fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: October 2012
Fandom: Avengers (2010)
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,729
Warnings: None (?)
Notes: I did not post any warnings with this one, whoops. Hopefully that’s accurate as I have not reread this, sorry!

Tony notices everything.

Most will say this is because he’s a genius, an inventor, that it’s his job to notice things–if he doesn’t, then no one else will. But that’s neither here nor there. He notices things because he just does, because he can, and this tends to create problems.

These problems are dazed eyes, lick-wet lips and a trembling heart (which is horrible for his health, because shrapnel; that tends to mess things up, especially vital organs). Surprisingly, it’s not alcohol this time, which is good – Tony’s been meaning to cut back for a while – it’s hard to stop something he’s not even sure he wants gone, anyway. But it’s become a habit that’s hard to shake, and with each passing day the chances of him quitting diminish even more.

It’s not the problem that is actually the problem to begin with, but rather it’s what happens because of the problem. This results in one-too-many awkward situations, especially when the other Avengers catch on, because they’re relentless and enjoy seeing Tony squirm, scramble for a common ground.

There’s a knock at his basement door, and that means that it can only be one person.

Steve.

“Tony? Are you down here?” Steve asks through the door, and Tony’s heart decelerates.

“You know the code,” Tony says, instead of saying something incredibly embarrassing like ‘yes, and I’m kind of busy but I can certainly make time for you’ (which would be quite easily, actually, since what he’s doing is thinking about him) and looks back at the machine he’s working with.

The door clicks and Steve walks in, his shoes mutely thudding against the concrete floors, and Tony looks up even though he knows he shouldn’t. Steve looks nice–he always does, how he manages to look put together and sharp will never cease to amaze him–and warm, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and papers clutched in his hands. His muscles are covered with a heavy coat, almost military-like (even though it’s not even sixty degrees out, but apparently he’s always been one to get cold easy, and being stuck in ice for nearly seventy years probably didn’t help).

“Fury wants you to look over these.” Steve passes the papers to him.

Tony glances at them in disinterest, checking off which ones he can completely ignore, which is all of them. Fury knows that Tony knows he’ll reach him if he really wants to talk to Tony, so there’s no point in trying on his own end. Fury can make up for the both of them, truly.

“I feel like all he sends me are complaints,” Tony says, pauses for a moment, and makes the horrible, horrible mistake of looking at Steve’s lips.

Steve is still very much the small kid from Brooklyn at heart. He has nervous ticks, ones that the serum didn’t perfect and Tony’s just as glad as he is disappointed by that fact. They make him human, make him likable, knowing that his childhood hero isn’t completely perfect.

It makes Tony feel better about himself, most days.

And because Steve is still the scrawny kid that he was once, he is still so very much that small boy that wasn’t as lost as he looked. He just does things that men in his position normally wouldn’t be caught doing, like biting their lips at totally unnecessary times (and by unnecessary Tony does mean always) that do weird things to the highly-responsive-to-the-physically-attractive.

Steve laughs, low and easy in his throat. Tony tries to ignore this, but of course, can’t. He can’t ignore anything that Steve does, no matter how small or big it is, because it’s Steve, and shafting him feels like he’s killing baby kittens, or committing mass murder. Something horrible, and while Tony is known for doing horrible things, like barging into conference meetings fifty minutes late and forgetting about Pepper’s birthday, he’s not as horrible to do that.

Also, part of it may be that Tony feels like he’s compromising part of himself–he is pretty selfish at the root of it all, because growing up in an environment where he was under-appreciated might just do that to someone–but he tries forget about that. It’s just another stipulation of Steve’s that he doesn’t really meet.

“Fury complains to everyone–about everyone,” Steve replies.

Tony snorts. “I highly doubt he complains about you.”

Steve looks at him for a moment, in a way that makes Tony feel like he’s being stripped completely, all of the layers falling away. He immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything, but Steve has the tendency to read between the lines, figure out what Tony really means when he says something–especially off-handed comments because apparently Steve is under the impression that his off-hand remarks mean the most.

He’s mostly correct.

“Why do you think that?” Steve asks, eyes still locked on Tony’s face.

The gaze is so intense that it makes it impossible for Tony to ignore Steve, so he doesn’t. “You’re perfect,” Tony says, and then resists the urge to punch something, preferably something that wasn’t Steve’s face, but he was closest and Tony’s always been known for poor impulse control. “Uh, what–you’re like, you know. Nice. Great. Funny. Understanding, and you make Fury smile and the only other person I’ve seen that happen with is Natasha, but I’m also ninety-nine percent sure that was only because they were talking about their favorite ways to kill a person.”

Steve laughs, which is just as unsettling, because that’s not something you laugh about. “Tony,” he says, in a way that suggests that Tony’s rambling.

“You know what?” Tony asks, mostly himself, because he’s going to tell Steve no matter what. “Just forget I said anything. Abort. Abort mission.”

“You know for a genius you’re actually pretty idiotic sometimes,” Steve says earnestly.

Tony knows he’s kidding. Tony thinks he’s kidding, at least.

“So I’ve been told,” he snaps, petulantly.

Tony is smart where it matters: mathematics, logical thinking–though admittedly that’s narrowed down to anything involving what he’s well-versed in (schematics, robotics, and the rare bout of common sense), which believe it or not, isn’t as broad as one might expect–but can admit that he’s oblivious to the obvious sometimes, especially when it’s related to Steve. It’s hard for Tony to think anything other than a constant stream of ‘SteveSteveSteveSteveSteve’ when he’s in Tony’s general vicinity.

“JARVIS, take away his roof privileges for that,” Tony says, just as earnestly, after Steve doesn’t say anything and just continues to look at him.

“You’re bluffing,” says Steve, and that he is, but Steve doesn’t necessarily have to have confirmation on that. It’s clear in his eyes that he’s only purposely being a douche because he knows how much Tony secretly enjoys it.

Tony shrugs. “Not so sure about that,” he says. “Maybe I’m secretly planning world annihilation. You’ll never know what’s going on in my head, Cap,” he says, resists the urge to wink. Somehow he doesn’t think Steve would appreciate that.

“That’s the problem, Tony.”

“That I’m not bluffing?” Tony tries, because there are times when Tony would rather play stupid, and this is definitely one of those times.

Steve sighs. “Stop that,” he says warningly. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

Tony sighs, admitting defeat; Steve’s face is getting increasingly annoyed and bunched up, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling in obvious annoyance. He wishes he could find a better word for it than adorable, but that’s really all it is. The fact that Captain America, one of America’s strongest superheroes could be something that is usually associated with puppies half his size doesn’t bother Tony as much as it should. It actually doesn’t bother him at all, and the only thing that does bother him about the whole thing is that he thought it in the first place. “I don’t even know what I’m thinking half of the time.”

Steve’s face softens, and he lets out a breath. “I worry–”

“Pardon?”

“About you, I mean,” Steve says, and then flushes a nice crimson red, that contrasts beautifully with the dark navy blue shirt he’s wearing. “All the time, actually. I don’t think – like, when you stay down here for hours. Working. It worries me. Normal people don’t do that Tony.”

Tony scoffs. “I’ve never been normal,” he says, self-deprecating. Sometimes, Tony wishes he was. Normality, at least, provides some consistency; Tony’s life does not. The only thing Tony knows that will stay consistent is booze, and you can only be dependent on booze for so long before everything gets fuzzy. Eventually, Tony thinks bitterly, the booze starts to fight back, just like everything else.

He’s reached the fuzzy spot more times than he’s willing to admit. He’ll quit alcohol for a while, will swear it off when things start to get rough; it’s the only way he knows how to deal with pain. Pepper stopped trying to get him to stop because she realized it was hopeless, but Steve hasn’t stopped because he still has faith in Tony.

But eventually, that’ll fade too.

“I’ve quickly come to realize this–not that there’s a problem with that, Tony, you know,” Steve says, and his eyes are so honest in the darkness of his workshop that Tony’s tempted to reach up a hand and touch. “You don’t make it easy.”

“Make what easy?” Tony asks, because he honestly has no idea what they’re even talking about anymore, his sleep muddled brain barely comprehending anything besides the need dire need for sleep.

“Worrying about you,” Steve clarifies; he’s flushed bright red now, but oddly doesn’t look embarrassed. He’s sure, Tony realizes, quite belatedly, and can’t help but picture Steve standing in front of his mirror, rehearsing what he was going to say to him. It’s oddly endearing and equally as terrifying.

“You worry about everyone, Steve.” And that’s the truth. Steve worries because that’s his job, he’s head of command and if he didn’t worry, then more missions would go horrifically wrong. It’s annoying in battle, when Steve’s paranoid side takes over, but Tony appreciates it more than he’ll ever admit.

He’s been saved more times he can count by that particular side of Steve.

“I do,” he confirms, and takes a step forward, so close that Tony can now feel his warm breath on his neck. It’s more distracting than it should be. “But I worry about you the most.”

Tony laughs. “Well, I am a liability.”

“Stop making jokes and listen to me,” Steve nearly hisses.

Tony blinks. “I’m listening,” he says.

“I worry about you,” Steve stresses, “more than I probably should. More than I can handle most of the time.”

Tony knows he’s missing a huge chunk of the conversation, because there’s something in Steve’s voice that suggests that he’s admitting something that he probably wouldn’t otherwise.

He opens his mouth to make a joke, because deflection is something that he’s good at, it’s as easy as machinery and physics are to Tony by now, but he stops midway. It’s not a huge moment, when he realizes that Steve’s actually telling him something important, what he’s wanted to hear but has accepted that it would probably never happen. It’s soft and tender, and kind of hesitant, and that’s the reason it makes him pause.

Tony doesn’t do big realizations, they make him panic and raise his anxiety levels; that’s something he really cannot deal with.

It’s much easier to deal with something when you can barely feel it if you poke at it. These, Tony can handle, he can handle them quite well, actually.

“You,” Tony pauses, the words feeling heavy in his mouth, “worry about me?”

“Yes,” Steve sighs in relief, a light creeping into the bright, almost too-blue eyes.

“Is this–” Tony cuts himself off, opens his mouth and then closes it again. For one of the first times in his life, he finds himself absolutely speechless.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says, finally, after a pregnant silence full of doubt and awkward post-realization tension. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

Steve nearly slams Tony into the wall, his fingers grabbing for purchase against the slighter man, anywhere and everywhere his fingers could inflict pain. Tony gasps with it.

“Of course I care about you,” says Steve gently, completely contrasting against the harsh touch of his fingers. “You’re my best friend, Tony,” he admits.

Tony’s throat feels like it’s closing up, because while he’s fine with soft discovered truths, it’s different to hear the worlds fall from Steve’s mouth, and he says them so earnestly, that it’s impossible for him to look away. Not that he’s sure he wants to, but usually he has that option, and to know that he doesn’t really have one here scares him more than possibly anything ever has.

He chokes around all of the words that he wants to say, so close and near, but not quite there.

He doesn’t have to talk because Steve does the talking for him, when he runs his fingers up Tony’s side in a type of caress that leaves Tony breathless–for all the right reasons, and it’s impossible to fight the urge to sink in with it, so he doesn’t. Steve is gentle in the way that he’s never really been with Tony before (it kind of reminds him how he is with baby kittens or small children, but he doesn’t mention it because Steve’s sensitive about that kind of stuff and he doesn’t want Steve to stop touching him).

“I care for you so much sometimes I ache with it, Tony,” Steve whispers, and his eyes are so very blue, and so very close, and Tony’s struck with the sudden urge to kiss the man silly.

Tony snorts, kind of unwillingly. “I’m not worth your concern,” he says, honest and straight to the point.

Steve’s eyes harden and soften at the same time, almost like he doesn’t really understand what exactly it is he wants to do, and then suddenly his smooth fingers are stroking Tony’s jaw reverently. “Don’t say that,” he hisses, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re worth it, Tony, you’ll always be worth it. Why don’t you understand that?”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, because in the odd months that Steve has been here with him, he’s realized that sometimes it’s better to say nothing at all.

He looks up into those cloudy blue eyes, fingers whispering hope against Steve’s pale skin, which is appealing in the sunlight. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

One moment, they’re staring at each other, a type of honesty to their gaze that hadn’t been there before–or maybe it had and Tony was just too blind and too unwilling to see it–and the next they’re kissing, chaste and gentle against each other’s lips.

Tony gasps into Steve, which just makes the other man chuckle softly and nip gently at Tony’s lips, sure and kitten like, like he’s been waiting for this for ages and is just now taking what he wants. Tony kisses back, because this is what he’s wanted for a while, and he’d be a fucking fool not to take what was in front of him. So he kisses, and nips, and licks along the plump, pink skin and when Steve moans at the back of his throat in approval, one of Tony’s hands comes to rest at the back of Steve’s head.

They kiss lazily for a while, until they’re breathless with it and they have no choice but to pull away.

Tony doesn’t speak for a long time, but when he does, he’s flying high on contentment and bottled up emotion he hasn’t let himself feel until now. “I care about you too,” he whispers, because while he’s sure that Steve already knows that, he’s also sure that he needs to hear it. “It hurts to look at you sometimes,” he admits, “sometimes I really don’t think I deserve you.”

And Steve smiles at him, open and lovely, and everything that is just so very like him, that Tony kisses him again. “You’re the most deserving person I know, Tony.”

Tony kisses him again, and for the moment, no matter how brief it might be, lets himself believe him.