There was something about a baseball game.
The flood lights illuminating the field, the creak of the metal stands as people climbed into them, the excited chatter and laughter, the smell of popcorn and hotdogs wafting through the nighttime air. All of it was nice, all of it made Tony smile.
Okay, and there was the minor fact that his boyfriend’s ass looked outstanding in a baseball uniform. Tony’s eyes were boring into Steve’s backside at that particular moment, and Steve jogged across the turf. The bright blue lettering that spelled out ‘ROGERS’ across his back glinted under the lights. He turned, punching his glove, and put a hand up to shield his eyes as he scanned the packed bleachers. He was smiling. It was infectious, and Tony couldn’t help but grin back to him, and he waved when Steve caught his eye.
Tony had been coming to the games all season, ever since they had figured out that they were texting buddies slash crushes slash secretly head over heels in love with each other, and Tony had to admit that he had loved every minute of it.
Even though he was never really a big sports guy — he couldn’t help but snort at the football jocks when they passed him in the hall — he had somehow become an overzealous fan, shouting encouragements to his boyfriend and standing up at lightning speed whenever Steve hit a home run. More than once he had almost started a parking lot fight with members of the opposing team’s fans, and sometimes he even went so far as to wear Steve’s practice jersey (and maybe it was because he was supportive, maybe it was because it smelled liked him, he wouldn’t say either way).
The game on that particular Tuesday night was slow. Memorial High had a stupidly good lead, and it ended as scheduled and expected. By the time Steve was heading for the locker room, Tony’s eyes were drooping, and he was picturing their bed.
Their bed. Okay, it wasn’t really their bed, it was still technically Steve’s bed, but Tony slept there more than he slept anywhere else, and he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather go comatose. He had gotten Steve better, more expensive sheets to add his own touch. It was perfect, it was warm, it smelled like them, it was home.
Tony jogged down the stairs of the stands, dipping through the spectators and making a beeline to the locker room exit. He waited patiently as Steve changed, and as the crowds thinned out he pulled out his phone.
[9:49 PM]: what are you wearing?
[9:52 PM]: Shut up. I hate you. I’m wearing nothing because I’m trying to get changed but somebody is texting me even though they’re forty feet away.
[9:52 PM]: that’s hot
[9:53 PM]: please come outside ;)
[9:53 PM]: congrats by the way
[9:54 PM]: I’m on my way out. x
Tony dropped his phone in his pocket, trying to suppress a grin when Steve came out the doors, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and sweatpants hanging from his hips.
“Hey,” Tony said, leaning onto his tippy toes and pecking Steve’s cheek, just to bug him.
Steve cringed. “I’m all gross and sweaty.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Well whose fault is that? You could always use the locker room showers, but no…”
“The locker room showers are just… weird. I’d rather shower at home.”
Tony smirked, unable to help himself. “You mean you’d rather shower with me.”
A blush creeped up Steve’s neck, and he nudged against Tony’s shoulder as they walked towards his car. The quiet hung over them. In the distance Tony could hear the dull roar of traffic on the freeway. A breeze blew through the parking lot, and he shivered, sinking into Steve’s shirt.
“Do you want a sweater?” Steve asked. He unlocked his car, tossing his bag into the trunk.
In the past, Tony would have been too proud to even admit he was even chilly. He would have puffed up, pretended, and ignored his discomfort, but instead he simply nodded and accepted the black hoodie that his boyfriend handed him. “Thanks.”
They climbed into the car together, and Tony pulled the sweater over his head, inhaling. His shirt smelled like Steve, sure, but this smelled even more like him. Like generic soap and fresh air and something… else. Something that was uniquely Steve, something that made him feel all fuzzy and warm and embarrassed.
Steve pulled his door shut. He stuck the keys into the ignition, but didn’t turn them, instead staring straight ahead and leaving the two of them in silence. The glow of a streetlight barely illuminated his face, but Tony still couldn’t help but look over at him. That had been another recent development: the staring. He had always thought that Steve was cute, even when he only knew him as Biceps from Biology, but since he found out that Steve was Steve, he had found himself zoning out and in a trance, his eyes memorizing every rigid line, every soft curve.
He was fucked.
“Hey,” Tony whispered. Steve hadn’t moved. “You good?”
Steve’s eyes fell from the windshield to the steering wheel, and he nodded. He turned towards Tony. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m really good.”
“Me too,” Tony smiled.
Steve opened and closed his mouth, but seemed to have decided against speaking, and instead leaned towards Tony, one arm wrapping around his neck and pulling him in. Tony blinked, and let his eyes flutter closed. He tried to pull himself over the centre console as Steve’s mouth worked against his, desperate to be closer, to touch Steve, to be his. Steve used his left hand to reach down and pull the lever on the seat, letting it slide back and recline, giving Tony room to crawl on top of him.
“One of these days,” Tony said, breathing heavily against Steve’s mouth, “Your coach is going to catch us out here, and I won’t give a fuck.”
Steve just barely shook his head, and went back to kissing Tony fervently. They were a tangle of limbs and sweat and it wasn’t long before the windows collected a thin layer of fog.
Tony splayed one hand against the driver’s side window, leaving a handprint on the glass as he straddled Steve. He pulled back. “Can we please go home? Not that I wouldn’t love sucking you off right this second, I would, but I’ve been picturing this whole shower thing and I just would really love to be home.”
Steve leaned back, raising an eyebrow. He was blushing again. “What happened to the guy who got caught in the school bathrooms? Or behind supply sheds?”
“He died, and he’s going to take you with him if you don’t get him to a nice comfy bed ASAP,” Tony snapped, whacking Steve’s arm and climbing back into the passenger seat. “Vámanos.”
Steve turned the keys with a laugh, and the engine roared to life. He reached for the gearshift and paused, his gaze falling on Tony. Sometimes, in these little moments, he still looked nervous, like they had never even been together. “Um, thanks for coming tonight, by the way. I appreciate it.”
Tony rolled his eyes, but a smile played at his lips. “You say that every time, and I always tell you that your ass looks phenomenal in those pants and you couldn’t keep me away if you tried, so let’s go.”
“I know, it’s just…” Steve trailed off. “I love you, Tony.”
Tony had to look away from the intensity of it, and at that point he was positively beaming. He swallowed hard. “I love you too. Now I’d really like to shower before Bucky gets home… you know what he said last time.”
Steve frowned, but put the car into gear. “Not my fault,” he mumbled to himself.
“Whatever you say, Rogers. Whatever you say,” Tony looked out the window and smirked, Memorial High disappearing in the shadows of the rearview mirror as they headed home.