It kind of hits him out of nowhere. Tony is just sitting down, eating his breakfast, and reading a brief on the newest SHEILD tech updates (that they are demanding, thank you very much) and it happens.
It’s not fair, okay. Steve’s always doing stupid shit that makes him unfairly attractive - like wearing fluffy slippers to dinner or a blanket cape around the common room. He always smiles at Tony too when he does it, and it’s always so hard to remember the guy who smiles are Tony on his couch is the same one who’s lived through the war that turned his father so bitter.
But now, he’s pulling a drink out of the fridge, something from a jug that Tony’s pretty sure Wanda made from a mix last night.
“Shit, you have fuckin’ battery acid? Now?”
It’s not exactly often Steve swears, mainly in the field, but sometimes at horror movies (which on movie nights he apparently has to sit next to Tony and lean into him which is, awesome, really helping him get over this dumbness crush) but whenever he does curse, it’s so Brooklyn, the accent heavy and all control slipped out.
“Battery acid?” Tony questions, because yeah, sometimes Dum-E slips motor oil into stuff, but this is the common fridge, and he doesn’t even have access to that-
Steve’s red. Bright red. Oh no.
“Uh, sorry. Old man thing. ’S what we called the little lemonade packs in our kits on the front lines,”
“That bad?”
“You don’t even know Tony, that shit- we cleaned floors with it-“ and Steve sounds happy, the way he always does when he talks about the past, like a trip he’d been to a while back but remembered fondly.
He’s got this crush under control, okay. It’s barely even a crush. He’s Tony Stark, crushes don’t happen to him, okay, he’s a playboy-
Steve’s smiling at him. He doesn’t smile enough.
They make lemonade with real lemons that night, because Steve had a taste for it and Tony is awful at saying no.
It’s under control. It totally is.
Steve isn’t even his type, really.
(Ignoring every tall, blonde man he’d taken home in his 20’s, how he’d thought about what Captain America would think of him for 90% of his life.)
He’s too sweet, too kind - holds open doors for strangers, and wrangles carts back in parking lots and he just- Tony isn’t the kind of person that could fall in love with a man like that. Steve’scertainly not the kind of person who could fall in love with Tony.
Still, though, Steve Rogers is objectively cute, in the way puppies and bunnies and rays of sunlight are. (don’t look too deep into that).
“I’m really not lookin’ for a dame right now, Nat.”
Steve’s chopping up celery, because he eats like a rabbit even though he, of all people, doesn’t have to. Nat’s across from him, sipping tea she has special ordered in from Russia, and Steve- he said dame.
And in one second, he can picture all of it. Steve, when he was smaller and still that angry man who fought with a purpose before he had the body to back it up, and-
Tony would have wanted him. He would have wanted him when he looked just like that, when he was the kind of guy who called girls dames and stuttered over his words and was nervous.
“What, so you want a man?” Nat says, looking up at him, completely serious. Steve’s bisexual, Tony knows that, knows it because Steve’s told him, but it’s hard, because this is- this is the issue, isn’t it?
Steve could want him. He just doesn’t.
“I don’t need a fella either, Nat,” although he sounds much more careful, like he’s trying to sound like he means it, “I just don’t have time for that sort of thing.”
“Tony, what do you think?”
Which is unfair, because he wasn’t even involved in this conversation, that’s not fair-
“If he doesn’t want to date we can’t make him, Nat,” he says, “But you’re a catch, Cap. Once you stick your head out there I doubt you’ll be single for very long.”
It should make Steve smile, the way he smiles when Tony says he likes his sketches, or when he asks if he wants to go out for dinner, but it doesn’t. He smiles a fake little grin, the kind he presses on for military events.
“Thanks, Tony.”
Nat hums and goes to read her book, and things are kind of quiet after that.
Weird.
Steve wasted is literally the most adorable thing in the fucking world.
Steve’s a touchy drunk, but it seems like he’s only that way with him.
He doesn’t get enough hugs, Steve doesn’t. This is not something Tony’s realized until the team party night, and Steve’s drunk on Asgardian mead. He’s not talking much, but he’s got an arm around Tony.
“You- you are jus’ the best, Tony, didya know that?”
Steve’s smiling, and Steve doesn’t smile enough, and not enough at him, and this is an indulgence he can barely feel guilty for.
“Yeah, big guy, I’m the best,” he says, and he’s laughing, and there’s not a fucking chance to get over this crush now, with Steve pulling him to lay next to him on the couch.
All of this- it’s too easy, this sort of home, with Nat and Clint flirting lazily and Bruce staring at his glass like it’s a beaker full of magic, and Steve smiling at him the way he should always be smiling.
“When- when Buck flirted with dames, you know what he’d call em?”
Steve jumps from concept to concept when he’s drunk, apparently.
“What?”
“Sugar,” Steve says, and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world, “Like, sugar, are you rationed?”
He’s laughing again, and Steve’s laugh should be recorded for posterity, okay, he should always be laughing. Talking about flirting isn’t really good for Tony’s heart but, whatever, you know.
“I think flirting is harder now, though.” Steve says, and Tony thinks it might be time for bed.
“You can tell me on the way to your room.” he says, pulling Steve up as best as he can.
“Oh, you gonna take me to bed?”
Tony’s never heard Steve sound…suggestive. It’s weird.
“Tell me your flirting story, dumbass,” he replies, even though his heard is hammering like it’s gonna burst, like he’s 15.
“I got- I got my eye on someone,” Steve says, taking labored steps to the elevator, “He’s real nice, but he’s kinda hard to impress. Don’ think callin’ him sugar would work real well.”
This is a very good time to not have his heart drop like a bomb, a great time to not focus on the fact Steve’s into someone, that he’s gonna be with them, probably, because who the fuck wouldn’t want him back-
“I’m sure he’s wonderful, and he’s not an idiot, so I’m sure it’ll work just fine.”
Steve steps in the elevator, having decided he’s going up on his own apparently.
“He’s a genius,” Steve says, like that’s everything, “That’s how I know it wouldn’t work.”
Jarvis shuts the door before he can ask what that even means.
Okay, there has to be a solution to this. There has to be a way for him to get over Steve, or at least enough that every time he hears him say something like dame or fella or battery acid he’s not going to lose his shit.
Because Steve likes someone, someone smart and kind and brilliant and this is no longer a fantasy he can afford to indulge in, especially when the inevitable is coming. He knows, that this guy will want Steve back, that he’s going to come into his home and love the man he’s loving. So he has to prepare.
He can be subtle, despite what everyone thinks. He starts slow.
He eats quicker at the team dinners, heads to the workshop right after he’s done eating. On the nights Steve and him used to cook dinner together, he orders delivery and apologizes for not being able to make it.
He spars with Nat and Clint and he’s always “too-tired” to spar with Steve anymore - and it feels rotten. The look on Steve’s face when he hurries away, when he says no to sparring, when he realizes that he’s the person Tony’s running from.
It’s shitty but it’s necessary, and he’s always been one for making tough calls.
The whole thing only lasts a week though, and it’s in that short period he can tell, that Steve’s become this integral part of his life, that a week without him is so noticeable.
It’s all smooth sailing, though. He’s sticking to his plan. He’s not seeing Steve.
Until Steve decides the plan is full of shit, and he’s not playing by the rules. Tony is a total dumbass, who forgot to remove Steve’s workshop access.
(He maybe isn’t stupid.)
A week is all it takes, a week of no-thank-you’s to events, a week of no, I don’t need to eat right now for Steve, wearing his Captain America Is Determined face, to barge into his space, and looks him dead in the eye.
“You’re not talking to me.”
“I am, currently talking to you. That is what this is.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, do you mean how I wasn’t speaking to you before you barged into my workshop and demanded I speak to you?”
He can be an asshole, he can, and he expects to feel satisfaction but Tony always forgets that there’s no pleasure in seeing the person you adore crumble. (He never forgets. That’s why everyone’s gear is fucking indestructible.)
“I thought you said I could come in here,” Steve says, and his voice is so small. It’s just unfair.
Steve is so young, and so stubborn and so good and Tony just decided to love him like he could ever be the kind of person that deserves it.
“Yeah,” he said, pinching his nose for a second, “I did say that.”
“Tony-“ Steve’s voice sounds just, annihilated, like he’s got a million and one things to say and not even enough strength for one, “I’m sorry for what I said. I was out of line. I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and if it’s the kind of thing that makes you not want to talk to me anymore, then can you at least have the respect for our friendship to tell me that?”
It’s calculated, this little speech, like he’s been practicing, like he practices all kinds of stuff.
“You’re sorry?” None of this makes sense. Absolutely none of it. What the hell is he even sorry for, being in love with someone else? And Tony’s the one who doesn’t want to talk to Steve-
“I overstepped the other night and I know I must have made you uncomfortable with my feelings but-“
“I’m not gonna hate you because you have feelings, Steve-“
“Well they’re for you, so it’s kind of understandable, Tony-“
“What?”
Steve’s face- it tells a million fucking words. The journey of it all, the shock, the understanding, the horror and what is he even nervous about, it’s not like he-
Wait.
Shit.
“I thought you knew,” Steve said, and his voice is so small, so scared and just horrified, terrified of what Tony’s going to say but like he’s sure of it.
“Knew what?”
“Tony, don’t-“
“Please explain this to me,” Tony says, looking Steve dead in the eye and tipping his chin up with his hand before he thinks better of it. “Explain it very slowly.”
“You...okay, I um,” Steve sucks in a breath, just then, “I’m real sweet on you, if ya didn’t know. A lot. You’re real swell, and I-“
“I’m the guy?”
“You didn’t know that?”
Steve doesn’t look so nervous anymore, almost emboldened, walking closer to Tony. He wishes that he’d stop the mission look, though, because Tony likes it when his face softens, when he smiles.
“I didn’t think that. I did, uh, not think that.”
Fucking genius can’t figure out when he’s being described.
“You look surprised,” Steve says, but he looks different now, hands reaching out like he wants to touch but won’t let himself, “I wasn’ exactly subtle. Talked about a genius,”
“You said he wouldn’t want you.”
Steve’s close, now, smells like cologne and like rain and everything he wants, and god, he sees those blue eyes dip to look at his lips and this is absolute torture.
“Yeah, I did. Genius, billionaire-“
“Drunk petty asshole,” Tony says, but it’s really not looking like he’s even got a shot to deny it anymore, Steve’s large hands on his cheek, holding his face like he was built for the task.
“I don’t have enough time to prove to you how wrong you are about that,” husky tone, Brooklyn accent, and finally a smile, “I wanna do something else.”
“Yeah?”
Steve leans in slow, and it’s so much better than he’d ever imagined, the so-sweet haze of the room, the way the air had turned into pulsing affection and how close they seemed and how even touch wasn’t close enough.
And Steve’s smiling into their first kiss, and Tony’s kissing Steve Rogers’ smile, soft lips and brimming joy, Steve’s arms around his waist like he’s afraid he’d disappear.
“You gonna call me sugar?” he jokes when Steve pulls away.
Steve ponders this for a moment, pulling him in closer (if this was even possible).
“Depends. Are you rationed?”
Eye rolls and kisses follow, in lieu of a response.
Steve’s completely alright with that.