Tony is aware that the circumstances seem highly sketchy, but he’s telling the honest-to-god truth when he says: It starts off as an accident.
It’s right after a mission, the second they make with Tony’s new nanotech-based comms, way better and more useful than SHIELD’s outdated tech. They’re so small they’re practically invisible and their reach is so good, you can basically put them on your ear or neck and forget they’re there.
Which, evidently, is what happened with Steve.
So that’s how it goes: Tony is at his lab, working on his stuff, minding his own business, when Steve’s comm starts saying stuff. Out of nowhere.
And Steve… Steve is not really Tony’s friend, he guesses. Sure, they don’t hate each other anymore, but Steve can still be incredibly annoying, with his endless stubbornness and self-righteousness and bravery and nobility. Still, sometimes it works. Sometimes they talk and Steve lets out a shy grin at one of Tony’s stupid jokes. Sometimes they spend the afternoon sparring and talking team strategies and the hours go by incredibly fast. Sometimes Tony stares at Steve’s azure eyes and forgets he was holding a blowtorch on his hands and almost burns off his eyebrows. You know, regular friendly stuff.
So, as he was saying: Complete accident.
The fact that Tony doesn’t immediately turn it off is also easily explained by the fact that a random communication through official channels from their team leader would usually mean danger. So it makes perfect sense for Tony to get worried, and ask Friday to turn on the video feed from the living room, where Steve is.
When Tony identifies that the stuff coming from the comm is nothing but general, if awkward pleasantries; and that there’s nothing on the screen except Steve sitting on the couch and talking to a beautiful brunette; he… Probably should turn it off, but. Well. Tony is a scientist. Scientist can’t be presented with stuff to deliberately entice their curiosity and not do anything about it. It’s just not realistic.
So he pays attention. Steve is wearing his button-down blue shirt whose seams seem to be begging for mercy on his arms, a simple pair of jeans and an even simpler pair of social shoes. The woman, who, when seen from a different camera angle, Tony can identify as Darcy Lewis, is indeed beautiful, her bombshell figure looking amazing on a dress that hugs her body tightly, leaving little to the imagination.
Well, Tony thinks, at least their taste in clothing is similar.
Five minutes watching their conversation is enough for Tony to tell that, as far as things in common go, this is pretty much it. Steve looks terribly uncomfortable as Darcy talks freely, making a ton of references Tony can tell Steve doesn’t even begin to understand, and more than a few innuendos that, from Steve’s flush, he gets, but wishes he didn’t.
It’s not really Darcy’s fault, Tony guesses – poor girl probably just jumped at the opportunity of getting some with Captain America, and no one thought to tell her that Captain America is actually an incredibly awkward man who would probably have a much easier time hanging out with her grandpa. Now, she’s clearly just attempting to not let the night go to complete waste, while Steve is clearly trying to make sure things don't go any further. He keeps shifting on the same spot, ignoring the inviting way Darcy leans in his direction. He’s barely talking, and the few phrases he manages to get in on Darcy’s rambling are full of uh and I suppose and general stuttering.
It’s the type of terrible matchmaking that could truly only have come from the mind of an alien god whose social circles consist of a bunch of scientists and a group of superheroes.
Tony considers ignoring it. It’s none of his business, after all. They’re clearly coming back from a very awkward dinner, and Steve seems to be halfway through an excuse to finish the evening, so Tony doesn’t think-
Then Darcy lands her hand on his shoulder.
And the thing is – well – Steve is uncomfortable, ok? He’s clearly, evidently uncomfortable, and sure, maybe it could be just jitters from being hit on by a beautiful woman – though, honestly, when you really look at it, she’s not that pretty – but that’s not Steve. Steve is not a man who goes for casual sex, that’s just not his thing, he’s too much of an uptight prick to – holy shit, is she touching his hair?
Tony isn’t sure how he manages to go from the workshop to the living room so fast, but he does, and when he gets there, Steve frowns at him, his nose scrunching in a way that definitely looks ridiculous and not at all adorable: “Tony?”
“Uh. Hey, Cap. Hey, Darcy.”
Darcy waves. She’s a lot prettier when she’s not touching Steve.
“I was just, uh, I was, hm, testing? Yeah, definitely, testing the, uh – the new HUD for Sam, yeah, I’m thinking of using the same design for the panel array I used on Mark 22, that one was pretty great, and since he’s your friend, I thought that you could give me an opinion about it.”
Steve’s frown is still there, and it’s still not cute. “Me? Now?”
“Well, guess I’m gonna go, then.” Darcy stands up. “Give me a call if you’re bored, Muscles,” she says, winking at Steve, who gives her a weak smile.
As she leaves, Steve turns towards Tony.
“Sam didn’t ask for a new HUD,” he says, crossing his arms – Jesus Christ, how does that shirt stands it.
“Yeah, but I’m a genius, so I’ve decided he needs one.” Tony bumps his shoulder on the way out. “Come on, if we wait too long, the muse leaves me.”
Steve rolls his eyes, which, along with everything else he does, is, again, neither cute nor endearing. “Right.”
If Tony were to date Steve – which he wouldn’t, in a million years, because Steve is not even his friend and he’s Steve – but if he were to date him, he’d know to never make him uncomfortable. He’d know which restaurant to take him – he’d book the entire place beforehand, of course –, very sleek and discreet. He’d give a warning to the staff to not stare too much and get them a table next to the window, somewhere where the moonlight would hit Steve’s hair and he wouldn’t feel weird about asking the waiter to pack the leftovers in a doggie bag. He’d let Steve take a look at the menu after making sure the prices were not there, and if he couldn’t decide, he’d a have a suggestion for what to order – a nice lasagna, that Steve would like. He’d talk a lot – because, let’s be real, it’d still be him – but he’d pay attention to see if Steve was talking too. He’d make sure he smiled, and he’d listen to anything Steve said, too, paying complete attention, never letting him feel old-fashioned or boring.
He’d never stroke his hair like that, out of the blue, but, if things were going well and Steve seemed relaxed, he might’ve reached for his hand on the table and covered with his own, just for a minute, to feel Steve’s warm skin under his palm.
You know. If.
The second time, Tony should just turn off the comm. He knows. It’s wrong as hell, to be spying on his sort-of-friend in the middle of a date, no matter how accidental the whole thing might be.
However.
He knew this was a bad idea from the start. Steve turning out to be a solid 5 on a Kinsey scale or not, he is still Captain America, and the last thing Captain America would ever need in his twenty-first Century life is a Grindr profile.
Of course, nobody listens to him. So, when Steve again forgets to remove his comm (which has now been upgraded to send a video feed if needed – that, for the record, was Steve’s own suggestion, and not Tony indulging his own creepiness, thank you very much), Tony conveniently fails to remind him, and that’s how he ends up where he is, which is on the screen of Tony’s workshop right now, at a bar waiting for some idiot named Kevin.
As for why Tony’s watching them, well… It’s a blind date. This Kevin guy – he could be anyone, really. He could be Loki, shapeshifting. He could be Hydra, attempting to catch Steve off-guard. He could be… A serial killer or something. It’s not that unreasonable for Tony to check if Steve is ok. They might not be friends, but that doesn’t mean Tony can’t worry.
So, worrying a reasonable amount, Tony makes some research on who this guy is. It doesn’t take long for him to find out that he’s Kevin Miller, ex-baseball player who now coaches little league, lives in Queens, and posts a lot of shirtless pictures on Instagram. His Grindr profile contains the phrase masc4masc, which really proves that Tony was right and someone should have at least supervised Steve’s venture into gay apps so that he knew the acronyms to identify assholes like these.
Basically, he’s a sexist asshole with a stupid name, and it makes Tony fume to think of Steve, on his long-suffering blue shirt, wasting his Saturday night with a guy like that.
Oh yeah, there’s also that: Besides everything, Kevin-boy is late. Who the hell is lucky enough to land a date with Stev- with Captain America and still manages to be late? Who? An asshole, that’s who.
When the guy finally decides to grace Steve with the honor of his presence, Steve has been sitting in that shitty bar by himself for a total of fifteen minutes, and Tony has decided to forbid Vision and Wanda from giving him any advice about his love life again as long as they live.
Kevin the Jerk is that mediocre kind of handsome, with long dark hair and bright green eyes. He’s muscular and clearly one of those boring guys who can’t talk about anything other than their new series at the gym. It’s so not what Steve needs – Steve, with his long history books and way longer fantasy novels he curls up with on the couch when it’s too snowy to run outside; Steve, who goes to museums by himself and takes notes on everything he can’t understand in that tiny adorable notebook of his, because even though he knows how to use Google notes, he still hasn’t gotten used to carrying his cellphone with him everywhere. Steve is fucking smart, okay, he needs someone who can see that, someone who can – who can listen to him and challenge him and actually be interested in what he says, and not just on how sinful his shoulders admittedly look in that goddamn shirt.
Of course, Kevin, who Tony now decidedly hates, is not that person. First, he pulls his stool all up on Steve’s personal space when he sits, which is just completely unnecessary. Then, he offers to buy Steve a beer, which – really? You’re gonna go out with Steve Rogers and offer to buy him a beer? I mean, God – get him a Pinot Noir, at the very least.
Steve just takes the beer, though, and they start a conversation about baseball. Which… Ok, point to Kevin, but – look, baseball is not that hard, ok? Any idiot can know baseball.
Steve laughs at something he says, taking a sip of his glass. The drink makes his lips slightly damp, too pink and too bright even through the screen.
Tony could know baseball. If he wanted to.
Then, after a moment, Kevin leans forward to whisper something in his ear.
Tony bites the inside of his cheek. It’s not a loud bar, Kevin. Anything you have to say to him can perfectly be said at a non-creepy distance.
Kevin, clearly oblivious to Tony’s mental reprimands, keeps whispering, and Steve’s all flushed now, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Tony’s own face is probably red, too, because he’s shaking with the effort to not do anything, because – because the stuff with Darcy was already none of his business, and this is even less, ok, and Tony is actually not a creep, unlike this guy, who’s now literally all over Steve, landing his hand on his knee to keep talking. And Tony, well, Tony’s listening to Kill Bill sirens in his head, but he can’t, he has no right, and they’re at a bar halfway across town now, so it’s not like he can just barge in and-
And Kevin leans in further and sucks on Steve’s earlobe.
Tony is not proud of his reaction to this one.
More or less five minutes later, when every single Avenger on the vicinity has answered his call to assemble, Steve, breathless after pretty much abandoning Kevin the Jerk (who had the gall to look mad – which, really, dude? What if the world was actually in danger? He’s a superhero, get on with the program), scowls at him.
“Tony,” He says, with that controlled angry voice that never fails to be annoying. “The Assembling button is not a toy.”
In a way, it’s almost a relief, to have Steve being angry at him. It saves him the trouble to think of the blinding rage caused by seeing Kevin’s mouth on his ear. It’s so much simpler.
“Well, Cap, you know me, I could never resist a big shiny do not push sign.” Tony quips, and isn’t that a huge truth about their relationship as a whole. Steve shakes his head, going to place his shield back on the wall, while Clint flips Tony off, Rhodey rolls his eyes at him, and Vision and Wanda leave, already looking suspiciously disheveled. Bruce, who thankfully didn’t Hulk out, seems strangely thoughtful, and Tony almost worries he’s going to say something, but, thankfully, he doesn’t.
After they all leave, there’s only Steve in the living room, looking at something on his phone. He keeps typing something and then stopping and scrunching his face, all serious and worried, lips pursed as if he’s doing something terribly painful.
Tony sighs. If Steve wasn’t so tense and so sad, he could just stay angry.
If Steve wasn’t so Steve, this would be so much easier.
“Just call him, Cap.” He says, even though he feels like throwing up.
“What?”
“Your date.” Tony drops on the couch next to him (not too close, never too close). “You were out having fun when my prank messed up your night, right? Come on, just call him and explain it.” He has to force the words out, every single one of them feeding a burning ache on his chest, and he shouldn’t care, Kevin is an asshole, but - but maybe Steve had liked him, he knew baseball (Tony doesn’t know shit about baseball), and now Steve looks so tired and so sad, and God, he never meant to make Steve sad. He could live with Steve being angry at him for the rest of their lives, if it meant never having to make him sad. “I. I’ll have Happy pick him up.”
Steve seems off-balance for a moment, then he flushes. “Oh. Oh, no, that’s not-“ He looks away, staring at the phone on his hands. His ears flush – and fuck that, really, how can a real person have a flush on his ears? How is that fair? “It. It didn’t work very well.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I was… I was trying to think of how to tell him.”
To his credit, Tony does not immediately stand over the couch and breaks into a happy dance, but it’s close. “Leave it to me, Cap.” He breathes. “I’ve done this so many times I’ve practically got a template.”
Steve hesitates, but gives him the phone. “Thanks.”
There’s a pause in which Tony fights his urge to type SUCK IT, DICKBAG and send it to Kevin’s phone with a virus., when Steve breaks the silence: “Modern dating is… Definitely very… Straight-forward.”
Tony risks a glance. Steve looks terribly uncomfortable, hesitantly touching his ear.
Fuck it, Tony decides, asshole is definitely getting a virus.
“Don’t worry about it, Cap.” He says, giving a small nudge on his shoulder. “Plenty of fish in the sea. Wait. Do you get that expression?”
“No, fish were only invented in the 60s.” Steve deadpans, but there’s a smile on his face, so Tony can only smile back.
If Tony were to proposition Steve – which he wouldn’t, in a million years, because Steve is Steve and he’d never accept it anyway – he’d never do it by licking his ear in some sleazy bar. No – it’d be right after dinner, and he’d take Steve to the top of Tower, to watch the stars. He’d pour him some wine – something simple, maybe a Domaine Leroy, because he’d save the Cheval Blanc 1947 for later, when Steve was already more comfortable with Tony’s extravagancies. Steve can’t get drunk, obviously, but maybe he’d enjoy the taste, and his lips would look even more tempting after a sip, and Tony would lean in and kiss him, softly, slowly, giving him the time to back out if he wanted to.
But Steve wouldn’t – he’d be eager and pliant, mouth sweet and warm, blue eyes bright with adoration when they pulled apart and Tony changed the subject, showing him the constellations, making him laugh. He’d make Steve laugh a lot, because Steve should laugh more, and because he’d want him to be giddy and relaxed, to want that. He’d make silly jokes, ramble about random topics and let Steve take the lead whenever he was ready to continue.
And then he’d take him to his penthouse, ask Friday to put on some Sinatra, maybe ask Steve to dance outside his bedroom, if he was still nervous. He’d teach him steps, kiss him a lot and make him laugh again. He wouldn’t ask, but Steve would say anyway, that Tony was his first, that there was no one else he’d want this with, no one he’d ever trust as much. And Tony would be worthy of this trust, would show Steve everything, would make it so good for him, take away all that tension and sadness and leave Steve breathless and smiling on his bed, peppering him with kisses when it was all over, stopping only to admire that dozy, wonderful grin.
You know. Hypothetically.
The third time, Tony has no excuse. The guy was recommended by Natasha, and he’s worked with Sam at the V.A. for a while, and they both guarantee he’s great.
His name is Marius, and he’s older than Darcy and Kevin The Jerk, which Tony will begrudgingly admit was probably a smart move. Physically, he may look older than Steve, but his lack of millennial pop-culture references and interest in hooking up in a sleazy motel are things that work in his favor, Tony knows. Besides, he looks a little like an American Idris Elba, and, during the entire first hour of the date, he and Steve seem to hit off.
Tony hates him most of all.
He means to turn off the comm and the video, he really does (and, God, someone needs to start reminding Steve to take the damn thing off), but it’s like a car accident hitting right into his chest, and he can’t stop watching as Steve and Marius seem to have a honestly nice time together. Steve seems relaxed, seems to be enjoying himself, and when Marius lets out a flirtier comment, he actually grins, despite flushing, and Tony's heart aches.
Tony turns off the video feed. He doesn’t bother turning off the comm, putting on his headphones and ordering Friday to blast the entirety of High Voltage at the highest volume, in the hopes that maybe going deaf will make him forget Steve’s voice softly complimenting Marius’ outfit.
He should let it go, knows he should forget it, but he can’t get any work done, nervously wondering if Steve and Marius have already finished their dinner, if Marius took Steve out for a walk, if maybe they went to a rooftop watch the stars and –
He takes off the headphones just in time to hear Steve’s voice, shy but certain as he says: I had a really great time tonight.
Tony is not a masochist, he’s not, but he still can’t help but turn on the video, and, yes, there they are – Steve and Marius, right next to the Tower’s entrance, looking like every single couple about to kiss in the history of the universe.
Tony’s hands itch. He can’t – he really, really can’t. Steve is enjoying himself, having a nice time. Steve likes this guy. Steve – Tony’s heart seems to be folding in on itself, contorting to shrink as much as it can – wants this guy to kiss him.
Marius takes a step forward, hand on Steve’s waist.
And if Tony wasn’t so Tony, this would be so much easier.
But Tony is Tony, selfish and pathetic and desperate, and so Steve’s phone rings, taking him and Marius instantly out of the mood.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, picking his cellphone out of his pocket. When he sees the name on the display, he frowns. Of course he frowns. “I have to take this.”
It seems to take an eternity, the second he takes to accept the call.
“Tony?”
Tony’s face is hot with shame, eyes burning, because he can’t believe he’s swooping that low, ruining Steve’s happiness so deliberately, so openly. “Hey, Cap.”
Steve’s eyes widen as he waits for something – an indication of why he called, anything, Jesus, they’re not even friends. “Tony? Is… Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I just…” He swallows. He thinks of a million things to say, a million of excuses, of lies, of reasons to take Steve away from that happiness and back at his side. “I. I must have butt-dialed you.” He forces a laugh. He’s great at faking laughs. “Talk to you later.” And he hangs up.
On the screen, Steve just stares at the phone in shock for a few moments, before Marius politely asks if everything is all right. Steve nods, still seeming a little shocked.
Tony shuts the video off. He can’t do this anymore.
He spends some time with his headphones on, desperately trying not to think of the inviting whiskey bottle on his desk, when Friday cuts off his music and he hears the workshop door opening.
“Tony?” Steve says, hesitantly. He sounds a little breathless, and Tony wants to die. “What is happening?”
Tony blinks, nervously. He takes his headphones off. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Steve steps into the workshop, his expression slowly morphing from shock and worry to something Tony knows well – anger. “Are you serious?”
As he talks, Tony can hear his voice echoing in the comm next to him, and – of course – Steve hears it as well. His face is bright red, of shame and rage, and he actually shakes as he roughly feels up his neck and removes the comm off his ear.
“I can’t believe you,” Steve says, and his words are also shaking, that barely controlled rage threatening to slip at every letter. “I… I thought it was a coincidence. I never thought-“
He cuts himself off, hands clenching into fists.
Tony wonders if he’s gonna punch him (he really wishes he’d punch him).
“Is this your idea of a joke?” Steve’s voice is cutting and furious, but there’s a layer of raw hurt in there, too, and Tony almost begs him to keep it under control, to just stay angry, please, he can handle angry Steve. “I - I thought we were doing better. I can’t believe you’d…”
“It was an accident.” Tony’s mouth bullshits for him. “I – I think you forgot it on, at first, and…”
“And you couldn’t have turned it off?” Steve’s blue eyes are wide, as if he legitimately can’t believe this is happening, as if he didn’t know Tony was capable of something like that. “Was it, what – funny to you? To watch me making a fool of myself?”
“No,” Tony blurts, immediately. “No, I didn’t, I swear I…”
Steve swallows, and his entire body is shaking now, and holy shit, Tony begs, please don’t let him cry. Please, please, don’t let him have made Steve Rogers cry. “I wasn’t trying to… I wasn’t trying to be you.” Steve says it so bluntly, with just the slightest amount of resentment, and Tony doesn’t even get it, doesn’t even know what he’d resent him for. “I was never any good at this… This… Stuff. I just thought… I thought maybe I could try, was that so – was that so ridiculous to you, that you had to sit here and watch-“
“No!” Tony cuts him, because of course he does, he’s also shaking. “No, Steve, what the fuck, I would never do that…”
“Then why?” Steve’s eyes are burning against his, demanding, and Tony can’t look at him, needs to look away, to find somewhere he can look at while actually breathing. “Clint is married. Wanda and Vision are together, Nat and Sam date, why can’t I… Is it so funny to you that I… Why would you do something like this?”
And then, out of nowhere, it hits Tony, like a brick at the back of his head – Steve forgetting to about the comm, changing himself too quickly, too nervously, to remember to take it off. Steve going out with a friend of a friend, with a person he met at a dating app, going on a blind date – Steve putting himself out there, like regular people do, like Tony has done too much in his life. Steve wanting something, searching for it, every single Avenger trying their best to help him achieve it, except Tony, of course.
Steve is lonely.
Steve is lonely, it hits Tony suddenly, and it’s as if he can hear his heart on his chest jumping, swelling, suffocating his lungs. Steve tensed up when Darcy landed her hand on his shoulder, and, God, when was the last time someone had touched Steve like that, casually, without calling him Cap? When was the last time he got to sit with someone who didn’t follow him into battle, who spoke to him about his hobbies and the weather and stuff that didn’t include saving people’s lives?
Steve is looking at him now, demanding an answer, and the only things Tony can think of are more questions: Does Steve goes to museums alone because he wants to? Does he cuddle up on the couch with a book and maybe thinks of someone to warm him up, to make him forget the snow piling on outside? That guy, Marius, was going to kiss him – Jesus, Tony thinks. Steve hasn’t been kissed since 1945. Steve is on his thirties, God, he is so young, and he has no idea what is it like to hold hands with somebody. He doesn’t know, and he was trying, doing his best to find out, and Tony ruined that for him.
“Tony?” Steve repeats, his voice still strong, but slightly softer, and God, Steve hasn’t been kissed since 1945. Tony can’t let that go – Steve was made to be kissed, to be held and touched and… And loved, ok, fuck you, Tony doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore, Steve was made to be loved and Tony has only hurt him while loving him, because that’s just his thing.
But now, looking at Steve here, on Tony’s workshop, face flushed and beautiful and sad, Tony can’t not be in love with him, that’s just an impossibility, and. And.
And if Steve wasn’t so Steve, this would be so much easier. But he is Steve, and Steve hasn’t been kissed in so long and God, Tony really wants to fucking kiss him.
So he does.
He cradles Steve’s face in his hand, steps forward and kisses him before he can say anything, and it’s – it’s – it’s different from anything he could ever have thought before. Steve makes a noise, a faint gasp of surprise, and then his lips are parted instantly, mouth open and ready as Tony’s tongue brushes his lips and rolls inside of his mouth. Steve’s mouth is so hot, sweet and warm and surprisingly demanding, his tongue rolling against Tony’s and suddenly everything else is tight and warm, too, because Tony feels Steve’s arms on his waist, his hard chest against his.
“Tony,” Steve gasps, when they pull apart, but Tony kisses him again, because kissing Steve is not something you do once. It’s something you keep doing, again and again, because you suddenly realize this is what your mouth was meant to do, and there’s nothing else it should be doing ever again. He kisses Steve slow and deeply; fast and desperate; hungry and devouring only to pull back with chaste, soft pecks. Steve hasn’t been kissed since 1945 and Tony would gladly give him seventy years’ worth of kisses, in any way he could ever want. “Tony, if this is pity, I swear-“
Tony actually laughs. “Pity? Fuck, Steve, I’m so sorry,” he mutters, and then leans forward and kisses Steve again, kisses him frantically between words, because God knows this is the only time he’ll get to do that, he doesn’t have any seconds to spare. “I’m so, so sorry. I would – I would never laugh at you, shit - I’m so hopeless for you, fuck, you should be the one pitying me, I’m just, I’m just…” And Steve’s kissing him too, Steve’s kissing him back, holding him, pushing him back against the table, he’s gonna bruise Tony’s hip and Tony doesn’t even care. “I’m a fucking idiot, I can’t stand to see others touching you. I just. I lose my I.Q. or something. I’m so fucking sorry.” And Steve’s lips are so soft, they feel so good and wonderful and, Jesus Christ, he’s crying. He’s crying all over his first and only kiss with Steve, because he’s got a knack for opportunity like that.
“Tony. Oh my God, Tony,” Steve whispers, saying his name in a low voice, as if he’s talking to himself. “Tony,” he repeats, and he pulls away from Tony’s mouth, hands coming up to his face, resting their foreheads together. “Tony.”
“That’s me,” Tony croaks, and Steve huffs a laugh, and Tony didn’t know there was a way for Steve’s laugh to get any better, but it is, and it’s when he can feel it against his skin.
“Tony,” Steve says again, blue eyes searching his. “Tony, why do you think I asked everyone in this Tower to help me date, except you?” Then he lifts his head and kisses the corners of Tony’s eyes, his wrinkles – not even in Tony’s sappiest fantasies he did that, what the fuck. “You’re a genius, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“I’m an idiot,” Tony replies, and there’s that laugh again, every hush of breath sending a hurricane on Tony’s chest. Steve’s kissing his eyelids, his forehead, his nose - seriously, Steve needs to fucking calm down, Tony’s heart is already weak enough as it is. “Are you serious with this? You – you want this? Me?”
Steve takes a deep breath. His eyes are bright, bright enough to be wet, but, again, Tony has a heart problem, he can’t focus on this too long, he just can’t. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Tony is able to blurt out, although it’s the messiest yes of history, because it’s said against Steve’s mouth right before Tony claims it in a sloppy, wet kiss. “Jesus fuck, yes.”
Steve’s smile is going to blind him one of these days. “In that case,” he says, before mimicking Tony’s weird kissing-talking technique. “I think you owe me a date.”
As it turns out, Steve is not a fan of Domaine Leroy. He says wine is kind of weird for him to drink, sometimes, because the serum enhanced his smell too, so he’s able to guess the origins very quickly, even if he doesn’t really understand much about it. In Tony’s opinion, that’s enough reason to ask the waiter for every single variation of wine they have, because Steve’s thoughts are hilariously blunt and true in a way that would make any sommelier clutch their pearls.
Stubbornly, Steve refuses to order anything to eat until Tony lets him know the prices. Tony wants to be annoyed, but it’s too funny, Steve’s indignation at how much such small plates can cost. They have a bit of a back-and-forth about it, but Steve finally agrees to let him pay, as long as Tony promises that next time – Tony tries not to grin too hard – it’s on him.
When they finish eating, it’s raining, which puts a damp on Tony’s plans. He shifts a little on their way to the car, not sure what to do, when Steve pulls him closer, plants a shy kiss on his mouth that quickly turns heated. When they break apart, Steve’s face is all flushed, but he’s determined and earnest when he asks Tony if he wants to climb up to his floor.
Tony can only croak a breathless yes.
Then, when they’re on Steve’s couch, making out like two teenagers – Tony’s back really can't handle that kind of thing anymore, but who cares – Steve’s phone rings. Tony, straddling him, pulls back immediately, but Steve holds him by his shirt.
“It’s not an assembling call,” he whispers against Tony’s mouth.
“Still, don’t you want to take it?”
Steve’s voice is a bit muffled by Tony’s tongue. “I’m busy.”