Steve studies Tony's face thoughtfully, his gaze serious. "I want you to tell me about this thing, okay? If we- if we do anything else. I wanna be ready for it. I don't want to worry about breaking you again." He knows there's a lot of weird things about sex he's never even considered, and he doesn't want Tony to think he's some old-fashioned guy from the 1940s who's scandalized by the thought of anything remotely unusual.
Stunned and dumb, Tony nods. His eyes trail away as his mind races. He loves Pepper, and if she ever walks back in and motions him close he'd immediately fall to her feet, reverent and repentant. This feels like a betrayal, but didn't her leaving stab him the same? And he's enough of a piece of shit that Steve dangling the possibility has him wanting to bare his throat. Tony craves the escape.
"So," he says, "this is how you'd help me, huh? Take me out of my head for an hour or more." He smiles at Steve, sadly. "Ordering me around must be a dream come true."
"Is that what it is?" He raises his eyebrows with interest. "To be honest, I've always been more about breaking orders than giving them." And if he's ever imagined anyone giving him orders in a sexual setting, well, it's absolutely been Peggy. "Gotta say, I have trouble imagining you obeying them."
And then he hesitates for a second before he adds, "I'm open to, uh, platonic bedwarming, too." His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but, god, he craves more of this, just being with someone, soaking up the touch. "I mean. It doesn't all have to be-" Steve gestures vaguely, a sort of embarrassed hand flailing motion. "If you want. It might not be what you're looking for, I dunno."
Tony stares again. "It is pretty late," he comments slowly, not quite believing all this. "And the commute's a drag. But Steve, I ... I don't make for the best bed partner." How many times did his nightmares wake Pepper? How often did he leave his side of the bed cold after failing to sleep? "Remember Clint's?" he points out. At Clint's farmhouse, when they shared a room after Ultron and the twins knocked them on their asses. Tony snuck tense glances at Steve the whole while after their argument at the woodpile; and in bed he kept shifting, rolling over and sitting up, quiet as possible, eaten by insomnia.
"I'm not saying I do, either," Steve admits slowly, and even getting him to say that much is practically a minor miracle. Of course he doesn't sleep well; his only saving grace is that with the serum, he hardly needs any sleep. Here and back in New York - even back in DC - he's always had a tendency to get up and go do something physical to chase the lingering ghost from his mind, long before the sun ever makes its way over the horizon. "But-" But he desperately craves the illusion of intimacy, even if it's the most he can get from Tony. It's still more than he has now, more than anyone else is willing to give him.
He stops there, thinks better of trying to express any other sentiments, tries for a joke instead. "Just as long as you don't hog all the blankets."
Maybe Steve feels just as lonely as Tony does. Maybe that's what this is all about: two sad and desperate souls seeking comfort from someone safe. Fear skips through his heart, but he attempts another weak smile anyway, grateful for the levity. "No guarantees. Just use that Snuggie I got you." A reference to a better, happier time, before Tony messed it all up.
"Hey, I save that exclusively for Netflix binges." Which isn't wrong; if you come through the quarters at the right time, you can catch Steve in a ridiculous patriotic Snuggie and a big bowl of popcorn as he watches Game of Thrones.
He lifts a hand up, brushes his fingertips against the curve of Tony's smile. "I'm a pretty warm guy, anyway." Which is an understatement, because being in bed with him is typically like having a miniature space heater.
"Literally and figuratively," Tony jokes, trying to smirk, but the constant little touches throw him for a loop so the corner of his mouth trembles with the effort.
"Ha, ha." Steve rolls his eyes at the terrible joke. "Got any other hot takes?" Emphasis on the hot, because he can be just as awful when it comes to jokes.
Tony ducks his head to hide a genuine smile. God, he's missed this camaraderie. Can he really let himself have this? "Nah. Just the one occupying your lap," he retorts.
Yeah, Tony, don't remind his libido of that fact. Now that the panic and fear are gone and they're starting to get back to what used to pass for normal for them, god only knows what could happen if his body realizes that he's got an attractive man cuddled up in his lap.
"Oh, so I'm just warm, but you're hot?" Steve pretends to be indignant. "Seems kinda unfair to me."
Tony spreads his hands. "I don't make the rules, Rogers. Take your complaints to People magazine and their Sexiest Man Alive." He sniffs and then scoffs, "Thor. Honestly."
"You're really gonna complain that you lost to an actual god?" Steve lifts his eyebrows. While the majority of his sexuality crisis has involved Tony, that doesn't mean that he isn't fully aware of how attractive some other men are. Thor might be the equivalent of a golden retriever when it comes to his personality, but he also has the body of a literal god.
"Exactly. He should've been disqualified," Tony points out. "Sexiest Man Alive, not god." They've already run this debate to the ground last year when People contacted Thor for the interview and photo shoot. Tony only cared because it was one of their own, which meant the editors purposefully picked one Avenger over the others. Never mind that Tony's already claimed the title before.
"Yeah, Tony, we all know the argument." He sighs dramatically. It's not like he hasn't heard this a hundred times before already, after all. "You're just jealous because he got to do a photoshoot shirtless and riding a horse on a beach - and let me tell you, you don't have enough hair for it to stream in the wind." He pats said hair affectionately, though.
"Does the world really need another spread of sexy Tony Stark photos?" Steve teases him. "Would you want to pose buck naked on a bearskin rug next to a fireplace?"
Tony switches gears; he relaxes his eyes, lashes long and low, a smirk wicked on his face, and cocks his head in the same way as before: an invitation to kiss. With a sinuous arch of his back he rolls his hips into Steve's lap. "Why? Is that something you've dreamed of, Captain?" he purrs. The soreness only adds a husky rumble. "Spreading me out and sketching a portrait? Maybe keeping it in the pocket of your uniform?" He leans closer, just an inch. "A lil' something to warm you on those long missions, sneaking glances when you can? When you think no one else can see?"
He shudders at the sound of Tony's voice, at the way he rolls his hips against him - oh, god, is he in over his head - but then the words sink in and he flinches. As much as he wants to keep pushing and pushing and see how dangerously far it gets him, he knows that if he doesn't gently correct it now, Tony'll keep doing it.
"Just Steve," he says quietly, awkwardly, like he feels guilty for interrupting Tony's playful seduction (and he does, because nobody's bothered to do this with him before, and he likes it). "Please."
And before he can say anything else stupid, he kisses Tony again, rolls his hips up against him as he holds him down. Kissing is good, he decides, because it keeps his mouth occupied. And speaking of mouths-
"Wanna make you come," he mumbles against Tony's lips. He didn't get to earlier, and turnabout is fair play, right?
Micro shifts in his expression: smirk losing a level of intensity at Steve's plea, his lips parting before they kiss, which Tony melts into, a soft whistle of a whine in the back of his misused throat. But when Steve mumbles what he wants, fear spikes through Tony and he pulls back, eyes wide. His pleasure belongs with Pepper. He can kneel and he can suck Steve off, but the thought of someone else touching him, someone not the woman he loves, leaves Tony shriveled.
"Later," he says, choked, and jumps to his feet. He stands still for a moment, growing cold, then strides a few steps toward the windows, facing them instead of Steve. God, what is he gonna do? What has he started? He runs a nervous hand through his hair and then harshly clutches the strands at his nape.
Steve stands up and zips his fly, comes up behind Tony. His arousal has deflated, leaving just the awkwardness behind. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I thought you'd want-"
He shakes his head and stares out at the rooftop garden, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wants to see Tony come undone, wants to feel the satisfaction of pleasing him. But he won't push it.
"I'm gonna take a shower. If you still wanna come by later..." Which is stupid, of course he doesn't, but Steve plunges ahead anyway. "I won't do anything you don't want. Platonic, just like I said."
Tony nods, the motion tiny and slow at first, and then strong and decisive, almost frantic. "Yeah. Yeah, I should finish up in the lab. See you in a few?"
"No problem." Steve sounds relieved - at least he hasn't fucked up entirely. Maybe. If he has, at least he's given Tony an easy out. He can drive back to the city, and they can never mention any of this again.
He turns around and walks out of the office, letting a whoosh of air out of his lungs once the door closes behind him. Christ. All of this is still hard to wrap his head around, and Tony keeps throwing curveballs at him.
The shower Steve takes is cold and long and practically enough to freeze him again, but he needs to get his goddamn libido under control. He doesn't want to get hard again when they're trying to be platonic - and, yeah, it's practically guaranteed to happen anyway, but at least he's trying to have a shred of restraint. He pulls on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxers for bed, then heads back out to his room to wait for Tony. If he comes, anyway.
Over an hour later, Tony stands at a crossroads. He fixed the electrical side of the lab floor and finished prep work for the parts coming in. Try as he might he can find no further chore, nothing to delay the decision: does he drive back or take up Steve's offer? For some reason he thinks of his mother and how, when he was still small and attached to her skirt, she brought him with her to church. He doesn't have specific memories, but he has imagined ones from her telling him the stories: he pictures her with a wide-brimmed summer hat that she removes inside the chapel. He pictures her trying to shush a squirming boy who'd fall asleep on her lap. He pictures her bowed blonde head in a prayer and her breathy, lilting voice, always close to a lullaby, at a confessional.
Forgive me, Pepper, he echoes and turns the way to the living quarters, the lab floor dark and lonely behind him. He detours for a shower and washes off the sweat and grime of manual labor. Towel folded around his waist, jeans slung over his shoulder, A-shirt back on, and sneakers hanging from his fingers, Tony rushes through the hallway of Avenger dorms. He ducks past each open door like a one-night-stand on his walk of shame and only breathes easy at Steve's. There, Tony pauses.
Steve left it open a crack. Tony stares at it. Platonic, he reassures himself and raps softly on the door. "Ca-- uh. Steve? I'm comin' in," he warns but waits for confirmation.
"'S fine." Steve's fiddling with his phone - more to keep his hands busy than anything else - and he sets it aside on the nightstand when Tony enters.. "You can keep calling me Cap the rest of the time," he offers, well aware that it's habit for Tony - that it's meant as a fond nickname, even. "Just, uh, in bed-" He doesn't offer an explanation for it. "Or wherever," since they've already proven that activities of that sort aren't limited to bed. "If it even happens." Which it might not, after earlier, and this is probably the kind of situation where he needs to stop talking sooner, rather than later. Mostly, he just wants to recapture that fleeting sensation of security with Tony in his arms and his face pressed against his neck.
He idly notices the damp hair, the towel around his waist, and thinks that it's a good thing he showered beforehand. For some reason, a bit of grease and grime - the scent of hot metal and oil and a touch of sweat - makes him even more appealing, not that Tony has to try too hard in that department. Yeah, this platonic thing is going to work out really well.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
"So," he says, "this is how you'd help me, huh? Take me out of my head for an hour or more." He smiles at Steve, sadly. "Ordering me around must be a dream come true."
no subject
And then he hesitates for a second before he adds, "I'm open to, uh, platonic bedwarming, too." His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but, god, he craves more of this, just being with someone, soaking up the touch. "I mean. It doesn't all have to be-" Steve gestures vaguely, a sort of embarrassed hand flailing motion. "If you want. It might not be what you're looking for, I dunno."
no subject
no subject
He stops there, thinks better of trying to express any other sentiments, tries for a joke instead. "Just as long as you don't hog all the blankets."
no subject
no subject
He lifts a hand up, brushes his fingertips against the curve of Tony's smile. "I'm a pretty warm guy, anyway." Which is an understatement, because being in bed with him is typically like having a miniature space heater.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Oh, so I'm just warm, but you're hot?" Steve pretends to be indignant. "Seems kinda unfair to me."
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
How dare you.
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Just Steve," he says quietly, awkwardly, like he feels guilty for interrupting Tony's playful seduction (and he does, because nobody's bothered to do this with him before, and he likes it). "Please."
And before he can say anything else stupid, he kisses Tony again, rolls his hips up against him as he holds him down. Kissing is good, he decides, because it keeps his mouth occupied. And speaking of mouths-
"Wanna make you come," he mumbles against Tony's lips. He didn't get to earlier, and turnabout is fair play, right?
no subject
"Later," he says, choked, and jumps to his feet. He stands still for a moment, growing cold, then strides a few steps toward the windows, facing them instead of Steve. God, what is he gonna do? What has he started? He runs a nervous hand through his hair and then harshly clutches the strands at his nape.
no subject
He shakes his head and stares out at the rooftop garden, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wants to see Tony come undone, wants to feel the satisfaction of pleasing him. But he won't push it.
"I'm gonna take a shower. If you still wanna come by later..." Which is stupid, of course he doesn't, but Steve plunges ahead anyway. "I won't do anything you don't want. Platonic, just like I said."
no subject
no subject
He turns around and walks out of the office, letting a whoosh of air out of his lungs once the door closes behind him. Christ. All of this is still hard to wrap his head around, and Tony keeps throwing curveballs at him.
The shower Steve takes is cold and long and practically enough to freeze him again, but he needs to get his goddamn libido under control. He doesn't want to get hard again when they're trying to be platonic - and, yeah, it's practically guaranteed to happen anyway, but at least he's trying to have a shred of restraint. He pulls on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxers for bed, then heads back out to his room to wait for Tony. If he comes, anyway.
no subject
Forgive me, Pepper, he echoes and turns the way to the living quarters, the lab floor dark and lonely behind him. He detours for a shower and washes off the sweat and grime of manual labor. Towel folded around his waist, jeans slung over his shoulder, A-shirt back on, and sneakers hanging from his fingers, Tony rushes through the hallway of Avenger dorms. He ducks past each open door like a one-night-stand on his walk of shame and only breathes easy at Steve's. There, Tony pauses.
Steve left it open a crack. Tony stares at it. Platonic, he reassures himself and raps softly on the door. "Ca-- uh. Steve? I'm comin' in," he warns but waits for confirmation.
no subject
He idly notices the damp hair, the towel around his waist, and thinks that it's a good thing he showered beforehand. For some reason, a bit of grease and grime - the scent of hot metal and oil and a touch of sweat - makes him even more appealing, not that Tony has to try too hard in that department. Yeah, this platonic thing is going to work out really well.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)