twentysomething

It's not that it's out of the question.

Steve spends half of the run determinedly doing multiplication tables and the other half worrying at the idea like a loose tooth.

He likes Tony, likes him very much, but like isn't anything else. When he's with Tony, it's not the distracting, heady presence of Peggy at his elbow, fresh in his mind like it was yesterday, not months ago- not almost 70 years ago. So that's that, Natasha must be mistaken. No, they're just good friends. Surely, Steve would know if there was anything there.

Thus decided, he finishes up, rounding the reservoir and coming back around by the Met, headed back toward HQ.

When he gets out of the shower, he thinks- a little guiltily- to check his phone.

Missed Calls (10)
Voicemails (4)

"Oh, dear," he says reflexively, sitting on the edge of the bed, playing the oldest first.

"Uh, hey, I'm in LA, I'll uh, see you sometime." is the entire message, Tony sounding strange and harried, a lot of odd noise in the background.

"I mean, I'll be back. I'm not here forever, I have a meeting with Fury about- yeah. But you know, I have work and stuff out here. I might, yeah."

Steve stares at the phone, bewildered.

The next message is from- Pepper?

"I took his phone and I told him he couldn't have it back until he agreed to stop being an idiot. So you may never hear from him again."

Some twenty minutes later, there's another message from Tony.

"Okay, I stole my phone back. Sorry. I'll be back in New York tomorrow night- dinner?" Tony sounds as composed as ever.

Steve goes back to staring at the phone, wholly bewildered.

He can't not call Tony back promptly. That would be rude, no matter how bizarre the series of messages preceding. Two rings later, Tony picks up with a breathless, "Hey."

"So, I think you asked me to dinner tomorrow night?" Steve says and immediately regrets his phrasing. "I mean, I'm free."

"Oh, yeah?" Tony asks, voice a little high. "I'll come grab you after my meeting. French okay?"

"Uh, sure," Steve agrees slowly. "So, um, tomorrow?"

"Yeah, uh- yeah. See you- catch you then," Tony says, hanging up before Steve can say anything else.

"Okay," Steve says to himself, wondering why he fumbles for ten seconds to hang up the phone.

"Okay."

Steve spends the rest of the day mindlessly watching some show about how things are made- hours of factories assembling everyday things with robots and all kinds of crazy things. At one point, Colonel Fury sticks his head in the room, but he just opens his mouth for a moment and turns about face and walks out. Steve can imagine the tableau- himself on the couch, surrounded by popcorn and pop cans, slack jawed and vacant- and well, he'd have turned around, too.

Clearly, Colonel Fury thinks Steve needs something to do that isn't thinking about dinner with Tony- and Steve can't argue with that- because the next day he sends Thor to "grapple mightily with you, friend!" Which does however mean Steve is pretty tired when realizes he has to hop in the shower or he'll probably be late- and, as if on cue, his phone buzzes.

done in an hour or so wear a suit

"Um," Steve mumbles to himself, but just gets in the shower.

No big deal, it's just probably a nice restaurant- Tony's making sure Steve's dressed appropriately- and after all, Tony's almost always wearing a suit when Steve sees him.

He chooses- after a ridiculously long time dithering in front of the closet doors- the lighter gray suit, grabbing a white shirt and the black tie. Steve's fussing with his cuff links- and he sort of appreciates that Andre thought to send cuff links, as well, but wishes they were less fussy- when there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Steve calls out. Tony sticks his head in and freezes and Steve hopes he hasn't gotten it wrong. "This okay?" Tony coughs.

"Of course," Tony says, eyes skimming over the fit of the suit. "You ready?" Steve shakes his head.

"Can't get this to catch," Steve admits. Tony huffs a laugh, but steps over quickly, reaching for the cuff. Tony manages to settle the cuff in an instant, reaching over for the other.

"These are nice," Tony offers, running a thumb over the link, brushing against the knob of Steve's wrist. Steve feels the hint of a shiver, his hand flexing accordingly.

"Ticklish," Steve suggests, when Tony looks at him questioningly.

"Who'd have thought," Tony murmurs, and it isn't until he steps back and lets go of Steve's wrist that Steve realizes Tony had still been holding it.

"Uh, we should head out- don't want to be late, right?" Steve finds himself saying, reaching for the suit jacket, still hanging on the back of the closet door, shrugging into it easily. Tony blinks for a few seconds, seemingly caught off guard.

"Steve, reservations are things that happen to other people," Tony chides him cheerfully. Steve just shakes his head.

"I'm sure, but my mother taught me to be punctual," Steve teases right back, ushering Tony out with an absent hand at the small of his back.

The sleek, gorgeous car Tony has waiting for them is different than the one Steve has seen before, a dreamy silver that catches the multicolored neon glare as they drive uptown. They swing around Columbus Circle, and Steve resists the urge to remind Tony that running over tourists is against the law. He drops the car off with a valet, shepherding Steve up to a handsome nightclub.

Andy Farber & His Orchestra with Allan Harris Swinging Rodgers & Hammerstein's Oklahoma reads a display.

"This was coming out next month! All the girls said it was going to be a huge flop!" Steve says, surprised, and maybe a little too loudly, because at least two people give him a strange look.

"Not so much," Tony snorts. "We'll get you the dvd."

Janie had said she would have auditioned anyway, because a Broadway credit is still a credit, but Susan said it was a bad idea to be associated with a flop in general and Irene had just laughed and told them to stop fooling around, they were leaving for Rome in five minutes.

He's about to tell Tony when Steve remembers that the beautiful, vivacious women he remembers are all dead or 90 years old and he can't catch his breath for a moment.

"Hey, hey," Tony says, drawing Steve against the wall, out of the flow of traffic. "You okay?" Steve just shakes his head, because he doesn't trust his voice, and he doesn't want to bother Tony.

"It's nothing," Steve finally says. "Let's go in."

Tony frowns, but just leads Steve up to a table in front, offering him a glass of water. Steve takes a few sips, gratefully. Tony's eyebrows are still raised in concern.

"I'm fine," Steve tries, offering up a smile. The orchestra is tuning up and Steve slips gratefully into the role of the observer, and soon enough he's genuinely absorbed in the music- familiar and strange at the same time. Steve's familiar with jazz, having spent most of his childhood hearing strains of it wafting up from other apartments, sitting out on the fire escape, sketching the rooftops. The rest of it isn't a stretch- it sounds a lot like the musicals Bucky had dragged him to on double dates. He likes it- a lot more than the stuff Clint plays in the gym while he's working out, which all seems to be about milkshakes and the yard and someone called "shorty." Tony doesn't look terribly interested, but Steve catches is fingers tapping along to the beat when he sneaks glances over. After the show they're being politely ushered out and Steve keeps a hand at Tony's elbow, lest he lose him in the crowd.

"Did you like it?" Tony asks, before Steve can ask him the same question.

"Of course I did. Did you?" Steve replies. Tony opens his mouth, then smiles, small and a little rueful, like a boy caught at schoolyard games.

"I liked watching you like it," Tony finally says, honestly. Steve shakes his head.

"Well, thank you, then," Steve looks to Tony expectantly. "I don't want to be presumptuous, but I believe you said something about dinner?" Tony's smile morphs into something Steve can only describe as gleeful.

"Presume away," Tony says. "It's only a few blocks, we can walk."

They head up Broadway, dodging clumps of people who don't seem to grasp the concept of sharing the sidewalk until they're across from Lincoln Center. Steve had spent the first two days they'd let him out of SHIELD walking around Manhattan, trying to reacquaint himself with the city- the pace, the noise, the smells. He's only gone into Brooklyn a few times- while it was quieter, less crowded, there were ghosts around every corner, no matter how much it had changed. He'd sat on the fountain and just basked in the sun like a cat and gone on his way- he can just see the lights and water playing through the trees dropping their leaves and the cars and buses whizzing by.

Tony tugs at his sleeve, drawing him out of his reverie.

"This way, Cap," Tony teases. The hostess leads them through the dimly-lit restaurant, back through a claustrophobic, if artistic, wine cellar to an equally dimly-lit room with a massive table for twenty set for two, with a suggestively pitched, "enjoy." Steve feels like there must be some mistake here.

"Daniel said he'd get me a table, not a banquet hall," Tony jokes. "We should have brought Thor." Steve snorts, put back on even footing.

"It'd all end in broken crockery." Thor had confided, in all sincerity and earnest advice, that Steve should refrain from breaking his drink vessels, as it "gave the women a fright." Tony snorts.

"Fair enough," Tony agrees, idly perusing the menu, before telling their waiter to bring them "oh, everything. And lots of wine. Good wine!" After the waiter leaves with a bemused smile that Steve recognizes as the hallmark of dealing with Tony Stark, Steve coughs.

"You know I can't get drunk, right?" Steve reminds him, gently. Tony 'tsk's at Steve.

"This isn't about getting you drunk. If I wanted to do that I'd take you to MIT and let the undergrads try out their hell stills on you. This is the good shit, Steve, you savor this stuff." Tony tells him, sliding their menus as far as he can down the table, skittering across four or five feet of hardwood. "But I should remember that one. Those little lushes make a vodka that defies all laws of god, man and basic chemistry."

The wine is good- better than good, smooth and rich and enhancing the flavors of the food, which is decadent and rustic at the same time. They take out plate after plate, Tony gesturing with his fork and insisting they swap and try this with that, digging into the charcuterie with his fingers. At one point, he just reaches across the table to filch a piece of poached pear out of Steve's salad.

"You're lucky that I'm not Bucky, he would've stabbed your fingers with his fork," Steve says, surprised how little it stings, talking about him in the past tense. Tony stills slightly before smoothly reaching for his wine glass and taking a sip.

"Bucky Barnes, right?" Tony asks, and Steve has to admire the easy way Tony has left him an opening- he can confirm and go on, as if he'd never mentioned Bucky, or he can talk about it. Steve wonders if that's something Tony just knows how to do, or if there's a class he can take somewhere.

"As far as Buck was concerned, when there was food on the table, it was 1933, not 1943." Steve aims for light, and thinks he manages it. The corner of Tony's mouth lifts. "It was hard for a kid to get enough to eat, sometimes. But he had a face a mother loved to feed." Steve neglects to mention that as much as Mrs. Abramovic had loved to slip Bucky a thick slice of bread and a glass of milk, she'd made Steve eat a whole sandwich. It had never helped, though.

"I refuse to believe that everyone didn't try to feed you, too. I stole your file from Fury." Tony prompts, nudging over a plate with roasted beets on it. Steve rolls his eyes.

"A guy can't have any secrets around here," he sighs, but he smiles so Tony knows he's kidding. "I was a scrawny kid who couldn't keep his mouth shut- I got my ass kicked a lot."

"I can sympathize with that," Tony grins. "I've been told I, uh, don't know when to stop." Steve thinks about the insane and brilliant flight simulator in the closet the tech guys have been sighing over enviously, even half-finished.

"Yeah, that I can believe," Steve says, and it comes out fond and just a little exasperated, which is Tony all over.

They eat too much good food and drink too much good wine, leaving Steve slow and just a little sleepy, which is probably why he doesn't see the kiss coming.

They amble over to the subway, Tony waving his hand dismissively over the car, sending an email to have someone pick it up, but too impatient to wait for someone to pick them up. The platform is quiet in the hush between trains, still with the hot, stale air refusing to circulate- surprisingly deserted, and Steve checks his watch and sees it's nearly 2:00 am, accounting for the lack of traffic.

"You get all... ridiculous whenever I thank you for anything, but thank you for a really great night, Tony," Steve says. Tony shrugs, but his mouth is curled into a smile just shy of smug.

"Well, then," Tony draws the words out, making them syrupy and long. "I guess, if I'm supposed to be gracious, I could just say "you're welcome," but I'd rather do this."

They were standing close to begin with- unnecessarily close, Steve's brain chimes in- so it takes less than the blink of an eye for Tony to turn and barely just lean up to press a kiss to Steve's mouth.

Steve has embarrassingly little experience to compare it to- embarrassingly little- but before much more can register in his mind other than the softness and heat of Tony's mouth and the utterly foreign sensation of Tony's goatee scratching lightly against his face, Steve is bringing a hand up to carefully push them apart.

"Um, I'm so-" is barely out of his mouth, almost like an autonomic reaction before Tony is briskly putting two professional paces between them.

"No, my fault, I misread the situation," Tony says, and it doesn't even sound like a line. "Sorry about that." The clamoring noise of the approaching train cuts off anything Steve could have said, anyway. They sit, a seat between them, and Steve feels guilty about how relieved he is that the car is otherwise empty.

"It's not that I-" Steve tries, but that's not right at all and he backtracks immediately. "I like you, but uh, not that way?" Steve wishes he could crawl under the train, but Tony just smiles easily.

"Don't worry about it. Seriously." Steve stares at Tony, but his expression never budges from a neutral amusement. "I mean, I think you have horrible taste now, but it can't be helped." He waves a hand as if to indicate all that Steve is currently passing on, and Steve can't help but choke on an awful laugh.

Tony slaps him on the back with a little smile, and they don't mention it again.

Steve thinks that's probably the end of that- and vaguely like he ought to give Tony some distance- but Tony is back the next morning, elbow deep in the flight simulator until it's running perfectly. Steve promises to practice when Tony has to leave for a meeting with Colonel Fury and does so diligently- which isn't a chore, because the simulator is amazing and exhilarating, and Steve can't believe he's in a closet in a building, his feet on the ground. He wonders if it's comparable at all to flying in the Iron Man suit- if this if how Tony feels all the time, and all of a sudden his face is flushed, thinking about the wet heat of Tony's mouth against his.

"Okay," Steve mutters to himself. "Stop that."

But he doesn't stop. Tony sends him an email that night, checking in about the simulator and Steve feels a flash of guilty surprise before he realizes that Tony has no idea that Steve thought about Tony kissing him- and now Steve is thinking about it again.

The next day, Tony leans over his shoulder to point out something about the elevator control levels and Steve thinks about it again, nearly crashing the simulated jet into a simulated mountain.

The day after that, they're standing out on the rooftop, Steve watching Tony get into a helicopter and for no good reason it pops in his head again.

He manages less than half a day before he thinks about it for the fifth time- but this time he's in the shower.

Things can't go on like this.

When he stands next to Tony, he hardly focuses. When Tony is explaining something, Steve barely can pay attention, all because he's trying so hard to not think about kissing Tony and it's-

Oh.

Oh.

Steve goes flying across the room.

"My apologies, friend! I hope I did not cause you discomfort," Thor booms from the sparring mat, a good fifteen feet away.

"No, I think I deserved that," Steve mutters. Thor frowns, but laughs anyway, striding over and offering Steve a hand up.

"I sense your mind is elsewhere today, Steven," Thor says, a hint of reprimand in his voice. "I think perhaps we should wait for a more auspicious time." He strides out toward the lockers, leaving Steve alone in the practice room, feeling like an idiot.

Steve takes a deep breath and steels himself to do what he probably should have done in the first place.

Pepper,

I think I might have really fouled things up with Tony. Do you have a minute?

Sincerely,

Steve

Roughly thirty seconds after he sends the email, his phone starts ringing.

"Define "fouled up" right now," Pepper says by way of greeting.

"Um, so I don't know if he said anything, but we uh, I guess, went out on Monday and he sort of kissed me on the subway platform and I said but thanks but no thanks, and I think I uh, meant "thanks?"" he tries.

There is a long, judgmental silence on the other end of the line.

"What I got from that," Pepper eventually says, slowly and maybe like she's pinching the bridge of her nose. "Was that while you turned him down, you've changed your mind now?"

"Um, yes," Steve agrees, although it sounds a little rotten, phrased that way. There's a loud sigh from the other end of the line and the clack of keys.

"He's free tonight, now. A car will pick you up from SHIELD HQ and take you to Stark Tower at 8. And Steve?"

Steve can only manage a dumbfounded hum of assent.

"He's more breakable than he looks. He really wants this." she says hesitantly. She doesn't have to say "don't hurt him again."

"Thank you, Pepper," Steve says, because there's really nothing else he can say. She snorts.

"Don't thank me yet." The line goes dead and Steve is at something of a loss. He goes for a run, takes a shower, and gets dressed- then he takes off his outfit and gets dressed again.

Clint just raises his glass in a silent mocking salute as Steve walks through the living room, which answers the question of if they knew where he was going. Steve feels slightly mollified when Natasha punches Clint in the arm, hard, and mouths, "still on your side."

He's antsy the whole car ride over, the plain black town car slipping between traffic easily, when he suddenly wonders if Tony even knows he's coming.

Pepper said you're on your way to casa de Stark? The message buzzes on his phone. Steve swallows thickly, fingers fumbling over his reply of Yes, on my way.

He's put into an elevator that sends him to an absurd floor number in the upper 50s, and Tony answers in the rumpled remains of a suit, jacket and tie lost at some point. His once crisp navy button down is rolled up, exposing Tony's muscular forearms, and the top few buttons are undone, the hollow of Tony's throat looking vulnerable and intriguing. Tony's bare feet flex and curl against the plush carpet.

Steve feels like the world's biggest jackass.

"So, I'm an idiot and I kind of think about kissing you all the time, now," Steve blurts out.

"Um," Tony says, and the moment stretches out between them and Steve is going to do something- and then they both scramble to stop the elevator doors from closing between them.

"Ah, come in," Tony waves him in awkwardly. There's a long pause. Steve puts his hands in his pockets.

"So, when you said you didn't-" Tony starts before cutting himself off. Steve's face flushes a dull, embarrassed pink.

"I may have been a little hasty," Steve tries. "Would you buy that I've been frozen in ice for 70 years and it's made me a little slow on the uptake?" Tony smiles slowly, stepping closer. Steve doesn't move an inch.

"Then we should probably go slow," Tony agrees. "I didn't give you a lot of warning. So, this is me, warning you that I'm going to kiss you. Also, you can only use that "national-icon-frozen-in-ice" card once, you'd better be sure this is what you want to use it on."

Steve huffs out a surprised laugh.

"I'm sure," he says.

"Well, then." Tony takes another step closer, squaring off with Steve, more than close enough to touch, solid and warm in front of him.

So Steve touches.

He curves his hand around Tony's jaw, his thumb coming to rest in front of Tony's ear, the rest of his fingers slipping into fine black hair. Tony's breath hitches as he inhales and before Steve can bridge the gap between them, Tony is already kissing him.

It's not really different than last time- Tony's mouth is still so warm, slick and overwhelming, and his beard is still strange- but instead of "wait, what" all Steve can think is "yes, more."

"I was trying for slow, but you make it really difficult," Tony breathes out into the fraction of an inch between their mouths, when they reluctantly part for air. Steve smiles, because this is Tony, what had he been thinking, of course Tony.

"I'm sorry. You could try again," he offers. Tony grins and kisses him quickly, twice, three times.

"I seem to be really bad at this, I might need to keep trying," Tony says, all pretend doe eyes and Steve can't help but laugh, because his skin feels too tight by half and his heart seems to be trying to escape from his chest.

"I don't know, I think you're pretty good at it myself." Steve demurs, and the way Tony's face lights up makes his stomach do something funny. Or maybe that's the way Tony is carefully wrapping his hands around Steve's hips, palms closing over Steve's jeans.

"So, are we going steady now?" Tony asks, his thumb slipping under the hem of Steve's shirt to rub careful concentric circles on the skin there. Steve's brain feels like it's buzzing on sensory overload, trying to capture the shadow of Tony's eyelashes on his cheek bone, the feeling of their bodies near flush, the tightness in his own chest.

"I think we already were," Steve admits. Tony grins, and Steve can feel the shape of it, pressed against his own smile.

"Damn right," Tony says.

Despite his body insisting that it's not done, thank you, nothing more happens that night. After what feels like hours worth of just kissing- and some wandering hands- moving from hall to wall to couch- Tony insists on "taking some things slow."

"You can stay here, or I can have the car take you back," Tony says, and Steve doesn't really want to go, but the thought of Tony down the hall, all night, is distracting and- if he's honest- a little intimidating.

When Steve gets back to SHIELD HQ, Agent Coulson is waiting for him. After a long moment where Steve feels like he's been caught out by his parents, Coulson just sighs and walks away.

Clint and Natasha, however, don't go away.

"Oh my god, is that a hickey? Fury's going to stab him," Clint gasps, staring at Steve's neck from an inch away. Natasha takes a picture with her phone.

It takes Steve a full five minutes to physically shake them both off before he can dart inside his room and lock the door.

"I could break it down it if I felt like it," Natasha reminds him loudly through the door. Steve wonders if it's not too late to take Tony up on his offer to stay the night at Stark Tower. Turning away from the door, Steve catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror- his hair is disheveled, his lips red and bee-stung, and there's even the pink-purple bruise Clint was talking about, blooming under the edge of his jaw, high up on his throat.

Maybe it's good he went home.

His phone buzzes in his pants pocket and he jumps a little.

pep just texted me a picture of your neck she got from natasha

I'd say I'm sorry but I'm really not

Steve's face burns.

I'm not sorry, either Steve sends back. He doesn't fall asleep for a while, but it's not a... bad thing.

Not a lot is different- they still spend time together in the simulator, going to dinner and lunch, but those things are just more likely to end in feverish kissing. (Steve keeps getting disappointed looks from Agent Coulson in the halls and he always immediately realizes his shirt is untucked or he's got a love bite right above his collar.) But as much as Steve likes going places and doing things with Tony, his favorite is when the two of them do nothing- eating pizza and watching the news- well, him watching the news, Tony usually working on something on a tablet. Tony is surprisingly amenable to these nights- lounging over Steve in thin t-shirts, warm against Steve's side.

"I don't understand how anyone can applaud the idea of letting someone die," Steve mutters, changing the channel. Tony snorts, humorlessly.

"Welcome to the 21st century, sorry we suck," Tony says, still mostly absorbed in his latest redesign on the Avengers Initiative comm systems. Steve hums.

"Well, I like some things about it," Steve counters, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Tony's head, resting against his shoulder. Tony turns and squints up at Steve.

"Yeah?" he asks, smirking a little. Steve just kisses Tony instead of responding.

"You know, things like sushi and remote controls," Steve teases and in a swift bound, the tablet is on the floor and Steve is under a warm pile of Tony.

"Just those things?" Tony asks, his knees spreading to bracket Steve's hips. Steve finds it remarkably hard to play coy with a lap full of Stark.

"I am pretty fond of you," Steve says. Tony leans down to kiss his way from Steve's jaw to his collar bone, tugging Steve's shirt out of the way to do so.

"I guess I know what that's like," Tony's smirk is full blown across his face. "I'm pretty fond of me, too."

"I'm kissing you to shut you up," Steve tells him, pulling Tony up with a hand tangled in his hair. What starts out as lazy and slow turns into something heated in a hurry, Tony's hands slipping under Steve's shirt to trace over sensitive skin along the waist of his jeans.

"Okay, this is really... in my way," Tony mutters, hesitating for a moment, making his intentions clear before tugging Steve's t-shirt up and off. They've gotten about this far before- Steve carefully stroking his fingers over the blue-white glare of the arc reactor, endlessly humbled by something smaller than his palm that keeps Tony alive.

"Alright, then," Steve agrees, yanking Tony's shirt off. "Let's keep things fair." He rubs his thumb over the sensitive spot right below Tony's ribs, and Tony obligingly shivers against him, groaning into Steve's mouth.

"You call that fair?" Tony asks. Steve smiles.

"You want me to stop?" Steve barely gets the words out before Tony is grinding his hips down into Steve's.

"What do you think I am, crazy?" Tony hisses, teeth scraping against Steve's lower lip until Steve lets Tony kiss him deep and wet.

"Good, because, um... I'm not really thinking about stopping," Steve tries and really hopes that Tony knows what he means, because he's been, well... thinking about it. A lot. Tony blinks for a moment before his eyes go dark and his mouth goes thin like it does after an hour or so of fooling around.

"Are you sure?" Tony demands. "I mean, you can change your mind, or say no or ask me to stop, but I'm not gonna lie, this is going to a place I've been thinking about a lot since puberty, and I'd really like to be able to savor it." Steve laughs.

"I'm sure about you," Steve promises and he doesn't really know how he puts it there, but the look on Tony's face says it all. More daring than he feels, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of Tony's comfortable work out pants. Tony's head thunks down against Steve's chest.

"Okay, I just need you know, a second," Tony mumbles. Steve lets his hands run in soothing circles over Tony's shoulder blades. "Your blind faith in me always makes my head want to explode for a moment."

"You'd better get used to it." Steve says. Tony mutters something unintelligible, making Steve's skin vibrate and hum. "What was that?"

"I said, "you could always stick your hand in my pants again, that was pretty distracting." Just a suggestion." Tony repeats. Steve really wishes his face didn't turn bright red with the slightest provocation.

"I might need some... advice," Steve admits, because he'd thought about asking someone, but there simply wasn't a single person he could ask about private matters without it being insanely inappropriate (Pepper), inadvisable (Clint or Thor) or Tony himself. Tony groans, loudly.

"Please tell me you just told me that I need to talk dirty to you," Tony begs. "Because I've been trying to be good this year, but I could be so much better if this is the kind of thing that happens to me when I'm good." Steve coughs slightly.

"I don't know if "dirty" is the word I was thinking of," Steve says. Tony looks at Steve speculatively.

"You know what, I bet you have an amazing recovery period. I bet I could get you off and you'd be ready to go again by the time I was ready." Tony muses. Steve's head thunks back against the arm of the sofa.

"God, Tony," Steve mutters, because it feels like his blood in fairly boiling under his skin already.

"First things first, though," Tony gets up and Steve wants to cry.

"Wait, what, no," Steve complains. Tony laughs.

"Bed," Tony explains. "I'm really interested in seeing what you look like spread out on my sheets." Steve lets himself be lead to Tony's bedroom- although there's a slight detour when neither of them can keep their hands to themselves against the hallway wall. The sheets in question are a dark silky blue and more decadent than anything Steve has even slept on.

"Okay, that's something I'd like to get used to," Tony says. "I'm gonna take off your pants." Steve stammers his way through a yes, even as Tony is unbuttoning his fly. His pants slide off easily on the slick sheets, leaving Steve in nothing but a thin pair of boxer briefs.

"Tony," Steve whines, because he has no idea what it is he wants, but he wants more, whatever "more" is. Tony's smile is pleased and honestly happy as he trails kisses over Steve's chest until he hits the curved recess of Steve's hip.

"So, I'm gonna blow you now," Tony says, smooth and amused- Steve only has the vaguest of ideas of what's about to happen, gleaned from alarming conversations with Bucky and the other Commandos and a- frankly- horrifying remark from Clint. The boxers follow the pants over the edge of the bed, and Steve's never been this naked with another person in his entire life.

Tony uses his mouth and Steve's done his share of furtive touching in the middle of the night- exponentially more since he took up with Tony- but nothing that felt like this and Steve sort of feels like his brain is dribbling out his ears. Tony's humming appreciatively, and Steve abruptly realizes a stream of nonsense is falling out of his mouth, all desperate groans of Tony's name and half-mumbled blasphemies.

Just when Steve thinks he's going over the edge, the familiar tingling pull beneath his stomach, Tony slips off with an obscene noise, his mouth shining and wet.

"So, is this helping at all?" Tony asks, batting his eyelashes at Steve and Steve is going to murder him.

"Oh my god, Tony," Steve cries. Tony laughs and goes back to what he was doing before, and Steve can't resist stretching out his arm to run a thumb along where Tony's cheeks are hollowed out, pressing gently at the corner of Tony's mouth where their skin meets and pleasure knocks Steve over like a freight train blindsiding him. He might actually black out for a moment, but when he comes back to himself, Tony is thoughtfully touching the same place Steve's thumb had rested moments ago, smearing a drop of Steve's come onto the pad of his finger- only to suck at that same finger a second later.

"Fuck," Steve breathes out. Tony's eyes narrow and he pounces again.

"Do you have any idea- any idea- how hot you are?" Tony kisses Steve, hot and hard, and _god_, Steve can taste himself in Tony's mouth, and the easy liquid calm that had stolen over his bones is replaced with the same all-consuming heat from before.

"Tony," Steve moans, because how is he supposed to follow that?

"I think we'll save the advanced course for later, and boy do I hope there's more later, but right now, I'd really just like your hands, if you'd be so obliging?" Tony's voice is tight even as he rambles along in his usual cadence.

"So, um, just what I do for- for myself, right?" Steve asks and Tony groans into Steve's throat.

"Yes, yes, and some time, I'm making you show me, but right now, god, just touch me." Tony begs. Steve reaches between them and it's the same and completely different at the same time. The choked off and barely voiced noises Tony is practically purring against Steve's skin fill Steve with an urgency he's never felt.

"Is this-" Steve starts and Tony frantically kisses him.

"Yes, yes, that's exactly," Tony promises. "Just keep, yeah." Steve can feel himself, hard again, trapped against Tony's hip.

"Tony," Steve starts, not even really sure what he's asking for, but Tony just kisses him hard and says, "Yeah, yeah, I've got you," and takes Steve in hand.

"C'mon, c'mon, beautiful," Tony is in perfect sync is Steve and the slow buildup starts in his toes and Steve has just enough presence of mind to go, "Tony, now," and the stuttering skip of Tony's hand as is body tenses sends Steve back into blissful abstraction.

"Ooooh, woooow," Steve hears Tony warble from seemingly miles away.

"Yeah," Steve manages, half of his arm flung out over the edge of the bed.

"Oh, I'm keeping you," Tony breathes out, hooking his leg over Steve's.

"Okay," Steve agrees.










Epilogue:

"Thanks, bro," Clint says, sticking out a fist. Steve remembers at the last second he's supposed to punch it back.

"You're welcome," Steve replies automatically. "Wait, for what?" Clint snorts.

"For breaking Clause V. Fucking helicarrier, man!" he crows.

Steve frowns and calls Tony.

"What's Clause V and how did I break it?" he asks. Tony barks out a loud laugh, tinny even over the latest StarkPhone.

"Fury said if I despoiled you in any way, besmirched your reputation or tried to woo you, I had to design and build them a flying aircraft carrier." Tony says. Steve's face turns a violent tomato red.

"What?" Steve asks blankly.

"Totally worth it," Tony assures him.

"Tony, that project is going to cost billions of dollars," Steve tries, brain wildly spinning, even as his heart feels tight and overfull.

"Totally worth it."