls, and grips both of Tony’s wrists in one big hand, his hold bruisingly tight.
One call out to investigate a disturbance at the cemetery changes everything, and maybe, just maybe, gives them all a second chance. Love doesn't stop for anyone or anything. Not even death.
Taking a shuddering breath, Tony shuts off the alarm, puts the phone away to stall for another moment or two, and then finally gets up, and reaches for what he has—very aptly, in his humble opinion—named The Stick of Destiny lying on the edge of the sink. He fumbles with it, almost drops it twice before he manages to turn it right side up, and sees the two bright pink lines that mean he’s royally screwed. And not in the fun way.