fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: November 2011
Fandom: Avengers (2010)
Pairing: Tony/Steve
Rating: T
Word Count: 8,183
Notes: I don’t necessarily agree with the way I wrote Pepper here.

Tony doesn’t do relationships.

In fact, his longest relationship was with Pepper, but that wasn’t a relationship as much as it was something that they both felt obligated to do. He supposes everyone expected them to get together, because big-shot geniuses and businessmen always fuck their assistants, right?

Anyway, relationships don’t work for Tony; they never have. Tony is the kind of person that is selfish without realizing it, but always wanting the best for society as a whole (he is Iron Man for a reason, of course), but when it comes down to it, everything is about him. One might say this is because his parents made themselves scarce when he was a little tot, never really paid the attention that the prodigy deserved and would leave him with a flurry of nannies.

Tony doesn’t try to pinpoint exactly why he is the way he is, because on most days if he can forget what kind of person he is, he can end up being happy with himself.

“Mr. Stark,” Pepper says, walking into his workshop and unlocking the door without him really noticing.

Tony looks up. “Miss Potts,” he greets.

“You’re wanted upstairs,” she starts, and then looks at him. “You look different,” she adds on.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “And by ‘different’ you mean upset, don’t you?” He asks, even though he knows that he doesn’t have to.

Pepper and Tony have known each other long enough that it’s actually quite easy for them to guess what the other is thinking, what exactly they’re trying to get at. Unfortunately for them, Tony enjoys playing coy, probably too much for his own good.

Pepper doesn’t say anything. “Captain wants a word with you,”

Tony chuckles. “Oh, does he?” He asks, and then shrugs. “He always wants a word with me, I think that man’s only entertainment in life is giving me lectures.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “When you walk around the house without pants, Mr. Stark, I think it’s justifiable that he complains.”

“That was one time, and I was hungover,” says Tony, holding up his hands defensively. “It’s not my fault that he wants to protect his virtue or whatever.”

“He’s from the forties, Tony, he’s not a prude.”

Tony shrugs. “I was hungover,” Tony repeats. “May I repeat, I cannot be held responsible for things I do when I have a pounding headache and a strange ache for oatmeal cookies.”

“I’m not even going to comment on everything that is wrong with that statement,” replies Pepper, and Tony’s pretty sure that he sees a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“I know it’s a devastatingly attractive image.”

Pepper grimaces. “I’ve seen it,” she starts, and looks at his chest, where the arc reactor is glowing proud and strong. “And trust me, it’s not.”

Tony knows she’s kidding. He’s pretty sure she’s kidding.

——-

Tony ends up going upstairs because he’s always been a curious person (not at all because Pepper legitimately scares him or anything) and there’s only so much a guy can take before he’s tired of Ramen noodles and cheap wine.

Steve is waiting for him in the kitchen, drumming his fingers on the dinner table and flipping carelessly through the morning paper. Steve absolutely hates anything electronic, to the point where he refuses to touch the computer, he refuses to acknowledge JARVIS–seriously, how could you do something so crass to JARVIS–and won’t get a cellphone.

Fury hates the last the most, because he’s forced to reach Steve through the other Avengers, and if Tony was honest, everyone’s about had enough of this taboo that Steve has against electronics.

Surprisingly enough, he has nothing against TVs (of course).

Tony pulls up a chair across from him, crosses his arms over his chest, and sighs loudly. “Pepper says you wanted to see me,” he says, put on upon.

Steve looks up from his paper, raises an eyebrow. “Is that such a problem?”

“Well,” Tony starts, and then looks over at Pepper who is looking at him like she might just castrate him if he goes on with what he’s about to say. And usually Tony would ignore something like this, because girls are usually bluffing when they talk about damaging the goods, but Pepper isn’t your normal girl.

He’s watched her do vile, disgusting things to people who come in her way and clash with her, and he’s not about to be someone added onto that list.

“No, not necessarily,” he says, though what he really means is, ‘yes, this is a huge inconvenience and I really just want to be down in my basement lair working on robotics because sometimes I feel like they’re the only things that understand me’.

Tony doesn’t say this for many reasons, one being he knows that Steve would have some remark about that, about how he needs to socialize more and work less. Tony is used to getting lectured, having spent a life doing nothing but callous things and causing ruckus until he was in his early twenties will afford a few of them to anyone, but there is something about getting a lecture from Steve that doesn’t sit nicely in his stomach.

“Good,” he says, and then puts the paper down entirely. “Now, onto business,” he says, and then looks at Tony with bright, bright eyes.

“Am I in trouble?” Tony asks, quickly. “I have a feeling that I’m in trouble, huge trouble, whatever it was, I probably didn’t do it, I was down in the basement getting drunk and playing with my toys.”

Steve shakes his head, and looks off to the side, and if Tony was drunk and impressionable, he would probably say that Steve is blushing. “Um, well there is no easy way to say this–”

Tony cuts him off. “I’m getting fired, aren’t I?”

Steve laughs, short and rushed. “No, no, don’t be stupid.”

Tony sighs, and he would never admit (even under extreme torture) that it was out of relief. “Go on, then. Spit it out, not literally though. This is a new shirt.”

Steve cracks a small smile at that. “I might as well get this over with,” he laughs, self-deprecating.

Tony nods in encouragement; he’s now curious and anxious to find out what the hell has bitten the Captain’s tongue so badly.

There is an awkward silence for the next couple of minutes, Tony not knowing what to say and Steve not knowing how to say what he needs to. He doesn’t rush the other man, because surprisingly enough, he is patient sometimes.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” He asks, so softly that Tony’s almost positive that it was the wind.

“I don’t go on dates,” Tony says, quickly.

Steve’s mouth is a straight line, now. “You go on plenty of dates,” says Steve, because he does.

Tony goes on dates, so many dates that he almost always loses track, but they’re not the kind of dates that Steve wants to go on. To Tony a date goes a little something like this: he’ll buy her a drink, or two, maybe even three, because by the time he hates himself less enough to even approach her, he’s not thinking correctly, and then he’ll kiss her neck, once (always once). He’ll invite her back to her house, and she’ll always say yes; no one says no to Tony Stark.

And then she’ll leave the next morning as he makes an escape to his workshop, because he’s shit at dealing with girl’s feelings and he’s over the whole ‘awkward morning after great one night stand’ situation.

She’ll eventually leave, and he’ll throw away her number that is left on his bedside table.

Tony forgets.

“I do go on dates,” he says, and hopes the ‘but not with men’ is implied.

Steve’s eyes get darker. “I see.”

“Well, forget that I asked,” Steve replies again, and then pushes away from the table. Tony pretends that he doesn’t hear the note of disappointment in his voice.

If it’s not there, then Tony has no right to feel guilty, and if he’s not guilty, well then he can pretend that he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Tony can feel Pepper’s eyes burning into the back of his skull as he watches Steve walk away, but Tony refuses to be bothered by it.

It’s for the best. It’s best if Tony and Steve aren’t anything but friends, because Tony has the tendency to tear down everyone with him.

——-

Steve doesn’t talk to him for the next few days.

Which, alright, Tony can understand that. Pepper came down a few hours after Steve asked him and hit him on the chest, and then they spent the next twenty-five minutes testing the arc reactor to make sure Pepper didn’t break it.

The woman packs a punch, that’s for sure.

Anyway, Steve hasn’t talked to Tony in nearly five days, and as much as Tony thought it wouldn’t bother him, it’s driving him insane. He hates how Steve never drops off the morning paper in Tony’s room, placing it right on his night stand so Tony wouldn’t be able to not see it, and he hates how Steve doesn’t just look at him and smile at him, just because he can.

“You have to fix this,” Pepper says, hitting Tony on the back of the head with the newspaper.

Tony sighs. “While I appreciate your concern, I can handle this myself Miss Potts,” he says, a little petulantly.

“See, Tony, I want to believe you, I really do, but you’re the one sitting here in self-pity instead of going up there and apologizing to him.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “See, Pepper, this is why I never tell you anything anymore, you end up using my insecurities against me.”

Pepper snorts. “You don’t have insecurities.”

And really, Tony thinks, that’s the exact reason.

——-

Once Tony has finally gotten up the confidence to talk to Steve again, it’s a couple of days later.

It’s not that he was hiding (he was), it was more of the fact that he had blueprints and models to go over–see here: cheap wine and the ill attempt at ignoring JARVIS’s attempts to get him upstairs.

Steve is on the balcony off of the second story family room, and has a book splayed across his lap, his shoulders relaxed, his right hand busy highlighting text.

Tony really doesn’t want to find that endearing, it shouldn’t be endearing, it actually incredibly decreases the value of the books if Steve were to ever try to resell them, because who wants damaged goods? And if Tony is honest with himself, which is rare, because why be honest when you can have booze; it’s how he views himself.

He’s damaged, no good, has an arc reactor stuck in his chest because of an attack on him that was organized by the father figure that was more of a father than his biological one. On most days it’s hard to forget about a glowing circle in your chest, but Tony tries.

Tony is used to being without defect, he’s used to being the perfect crayon in the box; he’s always been the smartest, slickest, most-wanted guy because that was always what was set out for him to be. With a father like Howard Stark, who basically reinvented America, it was hard for America to imagine that his son would be any different. If anything, it’s arguable that Tony’s better than his father.

It’s one of the only things that Tony still hasn’t given up on.

Even if Tony is still shit at dealing with people, and admitting when he is wrong, and he still doesn’t get the whole idea of the boxed pizzas in the supermarkets, he’s better than his father.

The Howard Stark that America knew and the one that Tony Stark never saw were the same person as much as they were polar opposites. Cold, uncaring, never there Howard Stark was the same as the warm, funny, and charming Howard Stark that America had fallen in love with.

Tony just wished he saw more of the one America knew, but that was in the past. And if there was one thing Tony hated to do (even if he did do it more than he realized or ever admitted) it was doting on past experiences.

Tony takes a step forward, proceeds to stumble over a lawn chair only to land right next to Steve on the floor, and then he clears his throat.

“Um, hi?”

Steve is looking at him with a passive expression, but his mouth is twitching. “Are you alright?”

Tony nods, carefully, holding his forehead. “I think I’ve only sustained minimal damage.”

“I’m surprised you’re out of your cave,” Steve comments, going back to reading and highlighting whatever he’s reading. “Pepper says she’s been trying to get you out of there for almost a week.”

“It has everything I need down there, food, shower, my plans and JARVIS,” Tony pauses, clears his throat awkwardly. “I mean. Um. I don’t know what I mean, just forget I even said that,” he says, because Steve’s face is starting to close off like it always does when he’s pissed or upset and Tony seriously does not want to see that face.

Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

“Um,” Tony stumbles, and this is new. Tony is always the man with something to say, some type of smart ass comment that will that will get him by until someone else decides to say something and the attention is deviated from him. “Look, I–sorry, I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t look relieved, if anything he looks amused. “Are you actually apologizing for something?”

Tony can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s just being a deflective asshole because he thinks trying on Tony Stark would be fun, especially if it’s used against the man himself. “Yes?”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, closing the book. “But can I ask you something?”

Tony doesn’t want to say yes, he knows that he shouldn’t say yes, but that’s all thrown out the window once he glances up and sees the hope in Steve’s eyes. Fuck Steve. Not literally though, because, you know–

“Sure.”

“Can we talk about it?” Steve asks, ever the gentleman.

Tony hates how nice Steve is, because it makes Tony on edge, makes it almost impossible for him to be an outright dick to him.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

No, Tony wants to say, it’s something I’m not telling myself, but fortunately, he keeps his mouth shut. “I don’t have the faintest idea about what you’re talking about.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. Damn him and his people skills. Damn him and his existence, basically. “Tony.”

“Alright, okay, just don’t use that voice,” he says quickly. “And don’t look at me like that.”

Steve ignores his efforts to derail the topic of conversation, and instead turns his body towards Tony. “Why did you tell me no?”

This was the question that Tony knew was coming, but it was also the one that he dreaded the most.

He doesn’t know how to answer that, because the truth is he is completely clueless about how he feels about Steve. Or rather, he knows but doesn’t want to admit it, because admitting it would be admitting that he’s like his father.

That’s something Tony refuses to be.

“I don’t like men,” Tony says.

He does, he painfully does, and he knows this, he truly does, but Tony has never been good at facing the truth if it squishes his pride while doing so.

Steve shakes his head. “I see you peeking a look at men all of the time,” he replies, incredulous.

Tony pretends to look utterly scandalized. “I can be completely heterosexual and can still appreciate a nice ass.”

Steve looks confused, but doesn’t push the subject anymore, at least not for a while.

“It’s okay,” Steve says.

“What is?”

“If you’re, you know, not completely heterosexual,” says Steve, awkwardly.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Look, if this is one of those awkward talks about sex and condoms then it’s completely unnecessary.”

Steve flushes, all the way to the tips of his ears, and Tony would find that endearing if, you know, he wasn’t in denial or anything. “What? No! Nothing like that, er, no, definitely not.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“That you don’t have to be straight, that it’s perfectly alright for you to be bisexual, or gay, or whatever it is you want to identify as.”

“But I am straight,” Tony says.

“Alright,” Steve says, giving up the gun.

“But that doesn’t mean I have a problem with people that aren’t, in case you were under any impression that I–”

Steve cuts him off, and there is a glint in his eye that Tony really should be able to identify, but somehow isn’t. “Do you like these jeans? They’re new, Natasha bought them for me, said they fit snug, like a glove.”

Tony doesn’t even think about his next response, and his mouth is moving before his brain can censor it. “Well, your ass does look am–isn’t the weather lovely today?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s kind of chilly myself,” he says, hugging his jacket close to him.

Luckily, he ends up dropping it.

——–

Tony thought that the whole ‘look at my ass isn’t it lovely’ ploy would be an isolated incident, but of course, because of Tony’s luck, it’s not.

Steve continues and is persistent as all hell.

The next time it happens is when they’re in the kitchen. Tony’s making dinner for everyone to apologize for him basically being an introverted teenager that just got his hands on the latest video games, and Steve is helping him in the kitchen.

“I cooked quite a few meals back in the day,” Steve says.

And Tony honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. “That’s so weird,” he says.

“How? Just because I served doesn’t mean I’m a complete imbecile when it comes to being in the kitchen.” Steve is quick to defend.

“No, Jesus, calm down there, tiger, I just meant that it’s weird because I’m technically older than you. Kind of. In a way.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I could be a tiger, if you wanted,” he says, so soft that it’s easy for Tony to pretend he didn’t even hear it at all.

“Pass the salt?” He asks, stirring the noodles in the pot in front of him.

Steve passes it, wordlessly, his fingers lingering a little too long. “So, I have a question.”

Tony doesn’t look up from the noodles. “What’s that?”

“Clint told me that the costume really brings out my eyes–” Steve cuts himself off. “What color are they now?”

Tony looks up, because it’s more instinctual than it is out will to please Steve. “They’re really be–” he cuts off embarrassingly fast, and refuses to acknowledge the blush that’s spreading across his cheeks. “I meant, er, excuse me?”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, but he wears a smug grin the rest of the night.

———

Eventually, it comes to the point where Tony can’t take it anymore.

Coincidentally, this is also the day that super-villains decide to attack New York City.

“Avengers, assemble!” Steve calls, right when Tony’s finished a prototype for a new add-on.

Tony sighs, quickly puts everything back into it’s proper place, and rushes upstairs. “What’s up now, Cap?” He asks.

Steve looks straight at him as he says, “there seems to be a problem in Central Park.”

Tony grins, he’s always had this dangerous fascination with whatever happens bad for him.

“Let’s run this shit.”

———

Tony really hates his fascination with anything dangerous.

This fascination, that was seemingly harmless earlier in the day, is now not, because Captain America is currently strapped to his back, and every time Steve so much as takes a breath, he can feel his chest move.

“Well, we’re fucked.”

Steve chuckles, and Tony really wishes that he’d stop; there’s suddenly a very warm feeling spreading throughout his body. Tony would rather it didn’t happen at all.

“Well, this went better than expected,” says Steve, optimistically.

“How is anything about this situation ‘better’?” Tony asks.

Steve shrugs. “Well,” he starts, “we could be dead.”

Well, Tony thinks, that’s true.

Steve starts talking before Tony can even open his mouth. “The ropes seem to be getting tighter,” he observes.

Tony looks at the shards of his suit on the ground. “Yup, I think my ribs are cracking now.”

Steve thrashes around a little, trying to get a little give, but if anything the ropes just get tighter. “How many superheroes does it take to get out of ropes before their untimely death?” Tony asks.

He’s kidding, mostly.

“Are you seriously joking about death right now?” Steve asks.

Tony clears his throat. “Anything can be lightened with a joke, Cap.”

Steve’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing. “Fuck. It’s–it’s getting tighter.”

Tony blinks. “Did you…did you just–fuck, that’s ho–you mean you aren’t a saint?”

“I cuss all of the time,” Steve says. “Just never around you, because the opportunity never, well, presents itself.”

Tony’s almost positive Steve winks, but because he’s unable to turn his head around, he’s not sure. But he’s almost positive, because it’s Steve, and he’s corny like that sometimes–sometimes, in this situation, being all of the time.

“You’re honestly using puns at a time like this?”

Steve shrugs. “In a time like this, I will go to lengths not yet reached before.” Steve coughs, but Tony’s pretty sure it’s to cover up a chuckle. “Literally.”

And Tony really doesn’t know how to respond to that, especially when the only thing his mind can focus on is ‘lengths’ and ‘Steve’ and how very nice those tights look on his ass. He can’t help it, thinking about how Steve’s body would feel pressed against his own (and yes, this is happening right now, but preferably, they would be naked), how Steve’s lips would feel sucking marks against his neck.

Tony’s only ever allowed himself to think about this a few other times, because once he gets started it’s near impossible to stop him.

The first time it happened, Tony couldn’t look at Steve for a week without thinking about how nice Tony thought it would feel with their slick, bare bodies pressed against each other underneath silk sheets. He really doesn’t want to relive that experience, especially when they’re in midair.

“You really don’t give up, do you?” Tony asks.

Steve shakes his head, his chest vibrating against Tony’s sweat-drenched back. “Not when I’m sure about something.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure about this?”

Steve doesn’t get a chance to reply, because at that time Thor comes bolting towards them with his special hammer, yelling, “I will not fly around here and watch this Midgardian nonsense go on any longer! Be gone with you!”

And then he charges at the rope.

——–

Almost getting hit by a powerful, and very special hammer really takes a lot out of someone. If anyone were to ask why Steve was helping (carrying) Tony to his room, this is what Tony would tell them, because it was mostly true.

“Fuck,” Tony says. “I don’t ever want to do that again.”

Steve laughs. “What’s that?”

“Die.” Tony slurs, because he tends to slur and be cuddly when he’s exhausted. Pepper, sadly knows this all too well. “Or. Not die. But you know, not live either. Dream. Or, get hurt. Something like that.”

“You’re adorable,” Steve says.

Tony blinks. “Puppies?”

“What?”

“Puppies. They’re adorable. I’m vicious. Like a bear, not the football team though. Just a bear. They’re ferocious.”

Steve sighs. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I never sleep.”

“Why’s that?”

“S’not enough time in the day. I’ve got to finish everything.”

“No you don’t,” Steve says, gentle. “There will always be other days.”

“No,” Tony says, looking up at Steve with hazed eyes. “S’not true. Have to finish stuff. Have to be good enough.”

“For who?”

“You.” Tony says. “Everyone.”

He waits until Steve is shocked into silence to whisper, “my father.”

———

When Tony wakes up the next morning, he’s surprised that he doesn’t have a headache (whether it’s hangover induced or not–it’s always hard to remember what nights he fell asleep drinking and what nights he didn’t) and he’s even more surprised to find that Steve is still in his room.

Steve is hunched over Tony’s desk, highlighting text in the same book. The book is relatively new, with it’s brightly colored paperback cover, and printed title, though it’s well loved, from what Tony can tell.

“Steve?” Tony asks.

Steve looks up, closes the book, and smiles tentatively. “You feeling okay?”

“Great,” Tony says.

“You had quite the hard day yesterday,” Steve remarks, pushing from the chair.

Tony shrugs, and then suddenly he remembers. “Oh shit,” he curses. “I made an ass out of myself yesterday, didn’t I?”

“No,” Steve says, and then a hand to smooth the covers on Tony’s bed. “You didn’t.”

“Why else would you be here, then?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Tony’s throat closes up a little at that. “I’m fine,” he says, hoarsely.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks. “You sound like you’re coming down with something.”

“I’m fine, Steve,” Tony says, around a small smile. “Now how about we go get some breakfast or something?”

———

Tony expects it when it happens, he knew before that it was only a matter of time before Steve got tired of waiting and Tony got tired of pretending. There is only so much a man can take before he’s threatening his sanity (and it’s not like Tony has a lot of that to go around, anyway), so it happens.

It happens two weeks later, when Tony decides to throw an in-house party for all of the Avengers. He’s been a pretty shit host when it comes to having the entire team at his mansion, because to put it lightly, he just doesn’t mix well with others.

So, what better opportunity to be around Steve with no one else around than to be drunk and hold a party? Tony supposes that this idea is probably a lot worse than it sounds, but he’s already a few beers in when he decided that he was even going to allow himself around Steve in the first place.

Tony has this problem about controlling himself when he’s not entirely sober–Tony tries not to remember that almost everyone is like this, it makes it a less valid of a point– and it almost always ends with unnecessary groping and a pounding headache in the morning.

“Tony,” Steve says, and looks over at Tony with a look that Tony really should be able to decipher, but he’s too drunk on booze and the natural adrenaline rush that comes with seeing Steve to notice.

“Steve,” he exclaims, his voice sounding softer than it probably sounds. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

Steve laughs. “I live here, Tony.”

“Oh. Right.” Tony slurs, and then throws his arms around Steve’s shoulder.

“Have you tried the punch yet? S’good.”

“I’m sure I’ve gotten enough from what’s on your breath.”

Tony laughs. “S’not the punch. Beer, Captain, this is beer. Punch is fruitier. More….something. Nicer. Maybe.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” says Steve, grabbing the bottle out of Tony’s hands.

“Hey,” Tony says, frowning at the loss. “That’s mine. I was–I’m drinking that.”

Steve smiles, gently, like he’s talking down a small child. “That’s alright, we’ll get you some water instead. Water’s good, too.”

Tony frowns petulantly. “Cap, absolutely nothing is better than alcohol.”

———

Tony loses Steve for a while, somewhere between Bruce turning into Hulk, because apparently alcohol doesn’t agree with him, and Clint drunkenly shooting arrows at the house plants decorating the house, yelling “I shall avenge the fallen!”

Tony also managed to find and devour a few more glasses of alcohol, and now he feels loose, nice, like he’s floating on clouds. Tony always did love being drunk, ever since he broke into the family’s liquor cabinet when he was fourteen and arrogant.

Not that he still isn’t somewhat arrogant, but, it’s different.

Steve slides up to Tony, and fetches the bottle from his hand again. “Tony,” he says, softly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Tony shakes his head. “S’okay. Party,” he gestures with wild hands to the scene around him.

“The party is about over with, Tony,” Steve says, and if Tony wasn’t too drunk, he’d probably be able to see that his living room is in shambles.

Natasha is running around the room trying to tackle Clint, who is still drunkenly trying to annihilate all of the plants. Thor is babbling to Coulson about how wonderful the alcoholic beverages are here and how he really wants all the drinks because they make him feel like he’s flying when he’s not even grasping his hammer (no pun intended). And Pepper, well, she’s sitting in the corner, on her laptop, like she always is and is refusing to look at anyone.

Tony just nods, doesn’t say anything because all of the sudden the room is spinning and it’s harder than it should be to focus on keeping his feet planted to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, turning back to look at Tony when he realizes that he’s ten steps in front of him.

“Peachy,” he sighs, taking stumbling steps up toward Steve.

Steve wraps a warm arm around Tony’s shoulders to steady him, though it’s light, tentative. Tony is willing to admit that he’s probably been more of an asshole to Steve than the man has deserved. He’s persistent, is all, probably because he knows the truth even if Tony isn’t willing to see it himself.

“Hey, Cap?” Tony asks, as they enter his bedroom.

Steve looks at him. “Yes?”

“You’re awesome, like really nice. Cool. Great, even. Thought I wouldn’t like you at first, but I wasn’t thinking right. You’re awesome,” Tony says promptly, right before he leans forward and smashes their lips together.

Steve makes a surprised oh sound, and gasps in a breath that Tony takes advantage of in order to stick his tongue in his mouth. For a moment, Tony almost believes that Steve isn’t going to kiss him back, as he’s just standing there frozen, his hands rigid on Tony’s shoulders.

And then there is this force against his chest, right where his arc reactor is; Tony thinks for a second that Steve’s pushing him away and is going to give him a lecture, but then he realizes that he’s being pulled closer.

Tony’s hands, which were dangling awkwardly at his side, reach up into Steve’s hair and grasp tightly, like they’re going to lose all contact if Tony isn’t touching him anywhere. Any and all previous impressions that Steve was a prude are out the window, Tony thinks, as he feels Steve’s tongue in his mouth, his hands making their way to his ass.

Tony just lets himself believe that he can have this for a second, because he’s drunk and susceptible and sometimes he thinks that he can have what he wants without there being consequences, even though there are. Steve, sadly, falls into the category. Tony is just a man at the end of the day, he doesn’t have any defining qualities that set him apart from the regular crowd–other than the Iron Man suit, but when Tony wears that, he likes to pretend that Tony Stark doesn’t exist, that he’s just Iron Man with the decency to save the world when it needs him most.

Tony, on the other hand, self-critical, unreliable Tony, is a different story. As proven previously, anyone is able to create an Iron Suit and can adapt a new persona, an alter ego.

Tony is just Tony, and what Tony isn’t defines him more than what he is.

Steve is a national icon. Tony Stark, himself, well it’s arguable that he is as well, but everything’s changed since he appointed Pepper CEO of Stark Industries.

So Tony lets himself pretend for a moment, for a single, frozen second that he’s able to do this, take what he wants and make himself happy. He pretends that it’s a perfect universe where he’s allowed to kiss Steve without fucking everything up and making a mess of his life, because that’s what Tony tends to do. He’ll later blame it on the alcohol, but he knows that he has the tendency to do this regardless of liquid self-confidence.

Suddenly, Tony’s had enough. The more he drags this on the less he’s going to be able to resist and as much as he wants to take, to take everything and give everything he has (which admittedly isn’t enough) in return, Steve doesn’t deserve this.

Steve deserves better. It’s awfully easy to get better than Tony Stark.

He pushes Steve away, Steve stumbling back even with his superhuman strength, and they’re both left panting in the empty space of Tony’s room. Steve’s vibrating, his fingers twitching by his thighs and Tony forces his eyes away before he does something stupid, like completely ignoring higher thinking and attacking Steve. Viciously; with his mouth.

“What the hell, Tony?” Steve asks, chest heaving.

“I can’t–I don’t, Steve.” Tony slurs, stumbling over his words because he’s honestly not sure how he can say what he needs (wants) to say. “I can’t do this.”

Steve wipes off his mouth and makes an obscene sound while doing so. “You can’t do what?” He asks.

“I’m not into dudes,” Tony says.

“You’re the one who kissed me,” Steve points out.

“Did I?” He asks, and hopes that maybe him being exceptionally drunk will get him off the hook this time, though he knew those chances were slim.

“Don’t play stupid, Tony,” Steve urges out, and takes a step closer. Tony has to physically plant his feet on the ground so he doesn’t step back like his body’s screaming for him to. “And don’t chalk this up to being drunk, we both know that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Tony wishes it was easy to keep lying to Steve, to tell him that no, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing, that he’s very vulnerable right now and he can’t be held responsible for his actions. But they both know that Tony is just as in control drunk as he is sober, maybe even more so.

They also both know that being under the influence was the only way that Tony would have been able to disconnect himself enough to get up the nerve to kiss him in the first place.

“I,” Tony starts, and then stops, looks down at his feet and refuses to meet Steve’s eyes. “I–”

Steve cuts him off. “You know what? Just forget it, Tony. Have a good night.” Steve’s piercing blue eyes stare at Tony for moments longer, waiting for something. Tony refuses to acknowledge this until the door slams behind Steve as he leaves, and he forces himself to believe that the sigh that comes out of his mouth is one in relief, not disappointment.

Tony can’t help but notice that his room is more lonely than it ever was before.

———

The thing is, Tony’s known for a while that he was gay.

He supposes he’s probably known all along, but has always pushed it aside. When he was younger, he wasn’t focused on relationships and finding himself as much as he was focused on impressing the father that never really cared. It wasn’t until Tony was in his early teens that he finally just accepted the fact that his father would always care more about his scraps of metal than the son who was smart, arguably smarter, than he was.

Tony’s relationship with Howard was the one where there wasn’t really a relationship at all. Their relationship, was relatively simple: when they were actually around each other, Tony would do something that would make his father mad, as Tony was a child and he was curious and just wanted approval. Howard would yell at him, would tell him to read books and to leave his inventions alone goddammit, because they were important and he needed them for the showcase.

Howard ruined his marriage by entertaining flings with both men and women, pretty women with flowing hair and gorgeous men with bright eyes and musculature that put Thor’s physique to shame. Howard ruined his relationship with his son by never trying to establish one in the first place, and Tony could acknowledge that Howard never ruined Stark Industries–how could he when it was the only thing that he honestly loved unconditionally.

Though, Tony supposes he did by trusting it in Tony’s hands in the first place.

Like father like son, and if Howard was able to completely destroy everything, having no empathy towards anything but his own selfish desires, then Tony was able to, too.

——-

“Do you ever think, Tony? Sometimes I believe you personally fuck things up just because you’re bored–actually, don’t answer that, I know you fuck things up because you’re bored.” Pepper says, slamming down the morning paper on his basement table.

Tony always admires her fiery attitude, even if it does cause too many headaches. “What fun would there be if I don’t engage in those types of recreational activities? That’s no life to live, Pep.”

The glare she sends him is lethal enough to burn through the suit, probably, but Tony doesn’t really mind. He’s used to these, experiences them at least once a week.

“Don’t make jokes, Mr. Stark,” Pepper starts, and then sighs into her coffee cup. “Exactly what were you thinking when you kissed Steve?”

This catches Tony’s attention. “Excuse me?”

And because Pepper is a sadistic bitch, she doesn’t bother to answer, just keeps on ranting. “I don’t think you were thinking at all, in fact, I think you thought it would be fun–”

Tony cuts her off. “And how did you come to find out we did such a thing, exactly?” Tony asks, curiously.

Steve doesn’t seem like the type of guy that would talk about that type of thing, after all, it’s hard to get him to say much of anything about what he chooses to do as far as his love life goes. But Tony never expected him to be so persistently ridiculous when it comes to, well, Tony.

“It’s on your security cameras–”

Tony cuts her off again, eyebrows raised. “I don’t remember setting up a camera in my room.”

Pepper’s mouth twitches. “No, you didn’t. I had one installed when you were away at a convention one weekend.”

Tony blinks. “That’s highly inappropriate. Congratulations, Pep, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Tony. I had it installed because you’re notorious for getting yourself into trouble and I wanted to keep my eye on you.”

Tony frowns. “Your vote of confidence in my abilities to remain responsible continue to astound me,” Tony says.

“I think it’s acceptable at this point that I don’t trust you.”

Tony doesn’t know how to reply to that, well, because there’s truth to it that he’s not even able to deny. “Did you happen to bring breakfast?”

“Stop trying to change the subject, Tony,” says Pepper. “Again, may I repeat, why did you think it’d be a good idea to kiss Steve?”

“I wasn’t thinking–”

Pepper cuts him off with a slap to the shoulder. “False.”

“Let me guess,” Tony starts, waving a hand erratically. “There’s audio.”

“I knew you’d catch on eventually.”

——-

After many threats on his well-being from Pepper and Tony promising that yes, he will stop being a dumbass, Tony goes off to find Steve.

Steve’s made himself scarce since the whole kissing catastrophe in Tony’s room, but he knows where to find him. Steve hides himself from Tony but not to the point where he’s hard to find.

Tony thinks this is probably because part of him believes Tony will come after him (which he will, he always will, it’s the one thing he’s unable to control), but this admittedly might be wishful thinking.

When Tony walks onto the rooftop expecting to see Steve with a sketchbook across his lap, but instead finds no one. He tries not to feel the disappointment that’s threatening to creep up his spine, because he doesn’t have the right to feel upset.

Tony was the one who pushed Steve away, not the other way around.

Tony’s about to leave when a brightly colored book catches his eye.

It’s wrong to snoop through other people’s belongings, and Tony knows this, he honestly does, but Tony has never been good at following rules. He’s always followed the ‘I do what I want’ philosophy, has had questionable values since childhood, so it’s not like he’s exactly breaking code here. Or at least, he’s not breaking his own code.

There is no other code besides his own, and snooping through people’s things, especially when they’re books (which are practically public property to Tony anyway), so he opens the book without second thought.

Tony’s fingers trace along the cover before he can exactly help himself, and he plops down into the nearest chair, opening the book carefully. Tony doesn’t know what he exactly expects when he opens the cover, maybe that Steve has highlighted certain portions of the book because he liked what was being said, or maybe they were just doodles. Tony does know that what he was expecting and what he saw were two totally different things.

Throughout the book there are lines highlighted with note bubbles off to the side (“Remember to be understanding and patient, especially because it’s Tony” or “don’t do this”, and the occasional “Have Natasha Google this for me for future reference later.”) and the highlights are colored coded–by what, Tony doesn’t exactly know, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Steve even bothered to do it in the first place, because this is probably the nicest thing that someone has ever done for him.

Tony’s also willing to recognize that he’s been the biggest dick that’s probably ever dicked, and he also realizes that it’s been directed at someone who doesn’t deserve it in the slightest.

He sets down the book in it’s proper space, there’s no reason for Steve to find out that he was snooping, and goes off to find the man.

Hopefully, Tony hasn’t done enough damage to the point where Steve refuses to listen to him at all.

———

“Steve,” says Tony, when he find him in the gym, breaking hell on a punching bag.

It’s fair to say that Steve’s probably imagining the bag is Tony’s face, and for once he’s willing to admit that he deserves it.

Steve stops, abruptly, every single muscle in his body tensing. “Tony,” Steve says, politely. Sometimes Tony thinks that it would kill Steve to be a little bit rude, but then again he’s rude enough for the both of them.

“I wanted to talk to you,”

Steve looks at Tony, briefly, though his eyes are unreadable, Tony would like to imagine that there might be some kind of tentative forgiveness there. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

Tony licks his lips, forces his eyes to meet Steve’s. “I promise I don’t mean any harm, Steve. I just want to talk to you.”

He looks hesitant, but eventually nods. “Alright,” he says. There’s something in his eyes that suggest that he might never be able to tell Tony no.

A better man would feel bad about that, Tony just tries not to find ways to use it to his advantage. Like in the most inappropriate situations.

He leads Steve over into the corner, even though they’re alone and will probably stay alone, because it’s a general rule in the house that the other Avengers should stay out of the gym when Steve is using it. No one wants a repeat of the time where they had to fit all of them in the hospital waiting room when Clint was sucker punched hard enough to require stitches.

“I’m an idiot, an asshole, hell, I’m a dick,” Tony says, once they’re sitting on one of the benches.

Steve bites his bottom lip. “I wouldn’t go that far–”

“I’m a dick,” he says, “it’s been established.”

“Why do you say that?” Steve asks, and he sounds curious, honest.

“I’ve been unfair to you lately,” Tony says, looking at Steve because he refuses to admit something like this without eye contact.

“That’s alright, “Steve says, even though it isn’t, it really isn’t. Sometimes Tony wishes Steve wasn’t so goddamn understanding, that he would get mad at Tony when he fucks up spectacularly like he has now, that he would forgo the nice man routine and would just be human.

“I feel like you should be yelling at me, calling me a dick and then you should trash my basement or my car or something.”

Steve laughs. “This isn’t a nineties movie, Tony.”

“How do you even know that?”

Steve shrugs. “Natasha made me watch movies with her last weekend.”

“Oh,” Tony says. “Where was I?”

“I think you were probably avoiding me.”

And if that just doesn’t make Tony feel horrible.

“I’m shit at talking about my feelings,” Tony says.

“I know.”

“I compare myself to my father a lot.”

Steve nods. “I know that, too.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m going to turn out like him, you know, abandon my family, end up becoming an asshole–more than I already am, hurt people beyond repair.”

“You’re not your father, Tony, you never have and you never will be.” Steve says, gently.

Tony laughs, self-deprecating. “I look into the mirror and I don’t even see myself anymore.”

“What do you see?”

“Him. My father,” sighs Tony.

“Is that why you won’t date me?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t sound resentful at all. Just honestly curious and dreadfully somber.

“My father ruined his relationship with my mother because he would cheat on her constantly,” Tony starts, “and he never cared much about me, he was too interested in machinery and inventions, making it huge and changing the world.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“He was bisexual,” Tony replies. “I know you probably didn’t know that.”

“Our relationship was strictly business,” Steve agrees, and then Tony feels a warm hand on his shoulder. “That’s not your fault, Tony.”

“That’s arguable–” Tony cuts himself off. “You know what he said to me on one of my birthdays?”

“What’s that?” Steve looks regretful as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“He told me that my birthday gift was him sending me off to boarding school,” Tony laughs, but it’s humorless. “It was the first time that he ever looked happy when he was around me.”

“Oh, Tony. That’s not your fault, do you see that? It’s not your fault that you ended up with a father who cared more about materialistic avenues than his own family.”

He sighs, doesn’t give a straight answer because he knows that this is one of those conversations that would go on forever. “Steve?”

“Yes?”

“I’m an idiot,” he repeats, “and I think there’s a fair chance that I might just be in love with you.”

Steve freezes, every muscle tightening again and his face eventually relaxes into something between confusion and doubt. “What?”

“I’ve always had a thing for you,” he explains. “And yeah, I do check out guy’s asses, but it honestly was mostly yours and I was just–denial, yeah.”

Steve blinks. “Oh,” he says, eyes in a daze.

“And well, I know that I’m shit when it comes to being in relationships, because the only true one I’ve ever really had was with Pepper and we both know how that ended up, but I really want to try, with you,” Tony gets out in a rush. “I don’t really deserve a second chance and I’m an asshole–”

Steve cuts in. “Tony.”

He coughs. “Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

Tony smiles, and nods, and his only instinct is to pull away still because it’s the only thing he’s ever done when it comes to Steve, but he wants to be different now; better.

The instinct stays until Steve’s lips meet Tony’s and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with the desire to stay there as long as he can, possibly forever. Steve’s arms are warm and strong on his hips, and this isn’t something he’s used to, but he knows it’s something that can become routine.

Steve’s tongue licks against Tony’s lips. Tony smiles, opens his mouth without hesitation, and yeah, he really can get used to this.