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Chapter Text

Steve woke up to a world turned on its head and a bitter taste in his mouth. He was lying in a hospital cot which didn't make sense because he should have been dead. He blinked, his eyes stinging under the bright fluorescent ceiling lights. Since when had lights ever been that brilliant? 

Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he got to his feet. Or at least he tried to. His feet buckled beneath him, and he quickly sat back down before he ended up sprawled over the floor. How long had he been asleep for his feet to behave like that? 

A radio station buzzed along in the background as he attempted to wriggle his toes, some of the sensation coming back to them. 

In the distance, he could hear many footsteps and muffled voices just outside his door, yet no one came to check on him. Yet. 

"Workman up for the Phillies, now," the radio host said. Steve relaxed only a fraction; he'd know the southern twang of Red Barber anywhere. 

"Holding that big club down at the end. He sets, Chipman pitches. Curveball, outside. Ball one." 

Chipman? That couldn't be right. Chipman had left the Dodgers ages ago. 

A knock sounded at his door, and a pretty redheaded nurse poked her head into the room. 

"Oh," she said, slipping on a smile. "You're awake." She eased her way into his room with a clipboard in one hand and a meal tray in the other. She set the tray and clipboard on the bedside table. Steve said nothing, silently observing. She wore the standard SSR uniform; a dark olive green skirt that brushed her knees, a khaki blouse and tie, and yet something about it was…off. She wore it uncomfortably, smoothing her shirt into place when she thought Steve wasn't looking; It's like she wasn't used to wearing something so formal. 

Just where the hell was he?

"I don't remember going to sleep," he said, voice gravelly, like he hadn't spoken in years. 

"It was some time ago," she said, smile a bit stiffer now.

"So the Dodgers are ahead eight to five," Red's voice interjected. "And Chipman knows one swing of the bat, and this fella's capable of making it a brand new game."

She stepped towards him, hand outstretched to give him the glass of water. Steve seized it, spilling water on her blouse in the process. 

"Captain Rogers!" She tried to tug herself free, but Steve wouldn't budge. 

He rose to his full height and stared down into her face, his own curling into a snarl. "Where. Am. I?" 

"Please, just let me go, and I can explain!" 

A voice shouted from the doorway. "Steve!" 

He knew that voice, but that face…that face was a stranger. 

The last time he had seen Howard Stark, he had still been a lanky, dark-haired youth with a sleazy smile guaranteed to lift skirts. 

This gaunt white-haired stranger looked like he had never smiled a day in his life. 

"Steve," not-Howard said, raising his hands. "Let Agent Hoffman go, and I can explain."

"Who are you?" 

"You know me," not-Howard said. Steve shook his head because it couldn't be true. 

"You know me," not-Howard repeated. "Look in my eyes." 

He did, observing the stranger from head to toe. Though it was white, his mustache looked identical to Howard's, and he focused…Steve could see the tiny scar on his upper lip that had prompted Howard to grow a mustache in the first place. And those eyes. They were cold, yes, but he did know that shade of brown. 

"Oh my God." He let go of the nurse, no, agent's arm and stumbled back onto his bed. "Oh my God."

"You've been asleep a long time, Cap. Now it's time for you to wake up," Howard said because it was Howard as much as he didn't want to believe it. "It's a brave new world out there. And with you by my side, we can put it to rights."

Despite Howard's assurances, Steve didn't think he would ever fully adjust to the future. Everything was on the wrong side of familiar. Close, but not quite. The clothes were too flashy, the food too salty, and the people too strange, and yet it was the future that Howard had built. 

Since waking up from the ice, as they had started to call it, Steve had moved into Howard's mansion on invitation by the man himself. 

They spent an excessive amount of time in Howard's personal study, reminiscing about days long past. It was strange hearing his friend's voice come out of the face of a man Steve had barely recognized. Howard's dark shock of hair had gone stark white in the past fifty-odd years since Steve had plunged the Valkyrie into the ice. There was a hunch to Howard's shoulders as if he bore the world's weight upon his shoulders at all times. 

He couldn't say no when Howard offered him a spare room (in a mansion nonetheless), at least to rid him of some of that invisible weight. 

It took some getting used to, being waited on hand and foot like he was a prince, sleeping in a too-soft bed that actually had him missing the barracks of Camp Lehigh.

They spoke of the war, carefully navigating around stories that mentioned Bucky or Peggy for Steve's sake. The war had been a lifetime ago for Howard, but for Steve, he had been dodging bullets and throwing his shield with all of his might just yesterday; the wounds were still too fresh. 

Eventually, their talks turned to more peaceful subjects like how well Steve was adjusting to the future (not at all). Their conversation shifted towards Howard's family, more specifically his son, Anthony, on one such day. 

When Howard had told Steve that he was married, he had almost laughed in disbelief. And when he told Steve he had a son, he had been sure that this wasn't the same Howard Stark who could (and had) flirt in his sleep. 

"Anthony," Howard had begun, his face twisted into a grimace like he had smelled something foul, "is a..troubled boy. Brilliant, but troubled." 

Brilliant, but troubled. It wasn't exactly the glowing praise you'd expect from a father about his only son. 

Steve shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable. 

"I'm…sorry to hear that," Steve said, silently wondering what this had to do with him. It's not that he didn't care about Howard or his troubles, but Steve wasn't the friend you called to settle emotional disputes, especially between family members. 

Howard sipped from his scotch, and Steve politely didn't mention that it was one in the afternoon. 

"It's a shame, honestly. He has so much potential, Steve. Sometimes I think he's smarter than me." Howard's words came out halted and sharp like their truth threatened to choke him. 

Steve had only seen Anthony in passing in the month that he stayed with the Starks. Howard and his wife, Maria, were welcoming, albeit absent, Howard with Stark Industries business and Maria with her various charity works. Every time he saw them, they were always coming from halfway across the country and going to visit the other half. 

And Jarvis, their butler, was polite yet distant in that way unique to the British, like opening up to anyone was a breach in etiquette. 

Some days Steve felt like a ghost, forced to watch others live their lives while his own passed him by. Even Anthony he felt like was avoiding him for unknown reasons. He tried not to take it personally. Like the rest of the household, Anthony kept a busy schedule, but where Howard's days were spent in meetings upon meetings, Anthony's life consisted of school and outrageous weekend ragers. Brilliant? Steve could believe that. But smarter than Howard? 

Last week, Steve recalled Anthony had stumbled home, reeking of cigarette smoke and tequila, shrugging out of his clothes before he was halfway through the door. Smarter than Howard felt like a stretch, to say the least. Steve didn't make an effort to seek Anthony out, and he was starting to think it was for a good reason.

"I want you to take him out."

Steve's grip on the armrests of his chair tightened, his eyebrows damn near rising to meet his hairline. It wasn't phrased like a question. "I'm sorry, what? Take him out?" 

"Spend time with him," Howard elaborated with a nonchalant hand wave. "Teach him what it means to be a good man." 

Howard spoke as if Steve had already agreed to his request. He'd want Steve to be what, a glorified babysitter to a spoiled rich boy with more money than sense? 

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me," Steve began, treading lightly. In so many ways, this Howard was so different from the one he had known during the war; he didn't want to set him off. "But I don't think that's a good idea." 

Howard frowned and leaned forward in his big leather office chair, his arms resting on the desk. "Why the hell not?"

Because he wasn't a nanny. Because he wanted more out of life. 

"I'm only twenty-seven," Steve said. "I barely have more life experience than he does. What could I teach him?" 

"You're still a good man, Steve. And maybe," Howard hesitated, which was so unlike him, Steve couldn't help but pay closer attention to him. "Maybe you can succeed where I have thus far failed." 

Steve leaned back in his chair, stupefied. Howard was a lot of things, but Steve never could have called him humble until now. To admit something like that, Howard had to have been serious. 

"After all, who better than Captain America to rein Anthony in?"

Steve held back a flinch. Because he wasn't Captain America anymore. The SSR, no, SHIELD, had seen an end to that. They deemed him unfit for field work until he was "suitably acclimated to the future," in their words. After waking up from the ice, it had been one of many blows to his core. Howard had tried to fight for Steve, but he had been outvoted. Howard wanted Steve to mentor his son, but Steve barely knew who he was without his shield in his hands. 

"Steve, will you do this? Out of the love you have for me?"

Steve closed his eyes, sighing. He already knew what he was going to say. Maybe Anthony was like him: angry, confused, and lonely. Maybe he just needed a friend, someone to listen. 

Steve could handle that. 

Steve hemmed and hawed over how to approach Anthony for a week. He didn't know how the boy would take Steve suddenly reaching out like they both hadn't been keeping their distance in the past month. 

"What does he like?" Steve had asked Howard. If he was going to do this, he would take it seriously. He just wished Howard would do the same. Howard proved to be no help; he simply shrugged and said, "aside from driving me to an early grave?"

Steve was on his own. He eventually settled on a baseball game. It pained him to buy tickets to a Yankees game (finding out the Dodgers had relocated to Los Angeles had been yet another low blow), but who didn't like baseball? A lot had changed in the near fifty years since he went under the ice, but baseball was eternal. 

He hovered by Anthony's bedroom door, the tickets burning a hole in his pocket. The game was a week from now, but he figured it'd be better not to spring it on Anthony the day of. 

Anthony answered the door after Steve's first knock. At first glance, Anthony looked remarkably like a young Howard; Steve felt as if he had blinked and stepped back into 1943. They were both of average height and of a slight build. Anthony had Howard's dark waving hair, but where Howard's face was all sharpness, the years leaving him gaunt, Anthony had Maria's softness. It was in the shape of his eyes and the gentle slope of his nose, the cupid's bow currently frowning at him like Steve had stolen his candy. 

"Oh," Anthony said, nose wrinkling. "It's you." 

Steve's smile faltered only for a split second. Maybe he had imagined the disdain in Anthony's voice. 

"Yeah," Steve said, feeling a little stupid. "It's me. So, Anthony–"

Anthony held up a hand, effectively cutting Steve off. "I'm gonna stop you right there. I go by Tony. Tony," he drew out his name like Steve was stupid, and that didn't sit well with him. "The only person who calls me Anthony is Howard." 

Steve shook his head, momentarily forgetting why he stopped by Anthony's, no, Tony's room in the first place. "You call your father by his name?" 

Tony snorted. "Sure as hell not gonna call him Dad. Anyway, what do you want? I'm kinda busy."

Steve looked Tony up and down. His hair wasn't gelled like it usually was, flopping into his eyes. He wore only a white wifebeater and grey sweatpants that were too big for him, sliding down his hips. Steve's cheeks flushed at that. Apparently, the only thing Tony had been busy doing was taking a nap. 

"Right," Steve said, swallowing hard. It felt like his throat was trying to close up on him. "I, uh, wanted to know if you wanted to go to a baseball game." 

"With me," he added as if that wasn't obvious.

Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against his doorframe. "So let me get this straight. You haven't spoken one word to me since you've come here until now, didn't even know my name, and you want to take me out to a baseball game like I'm ten years old? That's rich. That's really rich. Did that bastard put you up to this?"

Steve's ears burned as Tony verbally laid him out. Where the hell did Tony get off? Steve had stared into the barrel of countless guns, leaped from planes amid gunfire, plunged a bomb-laden plane into the ocean, and he wasn't about to be a shrinking violet to a spoiled rich brat.

"I was trying to be nice," Steve said through gritted teeth. "Howard thought you could use the company, although, with a lovely personality like yours, I can't see why; you must have hundreds of people lining up to be your friend." 

Tony's face curled into a sneer. "Screw Howard and screw you. When you realize he's an asshole, don't come crying to me," and with that, he slammed the door in Steve's face.

Steve stood out there for God knows how long, trying to process what the hell just happened. 

He paced back and forth, torn between marching straight back to Howard, going back on their deal, never stepping foot in the Stark mansion again, and banging on Tony's door and putting him in his place. But Steve wasn't a coward, nor was he a bully, so he did neither. He had practically worn a hole into Howard's precious hardwood floors while pondering his options. 

Even if he did go back to Howard, what would he say? "Your son hurt my feelings, and I don't want to help you anymore?" Steve had never run from a fight in his life, and he wasn't about to start now. And if he knocked on Tony's door, then what? He would grab him by his threadbare wifebeater, pin him against the wall and teach him a lesson…and Steve would be no better than the fatheads who used to rough him up for speaking his mind. No, neither of those options suited him. His lips twisted, a sour taste coating his tongue. Shame curdled his stomach that the idea had even come to him. 

He would just have to try harder. 

The game came and went. Steve gave his tickets to Howard so they wouldn't go to waste, and Steve got his disappointment in return. 

"I thought he would at least hear you out." 

Steve had wanted to scream; he wasn't the perfect savior that Howard thought he was, that Howard should have been the one spending time with his own kid. Instead, he bit his tongue and declared that he would try again. 

And he did. Again. And again. And again.

And each time, he was met with a decisive no. 

Every day, it felt like Steve would knock on Tony's door, invitation ready, and Tony would open the door and tell him in no polite terms just what he thought of Steve and his invitations. 

"Shove it up your ass," Tony had said on more than one occasion, full of fire. 

And yet every time Steve knocked on his door, Tony answered. He answered, and he would listen to what Steve had to say before ripping into Steve like he had insulted his mother. 

It threw him for a loop; Part of him wanted to give up and leave Tony be like he so obviously wanted. Or did he? No one forced Tony to open his door or to hear Steve out. He did that of his own volition.  

And Steve didn't miss the glint of something in Tony's eyes whenever he opened his door to see Steve standing there. It only lasted for a split second, then gone like lightning, and Tony's face would fall into that seemingly perfect mask of boredom. 

But Steve had seen it, and he was determined to figure out what it was. 

If he was being honest with himself, seeking out Tony had become the highlight of his day, sad as it was. Maybe it was because Tony didn't worship the ground that he walked on. Ever since Steve had been defrosted, people had treated him like he was practically a god. He had only been Captain America for a short blip of time and had been Steve Rogers for much longer, yet all anyone saw in him was Captain America. Even Howard. Especially Howard.

At least Tony, with all of his vitriol, hated Steve because he was Steve. 

Steve and Tony's standoffs become the talk of the household. Howard was pissed, Maria bemused, and Jarvis…well, Jarvis just confused him. 

After seeing Tony chewing him out, the butler had gotten the most strange, almost grieved look upon his face. 

"Are you alright?" Steve had asked him, shoving his damaged pride aside. 

"Yes, I suppose I am," Jarvis had said, composing himself. "It's just...Tony wasn't always," he paused, struggling to find the correct word that wouldn't insult his charge. 

"A spoiled brat?" Steve had suggested. 

"That. The years have not been kind to him, I'm afraid." 

At Steve's incredulous expression, Jarvis drew himself to his full height. "There's more to him than you may ever know," Jarvis had said before nodding stiffly at Steve and excusing himself. 

His words lingered in Steve's mind as he puzzled over their meaning. 

What hidden depths could Tony possibly have? 

When Jarvis fell sick, Steve got his answer. 

It started with a cough, which shouldn't have been worrying, but Steve had been sick enough throughout his life to know the flu when he saw it, and Jarvis had all the symptoms; phlegm-filled cough, fever, body aches. 

Medicine had fortunately advanced since Steve's childhood, Jarvis reassuring the entire Stark household that he just needed rest. That didn't stop Steve from worrying. At seventy-eight, the flu very well could prove to be fatal to the butler. The part of him that longed to help those in need screamed at him to do something, but he feared that he would be overstepping somehow. Sure, he didn't know Jarvis that well, but Steve knew sickness and suffering. But what could he do, aside from sitting and waiting it out? 

He tossed and turned in bed, the sound of Jarvis' coughs easily reaching his enhanced ears. Sometimes, the serum could be a curse. Steve thought of the nights he had been too sick to move, his mother taking care of him after working long days at the hospital, yet another patient for her to look after. He thought of his mother, going from nurse to patient, as tuberculosis ate away at her body, but never her spirit. 

Jarvis launched into a coughing fit that lasted a full minute, and Steve suddenly wasn't sleepy anymore. 

Tea. He could make Jarvis tea at the least. 

Mind made up, Steve clambered out of his too-soft bed and down to the kitchen. And that's where he found Tony, standing by the stove of all things. Tony spotted him coming down the stairs leading into the kitchen but remained hyperfocused on whatever he was cooking on the stovetop. Whatever it was made his stomach grumble, the scent of onions and garlic and pepper enticing him. Steve was surprised Tony knew where the kitchen was, let alone how to cook. 

"Hey," Steve said in greeting. 

Tony, to his credit, didn't insult him when he spoke back. "Sup." He sprinkled some kind of freshly chopped herb that Steve wasn't familiar with into the pot. 

"Smells good," Steve said. Of course. The jar containing Jarvis' loose tea leaves sat right beside the stove where Tony was standing. 

"Thanks." 

Sensing that he wasn't going to be getting any more answers out of Tony, Steve decided to just bite the bullet and start the process of making the tea. The kettle already sat on a burner, although it was devoid of water. 

"Mind if I squeeze past you?" Steve asked. He was caught between the island and Tony, the kettle sitting on the very back burner behind the pot Tony was using. The tips of Tony's ears went red, and Steve worried he had done or said something to piss him off. Although, it seemed like Tony constantly found reasons to be pissed at Steve. 

Tony nodded wordlessly, and Steve reached around him to grab the kettle. 

"Since when do you drink tea?" Tony asked, startling him. As Steve fumbled with the kettle, a chuckle escaped Tony's lips, far different from the bitter bark Steve had heard from him before. This laugh was almost…sweet. Giddy. 

"I don't," Steve said, face burning. "I'm making some for Jarvis." 

At the mention of the butler, Tony's shoulders slumped. "That's nice… that's real nice," Tony said. 

Kettle, now filled with water, Steve snuck past Tony again, hyper-aware of how little space was between them as he placed it back on the stove. He leaned against the countertop beside the stove, quietly taking Tony in. It was a miracle that they hadn't started their usual bickering. Steve almost wished they could keep this tremulous peace between them. 

Tony's face wasn't as red, the flush starting to fade. Steve had no idea how Tony could see with his dark brown waves falling into his eyes. His hair looked soft in the warm yellow glow of the kitchen lights.

"I'm making him soup," Tony said. "Chicken tortilla."

"I've never had it," Steve replied. Between the Depression and the war not long after that, the food Steve had grown up with had never been as flavorful as what they had now. His meals had consisted of things like egg drop soup and chipped beef. 

"It's my favorite. He, um, he actually taught me how to make it," Tony replied. "There's gonna be more than enough. That is if you want some."

Steve arched a brow at Tony. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?" He asked, half-joking. It did smell good, but Tony was being strangely nice. 

Tony rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Starve, loser."

And there was the Tony he had come to know. Still, Steve couldn't help but laugh. He could trust Tony to be brutally honest with him. 

"If I eat some too, will that make you feel better?" 

Steve stroked his chin, pretending to think. "Maybe. But you could have the antidote stashed somewhere for yourself." 

And there was that chuckle again. Tony tried to stifle it, but Steve heard it all the same and wanted to raise his hands in victory. He didn't know when making Tony laugh had become a game for him, but damn it, he was glad he had won. 

The kettle whistled, disturbing the somewhat peaceful silence that had drifted over them, making them both jump. 

In quick succession, Steve took it off the burner, measured out just enough chamomile tea into the nearby teapot, and filled it with the now steaming hot water. Falsworth had bemoaned how Americans made tea and told him of the "proper" way to make tea only once, yet Steve had never forgotten it. The sharp pain in his chest that came every time he thought about what he lost made its appearance once more. Steve tamped it down best as he could, but somedays…somedays, he got so lonely. 

"Steve," Tony said after a moment. It was strange hearing his name, his real name come from Tony's lips. Strange yet exciting. He found that he wouldn't mind if Tony repeated it. Hearing his name grounded him, and he was able to push his grief to the farthest recesses of his mind. It would only make itself known again when he would fall asleep, and he knew that he would be getting no rest tonight. 

"What are you getting out of this?" Tony asked, gesturing between himself and Steve. "Out of trying to be my friend?" 

Tony's eyes might as well have been hooks the way they snagged Steve's attention. His gaze was softer than Steve ever saw it.

He heard himself say, "Who says I want to be your friend?" To his own ears, it came out breathless, and to his horror, cruel, for the light in Tony's eyes died as soon as the words left his mouth. 

He wanted, no needed to elaborate, to explain that being friends wouldn't do either of them favors, that getting close would be a mistake because everyone he had ever loved left. He didn't want Tony to leave. 

Tony didn't give him a chance, his face falling into that horrible, familiar sneer. "Your tea is getting cold, douchebag."

Their unofficial truce was over. Jarvis recovered swiftly, much to the relief of the entire Stark household, but Steve and Tony's relationship continued to suffer. Steve had put his foot in his mouth that night in the kitchen and ended up right back where he started; Tony hated his guts. 

The strange comfort he received from Tony's constant rejection had disappeared now that he knew what Tony's favor felt like. He wanted more, wanted to hear that chuckle, see those eyes shining with humor. 

He felt like a masochist, seeking Tony out and trying to explain, but it was more of the same every day. 

So Steve did the unthinkable; he gave up. And somehow, that was even worse. Without Tony, Steve might as well have been a ghost once more, cursed to haunt the walls of the Stark Mansion for the rest of his days. 

Today, his particular haunt was the living room. A book sat in his lap, but he wasn't doing much reading. He had been on the same page for at least five minutes, his brain otherwise occupied. It felt like all he thought about these days was Tony. He wanted to blame Howard for forcing him to interact with Tony in the first place, but Steve knew he could only blame himself.

"God, can't you brood in your own room?" Tony, who had just entered the room, froze in the doorway as he caught sight of Steve sitting in an armchair. 

Steve's stomach twisted until he felt like he would be sick from nerves. Of course, the second he left Tony alone, Tony would find him anyway. There was more than enough room in the mansion for them to keep to themselves, yet they had the annoying habit of finding the other. 

Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep his thoughts to himself. "I can leave." 

"Please," Tony said, gesturing towards the door. 

Steve didn't even think he could get headaches anymore due to the serum, but he didn't know what else to call the stinging pain building in his forehead; Tony just had that effect. "Fine," he grit out, rising from his armchair and leaving his book behind. It wasn't that interesting anyway. 

As he crossed the threshold, passing Tony by, Steve heard him mutter, "Finally." Tony didn't even have the decency to wait for Steve to clear out of the room. 

It wasn't the worst thing Tony had ever said to him, not by a longshot, but something in Steve…snapped. He was almost to the stairs, about to find his own spot to relax far away from Tony, and the next, he was all up in Tony's face growling, "What's your problem with me, huh? What the hell have I ever done to you!" 

"'What's my problem?' Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I don't want to spend all of my precious time with a washed-up geriatric loser like you?" Tony said, disdain practically dripping from his voice. 

Steve's ears rang, all of the blood in his body swiftly coursing to his head. He didn't think as he stalked even closer to Tony, so they were practically nose to nose, just relished the way the other man's eyes grew wide, that smart mouth of his parting into a soft oh. 

And then Steve was kissing him. 

A moan followed Tony's initial noise of confusion, and Tony was kissing him back. 

Steve had kissed a handful of people in his life. When he was fourteen, Beth Baker behind the bleachers so they could both get their first one out of the way. Stephie Allen, a fellow USO performer who wanted to know if super-soldiers kissed better than ordinary men. Private Lorraine Byrne, who had tried to thank him for his bravery after freeing the POWs at Azzano. Peggy, before…before things went to hell. 

Those kisses paled in comparison to this one. Once the initial shock wore off, Tony kissed like it was second nature, with the ease of a fish taking to water. Tony moved his lips just so, so Steve was the one seeking him out, hungry for more. Steve forgot himself, forgot who Tony was, and focused on the hot, hard body beneath his own. 

And then Tony tugged at Steve's hair, and Steve's eyes wrenched open, and horror quickly took the place of his lust. 

Steve jumped back, releasing Tony from his grasp like he had been burned. Tony reached for him, but all he grasped was air; Steve was too quick. 

"Rogers, wait!"

But Steve was already running out of the living room as he should have in the first place. 

He ran until he reached the mansion's East Wing, reserved solely for Howard's guests and far, far away from Tony's own room in the West Wing. When he reached his room, he slammed the door shut and locked it for good measure, not that Tony would have caught up to him in time. Super-soldier speed was good for something, at least. 

"Why did I do that?" He asked himself, the gravity of his actions finally sinking in. The question echoed around his sparsely decorated room, as empty as his head felt at the moment. His brain must have taken a vacation or been left behind somewhere in the Arctic Ocean because there was no way he had just mauled Tony Stark, Howard's son, like an animal. Guilt twisted his stomach into knots. Steve prided himself on his reserve, on his restraint, and yet a few stinging remarks out the mouth of a smart-ass had driven him over the edge. Oh, but what a lovely mouth it was. He couldn't get the picture of Tony out of his mind, dark hair mussed, lips all pink and glistening, clear evidence of what they had done. He grasped his head in his hands, squeezing like that would somehow make the image disappear. He had to apologize. If word got back to Howard…

Steve hovered just at the threshold of Tony's bedroom, hand poised to knock. The...incident was still fresh in his mind. He shifted from foot to foot. Should he even bother with trying to reach out to Tony? If the other man couldn't stand Steve before, he definitely had reason to loathe Steve now. 

But Steve couldn't just leave things as they were. He had violated Tony, and the right thing to do would be to own up to his mistake. Steve had never been a coward, but something about Tony Stark put him on edge. He had already kissed Tony. It's not like it could get any worse. 

That's when he heard it. A moan, all soft and needy, and Tony. Turns out, it could get worse. 

Steve should have been running back to his room, hell, back into the fucking ocean, but it was like Tony had cast a spell. He couldn't run even if he wanted to. And...he didn't want to. Disgust swept through him, but there was lust there too as he realized with growing horror that he was getting hard. 

"Steve."

That was his name on Tony's lips. His. For all of his strength, a feather could have knocked him over at that moment. There was no mistaking what Tony was doing, and Steve wanted. He didn't know what he wanted, but all he knew was that Tony was the only one who could give it to him. He tested the knob and seeing that it was unlocked, eased open the door, hating himself the entire while. What he saw made him gasp like all of the air had been punched out of him.

Tony lay on his bed, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his stomach's surprisingly muscled tan expanse of skin. His dusky brown nipples stood at attention in the cool air. 

Steve's eyes traveled lower to the slope of Tony's thighs, his pants long since shucked off. He spotted them carelessly thrown to the side in a crumpled pile. 

Tony never noticed Steve. He was otherwise preoccupied with one hand wrapped around his cock, and the other thrusting...something into his hole. 

"Oh, fuck," Tony moaned, his back arching as he must have hit some spot inside of himself with his toy. "Steve." 

Tony's legs fell open impossibly wide, so Steve could see everything: The sheen of sweat making Tony's skin glow and how his hole stretched around the girth of his toy. Tony slid the toy out until just the head of what he now realized was a silicone cock remained, only for him to plunge it back into its flared base. 

He didn't know how long he stood there, cock pressing incessantly against the seam of his trousers, watching Tony absolutely fuck himself with wild abandon. Steve saw the telltale signs that Tony was about to come; gasps and incoherent curses, and in the midst of it all, Steve, Steve, Steve. 

Brown eyes met blue, and that seemed to set Tony off, seeing Steve in the doorway, seconds away from taking out his own cock to relieve himself; Tony threw his head back against his pillows and painted his stomach in white.

Steve ran again and didn't stop until he reached the sanctum of his room once more. He didn't waste time. Shucking out of his pants and spitting into his hand, he formed a tight circle around his cock and started to stroke himself until he was fully hard, the head of his cock all pink and shiny with pre-come. On any other occasion, Steve liked to take his time with himself, but as he closed his eyes, leaning against his door, the image of Tony coming came to him unbidden. All of that tan skin and lithe muscle, his head thrown back, exposing his throat. He recalled the way Tony said his name, soft and sweet, and that was what took him over the edge, coming hotly into his own hand. 

He panted, pleasure ebbing away, and sagged against the door as all the strength left his legs. 

Howard was going to kill him.

Chapter Text

Howard's mansion contained two dining rooms, one too many for Steve. The first was purely for show with its ornate scrolls of crown molding and its centerpiece, a rosy wooden behemoth of a table that could easily seat twelve people. Howard referred to it as the formal dining room, its space meant to impress or intimidate (hell, sometimes both) his more influential guests. Howard reserved the second smaller dining room for the family, but it was just as gaudy. The only difference was the table, seating only six. When their schedules aligned, Howard liked for the household to come together and experience a meal "as a family." The first time, Steve had been honored that they included him and would be forever grateful to Howard for welcoming him with open arms. Tonight, he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. If only he could be so lucky. 

"Can you pass the salt?" Tony said. 

Steve passed the salt shaker wordlessly, ignoring the way Tony's fingers brushed against his. Maybe things would have been easier had Tony not sat right beside him. They had not spoken to each other in three days, and everyone could practically feel the tension between them, despite not knowing the details. 

Tony, for some reason, hadn't gone running to Howard the minute he got off from work. For days, Steve kept to himself, stewing in his anxiety. Steve wanted to reach out to Tony and see where his head was at, but every time he remembered what had happened the last time he had been alone with him, he stopped himself. Every time he so much as thought about Tony, disgust would send his stomach churning. 

It wasn't even the fact that Tony was a man; Steve had been attracted to men and women for as long as he could remember, his gaze lingering too long to be acceptable on the likes of Cary Grant and Gary Cooper at the movies. And in the past fifty years, some strides had been made concerning how society viewed people like him. Hearing about the Stonewall Riots had filled him with fierce pride; he would never be ashamed of who he loved and admired the rioters for their bravery. 

No, it was the fact that he had violated Tony's privacy and Howard's trust. If Howard kicked him out, Steve wouldn't even put up a fight. He would deserve every nasty word thrown his way. 

At least the meal was delicious and gave him something else to focus on. Jarvis, fully recovered, had outdone himself with blackened salmon, roasted potatoes, and asparagus spritzed with lemon and a peach galette for dessert. There was little conversation between them, the room silent save for the clinking of forks against porcelain. 

"This is nice, no?" Maria gave a tremulous smile, breaking the silence. "We rarely get the chance to eat as a family." 

Tony snorted but thankfully covered it with a cough. The last thing they all needed was Howard going ballistic. 

"It is," Steve said, latching onto the conversation like a buoy. "I'm flattered you consider me to be family." 

Before Maria could continue, Howard scoffed. "Of course, we consider you to be family. That was never in question." 

Maria flushed, and whatever she was going to say was swiftly forgotten. 

"In truth," Howard paused, chewing, seemingly unaware of the mounting tension at the dinner table. "You're like a brother to me. I hoped you and Anthony would be just as close one day." 

Steve felt the metal of his fork give way, curling to fit the shape of his fist. If Howard knew just how close he had been to Tony, he would have socked Steve then and there. That was the problem, wasn't it?

Howard's eyes darted to Tony, who had set his fork down and folded his hands together. Steve's heart roared in his ears. This was the perfect moment for Tony to send everything crashing down. 

"Because the time-traveling super-soldier and I have so much in common," Tony said. "Who said I want to be friends with him, anyway?" 

Steve sucked in a breath. Tony's words hurt but not in the way he was expecting. They were cruel, sure, but…he had mentioned nothing of their incident. It was almost like…like he was protecting Steve. 

Howard sighed, dismissive yet resigned to Tony's attitude. "I don't expect you to understand right now, seeing as you still behave like a child, but there's so much you could learn from Steve." 

"Howard!" Maria frowned at her husband, "That was uncalled for. Tony is—" 

"Spoiled? Ungrateful?"

"I'm right here! You don't get to talk about me like I'm not in the room, you prick!" 

Howard slammed a hand on the table, rattling silverware in the process. Steve didn't miss the way Maria and Tony flinched. 

A bitter taste filled his mouth that had nothing to do with the food they had consumed. 

"Go to your room," Howard said, deadly calm, "before I put you out on the street." 

"Fine by me." Tony shoved away from the table and stalked out of the dining room. 

"I think I'm done too," Steve said, setting his damaged fork on his plate. He would have to apologize to Jarvis at a later time. 

"Steve, wait," Howard said, coming as close to begging as he could possibly bear, but his pleas fell on deaf ears as Steve made his exit.

In desperate need of air, Steve sought out the patio. At this time of night, no one else would be outside, and that sounded like exactly what he needed. The drone of cicadas greeted his ears as he stepped out, constant and soothing. The air pressed against his skin, warm and thick like syrup; Summer was coming, and soon, by the looks of it. 

Stars dotted the inky blue sky; the sun had long since gone down. Steve found some comfort in them, their names on the tip of his tongue like old friends. Growing up, Steve had committed the short trail of stars that comprised Orion's belt, Polaris, the crux of the Little Dipper's handle, and so many more to memory. He had no choice, with Bucky, who had been fascinated with the stars for as long as Steve had known him, being his best friend. Space had been the next big adventure for Bucky. 

Bucky would get this look in his eye, all bright and full of awe. "Stevie, we're gonna see the stars." Steve would lay next to him on the hard concrete of their apartment building's roof in the middle of Brooklyn, dreaming big dreams for such little kids. 

"And what about the moon, Buck?" Steve would reply, and Bucky would say the same thing every time. 

"That too. We're gonna see it all, you and me. 'Til the end of the line, pal." 

As he leaned against a wall, the bricks digging into his back, Steve sent out a silent prayer that Bucky was running among the stars. 

The sliding doors slid open and shut with a soft schuck. Steve stiffened; someone had joined him. 

"Don't worry. I just needed to smoke. I'm not here to spy on you," Tony said. Tony pulled out a lighter and lit what looked like a hand-rolled cigarette stuck between his lips. The feeble flame illuminated the planes of Tony's face, casting dancing shadows on the soft curve of his cheekbones. Details Steve shouldn't have been able to see, but thanks to the serum, was able to commit to memory. "That would be an invasion of privacy." 

Steve winced, the double meaning behind Tony's words loud and clear, but that didn't mean he liked it. He had stepped outside to escape the real world for a while, not confront his problems head-on. "I'm sorry," Steve said roughly. "What I did…it wasn't right." 

Tony puffed on his cigarette, but the smell was off, more pungent than the tobacco scent Steve was familiar with. He blew the smoke out through his mouth, his lips forming a soft oh. "No," Tony said, keeping his voice light. "It wasn't. Want a hit?" 

Steve blinked at the sudden change of topic before glancing down at the not-cigarette balanced between Tony's fingers. 

"A hit of what?" 

"What do you think?" Tony said, grinning. "Don't tell me you didn't have pot in the forties. Or maybe you called it something else. Mary Jane ringing any bells?" 

"I don't think it would do much for me," Steve found himself saying. Mary Jane was familiar, but he had never smoked it himself. Before the serum, his asthma would have flared up; afterward, he hadn't seen the point. If he couldn't get drunk, he probably couldn't get high, either. 

"Wouldn't hurt to try, right? It's like a science experiment," Tony said, stepping closer to Steve. 

Instead of passing Steve the blunt, Tony took a hit of it himself, holding the smoke in his mouth. 

Steve tensed even more as Tony cupped his cheek with one hand.

"Relax," Tony murmured, some smoke spilling from his mouth. He blew a plume into Steve's face, and on instinct, Steve inhaled slowly so he wouldn't choke. It was oddly sweet yet grassy, putting Steve in the mind of sage, but there was no high, no clearing of the mind. 

"Well?" Tony asked. His thumb stroked Steve's cheek. Steve resisted leaning into his touch, as good as it felt. 

"Nothing," Steve said. 

"Bummer." 

Tony still hadn't let his face go.

Steve was thankful that Tony was a normal human; he wouldn't be able to see Steve's quickly spreading flush in the starlight. "Tony…why haven't you gone to Howard?" 

"I haven't gone to Howard because this is between you and me. Fuck him." 

"But—"

"No 'buts,'" Tony interjected. "I'm serious. Involving Howard would solve nothing."

"Okay," Steve said because it was better than nothing.

"Okay," Tony said, sure of himself. Steve wished he could say the same for himself. 

"I understand if you want me to leave," Steve said quietly. "Finding a place of my own should be no trouble—"

"Steve." And there was his name again on those lips. He hated the way his heart skipped at the sound of it. "I don't want you to leave."

Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Then…what do you want? What can I do for you?" He felt like he was asking for more, so much more, at that moment.

He expected Tony to say something like "jump off a cliff," had prepared himself for it. 

Instead, Tony had taken another puff of his non-cigarette like it would give him some courage. "I want…I want you to do it again." 

Had he not been leaning against the wall, Steve would have tumbled backward in shock. Of all the things he had expected Tony to say, that had not been one of them. 

"What? What did you just say?" 

It had been years since Steve had suffered from an asthma attack, but that was the only way to describe the sudden spasms in his lungs. 

"You heard me," Tony said. "You…you asked me what I wanted, and I want…I want you." 

"You can't," Steve blurted out, "Tony, we can't. You're just—"

"Do not call me a kid," Tony hissed. "I'm going to be twenty-one by the end of the month. You're only twenty-seven. What's six years?"

"I should be Howard's age."

"But you're not." Tony stubbed his not-cigarette against a brick right next to Steve's head. 

Steve was panting like he couldn't get enough air to his lungs all because Tony was too close. Too close to the truth and too close to him. 

"I want you," Tony repeated, whispering right into Steve's ear. "Don't you want me, too? I thought about you, you know. About your lips on mine and your fingers on my skin." 

Steve closed his eyes, the images of Tony in his bed, pleasuring himself on repeat like a broken record. 

"I thought about you, sneaking into my room, seeing me fucking myself while wishing it was you. I thought about your hands and how your fingers would split me open, preparing me to take you," Tony's breath fanned across Steve's face, hot and sweet and far too tempting. "I want you, and I want you to want me." And then Tony's lips were on him. 

Steve broke for a fraction of a second, his lips parting to let Tony in before he came to his senses, eyes flying open. Steve grabbed hold of Tony's body and spun them around so Tony had his back to the wall and Steve was free. "Enough."

He ignored the look of hurt that crossed Tony's face before that gut-wrenchingly familiar hatred made its dreaded appearance. "Enough," Steve repeated, shaking Tony slightly. "We have to let this go." 

"Then let me go," Tony snapped, jerking himself out of Steve's grasp. 

"You'll get over it," Steve pushed on. "You'll find someone else and forget about me, right?" 

Tony said nothing. He re-entered the house, opening and closing the sliding doors with a formidable slam. Steve stood alone in the night, with only the stars to keep him company.

Despite his playboy nature, Tony didn't bring too many people home, whether out of respect for his mother or fear of his father, Steve didn't know. It was the one line Tony didn't cross. Steve had heard stories of a Sunset Bain, a dark shadow upon Tony's past. He remembered asking Howard about her once and had been shocked at the level of vitriol when he had growled, "She's nothing but a disease." 

There was a story there that Steve apparently didn't deserve to know. It didn't bother him. Truly. He loved being kept out of the loop. 

So no, Tony never brought people back to the mansion. Until Tiberius Stone.

Steve stumbled upon Tony and Tiberius while returning from the boxing gym. He felt like he was floating, like some of the tension he had been carrying with him since he had come out of the ice had finally been released. He was slowly trying to venture out into the real world at his own pace, and a good, hard workout had always done wonders for his nerves. Maybe he'd even pick up his sketchbook for old time's sake. He had nothing but free time these days, why not use it? 

Laughter greeted him as he closed and locked the door behind him. Steve recognized Tony's laugh bright as a bell, but the deeper rumble accompanying it was foreign to him. Brows furrowed, he eased into the house, his gym bag in a death grip. 

When he turned the corner, no salacious sight greeted him. In fact, it was quite innocuous, but Steve knew something was up. It's like he had some sixth sense in regards to Tony and could tell when he was being a little shit. 

Tony sat on the loveseat with his legs tucked underneath him. Someone had thrown the windows open, letting in a stray breeze. Steve noted that Tony wore only a tank-top and cotton shorts, his eyes lingering on Tony's bare legs…and the stranger's hand resting on them.

It was warm, sure, but they were nowhere near the dog days of summer just yet. Tony had dressed like he was going to melt. 

Their laughs died on their lips when they caught sight of Steve. 

"Am I…interrupting anything?" 

The stranger and Tony locked eyes, having a silent conversation between them until Tony deemed him worthy of a response. "No, we're just hanging out." 

"And who's 'we'?" Steve said. It was supposed to come out nonchalant, cool as a breeze. Something about the stranger with his long surfer boy-esque golden hair and deep-set icy eyes made him uneasy. 

The stranger smirked like Steve had said something stupid, and everybody was in on the joke but him. "Tiberius Stone," the stranger said, although Steve supposed he wasn't much of a stranger now that he had introduced himself. "Pleased to meet you." 

Steve ignored him, instead choosing to talk to Tony. "Does Howard know you invited a friend over?" 

"No, because I'm not nine years old," Tony said, smiling. Steve had heard somewhere that when other mammals bared their teeth, it was a threat. That they were seconds away from ripping your throat out. But Steve had done his fair share of running away from Tony, and he was starting to get sick of it. Why not return the favor and rile him up a bit? It was playing with fire, but maybe he wanted to get burned. Maybe he wanted to feel something if it meant he and Tony were talking again. 

"It's just you never brought anyone home before," Steve said, and just to be an ass, added on, "You two look cozy. Two peas in a pod." 

"I've known Tony for years," Tiberius said, not that Steve cared. "We're practically family." 

Tiberius had the drawling voice of someone used to getting their way. Steve hated the very sound of it. 

Tony's eyes bored into Steve, no doubt willing him to go away or burst into flames or something like that. 

"Right," Steve said. "I'll see you at dinner then, yeah?" 

Tiberius flushed. Shifting in his seat, he muttered, "I've…never stayed for dinner." 

Steve tilted his head. "Oh? I just assumed, with you being like family and all…"

Tony was most definitely trying to kill Steve with his mind now. Good. Then his job here was done. 

"I'm sure Howard won't mind if you stay," Steve said over his shoulder as he made his exit, jauntily swinging his gym towel the whole way.

Stone didn't stay for dinner, but Steve's joy was short-lived; Tiberius Stone quickly became a frequent visitor of the Starks. Every day, it felt like Stone was laughing with Tony, flipping his stupid hair out of his eyes. Tony claimed they were just friends, but Steve didn't miss the looks they shared, the stolen touches when they thought no one was looking. He should have been happy; he had wanted Tony to find someone else, right? Something about Stone didn't sit right with Steve, though, and without any proof of any wrongdoing, it's not like he could tell Tony to watch out for him without sounding like a jealous ex-lover. 

But he was jealous. There was no doubting that. And Tony knew it too. 

In need of space and fresh air, Steve had made the patio his home once more. He lounged on one of the plush reclining chairs bordering the massive pool that took up most of Howard's backyard. Steve wore only shorts, basking in the sun's heat warming him to his very core. The scent of fresh-cut grass, bright and green, wafted over and didn't send him into a sneezing fit as it would have fifty-four years ago. He was allowing himself to exist, not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers. 

Howard and his expectations didn't matter, or Tony and his resentment. 

Steve tried to give Tony and Stone space for both of their sakes, yet Tony's funny habit of knowing exactly where Steve was in the mansion had not waned.
He shouldn't have been surprised when he heard Tony and Stone's voices from across the backyard. They paid him no mind, leaping into the pool with an audible splash. In a way, it was worse, them not speaking. He might as well have been one of the trees providing him shade for all the attention they paid him.

Steve laid there for who knew how long, eyes closed, pretending like he wasn't listening to the sound of their laughter. It sounded like they were splashing each other, Tony shouting in victory until the splashes came less and less frequently. 

Curious, Steve opened his eyes and immediately regretted it; Tony had backed Stone into the poolside near the shallow end. Stone was working at shimmying Tony out of his trunks as Tony peppered his face with kisses. 

Steve wasn't prepared for the tidal wave of jealousy that seemingly rose out of nowhere, ready to consume him. He wanted to yank Stone out of the pool by his stupid golden hair and launch him over the fence like a baseball. But Steve didn't have the right to be jealous. Tony could mess around with whoever he wanted, and Steve would have to bear witness to it unless he did something that went against his very nature; walk away. 

Tony caught Steve's eye over Stone's shoulder, eyes glinting like honey in the sunlight. 

"Wait, wait," Stone said breathlessly. "What about… him?" 

"Don't worry," Tony said, eyes boring into Steve, knowing he could hear every word they were saying. "He likes to watch."

Steve was starting to dread the sight of Howard's office. Every time Howard had called him there, Steve's life took a turn for the worst, and that was saying something. 

His hunch proved correct because when he entered Howard's office, not one but two Starks were waiting to greet him. For fuck's sake. 

He hovered in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. For a moment, he worried that Howard had found out about Steve and Tony's thing (he wouldn't dare call it a relationship), but Howard's gaze lacked any malice. The same couldn't be said for Tony. 

"Steve," Howard said, giving him a wooden smile. "Please sit." 

There were only two chairs in front of Howard's desk, Tony occupying the one closest to the door. As Steve crossed the threshold to join them, he hoped, prayed, that Tony wouldn't try anything in front of Howard. Both of their lives were on the line. 

He sank into his seat, decidedly ignoring Tony and Tony, thankfully ignoring him, his gaze fixed upon a picture frame along Howard's wall. 

"You're probably wondering why I called you both here, so I won't dawdle," Howard said. His eyes traveled to Tony. "It's about Anthony's birthday." 

Tony, surprisingly, kept his mouth shut for once and didn't correct Howard. Steve bit his tongue, keeping the snide remark ready to burst forth at bay. Tony had lashed at Steve for an honest mistake but refused to do the same to Howard, who knew Tony's preferred name. Where was the fairness in that? 

"Maria and I, unfortunately, won't be in town. I apologize in advance," Howard said, not sounding very sorry at all. 

"You're taking mom with you? Since when do you let her get involved with Stark Industries business?" 

Howard grit his teeth, the sound like two knives scraping against each other to Steve's enhanced ears. "This isn't a Stark Industries matter. It's something else entirely." 

That could only mean one thing; whatever Howard was working on was related to SHIELD. And both he and Tony had been left completely in the dark. What was so important that both Starks needed to be present but not Captain America? 

"Right," Tony drawled in that "I'm smarter than you" tone of his that normally grated on Steve's nerves. At least it wasn't directed towards him this time. "Because whatever it is is so much more important than the twenty-first birthday of your only child. I understand completely." 

Howard reached for the decanter of whiskey sitting at the edge of his desk and poured himself a generous glass. "There'll be more birthdays," Howard said. "You won't die if we miss one. Besides," Howard gestured at Steve with his glass in hand. "That's why I called him in here." 

Steve blinked. "Excuse me?" He had a horrible feeling as to where this conversation was leading. 

"Steve is going to chaperone you." 

Silence. Complete and utter silence filled Howard Stark's office as the meaning of his words sunk into both Steve and Tony's heads. "No," they both said simultaneously, one calm, the other frantic. 

"Absolutely not." Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not inviting this grandpa to my party." 

"I don't give a rat's ass what you want," Howard said, sharp as the snap of a whip. Tony flinched as if he had been struck. 

Steve itched, for a way out, to strike Howard in his face, for any semblance of control he had left over his life. He couldn't be alone with Tony. He just couldn't. But Howard had spent his entire life getting what he wanted, and he wasn't going to stop now. 

Steve still had to try. 

"Howard, please," he said, resting a hand on his desk. "Tony's right. What do I look like chaperoning a grown man?" 

And it was the truth. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped viewing Tony as a kid.

"A grown man?" Howard scoffed. "You want him to go it alone and end up on the front page of every dime rag in the goddamn book?" 

"Cut him some slack, would you?" Steve said, voice rising despite himself. 

Howard's eyes zeroed in on Steve's hand on his desk like the very sight of it offended him; Steve didn't even realize it had balled into a fist. 

He normally had much better control of his emotions, but Howard was being unfair to both of them. How dare he sit and try and order them around like they were some invention of his? Like they weren't their own people? 

"I don't know what has got into the both of you," Howard said, deceptively calm, and Steve knew he had fucked up. "But it ends today. Now, because I'm so nice, I will forgive this little indiscretion." 

Steve removed his hand from Howard's desk. He could feel Tony's eyes digging holes into his head, but Steve kept his gaze on Howard. If Howard set one toe out of line, if he tried to lunge at him or Tony, Steve would bring him down, friendship be damned. Tony, prickly as he was, didn't deserve to be berated and talked about like he wasn't even in the room. 

"Steve," Howard said, his eyes as cold as the Arctic, "will you chaperone Anthony at his twenty-first birthday party?" 

It wasn't a question. 

Steve ground his teeth. "Yes," he said, to save themselves the trouble.

Howard turned to Tony. "And will you behave yourself while your mother and I are away?" 

Tony had slumped into his seat, his eyes on anything but the cruel figure his father imposed. 

"Anthony," Howard snapped. Coming out of his mouth, Tony's name sounded like a curse. "Will. You. Behave?" 

Tony looked up, all fire to Howard's ice. "Oh, you don't have to worry about me." 

"Good," Howard said. "Now, both of you get the hell out of my sight."

"What a prick," Tony spat the second they were out of Howard's range. Steve didn't know who followed who, but somehow they found themselves traveling in the same direction. It felt wrong to separate. 

Tony looked at Steve and arched a brow. "Surprised you're not defending him." 

Steve shrugged, hands in his pockets. "What's there to defend? He was acting like a prick, so…" he trailed off. 

Tony's lips curled up at the corner. "Well, on the bright side, he got what he wanted. We're getting along." 

Steve shook his head, fighting back a smirk. It was nice talking to Tony without thinking about their baggage, the charged moments between them. 

"Steve," Tony said. 

Every time Tony said his name, his real name instead of Rogers, or an insult, his legs turned to jelly. Tony didn't even realize how much power he had over him. 

"Thanks for sticking up for me," Tony muttered, ducking his head. 

"No problem," Steve said, "Howard was in the wrong." 

"Still, it means a lot, coming from you." 

They stopped walking right as they reached Tony's door, and for a second, Steve thought Tony would invite him in. And that terrified him. They were getting along like friends, and they needed to stay like friends. But if Tony invited him in, he knew he would say yes, without hesitation. So he did what he did best; He put his foot in his mouth. 

"He did have a point, though," Steve said. 

Tony stiffened, the hope in his eyes dying just as swiftly as it came. "Excuse me?"

"He could have phrased it better, sure, but…you don't exactly have the best track record with the press." 

Steve braced himself for the curses, insults, and whirlwind that was Tony Stark's anger. 

Tony chuckled, a sharp, bitter thing, shaking his head to himself. "And here I thought…you know what, it doesn't even matter. Have a good night, Rogers." And then he closed the door in Steve's face. 

Not for the first time, he stood outside Tony's door all alone, hating himself. He was getting used to it.

Chapter Text

The drive to the club Tony had rented out for his birthday was steeped in silence. Even in the tight confines of the town car, Tony still managed to ignore Steve, forgoing conversation and opting instead to gaze out the window. Jarvis occasionally glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Steve's eyes. 

Earlier that night, the butler had pulled Steve aside while they were both waiting for Tony to join them in the garage.

"Captain Rogers, would you do an old man a favor?" Jarvis had said. 

"Anything," had been Steve's immediate reply. 

"Look after Tony. Please. I know it's no small ask, but…I worry for him. He has this frustrating habit of diving headfirst into dangerous situations, and my heart can only take so much." 

"And you want me to stop him?"

Jarvis had simply chuckled. "No. Even I know that's not possible. When Tony desires something, nothing short of death will stop him from getting it." 

Jarvis had placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing Steve to look into his eyes. His heart bled for this man, who cared for Tony like a father should, and Steve knew that he would do whatever he could to fulfill his wish. 

"If danger seeks Tony out, as it inevitably will, I'm asking you to be by his side." 

Jarvis didn't want him to rein Tony in. He wanted Steve to fight with him. To Steve, this was no favor; He would have done it anyway. The thought of Tony in any danger unsettled Steve just as much as it did Jarvis. 

"If anyone comes after Tony, I promise they won't lay a hand on him. I won't give them the chance," Steve said, full of conviction. "But you didn't have to ask me. I would have done it regardless." 

Jarvis smiled at him, a small, fond thing that punctured Steve like an arrow straight to his heart. "I know. You're exactly the man for the job." 

"Because I'm Captain America?" Steve had joked with only a bit of bitterness. 

"No. Because you're Steve Rogers." 

Those words followed him all the way into the heart of the city.

It was safe to say that Steve was sorely underprepared for how much going out had changed. He had never gone out much, at least not without a bit of wheedling from Bucky and promises (bribes) of new art supplies in the near future. More often than not, Steve had spent those nights on the sidelines watching everyone else have a ball and wishing someone would take a chance on him. Bucky had tried his best to include him, inviting him on double dates and the such, but there was no disguising the look of disappointment on his date's face whenever she saw that she was taller than him. Steve learned early on not to take people's opinions as the truth. That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

During the war, there had been no time for dinner, dancing, or sweeping anyone off their feet. As for now? The only person Steve wanted to do any dancing with was happily married and well into her seventies. 

Tony was unbuckling his seatbelt before the car even came to a stop. With one last glance from Jarvis, Steve stepped out of the car and went after Tony. There were thankfully no paparazzi waiting outside to confront them; Tony had been discreet when making the arrangements for tonight. 

Good. That made Steve's life easier.

The Jasmina was nothing like the dance clubs of Steve's time; even he could see that, despite his limited experience with New York's nightlife. The dance club consisted of two stories and an underground level, with the first floor functioning as a hotel with a series of bedrooms swankier than the last. They were undoubtedly bigger than the shoebox of an apartment Steve had called home in Brooklyn. Their presence was a novel to Steve—what nightclub had bedrooms —until he heard the moaning. Even with normal human hearing, Tony had heard it, too, only smirking at Steve. It was the most they had interacted since Steve had screwed things up. 

"Something bothering you, Rogers?" There was a mocking, insincere lilt to his voice like Tony knew just how much what they heard had affected him.

It was like someone had glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth as the unmistakable sounds of someone getting fucked within an inch of their life washed over them. 

Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat. Tony wanted him to turn tail and run, and Steve would be damned if he gave him the satisfaction. 

"Nope, I'm right as rain," Steve said lightly, willing himself not to blush. 

"You sure? You know, there's no shame in leaving." Tony placed a patronizing hand on Steve's shoulder. "I know having fun isn't really your thing." 

Steve shrugged him off, flinching like he had been scorched by a flame. He hated how such a slight touch set him off, how Tony's mere presence made him burn. Tony was like lightning. Dangerous, yes, but alluring and dazzling in the same breath. To touch him would be death, but what a dazzling death it would be. Then Steve thought of Howard reviving him just to kill him again, and some of the allure wore off. 

"I said I'm good," Steve snapped. "Come on, isn't this supposed to be a party?"

Tony smiled, all slow and lazy like Steve said something funny. 

Despite his efforts, Steve's cheeks reddened. He told himself it was from anger, embarrassment, and absolutely nothing else. 

"Alright. You want a party, big guy? I'll give you a party. Just hope you can keep up." And with that, Tony sauntered off, leaving Steve in the dust. Steve felt that he had just walked into a trap as he tried to ignore the sheer confidence oozing from Tony's stride (or how his ass looked in those godforsaken skintight jeans).

Tony led him down a series of twisting halls bathed in a sultry red light, as red as the sinful scarlet button-up Tony currently wore. The low, steady thud of music beat through the halls like the blood in his veins. Any other time it would have irritated the hell out of Steve; his ears had always been sensitive, but he was just thankful that it drowned out the moaning. 

When they turned the last corner, that feeling of entrapment only intensified. They had walked right into the midst of a rager already in full swing. Lights flickered in a kaleidoscope of color in time with the music that was no longer a steady beat but a deafening roar. He was no better than a rat in a cage, and Tony had just backed him into a corner.

Bodies. There were so many bodies; Steve could smell them all, the perfumes and colognes they had doused themselves in. Sweet jasmine ever present in women's perfume, but also the undeniably masculine scent of cedar and teakwood. Underneath it was the musky scent of sweat and lust. The crowd seemed to move as one, a writhing near-naked mass of flesh. 

Steve's heart raced, the air suddenly cloying as the room closed on him. The bodies grew closer and closer…

"There he is!" a black-haired youth said, stumbling into their path with a drunken grin, half-empty glass in hand. "The man of the hour!" 

Tony's smile was all teeth as he pulled the man into a hug and slapped him on the back. Gone was the frosty silence Steve had grown used to; Tony had turned up the charm so much that Steve would have thought he had already been drinking. 

"Now we can get this party started!" Tony said, and the other man whooped, tossing back the dregs of his drink like it was water. 

"Tony," Steve said hoarsely, "I don't think–"

"Whoaaa," the other man blinked like he was just now aware of Steve's existence. "Who's the beefcake?" 

"This is Steve," Tony said. "Steve, meet Jared. Jared, please don't puke on Steve." 

Steve took what he thought was a discrete step back but judging by Jared and Tony's laughter, they caught it anyway. His face flooded with heat. It brought back ugly memories of going out with Bucky, the disbelief then the outright rejection. That hadn't changed in the fifty-odd years since Steve had last had a real night on the town. Not for the first time, Steve wanted to punch something. He wanted his shield if only to curl up behind it, have it take all of the blows raining down on him. 

"Hey, no worries, man," Jared said, putting up a hand. "I'm about five drinks away from blowing chunks." 

"Don't worry," Tony teased. "I'll make sure you're out of the crossfire." 

Steve winced. "Thanks. Truly, how would I get on without you." 

"Oh, come on, Steve." Tony leaned in closer even though Jared was right there. His breath was cool against Steve's face, smelling of mint. "You know you'd be bored without me." 

Steve clenched his jaw, biting back the words of denial he so desperately wanted to say. There were too many people around, for one, and Tony wanted him to blow up. 

"Bored isn't the word I would use," Steve said lightly, like this was usual for them, dancing around how they truly felt. He felt a mild sense of satisfaction at how Tony's eye twitched ever so slightly. Served him right. 

"Uhh, I hate to butt into whatever is happening right now," Jared said, gesturing between them, "but Ty was looking for you earlier, Tones. I think he has a…gift." 

The way Jared said it, Steve immediately knew that whatever gift Tiberius fucking Stone had for Tony would make Steve pop a blood vessel. He had half a mind to call Howard, put a stop to what was most definitely going to be a night of debauchery. 

But then Steve remembered Howard's cold, judgemental sneer when he dared to speak his mind. Steve had done his part; he had come with Tony to this godforsaken club, but he would do no more than that. He wasn't going to tell Howard shit. 

"Go," Steve said. "Stone probably doesn't want to see my face anyway." 

Tony let Jared tug him away until the crowd of partygoers swallowed them whole. 

Steve retreated to the sidelines, closer to the exit, in case anything were to go wrong. Because HYDRA agents were definitely going to ambush Tony's party. Please.  

Still, standing at attention was familiar, practically ingrained into Steve's genetic code at this point. It was the best way to make himself useful. It was the only way he felt useful these days. 

From his vantage point, he could see the entirety of the dance floor. The DJ was set up in the furthest corner of the floor. A long, sleek bar counter bordered the dance floor. A spiral staircase led to what Steve assumed was the VIP area, a series of semi-private luxe booths done up in chrome and leather overlooking the club. 

He spotted Tony at one of the booths, head thrown back mid-laugh, and there was Stone right by him with that ever-present smirk. A few others lounged around the booth, two more men and three girls. One of the girls, a lithe blonde, took something from one of the men, too small for Steve to make it out, even with his enhanced eyes, and placed it on her tongue. She was putting on a show, her tongue hanging out her mouth and letting the pill, for what else could it be, be on display. The man who gave it to her, a long, lean fellow with ashy blond hair as long as Stone's, looked at her with unabashed lust. The blond man pulled the girl into a messy kiss, scooting her into his lap for everyone to see. 

Steve's stomach lurched, and he briefly worried he was in danger of heaving up the light dinner Jarvis had prepared for them before they left. 

Stone, reaching into his pocket, pulled Tony to the side and— 

"What's a guy like you holding up the wall for?"

Steve's attention was yanked to the person in front of him. A girl about Tony's age had stepped right into his line of sight. Whatever Stone was giving Tony would be a mystery. 

"What?" Steve said, his voice coming out more severe than he liked. 

The girl absentmindedly tugged at the ends of her dark hair, shifting from foot to foot like the black heels she wore were foreign to her feet. 

"Just, um, you looked all alone…" she trailed off, realizing just how her words sounded. Here they were in the middle of a party, and Steve was standing by the wall, talking to nobody. Like a loser. 

She looked behind her, and Steve noticed two more girls, a blonde and a redhead trying and failing to look like they weren't eavesdropping. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have bothered you–"

Steve let out a breath and held up his hand to get her to stop. "No, no. You're not wrong. Stuff like this isn't really my thing. Those your friends?"

"Yeah, they, um, dared me to come over to you." She ducked her head. "Believe it or not, parties aren't really my thing either." 

Steve looked at her, really looked at her, and for someone who claimed not to enjoy parties such as this one, she had surely dressed the part in a black satin mini dress and dark, smokey makeup. 

At his incredulous look, the girl scoffed. "I know, I sound like a liar. Trust me, if it were my choice, I wouldn't be here tonight." 

"You and me both," Steve found himself admitting the truth to her. 

To his surprise, the girl gave him the tiniest of smiles before sticking out her hand. "I'm Tara," she said. "Pleasure to meet a fellow loner." 

"I'm Steve," he said and took her hand in his own. It was small but surprisingly calloused. Working hands. 

"If you're such a loner, what are you doing here anyway?" 

"I could ask you the same," Tara said. "The redhead, Emma, knows Tony. Elaine and I were her plus ones. What about you?" 

Steve froze. It's not like he could tell her the truth. Tara seemed like an alright girl, but the last thing Steve needed was someone running to the press. Yet the urge to open his mouth and spill his guts was tempting. He wanted to explain why he was standing against the wall like a sentry instead of interacting with their peers. Why his chest panged as he saw Tony dancing with Stone like it was just the two of them on the floor. 

Stone hovered behind Tony, his hands palming at Tony's hips like he owned him. Seemingly unbothered by the crowd around them, Stone latched his lips onto Tony's neck, kissing and sucking love bites into his skin. Tony didn't seem to mind as he tilted his head to give Stone better access. 

It wasn't Steve's place. He wouldn't intervene. It wasn't his place, it wasn't his place, it wasn't his place. 

"Hey," Tara said, snapping him out of his reverie. "Are you okay?" 

Steve shook his head like that would make the image of Stone and Tony disappear. "Yeah, just…the person I came with doesn't really want to see my face right now." 

"Then that's their loss," Tara said. "You seem pretty decent to me." 

"You just met me," Steve said. "How can you get a read on me that quickly?"

"Call it a hunch," Tara said. "And you've looked me in my face instead of my boobs the entire time we've talked. That's generally a good sign." 

"That's just common decency, or at least it should be," Steve snapped, not even trying to hide his disgust. 

Something in Tara's face hardened, and she grabbed Steve's hand in a sudden display of boldness. "Come on," she said. "You and I both need to get off this wall and on that floor." 

Steve's gut lurched at the thought of delving into that sweltering mass. He stood on the sidelines for a reason. 

"And why should we do that?"

"At least to see what all the fuss is about."

The music shifted from its slow, sensual beat to something more laid-back. Something about the new song made him want to bob his head. Maybe it was the smooth voice of the singers or the jazz-influenced instrumental, but it didn't feel as intimidating as before. 

"Besides," Tara said, leading him out to the floor. "Who can say no to the Spice Girls?"

Steve didn't know who the Spice Girls were, but what Tara said rang true. The first dance was awkward; Steve didn't know what to do with his hands. He was used to the simple yet, fast-paced movements that entailed swinging, not the expressive freestyle popular today, but slowly, with Tara's help, he let loose for what felt like the first time in forever. 

Emma and Elaine, who went by Em and Laney respectively, soon joined them, and for the first time in his life, Steve had an abundance of dance partners. Em was as bold as her fiery hair, wrapping her arms around Steve's neck as they danced, whereas Laney was content to be silly, making exaggerated faces as she danced that had all of them laughing. At first, it felt like a betrayal to Peggy until he reminded himself that Peggy was happily married with a family of her own. She would want him to be happy, even if it wasn't with her. And Steve was happy, or at least unbothered. He hadn't thought about Tony or Stone since Tara had dragged him out to the dancefloor. 

Thirst got to Tara, and their little group made their way to the bar. Drinks secured, he tried not to react as a giggling Em and Laney left Tara and him to their own table. 

"They're terrible," Tara moaned, dropping her head into her hands. "I don't even know why I'm friends with them." 

"I don't know," Steve said, "they seem alright to me."

Tara rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the fond smile gracing her lips, and Steve's mouth went dry. He knew that look all too well. It was the look of someone in awe of their friends, that someone like them wanted to spend time with you. 

Not for the first time, Steve ached for Bucky like he was missing a limb. With Bucky by his side, Steve felt he could take on the whole world and have a fighting chance. Instead, he took a sip of his beer and swallowed his grief with it. 

"Steve," Tara said. She had leaned closer to him without him realizing. This close, he could see how brilliant of a blue her eyes were, even in the ever-changing strobe lights. 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks for taking a chance on me," she said before kissing him. It was soft and sweet, like cotton candy at the peak of summer, and not at all what Steve wanted. 

When they broke apart, those brilliant blue eyes were glossy with tears. "I'm sorry," she said, voice wobbling.  "I should have asked first." 

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly. 

"You've been really nice, and I just got out of a bad relationship and now I'm rambling and I can't stop talking—"

"Tara. It's okay. We're okay." 

Tara dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "But you didn't like it. You didn't kiss me back." 

With his previous encounters with Tony in mind, Steve took a chance to gather his thoughts. He wasn't the best with his words, and he didn't want to say anything that upset Tara even more. 

"It's nothing you did," he finally said. "That friend I came with…" 

Tara was quick on the uptake. "You love them?" 

"No," he said immediately. "But…there's something there. I won't deny that. Not anymore." 

He found that as he spoke, he was telling the truth. Denying his feelings, denying Tony, had damn near drove him crazy, and seeing him with Tiberius fucking Stone certainly wasn't helping things. 

"Then you should go to them," she said firmly. 

"I can't—"

"You can't, or you won't ?"

She might as well have slapped him across his face. He tried to ignore her words, but the seed had already been sown. Tony wanted him, of that much Steve was sure. And…he wanted Tony. He had tried to deny it, but any chance of them having a normal relationship flew out the window the second he had kissed Tony in a flurry of anger. He and Tony walked along a tightrope, and when they fell, there would be no net to catch them. 

Was it worth it? There were so many reasons not to go for it. Tony was young, albeit not that younger than Steve, but…Tony deserved someone he could relate to, not an old man out of his time. 

And then there was the matter of Howard…

"I can hear you thinking," Tara said. "Look." She took a deep, shuttering breath. "I don't regret kissing you." 

Steve sought out her hand and took it into his. "I'm sorry," he murmured. 

Tara shook her head. "I'll be okay. But will you, if you don't go after them?" 

Visions of Stone and Tony tangled together in satin sheets danced behind his eyes. Tony's legs wrapped around Stone's hips…

He swiftly gulped down the rest of his now lukewarm beer like that would make the images disappear. 

"I'm going to find Em and Laney." Tara rose from the table. "Thank you for tonight." She was still misty-eyed, but there was a determined set to her jaw. Still, Steve wanted to make sure she was okay. 

"I should be thanking you." 

Tara gave him a half smile. Maybe if circumstances were different, if Tony hadn't gotten to him first, he wouldn't have minded her attention. 

"Don't mention it. I love impromptu therapy sessions." She pressed one last kiss to Steve's cheek. "You think about what I said, okay?" 

"No promises," Steve said. Tara rose from their table, shook her head with what Steve hoped was fondness, and she was gone, another body disappearing into the crowd. 

The men's restroom was blissfully empty when Steve entered. It was cleaner than he expected from a club bathroom with tiled floors as black as pavement and smoother than glass. The clientele that the Jasmina attracted didn't seem like the type to condone filth and squalor.
He took his time relieving himself, thankful to be away from the crowd and Tara's insight. He had let himself get caught up in his mind. What was he thinking, going after Tony? Tara was too persuasive for her own good. Tony had expressed interest, sure, but that was before Steve had opened his big mouth. 

Steve averted his eyes from the mirror as he washed his hands. Distantly, he registered the sound of someone else entering the bathroom. That was normal. The sound of the lock clicking into place was not. 

His eyes darted to the mirror, and in its reflection, he saw Tony leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed at his chest. 

"Tony," Steve said politely.

"Rogers," Tony said with an incline of his head. "Some party, huh?"

Steve kept his eyes low as he dried off his hands. "Yeah. It's a lot different from my day. Are you having a good night? Did you…did you like Stone's gift?" 

"Ty's gift was predictable and unnecessary," Tony said, voice dripping with boredom. 

Steve's brow lifted. "Oh? Seemed like you liked what he was giving you out there." 

Tony's eyes darkened as he tilted his head at Steve like he was something to be studied. "I could say the same about you," Tony said coolly. 

Steve ignored him, instead throwing his paper towels away in the nearest trash bin…which was next to Tony. Fuck. 

"It's amazing that you got one girl to dance with you, let alone three. I'm shocked you had it in you." 

Steve stared down at Tony, who looked thoroughly debauched. His hair was in disarray like someone had run their fingers through it. Three of the buttons on that stupid scarlet shirt were undone, and Steve could see the beginnings of wine-dark bruises dotting the graceful line of his throat. 

Steve clenched his jaw. Tony wasn't in danger; therefore, it wasn't his place to interfere. "And what of it? What does it matter who I dance with?" 

Tony shrugged. A wave of anger rushed through him at the gesture. He needed to leave before Tony broke him. What scared him most was that he wouldn't mind being broken. Steve willed himself to move as Tony inched closer, but his feet stayed where they were. 

"It doesn't matter," Tony said. "Just making an observation." 

"Oh, bullshit."

"Ooh, and now you're cussing. Should I be scared?"

"Why did you come in here just to interrogate me? I've had to watch you and Tiberius fucking Stone out there all night, but I can't have one dance?" 

"Seeing me with Ty bothered you? Got under your skin ?" Tony practically purred, and something in Steve snapped.

Steve seized Tony by his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Are you trying to get fucked?" he hissed, dark and low just for Tony's ears. 

"So what if I am?" Tony yanked himself free from Steve's grip. "What are you gonna do about it, Rogers?" 

Steve growled and raked his hands through his hair. He was glad they were alone lest any partygoers witnessed him reaming Tony. 

"Why him, huh?" he gestured to the door where Tiberius fucking Stone no doubt prowled, waiting to get his grubby hands on Tony. Over Steve's dead fucking body. "Why that–that–"

"Go ahead, say it," Tony's face curled into a sneer. The sudden, almost aggressive urge to wipe that look off Tony's face seized him. 

Tony pressed up against him, his face mere inches away from Steve's. His dark brown eyes were narrowed into a hateful glare, but Steve still caught the way they darted down, fixating on Steve's lips. 

"Why are you going to that self-obsessed, no-good punk when you could be getting it from someone like–"

"Like you?" 

Tony's words were an ice bucket dumped over his head, and Steve froze mid-rant. 

"What did you just say?" 

"You heard me," Tony said. "You want to fuck me, but you're too much of a coward to do it." 

"What I don't understand," and Tony's hands were on Steve, tugging at his shirt and ruining the perfect tuck that had taken him three tries to get right, "is why." 

"You know why," Steve spat, but his hands had found their way to Tony's hips; whether to pull him closer or push him away, he didn't know. "Tony, you're too young." 

"Oh, come off it! I'm twenty-one! We're both adults!" 

Steve squeezed at Tony's hips, delighted in the shiver that passed through the younger man's body, as much as it brought him shame. "Then why are you acting like such a brat ?" 

"You know why," Tony spat Steve's words back into his face. 

The words unlocked some part of Steve's brain that he thought he had repressed. The dark, petty side of him that longed to get the last word. The side that wanted to sink its teeth into the tanned, enticing expanse of Tony's throat and cover Stone's bruises with his own. Without effort, he pushed until Tony was flush with the bathroom door, Tony crying out at the sudden motion. 

"What the fuck, Rogers?" Tony gasped out, wriggling against his grasp, but it was no use; Steve had both his hands pinned above his head. He was reminded of the last time they were in this position when he told Tony to forget about him and find somebody else to chase after. That had brought Tiberius fucking Stone into Steve's life and nearly drove Tony out of it.

He looked into Tony's eyes, black and indiscernible in the red light, and wondered just what he should tell Tony. That Steve had thought about him ever since that life-ruining first kiss? That the soft plushness of Tony's lips haunted his dreams? That the thought of Tony with Stone made him want to draw blood? 

Tony stopped struggling in his grip. "Come on then," he snarled. "Do your worst." 

Did Tony think…did he think Steve was going to hurt him?

"What are you waiting for?" 

Steve had leaped from plenty of planes in his life. He knew the feeling of free-falling better than anyone on this planet. Every time, his heart would damn near try to escape his chest, although he tried not to let his nerves show, and then, weightlessness. He felt that same tension in his muscles now. This moment between them was just another fall. Steve braced himself for the impact. 

Steve kissed Tony. At first, he received no response; Tony had stilled beneath him. Fear gripped his heart that he had read this wrong, that Tony didn't want him until Tony's lips melted into his. It wasn't necessarily a good kiss, demanding and full of wrath like Tony wanted to devour Steve and all that he was.

That didn't stop Steve from moaning into Tony's mouth, kissing him deeper until he could taste the sweet liquor on his lips, salt, and tangy lime. 

He was falling, or maybe he was flying; the ground hadn't rushed up to meet him, bashing his bones to pieces. 

"Is this what you fucking wanted?" Steve asked hoarsely when they broke apart to catch their breath. 

Tony said nothing, instead leaning forward to capture Steve's lips once more. Steve wedged his leg between Tony's, spreading them apart so that his thigh rubbed against his cock. 

Tony's breath hitched, and Steve worshipped the sound, wanted to fall to his knees after hearing it. "Answer me," Steve demanded. "Is this what you wanted? But you couldn't ask for it like a good boy? No, you had to go and throw a fucking temper tantrum like a goddamn brat instead of saying please." 

"I'm sorry! Yes, please, yes." Tony hissed as he ground himself down against the muscle of Steve's thigh. 

Steve's cock strained against the fly of his pants. He was so hard, he was practically dizzy with it, all of his blood flooding south. 

"You're sorry?" 

Tony nodded, all eager and needy. The picture he made would live with Steve forever; the blown out, frenzied look in his eyes, his pink kiss-swollen lips. Tony's nipples peeked out the edge of that scarlet shirt that had driven Steve insane the moment he saw him in it.

"Do you think you deserve this?" Steve asked him. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, so dark and gritty. Tony shivered against him. The bold seducer from before had melted away now that he had what he wanted. "Do you think you deserve to come after tonight?"

"I…I—"

Steve pulled away from Tony all at once, exercising his willpower. 

"No!" Tony whined, and Steve almost broke then and there. But he had to show Tony that they couldn't go on. Not like this, with Tony driving Steve to the brink of insanity and Steve unleashing this dark, beastly part of him. 

"Steve, please." 

Despite himself, he cupped Tony's face in his hands, tilting it up, so he was looking directly into Tony's black-pool eyes. "You have to earn this." 

Steve left Tony in the bathroom. Surprisingly, there was no line waiting outside the door, and he figured God must be on his side at least somewhat. 

The Jasmina's drunken cheers, music, and moans grew unbearable, and Steve had had enough. All he wanted was to go home, even if it would be the most awkward car ride of his life. 

In his manic, high-tuned state, he still managed to find his way out of the Jasmina and stumbled into the muggy May air. He leaned against the wall, taking in great gulps of air. If he could regulate his breathing, then he could lower his heart rate and maybe not die of a massive heart attack before he saw thirty. 

About ten feet away, a trail of cigarette smoke wafted into the air and over his way. Asthma wasn't an issue for him anymore, but that didn't mean he liked the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted the source of the acrid smoke; three men hovered at the corner of the Jasmina. Two of them held cigarettes aloft. Meanwhile, the third man only had a beer bottle. This third man swayed on his feet and fell into the neat hedges bordering the Jasmina. His companions did nothing to help him. Steve started towards them. If they weren't going to help, then Steve would.  

He wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but their conversation made it to him. None of it was of any interest to him until he heard one of them bring up the subject of Steve's ire; Tony. 

"Did Tony like your gift?" 

Freezing where he stood, Steve realized it was the ashy blond he had seen at the beginning of the night before Tara had swept him in. 

"He didn't take it." And that was Stone's voice. He was sure of it. So the poor man curled up in the bushes was probably Jared.

Steve edged closer to them, still determined to help Jared…and to hear more of their conversation. Something about the irritation in Stone's voice made his stomach turn. 

"Slip it in his drink, simple as that." 

No…they couldn't…they wouldn't…

"I want him loose, not unconscious, Nate," Stone snapped. He flicked his still-smoldering cigarette to the ground, uncaring of where it landed. "I just don't fucking get him sometimes."

The blond, Nate, shrugged. "What's there to get? He'll fold just like all the other sluts in there do." 

Steve's blood ran cold. His hands tremored, aching to fly right into Stone's face. Strike one.

"That's the thing," Stone said. "We haven't fucked. One second, he's all over me, practically putty in my hands, but the minute I try to take it further, he shuts down."

"Sounds like he's playing hard to get." 

"Or maybe he just doesn't want to go that far with you, you bastard," Steve said, stepping into their line of sight. This was a bad idea. Arguably one of his worst ideas. But the things they were saying were foul. 

"Who the fuck is this?" Nate asked. At the sight of Steve, Stone's face twisted. Usually, Stone was a traditionally handsome man, Steve would give him that, but the utter malice in his gaze had transformed him from a thing of beauty to something grotesque. 

"Just somebody who doesn't know how to mind their own business," Stone said. 

"Look, Sven," Stone reached into his pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet worth more than Steve's bank account, of that he was sure.

"Feel like doing me a favor?" Stone counted out a few hundreds until he had a neat little stack. A thousand dollars right in the palm of his hand. 

"You can't be serious." Strike two. 

Nate didn't look too much like a fighter with his long, lanky build and Jared had passed out in the bushes that lined the Jasmina. Steve could take them both in his sleep.

"As a heart attack," Stone said. 

"Keep this between you and me." Stone waggled the bills in the air like a treat for a dog. "This can be yours." 

Stone looked Steve up and down, and some of the malice was replaced with…appreciation. Steve's skin prickled. He wished he had brought a jacket or something to cover himself. Why was Stone looking at him like that? 

"And if you're good, maybe I could let you join us." Stone gave him a toothy grin. "I know you like to watch." 

Strike. Fucking. Three. Stone was out.

Steve smiled back, but there was no friendliness on his face. He wasn't being nice; he was a predator baring his teeth. Stone didn't get the memo. 

When realization dawned on Stone, it was too late; Steve was already swinging. 

Chapter Text

It ends like this; Stone on the ground, clutching at his formerly perfectly straight nose, and the bills he tried to pawn off on Steve scattered around him like a pitiful pile of confetti. Rivulets of blood stained the once-pristine white button-down Stone had donned for the night. 

Nate, coward that he was, had long since fled back into the nightclub, leaving Stone at Steve's mercy.

Some mercy it was.

Steve had killed before. Of course, that part was never included in the history books. Steve Rogers could sin; Steve Rogers could take a life, but Captain America saved the day with a rousing speech, the American flag fluttering in the background. 

He wasn't Captain America anymore.

To go through such a war as he did, it would have been a feat to have come out with his hands clean. Every life weighed on him, something he would have to atone for whenever his day finally came, but at that moment, he could have ended Stone's life and not batted an eye. 

His cheek throbbed, the lucky hit Stone had managed to land on him, making itself known. Whatever bruise remained would be gone by morning. Stone would be the one crawling away at the end of the night.  

Steve seized Stone by the collar, yanking him up until they were face to face. Steve had made a ruin of his handsome face, smeared with blood and bruised as it was. Those cold blue eyes were blown wide with fear.

"If I so much as see you look at Tony again—" 

The words fell forth dark and dangerous. Steve didn't recognize himself, this rage burning a fever inside him. Every fight he had ever been in had always been over something bigger than himself; Protecting the underdog. But Stone, with his smarmy grin and his fucking hundreds? That was personal. Tony was personal.

"Steve!" 

Steve flinched,  dropping Stone, who yelped as he met the gritty sidewalk once more.  Tony was running to him, and suddenly, Steve was all too aware of how this must have looked. Stone on the ground, bloodied and bruised. Steve with barely a scratch on him. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tony's voice was borderline hysterical. Panic pitched it higher, his words tumbling out at light speed. 

"Tony, please." Steve didn't know what he was begging for, whether for Tony to hear him out, let him stay, or both all at once. "You don't understand. The things he was saying—" 

"Who gives a fuck what Ty was saying? He's a shit-talker; that's what he does. You're the one who broke his nose!"

"But—"

"Go home," Tony said, "before you ruin anything else." 

It was a dismissal if Steve ever heard one. Part of him wanted to protest, to dig his feet in the sand and make sure Stone wasn't within fifty feet of Tony ever again. But he couldn't bare the thought of Tony detesting him. Not anymore. 

"If I leave," he found himself saying, stepping closer to Tony so he could see how serious he was. "Promise me you'll come home tonight. Don't leave with him."

Tony's eyes darted to where Stone lay prone on the ground, groaning like a wounded animal. 

"You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, just as long as it's not him. Please." The thought of Tony with anyone else left a bitter taste in Steve's mouth, but he would take that over whatever hell Stone would unleash upon Tony the second he got him alone.

"It…it matters that much to you?" Tony asked, voice losing some of its edge. 

Steve latched onto the opportunity for what it was. "Yes. God, yes, it does." 

"Go home, Steve," Tony said, and any hope he had died. 

"But–"

"Do you trust me?" 

"What?" 

"Steve," Tony said. It grounded him, gave him something to fixate on aside from the blood on his knuckles and the throbbing of his cheek. "Do you trust me?" Tony repeated softly this time; a lesser man would have strained to hear him. 

His gaze, hard and unyielding, pinned Steve in place. Whatever the next words out his mouth would be, Steve knew Tony would take them to heart. 

"Without a doubt," Steve said fiercely. 

Tony searched his face, no doubt looking for any sign of dishonesty, but he would find none. Steve did trust him, oddly enough. He trusted him to survive.

"Then please, go home," Tony said softly, but he might as well have cursed. Tony's anger, his sharp tongue, Steve could handle. But this resignation, like Steve, was some troublesome child underfoot? It cut him deeper than he would have liked. 

Tony looked back at Stone and seemed to grow taller, like he was steeling himself for something awful. "Let me deal with it."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Steve barely registered hailing a cab, mind somewhere else on the long ride to his closest thing to home. 

Even though it was well past midnight, the Stark mansion was lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve; When Steve crossed the threshold into the foyer, Jarvis, clearly ready for bed in his burgundy robe and old-fashioned stripe pajamas, was waiting for him. 

"You're home earlier than I expected," Jarvis said cheekily. "I expected you and Tony to be gone until dawn."

At the mere mention of Tony, Steve winced, and the mirth in Jarvis' bright blue eyes died. 

"Steve," Jarvis said, coming closer to him. "What happened?" 

Steve closed the front door behind him and stepped further into the foyer. The light shone like a spotlight on the purpling bruise upon his cheek. 

"What did you do?"

Steve let out a sigh, and with it went his strength. "What you told me to do. Protect Tony." 

"And Tony? Is he…did you…"

"He's fine, said he'd catch up with me later." 

It wasn't technically a lie, and the last thing Steve wanted was to send Jarvis into cardiac arrest. 

Jarvis' gaze softened. "You look tired. I should let you rest. Forgive me, please."

Steve shook his head. "Not tired. I don't think I could sleep tonight anyway." 

When he closed his eyes, all he saw was Tony. Tony sobbing, bloody and blue, and fucking Stone smiling all the while. No, sleep would not be coming to him anytime soon. 

"That makes two of us," Jarvis said. He gestured towards the kitchen. "I was just about to put on the kettle if you wouldn't mind some company."

Steve told Jarvis almost everything over a cup of strong sweet, black tea and freshly made shortbread. 

"A good cuppa and a biscuit have always served me well," Jarvis said when Steve protested. "You took care of my boy. Let me take care of you." 

Maybe it was the stressful events of the night taking a toll on him, but Steve's eyes had watered after Jarvis said his piece. 

So he drank his tea, ate his biscuits, and spilled his guts as God intended. 

Jarvis didn't bluster or curse when he heard about Stone's vile plan but went eerily still. A lion ready to pounce. Despite his advanced age, Steve felt a chill slither down his spine. 

"He'll get what's coming to him. I promise you that." And Steve believed him. 

Jarvis failed to stifle his yawns as the night ticked on from one to two. After the fifth yawn, Steve eventually sent him to bed.
"I can wait on Tony," Steve said. "Go get some rest." 

Jarvis grumbled something about not being that old, and really Steve was older than him but still went on his way after some lighthearted nudging. 

When he was finally alone, Steve slumped into his seat. He wasn't tired, not in the physical sense anyway, but still longed for his bed after the absolute shitshow that was his night. But he couldn't go upstairs. Not until he saw Tony with his own eyes. If one hair was out of place…

In the distance, a door creaked open, and Steve's heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with the caffeine he had consumed. 

It had to be Tony. It just had to be. 

Footsteps, slow and light and deliberate, then silence. More footsteps, quicker this time; curious. 

Steve knew it was Tony turning the corner into the kitchen, but the sight of him still made his legs quiver. If he were to stand, he'd no doubt stumble about. 

"Tony," he said with all the softness of a prayer. 

"Hey," Tony said with a slight wave. That's when Steve saw the stiff, awkward way he held his hand like it pained him. 

In an instant, Steve was out of his seat and stalked closer to Tony until they were practically breathing each other's air. He reached out for Tony's hand, and Tony let him. 

Steve turned Tony's hand this way and that, taking extra care, mindful of his pain. His knuckles were bloody and reddened, but they didn't seem to be split. 

"What happened?"

"Steve—"

"Tony," he said fiercely, for once unphased by their proximity. Tony's long dark lashes glistened with wetness in the soft yellow light of the kitchen; he had been crying. 

Rage and despair battled for dominance inside of him. The urge to use every skill he had honed during his stint as Captain America to hunt Tiberius fucking Stone to the ends of the earth was all-powerful. He also wanted to sweep Tony away from everything that sought to hurt him and damn the consequences. But Stone was nowhere in sight, and Tony was right in front of him, looking as drained as he felt. Stone would have to wait. 

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Steve asked, absentmindedly swiping a thumb over Tony's knuckles. 

Tony shrugged far too nonchalantly for Steve's sake and gave him a tight smile. "I'm fine. You're not the only one who can throw a punch." 

"He deserved it," Steve said immediately. "I'd do it again too."

Tony's smile loosened into something a bit more genuine. Steve tried to ignore the way his heart flipped in his chest. 

"Come on," he said, tugging Tony towards one of the barstools dotting the kitchen's island. "You need some ice on that." 

"And what about your cheek?" Tony said, plopping into the seat Jarvis had occupied. 

In quick succession, Steve grabbed a towel, opened the freezer, and filled it with ice. "Super soldier, remember? I could take a bullet and be fine the next morning." 

Tony wrinkled his nose. "I really hope you're not speaking from experience."

Steve didn't say anything. Instead, he sat next to Tony, their knees knocking together, makeshift ice pack in hand. He nodded his head at Tony's hand. "May I?" 

With the most peculiar expression, Tony held his hand aloft for Steve to take. Steve cupped it as if he held a baby bird in his hands, a delicate, precious little thing, and held the towel of ice against Tony's bruised knuckles. 

Tony gasped softly when the towel met his skin, the cold a shock to his system. 

They sat like that for an eternity. Tony's hand, surprisingly strong and on its way to being calloused, rested in his own like it was meant to be there. The stress of the night melted away until it was just them and the mountain of emotions between them. 

"Ty and I broke up," Tony whispered, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them. "In case that wasn't obvious." 

Steve tried to hide his wince. It was one thing to suspect that Stone and Tony were involved in some way, but to see it, to hear it confirmed, was like a knife to the gut. 

"I'm not sorry," Steve said softly. "Hate me. Call me an asshole if you want, but I'm not sorry." 

Tony shook his head, a dark lock of hair falling into his eyes. Steve fought the urge to brush it back. "It wasn't your fault. Not really."

"I'm sure breaking his nose didn't help." 

"He called me a tease," Tony said matter-of-factly like he was speaking about the weather. "Said he couldn't even call me a slut, because at least a slut would have opened their legs."

Steve had never been one to let his emotions get the best of him…unless someone he loved was involved. It was hard to think rationally when someone he loved, his heart, was being threatened, and this time was no different. 

He had to remind himself that it was Tony in front of him. Not Stone. Tony didn't need his rage, his vengeance. 

"Is that all?" Steve asked.

"I asked why you punched him, and he got all cagey." Tony shrugged. "Said you just went psycho on him for no reason. I called bullshit, obviously, and he didn't like that. He accused me of taking your side, and that's when he called me a tease. Everything went downhill from there."

"Is that why you punched him?"

Tony rolled his eyes. It was strangely endearing when it wasn't directed at Steve. "No. I couldn't give less of a shit about what he thinks of me. It's what he said about you that pissed me off. Now he has a black eye to match his broken nose." 

"What did he say?" 

Tony bit his lip, a sudden uncharacteristic show of shyness. "He said…he said you didn't care about me. Said you were no better than him and wanted the same things he did. And when you got what you wanted…he said you'd leave." 

A dull roar echoed in Steve's ears like he had stood up too fast and lost his balance. "Tony," he said, voice ragged. "Tell me that's not what you think. Please."

"Of course not," Tony said, but there was a moment's hesitation. "You're nothing like Ty."

There was an unsaid but at the end of his sentence.

"But you do think I'll leave you?" 

Tony glanced down at where their hands lay cradled within each other. Steve's grip on Tony's wrist tightened ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, no, he would never hurt Tony. 

"I think my hand is fine now," Tony muttered. He set the ice pack aside and pulled his injured hand free from Steve's. The towel lay crumbled on the counter, dividing them. 

Steve, hands now free, tilted Tony's chin so they were face to face once more. Tony stared at him wide-eyed, mouth agape like he couldn't believe what Steve was doing. 

Steve couldn't either. Their encounter in the Jasmina's bathroom felt worlds away. Steve had been running on pure adrenaline then, emboldened by Tara's advice and Stone's unwanted presence. But now, in the comfort of their home, everything was as clear as day. 

Ever since that disaster of a family dinner, he had wondered why Tony wanted him, why he didn't rat Steve out to Howard. Why he had turned to Tiberius fucking Stone of all people. 

"Tony," he said. His heartbeat roared in his ears. "I'm going to ask you something. And I want you to tell the truth. Even if it hurts. Can you do that for me?" 

Tony looked unsure, his dark brows knitting together. "Even if it hurts?" 

Steve nodded. What he was about to do would change everything, but it all depended on what Tony would do. Yet another leap of faith. 

"Why did you get with Stone?" 

Tony flushed and tried to pull away from Steve, but Steve readjusted his grip, so he was cupping Tony's face with both hands. "Don't run from me. Not now."

Tony blinked, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "How can you say that? How can you say that when you're just going to leave me again and—"

Steve fought to keep his voice down lest Jarvis heard them. He wanted to shake Tony, wanted him to see sense. "Because I'm not going to leave you, not now, not ever if I can help it. Just tell me…why did you get with Stone?" 

Silence. For a moment, Steve thought he had lost him, that any chance of this working was long gone, but then, with a great, shuddery breath, Tony finally spoke. 

"Because I wanted you. And you pushed me away. So I thought…I thought if I got with Ty, you'd be jealous. I didn't think everything would blow up like this." 

"And do you still want me?"

"Don't," Tony whispered. "Steve, don't do this to me." 

"Even if it hurts," Steve said, reminding him. "Please." 

"...Yes. God, is that even a question? I wanted you when you first stepped foot into this hellhole Howard calls a home. I wanted you, even when you avoided me. I wanted you when Howard put you up to being my fucking friend." By the end, Tony was shaking so much Steve would have thought it the middle of January. If it were up to him, Tony would never be cold again.

"I wanted you like I've never wanted anything else in my life." 

Heat blossomed in his chest like someone sparked a fire in his ribcage. Tony wanted him. Still wanted him after everything. 

"But none of that shit matters because you don't want me and—" 

Sometimes, Tony just needed to stop talking. So Steve kissed him. 

It was barely a kiss, really, more of a peck. A soft, gentle thing that held none of the heat and animosity of their previous kisses but sweet all the same. Steve tasted salt; Tony's tears finally fell, and he kissed each one away. Tony fisted his hands in Steve's shirt, pulling him impossibly closer until Steve was practically sitting on the edge of his chair. He needed more. 

Tony whimpered when Steve pulled away, the sound shooting straight to Steve's groin. 

"No," Tony growled, grasping at him. "You said you wouldn't leave."

"And I'm not," Steve said hotly. Grabbing underneath Tony's thighs, Steve lifted him and set him on the counter with ease. 

Tony made a beautiful picture; hair mussed, lips pink, and kiss-swollen. The first three buttons of that fucking scarlet red shirt were undone; Steve could see just how far Tony's blush went. 

Tony spread his legs, absolutely putting himself on display, and of course, Steve was a sucker for it. In no time at all, Steve was on Tony again, stepping into the space between his legs like the last piece of a puzzle slotting into place. 

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," Tony murmured between kisses. Steve carded his fingers through Tony's hair, and fuck, it was as soft as it looked.

"Liar," Steve whispered against his ear, tugging at the roots of Tony's hair. Tony shivered in his grasp. "I've got you figured out, Tony Stark." 

"You haven't even scratched the surface," Tony breathed against Steve's lips. 

For the second time that night, Steve was ready to throw caution to the wind. He wanted to push Tony down and tear his clothes from his body like some kind of brute. Wanted to open Tony up with his fingers and his tongue. Wanted to twist that genius brain of his up until Tony couldn't tell up from down, left from right. Until all he knew, all he could think about was Steve. But not tonight. Not with Jarvis so close and on edge.

"You'll have to enlighten me then," Steve said and pressed one last long, lingering kiss to Tony's lips. 

Later that night, after sending a whining Tony off to his own bedroom, he dreamt of Tony's lips. 

"Lord, help me," he said to the darkness of his bedroom when sleep finally claimed him.

Tony, Steve, and Jarvis were finishing dinner when Howard and Maria came home the next night looking tired and rumpled but no worse for wear. 

Steve heard them first, of course, the garage door opening, Howard complaining as he got their bags out of the trunk. 

"Your parents are home," Steve said. He scooped the last of the mushroom risotto Jarvis had made into his mouth and went to put his plate in the sink. 

Tony tried his best to hide it, but Steve saw how he lit up, sitting up a little taller in his seat and not-so-discretely checking his hair in the chrome reflection of the fridge. 

"Well, let's go greet them, shall we?" Jarvis said, rising from where he sat with them at the table. 

Maria came in through the front door as they entered the foyer. Her smile was blinding when she caught her first glimpse of Tony. Howard was nowhere to be found.

"Antonio!" she exclaimed, running to her son and throwing her arms around him. 

Tony wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him, but he was smiling ear to ear. "Hello to you too, mama," he said softly. "Did you have a good trip?"

"Damn our trip," she said fiercely. She brushed Tony's dark hair out of his eyes. "We should have been here with you." 

"There's always next year," Tony said, shrugging. 

"Still," Maria sniffed. "It's not every day your only son turns twenty-one. Did you have a good birthday? No trouble?"

Jarvis caught Steve's eye and shook his head. Steve gave him a subtle nod. What happened between Steve and Stone would stay between the three of them. 

"No trouble," Tony agreed. 

"Good," Maria said, and then to Steve's surprise, she turned to him. "Thank you, Steve, for watching over him," she said with an incline of her head, full of queenly grace. 

Steve's face grew hot as he stammered over his words. "It—it was no problem at all, ma'am. It was actually fun."

"I know, Howard can be…abrasive," she said, a grimace marring her pretty features. 

"That's an understatement," Tony muttered. 

"Hush," she scolded, but the effect was diminished when she kissed Tony on the forehead. "Or you will not get your gift."

"Like he deserves it," was the first thing Howard said, shoving through the front door, luggage in hand. 

The longer Steve stayed with the Starks, the less he recognized the Howard he once knew. The Howard he knew during the war had his moments where he could be dry but, overall, was a dependable good man without a care in the world. 

This Howard was a black hole. Where ever he went, he sucked all the life and joy out of the room until everyone was as bitter and jaded as him. 

"He does," Steve declared before Tony could open his mouth. 

Four pairs of eyes shot to him, all with varying degrees of shock. 

"I was just telling Maria how much of a good time Tony and I had," Steve said smoothly. 

"Really?" Howard asked, brow arched. He looked Steve up and down like he was trying to figure out if it was actually him or a life model decoy. "And Anthony behaved himself?"

"He was an angel," Steve said. Maybe he was laying it on a little thick, but he was sick to death of Howard's snide comments and utter dismissal of Tony. 

"Hmm," Howard grunted and dropped his luggage on the ground. "I guess miracles do happen." 

Turning to Tony, Howard said begrudgingly, "Happy belated then." 

Tony, after catching Steve's eye, bit his tongue for once. "Thank you." 

"See," Howard clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I knew you could fix him." 

It was like the split second before a bomb went off when all you could do was wait to be blown to pieces. The five of them stood in silence as Howard's words washed over them like shrapnel and ash, cutting their skin and clogging their lungs.

"I'll take your bags, sir," Jarvis said, cutting through the tension. 

"Thank you, Jarvis," Howard said, seemingly unaware of the animosity in the room. He stretched and yawned like he didn't have a care in the world. 

"I think it's time for bed," Maria said quietly. Brushing another kiss against Tony's temple, she whispered something in his ear that Steve willed himself not to hear. Some things weren't for his ears.

Tony nodded wordlessly and made his way up the stairs. Jarvis and Maria were right behind him, suitcases in hand. 

It was just Howard and Steve left in the foyer. 

"I think I'm going to head to bed, too," Steve said. 

"Bed? I just got home! You don't want to talk at all?" Somehow Howard was astonished that someone didn't want to talk to him. 

"Maybe tomorrow?" Steve said, mentally kicking himself for even suggesting it. If he spent another second in Howard's presence, he didn't know what he would do. 

Howard grunted but waved Steve off. "Go on then. Go get your beauty sleep."

Steve left him there to rot.

Steve barely made it to his room when there was a knock at his door. It wasn't hard to guess who it was. Howard wouldn't knock, and Jarvis and Maria were probably asleep. 

When he opened his door, Tony stood at the threshold, clearly dressed for bed in the same threadbare wifebeater and too-big sweatpants Steve had first seen him in all those months ago. 

"Hi," Tony said, voice wobbling. "It's me." 

"It's you," Steve said softly. 

"Can I…can I come in?" 

"Is that even a question?" 

Not for the first time, Steve wanted to steal Tony away. "Come here," he said and tugged Tony into his arms. Tony came willingly, kicking the door shut behind him. 

"Thank you," Tony whispered. "Thank you so much." 

Steve buried his face into Tony's hair, uncaring that the soft strands tickled his nose. This close, he could smell the scent of his shampoo, something warm and woodsy that left him aching. 

Tony kissed his cheek, his nose, his forehead, everywhere but his lips until Steve cupped his face. 

"What are you doing?" Steve breathed.

Tony blinked those dark, dangerous eyes of his, and Steve knew he would never be able to deny Tony anything ever again. 

"You said I had to earn this. And I want to show you…I want to show you I can be good." 

Tony sunk to his knees. 

"Let me be good for you."

Chapter Text

It was a rare sight, Tony Stark on his knees. It stoked the flame in Steve, the soft yet familiar nudge of desire making itself known. 

Tony kneeled like a suppliant at an altar, like Steve was some god worthy of devotion. Like he was worth the inevitable blood on Tony's knees. 

"Let me be good for you," Tony repeated, looking up at Steve through his thick, dark lashes. Steve had long since registered Tony as being attractive somewhere in the back of his mind, but being able to act on it? To not only look but also touch? It was an ecstasy unlike no other, only beat out by the feel of Tony's skin against his. 

So touch him, he did. Tony's eyes fluttered shut when Steve threaded his fingers through Tony's wavy hair, the strands like silk to the touch. 

"You're already good," Steve murmured, massaging Tony's scalp.

"Liar."

Steve wound his fingers into the roots of Tony's hair and tugged. 

Tony's eyes flew open with a gasp, his hands coming up to clutch at Steve's thighs. Though cloth separated them, Steve burned. 

"Stop that," Steve snapped. "I wouldn't lie to you, so you shouldn't lie to yourself. What did I tell you?" 

"Tell the truth," Tony said, lips wobbling like he was on the verge of tears. "Even if it hurts." 

At first, Steve worried he had gone too far in trying to distract Tony, but then he saw it. The pretty flush of Tony's cheeks, the bulge straining against his grey sweatpants that concealed absolutely nothing. 

"Good," Steve said, and then, hoping his voice wasn't as shaky as he felt, "Good boy." 

The effect of Steve's words was instantaneous, Tony visibly shuddering in his grasp. Just the other night, he had made a private vow to himself to take things slowly, ease their way into this nebulous new thing between them. But that was before he had a ready and willing Tony Stark on his knees.

"Get off your knees," Steve said, making up his mind then and there. He wouldn't make tonight about himself. Not while Tony was still on edge. 

"But…I wanted…I want to blow you." Tony looked as if he had just been slapped, eyes wide with hurt. 

"And you will," Steve said hotly. "I swear you will. But this isn't about me right now." He unwound his fingers from Tony's hair.

Slowly, Tony rose, looking the most unsure Steve had ever seen him. Steve pulled Tony in by his waist until they practically breathed each other's air. "I want tonight to be about you," Steve whispered. 

"Why?" Tony asked, shaking his head. "I'm nothing–"

"Like hell you are," Steve snapped. "Howard's wrong. You're not nothing. You have never been nothing, and if he can't see that, he can go fuck himself." 

Steve didn't know whether Tony was going to laugh or cry. It was no chore to kiss the pain away until Tony clutched at him like a drowning man to a buoy.

Steve slid his hands down his waist until he cupped Tony's plush ass. Without breaking their kiss, Tony got the memo and wrapped his legs around Steve so Steve was the only thing holding him up. He wouldn't drop him, not now, not ever. 

"Bed," Tony gasped when the need to breathe finally won out. "Please." 

It was the please that did Steve in, all needy and full of want, and who was he to deny Tony anything? 

They tumbled upon Steve's bed, uncaring at this point of who would hear. Howard, Maria, and Jarvis didn't even exist to him, not when he finally had Tony all to himself. The guilt that had plagued him since that wonderful disaster of a first kiss was nowhere to be found. Not when it felt so right. Not when their lips fit together perfectly, two puzzle pieces slotting into place. 

Steve felt warm all over like he'd been lying in the sun for hours. Whether it was from Tony's kiss or the shared heat of their bodies, he didn't know, but he didn't want the feeling to end. 

Ever since they freed him from the ice, Steve felt the phantom chill of the ocean deep in his bones. But Tony…Tony chased it away. If Steve was made of ice, then Tony was a wildfire, mesmerizing and destructive, and vital to his survival all the same. 

"Please…please," Tony murmured between kisses, the begging going straight to Steve's groin along with all the blood in his body. 

"Use your words," Steve rumbled, dark and low against Tony's ear. "Tell me what you want." 

Tony squirmed, which only made Steve hold on tighter. "No…I can't. It's too…" 

"Too what? You had no problem before," Steve said. He didn't know what came over him when he licked the shell of Tony's ear, tracing the lobe with his tongue. A savage part of him took pleasure in how Tony whined, arching his hips against the hard line of Steve's body. Steve could feel how hard Tony was, hot and eager, through the layers of clothing separating them. 

"You remember?" Steve ground his hips against Tony's, savoring Tony's little gasp. "That night on the patio. Said you thought about my fingers stretching that pretty hole of yours."

"Oh, God," Tony moaned, leaning back against Steve's bed. The length of his throat teased Steve; all he wanted to do was bite. 

What he felt for Tony in that moment paled in comparison to anything he had felt for anybody else. Steve never would have treated Peggy like this, but that was because Peggy wouldn't have wanted it. And the Steve back then wouldn't have wanted it either. But the Steve who had spent damn near half his life in a block of ice? His was an ugly love. A snarling, savage thing that fought over scraps of affection like an unruly beast. His love had teeth.

"Is that what you want? Want to spread these pretty legs for me?" Steve growled, drumming his fingers along Tony's thigh. 

"You know what I want," Tony said fiercely. "Now, do something about it before I do."

There was that snark Steve had come to expect. Brat.

"What are you gonna do?" He said and yanked Tony's sweatpants off in one swift movement. "You're in my room, in my bed"...utterly bare from the waist below. Tony's cock was on full display, hard and just as desperate as the rest of him, the tip wet with pre-come. 

"Cat got your tongue?" Tony asked—something wicked glinting in his eyes.

"Brat," Steve growled, and the wifebeater joined the remnants of Tony's sweatpants in the corner of Steve's room. 

Tony lay back on his arms, wonderfully naked and spread like a banquet. Steve had never even allowed himself to dream about this moment, too afraid his urges would spill over into real life. Now he knew no dream could have possibly compared. 

"Thought I was good," Tony said, tilting his head to the side. "Which one is it?"

"Both," Steve replied. "You're sweet, and you're maddening, and you drive me up the fucking wall." 

Tony bit his lip, some of that shyness from earlier creeping in."...But you like it?" 

Steve guided Tony's hand to his cock, still clothed but undeniably hard. "What do you think, genius?" 

"I think…" Tony licked his lips. "I think it's not fair that I'm naked and you're not." 

Tony was right—about a lot of things, Steve was starting to realize. It wasn't fair at all.

With shaky hands, from anticipation or nerves or both, Steve made quick work of his clothes. His pants and shirt joined Tony's in a haphazard pile on Steve's floor. 

Tony watched it all with hooded eyes. The second his clothes hit the floor, Tony was on him, dragging Steve into a smoldering kiss that left him a wreck. It felt so good to take what was being given so eagerly. Steve pushed, firm yet gentle until Tony was splayed against his sheets, and Steve hovered over him. 

He wanted to take a picture or sketch it himself, Tony naked against his once pristine sheets. 

"I've…I've never," Tony began, panting slightly, still out of breath from their kiss. 

"Tony," Steve said, with an inkling of what Tony was trying to say through the cloud of lust in the back of his mind. "Have you never…"

Tony blushed, and it was beautiful because Steve knew what it meant. "No…not with another guy."

Steve swallowed hard like a stone was working its way down his throat. There was a question on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't sure if he would like the answer. "Not even Stone?" 

Tony shook his head so fast Steve would have laughed had he not been so relieved. "No. He barely touched me." 

Now that felt like a lie. Steve had far too many memories of Stone and Tony in some precarious position or another over the past month for Tony to say that they had barely touched one another. 

Seeing the look on Steve's face, Tony's flush deepened, his honeyed eyes darting away from Steve. "I'm not lying, okay? Whenever I knew you were going to be around, that's when I would let him have his fun. But we never…he didn't touch me. Not the way I wanted you to." 

A plan formed in his mind then, selfish and devious. Tony took his extended silence for rejection. 

"Steve, please," Tony pleaded. "Say something." 

Steve shushed him, bringing his lips close to Tony's ear. "Did he touch you here?" Steve whispered, one hand going to Tony's chest. He took a nipple between his fingers, pinching just when Tony opened his mouth to speak.

"No," Tony said, fighting back a yelp. 

"Here?" that wouldn't do. Steve's other hand trailed down feather-light over Tony's stomach, goosebumps rising in its wake. 

"...No." 

Steve tweaked Tony's nipple, just enough for his breath to hitch. "What did I say?" Steve growled like some brute, but Tony was no worse off for it. His cock was just as hard and eager as Steve's, poking insistently into Steve's thigh. 

"Yes, fuck, yes he did!" Tony admitted, hips bucking up, desperate for any kind of friction against his aching cock. 

"Good boy," Steve said, letting the nipple go. Tony moaned at the loss, despite the pain. "That's all you had to say." 

In a sudden burst of daring, Steve grabbed Tony's cock. Steve thought Tony was going to cry, the way the broken sob escaped his lips.
"What about here, huh? Did he stroke this pretty cock? Smear the pre-come around, make you come?" Steve stroked Tony's cock as he spoke, from its base to the pink head, pink as Tony's kiss-swollen lips and slick with pre-come. By that point, Tony was a babbling, lust-filled mess, and Steve wanted nothing more than to swallow him whole in more ways than one. 

"Or is it mine," Steve snarled. He spat into his hand and picked up his speed. Tony's hips rose desperately off Steve's bed, fucking into Steve's hand like it was a sloppy, wet cunt. He would make sure Tony knew that it was Steve who was making him feel this way and no one else. "Did you let him touch what was mine?" 

"No, fuck, no!" Tony whimpered. His cock throbbed in Steve's grasp, and Steve knew he was close. 

"Why?" 

"Because…it's yours," Tony stumbled over his words, lust making him clumsy and thick-tongued. "It's your cock." 

"That's right, baby," Steve said, slowing his pace. Every time his hand reached the base of Tony's cock, he squeezed, just enough pain to have Tony's eyes watering, mouth dropping into a wet, slutty 'o'. Steve would fill that mouth—and every part of Tony until they couldn't tell themselves apart from the other. "You gave it to me, and now I'm taking it." 

It was a strange, heady feeling, taking what he wanted. So much of his life, he had repressed his own desires, too devoted to giving himself to others. And here Tony was, extending him the same courtesy, blossoming under Steve's touch like the sweetest of roses. 

"I want you," Tony said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears like wet pavement. "Want you so much, I can't fucking stand it." 

Steve wanted Tony too. He wanted Tony with a ferocity that should have scared him. Seeing Tony with Stone had awakened some beast inside of him. Most days, Steve didn't know who or what to believe anymore. However, whether it was God, fate, or something else entirely, he knew his place was at Tony's side for as long as he would have Steve. 

But he didn't say that. Instead, he took Tony's cock into his mouth. 

The effect was instantaneous, Tony coming with a strangled moan, his hands curling into Steve's hair, unknowing as to whether he wanted to push Steve away or bring him closer. 

Steve swallowed everything Tony gave him until Tony was whining with pleasure, just on the edge of too much. 

"Daddy, please," Tony moaned, then went stiff as he realized what had fallen from his lips. 

Steve pulled off him then, letting Tony's rapidly softening cock slip out of his mouth. 

"I'm sorry," Tony blurted out, looking bashful. "I don't know why that—it just slipped out." 

That word—daddy—wasn't the first Steve had heard of it, but the way Tony had said it…

"I ruined everything," Tony whispered, suddenly finding his hands the most interesting thing in the world. "I'm sorry."

Steve shook his head. "Don't be. You were thinking about me, right?"

"Of course," Tony said immediately. 

Steve licked his lips, noting how Tony's gaze zeroed in on the action. "Then I don't see a problem."

"But—"

"Baby boy," Steve said, heart in his throat, "I liked it." 

Steve continued. "If that's what you want from me, I can be that for you. I…I want to be that for you if you'll let me." 

"You mean that?" Tony whispered. "This isn't a joke?"

Steve leaned down to kiss him, softer and sweeter than their previous kisses. The taste of Tony lingered in the back of his mouth, and he hoped Tony could taste it, the pleasure Steve had wrung out of him. 

"Daddy," Tony murmured when they finally pulled apart, and it was like Steve had been set on fire. "Fuck me." 

"Baby," Steve said, cupping Tony's cheek. "Do you think you can handle that tonight?"

"I…I want to make you feel the way you make me feel." Tony looked at him through his impossibly long lashes in that way that made Steve's stupid heart skip a beat. 

"You already do," Steve said. His thumb brushed along Tony's cheekbone, who leaned into the caress. "You don't have to do this for me, you know. I said tonight was about you." 

"This is about me, too," Tony said. "I want this for me. I want you inside of me." 

Steve inhaled like the sudden rush of air would help his backfiring brain. He was hard, almost painfully so, and Tony wanted to give him everything. 

"You said my cock belonged to you," Tony bit his lip. "I want this to belong to you too."

And because Steve was weak, he said, "Okay."

It took no time at all for Steve to grab the bottle of lube that had been his best friend since this thing with Tony started out of his nightstand. Tony spread his legs, an open invitation if Steve had ever seen one, and his cock throbbed. Soon he would be inside Tony. He didn't know if that thrilled or terrified him. It wasn't the fact that Tony was a man, far from it. Steve had done his fair share of fooling around with other soldiers during the war. It was an unspoken rule that what happened overseas didn't really count. Not when you never knew when your next breath would be your last, and the tender touch of a woman was nothing but a fuzzy memory to keep you warm on cold nights. Soldiers giving each other a hand had been all too common. 

No, it was the fact that he would be Tony's first. If Steve hurt him or if Tony regretted it when the night was over…

"I can literally see your brain going into overdrive," Tony said, breaking Steve out of his spiral. "I'm not made of glass." 

"What if I hurt you?" Steve said, letting his fear out into the open air. 

Tony shook his head. "You won't."

"But if—"

"If it starts to hurt, I'll tell you," Tony said. "I want this to be good for the both of us." 

Steve swallowed. "Okay," he said. He flicked the bottle of lube open and drizzled a fair amount between Tony's legs. Tony let out a little gasp when the coolness hit him. 

Steve rubbed it in, spreading it around the rim of Tony's hole, even going up to cup his balls or squeeze at his cock, just to put him at ease. Thanks to Tony's youth, he was well on his way to being fully hard again. 

"Daddy," Tony moaned and spread his legs wider. "I want more." 

"Is that how you ask?" Steve said, focusing on how Tony's voice curled around that word. The more he heard it fall from Tony's lips, the more he liked it, and his nerves fell away. 

"Please," Tony breathed. "Pretty please, can you put a finger in me, Daddy? Just one? I can take it." 

Steve prodded at the tight furl of Tony's hole with a finger until he felt the muscles relax. He drizzled more lube at the junction where his finger met Tony's hole and pressed one finger in slowly, watching Tony's face as he went. 

Tony's eyes fluttered as he blushed a delicate pink flush down to his chest. That sweet mouth of his parted as his hole swallowed Steve's finger. 

A second finger joined the first, and Steve focused on finding that one spot that drove men insane. Working his fingers in deeper, Steve curled them upward until Tony shook, his hole clenching around him. "Oh, fuck," Tony moaned. A spurt of pre-come dribbled from the head of his cock where it lay against his stomach. "Do that again. Please," Tony tacked on at the end, remembering Steve's earlier admonishment. 

So Steve did. He fucked his fingers into Tony, curling up on every stroke until Tony was once again a babbling mess underneath him. 

"You gotta be quiet, baby," Steve whispered into Tony's ear. Steve felt him shudder. "We don't want to wake anyone up." 

Tony clenched around him again at that. Interesting. 

"We can't let them know how much you like getting fucked." Steve tested a third finger at Tony's rim. He was met with some resistance. Tony's thighs trembled. "Breathe," Steve said firmly. He couldn't, wouldn't let his nerves show anymore, not when it would make Tony even tenser. "Let me in, baby." 

"Fuck," Tony moaned as quietly as he could, rocking back against Steve's fingers. 

"That's it," Steve said, mouth suddenly dry. "Spread your legs for me just like this." 

Tony's hole clenched around him rhythmically as Steve worked his third finger in. Steve felt lightheaded; if he wasn't aroused before, he definitely was now, his heart a hummingbird in his chest. 

Steve had never felt an arousal like this, so deeply ingrained in him; It felt right, like it was a part of his genetic makeup, just like the blue of his eyes and straightness of his hair. 

"Tell me it's mine," Steve found himself saying. He needed to hear the words and commit Tony's beautiful, life-destroying face to memory. 

"It's yours," Tony managed to get out, and Steve's heart sang. "It'll always be yours. You've ruined me, Rogers."

"You ruined me," Steve admitted. He drove his fingers relentlessly into Tony's prostate. Tony cried sharply before clamping his hand over his mouth to muffle it. "Are you going to run from it, from me?" 

"No," Tony whispered, letting go of his face. His hands found Steve's body, one twining into Steve's hair and the other cupping his cheek. Tony's hand was hot against Steve's skin as he turned to press a kiss to Tony's palm. 

"Are you ready?" Steve rumbled. Tony nodded, and that was all Steve needed. He pulled his fingers free. Tony whined at the loss, his hole clenching around nothing and eager to make up for it. 

Steve would help him. 

Taking hold of his cock, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation, Steve eased himself into Tony. 

They both gasped as their bodies truly made contact for the first time, even though it was just the tip. That was enough to send Steve's world spinning. He was flying, or maybe he was falling, but Tony was with him, and that was all that mattered. 

"Steve, Steve, Steve," Tony said his name like it was a prayer, all sweet and grasping for something he thought above himself. 

"I've got you," Steve said roughly. "I've got you." He pulled Tony into a wet, sloppy kiss as he sunk in deeper, swallowing Tony's cries like they would provide him with sustenance. 

He felt something inside himself break free, something he had kept a leash on since that night on the patio—a dam breaking amid a storm. 

Steve rocked into Tony, hungrily, selfishly, like Tony would disappear any second, and Tony gripped him tight, taking Steve like he was made for it.

"Thank you," Tony practically sobbed when they finally broke their kiss. The words spurred Steve to his knees with Tony's legs thrown over his shoulders. He felt like he was on fire like he'd been sent to the very depths of Hell for daring to touch Tony; if this were Hell, then he would gladly burn. 

Steve paced himself, savoring the molten tightness he had buried himself in. Sweat formed on his brow, stinging his eyes, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Not when the pleasure outweighed any possible pain. He fucked Tony like he had all the time in the world, slow and deep and hard, occasionally pulling out until just his cockhead remained. When Tony begged, all sweet and needy and so far from the brat Steve was used to, he would thrust back in until his hips were flush with Tony's ass. 

"Good boy," Steve growled. He gripped Tony by his thighs, hard enough to bruise. "Good fucking boy, taking all of me." 

With Tony finally in his bed, head thrown back in ecstasy, Steve was taken back to that day he and Tony had first crashed into each other like kamikazes. Tony: angry, defiant, and so damn alluring. Steve: frustrated, desperate, and so fucking lonely . Guilt had eaten at him then; he had no business kissing Tony, let alone spying on him the way he did, and part of him still regretted it, violating Tony's trust. But another part of him finally knew what he wanted, finally understood why he had opened Tony's door in the first place. 

"I'm going to come," Tony said, hands grasping desperately at Steve's sheets. "Oh, God, I'm going to come."

"Good," Steve said, that all too familiar coil of arousal ready to break within himself. "I want you to. I want to see you fucking lose it." Steve's hips sped up almost involuntarily, losing himself to that tight, wet heat. He wanted, no, he needed to come, and he needed Tony to topple over that cliff with him.

"Come on, baby," he said, encouraging Tony. Letting go of one of Tony's hips, Steve spat into his hand and wrapped it around Tony's leaking cock. "Want to feel you clench around me. Give me one more. I know you can give me one more." His eyes practically drank Tony in as they were so used to doing these days. This moment was all his. No matter what happened, nothing would be able to take this away from Steve. 

"Come on," Steve moaned, despite his best efforts to keep his voice down. He stroked Tony in time with his thrusts, twisting his wrist, spreading the pre-come around the head of Tony's cock. "Come for Daddy."

Steve saw the moment Tony lost it, the moisture in his eyes spilling over. Tony came with a cry, spilling wetly into Steve's hand, every muscle tense before going slack like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Steve fell over the edge right after. His balls drew up tight as he plunged into Tony one last time with a groan. His cock pulsed, filling Tony with a wet heat. 

He let Tony's legs fall to the side before pulling him into the filthiest kiss they had shared yet, his tongue sliding into Tony's mouth like it belonged there. 

Maybe it did.

Chapter Text

Steve slowly came to as the first shafts of sunlight filtered through his bedroom window. He had always been an early riser, even as a child, which had driven his mother crazy, but in that moment, his bed was the only place he wanted to be. 

Tony slept tucked into Steve's side, naked and serene, his face smooth in sleep; gone was the self-satisfied smirk that taunted Steve for months on end. His dark hair was in disarray, flying in a hundred different directions. Tony looked…sweet. Innocent. 

Like he hadn't spent last night coming around Steve's cock. 

Steve cycled through the memories of last night like a reel of film; Tony on his knees, sloppy kisses, the salt of Tony's skin. That word that had made Steve see stars.

Steve waited for the rush of guilt and shame that usually followed after one of his encounters with Tony. He waited and waited in the morning light, arms wrapped around Tony's slumbering figure, but there was no guilt to be found. What was there to be guilty of? Tony had sought him out, obviously needing comfort, and Steve had given it to him. How could he not, after what Howard had said? 

I knew you could fix him.

It was cruel, even for Howard. He had said it so coolly, matter-of-factly, like Tony was a backfiring car or a leaky faucet, a pesky inconvenience, instead of a human being, his only son. Steve pulled Tony closer as if Steve could protect him from everything that wished him harm. He would damn well try his best. A strange calm descended over him then. What he and Tony had done—what they had shared…there was no coming back from it. There would be no sweeping underneath the rug. Steve had told Tony that he had to earn it, earn their relationship, but Steve had been lying to himself. Tony had had a hold on him from the beginning, and Steve was more than ready to accept that. 

"Come hell or high water," he whispered to himself.

For the first time in a long time, Steve had a purpose, and he had Tara to thank for it. If he hadn't met her, hadn't spent the night with her and her friends, he never would have had the guts to do what he did the night before. 

He wanted to thank her somehow, but he didn't even know her full name, let alone her number. She had left in such a hurry the night before. Even though Steve had turned her down, she did seem like she was interested in being friends. Despite living in a city as crowded as New York, he hoped they would cross paths again. 

Tony shifted in his sleep, and Steve stiffened so as not to disturb him, but it was too late; Tony's eyes were already fluttering open. He woke softly, slowly, stretching out like a cat and breaking out of Steve's grasp. 

"Good morning," Tony said, voice thick with sleep, eyes falling closed again. Steve's chest became Tony's pillow once more.

"Morning," Steve said, more than a little fond. 

Tony's eyes flew open, and he shot up with a derby horse's speed. "Oh, my God," Tony said and then, looking down, suddenly aware of his nakedness, pulled Steve's blanket up to his chest to preserve his modesty. 

"Oh, God," Tony moaned, burying his ever-reddening face in his hands. "Please tell me I'm dreaming." He curled inward on himself like he was trying to make himself a smaller target.

"Afraid not,"  Steve said drily. It was the shock, Steve told himself. Because if Tony regretted this—regretted him…

Tony muffled out a reply. "So last night…that actually happened?"

"Yep," Steve said. He reached out, tugging at Tony's hands to see his face clearly. "Not a dream." 

Steve watched Tony's face go through what felt like the full spectrum of human emotion. Disbelief, then horror, and finally curiosity plain as day. 

"But I called you…" Tony paused, and his eyes became heavy-lidded, clearly thinking about what exactly he had called Steve. 

"Yes," Steve said, keeping his voice light despite the ball of hope—and lust—growing inside of him. "You did."

"And you didn't leave me." Although it was barely above a whisper, Tony's voice held an awed quality to it. 

Steve curled his hand around Tony's, stroked his thumb over Tony's palm. "I mean, technically, this is my bedroom," Steve teased, laughing when Tony yanked his hand free and batted at his chest indignantly. 

"You know what I mean," Tony huffed. 

Steve sat up then, so he and Tony were eye to eye. He let his fondness ooze from every pore, looking at Tony through his lashes. As he gave Tony a soft smile, Tony visibly softened, the uncharacteristic hunch to his shoulders receding. "No," Steve said below his breath. "I didn't leave you. Made a promise, remember?" 

Tony averted his gaze then, like the sight of Steve was too much for him.

"Tony," Steve said. He wouldn't make Tony look at him. He wouldn't make Tony do anything he didn't already want to do. "I keep my promises."

"Is that why you sought me out? Because of a promise?" Tony said quietly, and yet his words burned. Steve knew he wasn't speaking of last night. He was talking about that fateful day a lifetime ago. The first time he had spoken, truly spoken, to Tony. 

"Partially," Steve admitted. Lying would get him nowhere. "But there was more. There was always more." 

Tony took a deep breath as if he was summoning the courage needed to withstand their conversation. "Why? What else made you—what made you—" 

Steve thought back to that first encounter—the beginning of the end—because this was how it would always end. He thought of that angry, frustrated boy raging against the confines of the cage he had been shoved in, and it had felt like looking into a mirror. 

"You saw me," Steve said with sudden clarity. "You saw Steve Rogers." 

"Is that it?" 

"'Is that it,'" Steve repeated, shaking his head. "How long has it been since anyone has seen me? The real me? Not the star-spangled man with a plan, or whatever the hell they've been calling me for the past fifty years?"

"You saw me, and I felt like I could breathe. You saw me, and I felt like a person."

Tony didn't say anything for a while, instead opting to fiddle with a loose thread on Steve's blanket. Steve could practically see the cogs in his brain turning a mile a minute. 

"Then…then why did you avoid me?" Tony asked so quietly Steve almost thought he had imagined it. 

"Before…or after—"

"Both," Tony cut him off. "Either. Just answer the question."

"Before…I didn't know how to approach you."

"So you didn't," Tony said. It wasn't a question. 

"So I didn't," Steve admitted. "Tony…I had just lost everything—everyone—I had ever known, except for Howard—and Peggy, to an extent. But they've both lived full, trailblazing lives. Started families and…"

"You hated them for it," Tony finished for him. Steve winced. 

"I wouldn't say hate," Steve replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But there was definitely a sense of envy. And you…you were a walking representation of everything I had lost…and everything I stood to gain."

Steve saw that now. At the time, he had been so blinded by grief—jealousy, too—at Howard's life well-lived, or so it had seemed in the beginning. Seeing Tony, who Steve technically was of an age with, just reminded him of everything he had lost. Tony didn't just embody the future, he was the future. Him and everyone else in his generation. Anyone Steve's age was well into retirement, with fond memories keeping them warm and grandchildren to dote on. Steve was an outlier, caught between two lifetimes, drowning in the sea that separated them. But as time churned on, he found that he had one of two choices. Either he could sink down to yet another watery grave, or…he could swim. 

Steve had had enough of drowning to last him a second lifetime. 

Tony's brows knitted together in confusion, clenching the corner of the blanket in his fist. "You say I made you feel seen. Made you feel like a person. So why did you run? What changed?"

"Tony," Steve murmured his name. Sometimes he just liked how it sounded, how his mouth cradled the syllables and made it something as sweet as soft-serve. 

"That's not an answer." 

"You want the truth?" 

"Even if it hurts," Tony said, looking at him with steel in his eyes. 

Despite the reddening of his cheeks, a fierce bolt of pride surged through Steve. That was his Tony, full of fire and determination in spades. 

"Why did you avoid me when you ," Tony jabbed hard at Steve's chest, "were the one who walked in on me?" 

"Why did you let me?" Steve blurted out the question that had been plaguing him forever. "You could have yelled, thrown something. You could have told Howard. Why didn't you?" 

"I thought I was asking the questions." 

"I thought we were having a conversation, not an interrogation," Steve said, and maybe he was goading Tony a little. He wanted to get under Tony's carefully built walls, which required taking a sledgehammer to them. "But if you want to go about it like this, fine by me. You want answers? Get them." 

Steve saw the moment Tony snapped; his eyes went black, jaw clenched, and in a far smoother movement than Steve anticipated, Tony had him on his back, arms pinned above his head. 

"Like this?" Tony said, his voice a ghost in the shell of Steve's ear.

Steve could have flipped him over, taking back their conversation's reins with ease…but he liked Tony like this. This was what had drawn him in, Tony's undying fire. 

"I already told you that this," Tony swung his leg so that he was straddling Steve's body, "is between you and me." 

With Tony's body on top of his, it was hard to think, let alone breathe. He wanted to grab Tony by his hips, grind his rapidly hardening cock against that plush ass and—

"You walked in on me because I wanted you to. After you kissed me that first time, I wanted to jump your fucking bones, but no, you had to run away." Like he could read Steve's mind, Tony began to rock his hips, Tony's shaft grazing the slick head of Steve's cock. It wasn't enough and too much all at once, that hot slide of flesh against flesh. 

"Got me all worked up and left me hanging, so I had to take things into my own hands." Releasing one of Steve's wrists, Tony spat into his palm and took his own cock into hand, leaving Steve's to rest against his belly, hard and pink and leaking pre-come. If he couldn't think before, his brain was surely gone now. All he could focus on, all he wanted was Tony's skin against his own.

"I had hoped you would come," Tony said, moaning softly, fucking into his own fist. Steve could push him off, take his own pleasure, but this moment wasn't about him. If Tony wanted him to stay put, he would. Steve had his way last night. Now it was Tony's turn.

"I wanted you to come in and take what you wanted. And when I opened my eyes, there you were, pants around your fucking thighs and a hand on your cock like a pervert." 

"Not a pervert," Steve gasped, despite the lightning bolt of lust striking him in his gut. "It's you. It's just for you. I was coming to apologize, and I heard you moan my goddamn name, and it's like I was possessed." 

"We're both freaks then," Tony said. "I never came as hard as I did with you watching me." 

Tony let go of Steve's other wrist, and he wasted no time in grabbing Tony by his hips. 

"Put it in me," Tony gasped, one hand flying back to brace himself against the bed. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Are you fucking kidding me, Rogers?" Tony asked, with none of his usual bite. Instead, he was laughing, shaking his head like Steve had asked him something ridiculous, like the color of the sky. 

"Sue me for wanting to check in, brat." 

"Well, it's a good thing you fucked me nice and hard last night, now, isn't it?" 

"Tony—"

"I'm still loose, Daddy," Tony purred and shifted his hips so the head of Steve's cock nudged his cheeks apart. "Still full of your come." 

As soon as Steve heard that awful, damn near magical, word, any apprehension on his part died. This was not how Steve had foreseen their conversation going, but he was quickly starting to learn that Tony Stark was anything but predictable. Sometimes it was best to just go along for the ride. 

"Then you should be satisfied," Steve teased, yet he let go of one of Tony's hips to guide his cock into his hole. 

"Never," Tony moaned. "Always want you." 

Tony was right. Steve slid right in like he had never left Tony's body, like Tony was made for him. He was so hot and wet, still slick with Steve's come. A primal part of Steve took satisfaction in it, that he had marked Tony as his, and there was no taking it back. 

"Show me, baby," Steve demanded, thumbs digging into the divots of Tony's hips.  "I want to see you fucking fall apart." 

Never one to disappoint, Tony rose on his haunches, arms braced against Steve's chest, until just the head of Steve's cock remained inside him. Tony took his time, sinking back down on him, and it was the sweetest torture Steve had ever experienced.  

"Come on," Steve growled. "You can do better than that." 

Tony's eyes darkened until he looked like the devil Steve knew him to be. "Can I? You gonna beg me for it?" 

Steve bit his lip, trying and failing to stifle the smile that threatened to appear. "You want me to beg, baby boy? Want to hear how fucking crazy you make me?" Steve thrust upwards, catching Tony off guard. He savored the way Tony clenched around him. It took all his willpower not to simply turn Tony over and pound into his sloppy hole like a mindless animal driven only by the need to fuck.

"You want to know why I avoided you after the patio?" 

"Yes," Tony hissed. He rocked his hips against Steve's. What he lacked in experience, he made up for in eagerness, and with Steve's hands an ever-present guide, Tony was riding him in earnest. It was hard to think, let alone speak, when it felt like every nerve in his body had been set alight. Sweat beaded at his temple, stinging his eyes in the process. The sound of his headboard knocking against the wall should have alarmed him. Instead, it seemed only to spur Steve on. Planting his feet against the bed, his hips rose to meet Tony's every time he sank back down on his cock. They rocked together, heads thrown back, a sordid push and pull he would never tire of.

"Tell me, you bastard," Tony moaned, dark and gluttonous as he swayed above him. 

"I was scared," Steve eventually said in between breaths. "Wanted you so fucking much I didn't know what to do with myself."

"I couldn't touch you, couldn't even look at you. I  wouldn't have been able to stop."

"Then don't," Tony snarled. "If you fucking stop, I'll kill you." 

One of Tony's hands twitched, and acting on instinct, Steve guided Tony's hand to his own throat. The slightest bit of pressure had his vision whiting out, and for the second time ever, he was fucking his come into Tony Stark. It wouldn't be the last time.

In for a penny, in for a pound.  

Tony followed not long after, coming in hot spurts against Steve's stomach. He fell forward, draping himself over Steve's body, and pulled him into a wet, almost savage kiss. Letting go of Tony's hip, he cupped the back of his head and gentled the kiss. He didn't care about the layer of sweat and come covering their bodies or the unmistakable heady scent of sex in the air. All that mattered was Tony's lips against his. 

"If you pull away from me again, I'll kill you," Tony hummed between kisses. "They'll never find your body." 

A normal man would have been alarmed, but Steve had never been normal. He was Tony's, simple as that. He only laughed, slightly manic, into Tony's mouth, shifting so they were lying side by side. They continued to kiss like that, arms and legs intertwined until he couldn't tell where he ended, and Tony began.

Eventually, the need for air won out, but that didn't stop Steve from holding Tony close. 

"I did not think that conversation was going to end like this," Tony eventually said with heavy-lidded eyes. He curled into Steve's side, as content as a cat with a canary.

"Neither did I," Steve admitted. He stroked the length of Tony's back, teasing any knots he found until Tony was soft and pliant. "But since when do we go about things normally?" 

"We're not normal, so really we did everything we were supposed to," Tony said.

Steve let out a true honest laugh, jostling Tony's head in the process. "If you say so."

"I know so," Tony said. "Certified genius remember?"

"Alright, genius, since you know everything, riddle me this; where do we go from here?"

Tony hummed, nuzzling his face into the nape of Steve's neck. "Wherever we want. How's that, for starters?" 

An invisible weight dropped from Steve's shoulders, and he felt light as air like he'd start floating without Tony as an anchor. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack," Tony deadpanned. "Rogers—Steve—I've wanted you since…forever, really. It's actually embarrassing." Tony smiled to himself, a small, fragile thing that Steve wanted to cradle against his chest.

"I was six years old when I first saw you. There's this photo of you—Howard keeps it in his collection—I took one look at it and felt like I was going to throw up." 

"...Thanks." 

Tony chuckled, swatting at Steve's chest with all of the aggression of a particularly persistent fly. "Not like that," he teased. "It's like that old saying. Butterflies, you know? It was like thousands and thousands of them had made my stomach their home. I looked at you, and it terrified me." 

"Was I shirtless?"
Tony snorted. "No." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "It was before the serum." 

The serum. It always came back to the serum. Was that…was that all Tony wanted? All he desired? "...And that terrified you?" 

"I'm not explaining this well, am I?"

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt." 

"You were so small," Tony said. Steve waited for the pity, or God forbid, even the disgust that had been ever so present throughout his life, but it never came. Tony had said it like it was a good thing, him being too weak to even get out of bed some days. 

"You were so small," Tony repeated, "but that didn't stop you from climbing into that metal death trap, made by Howard nonetheless. That took guts. And the fact that you didn't just do it for yourself…"

Tony took one of Steve's hands into his own and pressed a kiss to where their fingers joined. In spite of, or maybe because of all they had done, it had felt much more intimate than Steve was used to. Steve's cheeks burned, and he cursed his fair skin. Why did his embarrassment always have to be so visible?

"You were so brave, and I hoped that I could be as brave as you one day. Steve, I adored you."

Warmth bloomed in his chest until he was damn near incandescent with it. " Oh." 

"You're a good man, Steve Rogers," Tony whispered. "And I wanted to hate you for it." 

"Is that why…is that why you were—"

"Such an asshole?" Tony completed for him.

"Not the word I would have used," Steve said. 

"You don't have to spare my feelings," Tony said, but his soft smile said otherwise. "I was awful."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Tony continued. "It's just…I've known about you all my life. Everywhere I looked, there you were and…I felt like I wasn't good enough. For anything or anyone."

Steve wasn't stupid. The way Tony spoke…it was someone else's words coming through. Blood roared in his ears as Tony continued to speak. 

"And then they find you looking like a Capsicle," Tony said, tweaking Steve's side playfully. Steve let out a puff of air, loosening some of the tension he carried inside of him. "And suddenly, you weren't a fantasy anymore. You were here, in the flesh, and…you didn't talk to me. Didn't even look in my direction." 

His stomach dropped like he had swallowed a leaden weight. "I'm sorry," Steve said softly.

"S'okay," Tony said. "I get it now. When you first came, I just thought…I thought I was right. I thought you hated me, just like…" Tony shook his head like that would disperse the line of thoughts plaguing him. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does." Steve cupped Tony's cheek, turning gently so Tony was staring him in the face. "It does." 

Staring into those black pool eyes, the urge to kiss Tony was as strong as ever. "I don't hate you," Steve let out. "I never did. I'm sorry I ever even gave you that impression." 

"I should be apologizing to you," Tony admitted, "I was awful to you, Steve." 

Steve shrugged, knocking his shoulder against Tony's. "It was nothing I couldn't handle. Besides...I kinda liked how you talked to me. It was so… real . You made me feel something other than regret for the first time since I woke up. Even if you called me a jackass, anything was better than that numbness." 

"Is that why you kept coming?"

"Is that why you kept answering?" Steve shot back. He was thankful Tony seemed to be just as compelled by this unspoken thing between them, but it still begot the question of why Tony opened his door after that first day? What kept him coming back?

"It's embarrassing," Tony said, ducking his head.

Steve snorted. "We've seen each other naked. I think we can handle a little embarrassment." 

"You were talking to me," Tony said quietly. "That's it. That's all it took. When you first came home to the mansion, you acted like I was just a part of the scenery—something to write off; Howard's fuck up of a son. And I said, 'Fine.' If that's what you saw, then that's what I would be. But, then you had to open your mouth and invite me to a baseball game, of all things—"

"I still stand by that." 

"And here we are," Tony finished. 

"Here we are," Steve repeated. 

There they were, laid bare before each other. The sun had fully risen, by that point, a beam of light illuminating Tony's dark eyes. It was mesmerizing watching them glow with colors Steve hadn't even realized were there; flecks of green and gold like precious jewels embedded in the earth. The urge to kiss Tony struck him again, harder this time, and Steve would never fight it again. Not even if it killed him. 

"You're gonna get me killed," Steve murmured, leaning in. 

"Yeah," Tony replied, smiling like he knew exactly what Steve was trying to say. "But what a way to go, right?"