Liar, his broken heart accuses, already knowing the answer. You think that now, but Tony knows better. Even this much is more than he deserves, and sooner or later, just like Pepper and the original team, Steve will see that. With a haunted stare at nothing, Tony lowers his forehead onto Steve's shoulder, demons growling, ravenous in his psyche. They spew hatred and insults; they chide him for being pathetic, for taking advantage of Steve, for needing this. He's dropping, he knows on some level -- a subdrop. As his body crashes he shivers. "Okay," he croaks out.
"Shhh," Steve coaxes. "It's okay, you'll be all right." He rests his chin on top of Tony's head. Not knowing what to do or say, he just holds Tony against him tightly, trying to keep him warm - and, to be fair, he does a better job than most people of giving off plenty of body heat. It's a little stuffy under the blanket, but Steve can live with heat; it's the cold that bothers him. Sometimes his bones seem to radiate it, but he knows it's only his memory playing tricks on him.
The comfort makes Tony ache. He wants for his mother's embrace, her guidance, that childish desire unburied. Nothing has been okay and it probably won't ever be all right, but he hides in Steve, anyway, and pretends. The furnace Steve's body heat creates under the blanket cradles him. Bit by bit, the shivers calm.
By the time Tony's shivers stop, Steve's taken to stroking down his spine, like you might pet a cat curled up in your lap. The repetitive motion soothes even him, the heat trapped inside the blanket makes him sleepy, and he finds himself zoning out again. Eventually, his hand slows, then stills as he dozes off, his head still pillowed against Tony's.
Tony almost nudges his head up into Steve's chin when he feels him doze off, but after a pause he accepts it instead. The brush of the blanket's cotton, the sweat on the back of his neck, Steve's heartbeat -- these things he lets envelop him instead of all his responsibilities, which he'll attend to doggedly, just ... later. His Atlas impression can wait until later.
When Steve wakes up (before which Tony tucked himself away again), Tony cracks a joke about Steve using him as furniture in lieu of a bed. He pulls away first, in full control of his faculties, and stretches. Ordering his mental To-Do list, he thanks Steve with aplomb and drops his eyes before he haltingly adds on that Steve did a good job. Then he takes in a breath and opens his mouth like he means to say something more, but cuts himself off.
Steve offers his bed for the night, just for sleeping, and Tony stares at him. He declines with a crack in his voice that he fixes immediately and escapes with the excuse that he has work at home.
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When Steve wakes up (before which Tony tucked himself away again), Tony cracks a joke about Steve using him as furniture in lieu of a bed. He pulls away first, in full control of his faculties, and stretches. Ordering his mental To-Do list, he thanks Steve with aplomb and drops his eyes before he haltingly adds on that Steve did a good job. Then he takes in a breath and opens his mouth like he means to say something more, but cuts himself off.
Steve offers his bed for the night, just for sleeping, and Tony stares at him. He declines with a crack in his voice that he fixes immediately and escapes with the excuse that he has work at home.