Tony purses his mouth. So much for that plan. "Uh, my dignity back, please," he replies, voice rough with sleep and a pleasant soreness radiating from his biceps. He remembers exactly why. He always remembers everything. Tony sighs and tries to prepare himself for the talk he knows will soon follow but dreads it all the same.
"Tony, I think you lost your dignity when you walked out of here wearing my Snuggie," he retorts dryly, though his lips curve into a smile at the memory. Steve doesn't think that what Tony does is undignified, although he understands why he might see it that way. If the internet is right, there are a lot more degrading things he could be doing for him (and, wow, he wishes he could forget that search).
Tony's mouth quirks up. The humor helps. "Hey, I thought you of all people would understand a desire to show my patriotism. I wore that Snuggie proudly."
Steve just snorts. "On your - what do the kids call it? Walk of shame." He grins and slides down so he's reclining next to Tony on the bed, propping himself up with an elbow. Sorry, Tony, there's no escape anytime soon.
Tony raises an eyebrow at Steve from across his own arm and the accosted pillow. "Careful, Grandpa, your age is showing. I used to be one of those kids and now I'm past forty."
"You're right, that's practically ancient." His tone is deadpan. "I must look decrepit next to you." Never mind that the bicep that's resting on the bed, flexed slightly from his bent elbow, is about as big around as Tony's head. "Gonna turn to dust and blow away any day now."
Tony's smile grows warm. He hasn't snuck a glance at Steve's body, not in that evaluating way, but rather kept to Steve's eyes or the blankets. He drops his gaze now, too, with the conversation before he fell asleep replaying in his head. "Not all of us can age as prettily," he remembers to say before too long passes.
"I always just assumed it was your skincare routine, honestly." He grins at Tony. "Lots of moisturizer." Although he should probably pretend that he hasn't spent more time than is strictly necessary looking at him - glances snuck out of the corner of an eye, quietly watching when he thinks nobody else is looking.
He's quiet for a moment, then offers up a non sequitur. "You think I had it too easy up till now or something?"
Tony frowns, thought process derailed. "Uh, no? Participating in history's most bloodiest war and waking up in a new century with all your buddies dead I imagine to be pretty rough."
"Yeah, thanks for the reminder." He gives Tony a Look. "I didn't mean on a large scale, I meant how you were acting earlier." Although he suspects Tony knows that and, predictably, is giving him a rough time. Again.
Tony nibbles on his bottom lip, which catches on his teeth before popping back out. Here it goes, he guesses. "You ... seemed to adapt to it okay," he hedges.
Steve's gaze is drawn to the way Tony bites his bottom lip, and he has to drag his eyes away from it to concentrate. "Barely," he admits, "and only because I did some extra reading on the internet. You kinda threw me into the deep end, Tony." And never mind that he's absolutely jumped into deep water without knowing how to swim before. That's not the point.
Tony shuts his eyes. "Sorry. We're, uh..." He circles the fingers of one hand, naturally wanting to speak with them, but they just flop like so much dead weight. He's gotta maintain his muscle strength again, he notes. "Kinda in the same boat? Mine's just tricked out better. Aaand I know the engine."
"That's a terrible metaphor," Steve says frankly. "You can't just say that our situations are the same except, oh wait, they're completely different." That doesn't even make any sense. "Use real words, Stark."
Tony frowns, affronted, and grumbles, "It makes perfect sense." Then he digs the top of his wrist into his forehead, trying to massage his brain awake and any lingering warm-and-gooey away. "Okay," he starts. "I'm not that experienced in ... this area of things. I've been with Pepper, and now, you. I know what I liked with her, but you, you're different, right? Whole different ballgame. You're gonna have your own ... style, let's call it."
"I don't even know anything about boats," Steve mutters under his breath, but he quiets when Tony starts speaking again, listening thoughtfully. All this time, he's been assuming that Tony has a level of expertise that's a lot higher than his, when apparently it very much isn't. And that makes sense, and he can accept when he's wrong.
"Yeah, my style is not knowing what the hell I'm doing." And, god, he's afraid of making mistakes, of doing the wrong thing and somehow damaging Tony, or of plain driving him away. "I mean, that was the third time. I'm still feeling my way through this, and you threw me a curveball I didn't expect." He shouldn't feel so disgruntled about this, but he does.
"Hey, I thought maybe that was how you were." Steve shrugs helplessly. "Didn't give it much thought. At least, not in that particular area. And it's not like I had anything to go by." If he sounds a little too defensive, it's because Tony's right, and he's kicking himself in hindsight. "I just didn't know what I was supposed to do when you started acting out, and I wasn't prepared. And I know that's part of this-" he gestures vaguely, "thing, but it threw me for a loop. That's my fault, I guess."
Tony softens his tone. "Steve, I don't even know how I am. You think I mouthed off to Pepper like that?" He shakes his head to rid himself of her image; of her all straight-backed and beautiful. Her nails scratched wonderfully across his scalp. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "The first two times, I was in a real bad way. I didn't care how I got out of my head, just that I did. But I feel better now, because of this. My various issues aside, I'll try to be more considerate of easing you into things. If -- if you're still comfortable with all this."
"Tony, I think you mouth off to everyone like that." He knows what Tony means, though - specifically in the context of a scene. "I understand why you did it now, it just threw me off. I'll be ready for it in the future. Although you might end up doing a whole lot of push-ups." Steve laughs quietly; he seems to have settled down a little, at least. "I don't know; I'm not real good at coming up with punishments off the top of my head, and I gotta figure out what works with you." It's an interesting challenge, and god knows Steve can't back down from a challenge.
Tony smirks, something dark, sardonic, haunted crossing through his eyes. "What? You never once thought of spanking me with a paddle and calling me a bad boy? Or pushing my face into the carpet like a puppy who pissed indoors? Ah." The look clears with a glance away. Tony curls his fingers on the pillow, briefly looking lost. "Sorry. Might be a little advanced for you."
Steve blushes slightly. "I thought about spanking you," he admits. "But corporal punishment just didn't feel right to me." So, yeah, this is probably part of figuring out his style. "Although if you like it - well, actually, if you like it, then it's not an effective punishment, because then you'll act out to be punished, instead of doing it to push boundaries." And if that sounds like Steve's been reading up on his own time, then there's a reason for that. "But I definitely couldn't call you a bad boy with a straight face."
Steve talks through it like a general over a war map. Of course, he got introduced to the scene by possibly the worst person available, Tony thinks of himself, but one day Steve can use this experience on some lucky gal (or guy, as it turns out) he really fancies. He's a good man. He'll find someone, and with any luck, Tony will have earned Pepper back by then.
"See? Figuring things out already," Tony says lowly. The respect he's never quite managed to squash creeps into his tone. "Before you know it you'll have a complete battle plan."
He makes a face at Tony. "I'm not sure I'd go that far. I'd be happy enough to not have to wing it through a scene." Because right now, to continue the battle metaphor, it feels like he's walking through a minefield blindfolded. Sooner or later, something's gonna blow up in his face - and it's probably going to be sooner. "I don't even know what I'm gonna do next time."
He should absolve Steve of this responsibility. The guy doesn't need to be holding the hand of a guilt-ridden billionaire on top of leading an international superhero team, but Steve's a bleeding heart. Probably any way that Tony laid out for help Steve would latch onto. God, Tony thinks, he's really botched this one up. He should, he should, he should ... but he doesn't. He's trapped by the swirl of a wormhole above and a black hole of guilt below. This is his only escape.
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He's quiet for a moment, then offers up a non sequitur. "You think I had it too easy up till now or something?"
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"Yeah, my style is not knowing what the hell I'm doing." And, god, he's afraid of making mistakes, of doing the wrong thing and somehow damaging Tony, or of plain driving him away. "I mean, that was the third time. I'm still feeling my way through this, and you threw me a curveball I didn't expect." He shouldn't feel so disgruntled about this, but he does.
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"See? Figuring things out already," Tony says lowly. The respect he's never quite managed to squash creeps into his tone. "Before you know it you'll have a complete battle plan."
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"You mentioned chaps," Tony says dryly.
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