"Pampering first," Steve agrees with a smile. Even he knows that he doesn't need to get off every time he gets hard. Tony's been spoiling him remarkably so far, but if they keep it up, he's going to lose any vestige of self-control. And, really, they don't need to spend all their time having some sort of sex.
Tony goes to the dresser, and Steve retrieves some more comfortable clothes from his bag, pulling on a t-shirt and loose sleep pants. He could wander around the house naked, but there's no need to. "God, how much does it even cost to heat a place like this?" he wonders idly. Not that the expense is anywhere near enough for Tony to worry about, but Steve remembers huddling in a one-room apartment during the winter, wearing all the clothes he could, and this place is unfathomably large to 1930s sensibilities.
Tony steps into plain briefs then into pajama bottoms. "Not sure. Couple thousand or more?" he guesses distractedly. His toes are chilly. "Payments are automated." He picks out socks.
Steve knows Tony throws money around like it's nothing, and he certainly has enough to be able to do that, but he still has trouble wrapping his head around how much things cost in the twenty-first century. "You would've had to buy a mountain of coal back in the old days," he muses, just to keep talking. "And wood for the fireplaces."
Sitting on the bed, Tony pulls on the socks. He's beginning to suspect the abnormal amount of chills and aches in his limbs is coming from the endorphin crash, which also explains the desire to be pampered. Normally he sleeps through the drop. Even when he hasn't, the downward swing has never been this severe. It's in correlation to how hard he fell under, maybe. Is that a thing? He should read up on the physical effects of subspace and subdrop again. He's supposed to be Steve's guide on this stuff, for Pete's sake. He's supposed to know what he's doing in this one thing, at the least. He's supposed to be listening—
"Huh?" Tony says, distant. "Sorry. Fireplace? I have one. Uses gas, I think?" He stands and suddenly, desperately wants Steve to hold him. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Steve realizes that Tony isn't paying attention to a word he's saying, and he looks at him - really looks, instead of distractedly watching him while he gets dressed. Something about the way he's standing is subtly off, and the tone of his voice is all wrong. He frowns slightly and closes the distance between them, pulling Tony into his arms.
"You okay?" He's pretty sure the answer to that should be no, and equally certain that Tony will say yes.
Hesitatingly, Tony traces his hands up Steve's sides, around his ribs, and finally, needfully clutches his arms around him. His chin he rests on Steve's shoulder. Together, he remembers Steve saying. In that, Steve has kept his word. "Yeah. Drop's just hitting me big-time. Bit of self-indulgence and I'll be right as rain," Tony mumbles.
"You wanna sit down for a moment before we go get cheesecake?" He'd offer to go get it and bring it here, but he knows Tony doesn't like it when he's out of sight when he's under, and he probably wouldn't like it right now. So Steve gestures to the bed with his chin, the only part of him that isn't currently occupied with embracing Tony. "You can have some chocolate, too." He's reminded of Harry Potter for a moment and smiles to himself.
Tony sighs and says, "I better not. If I sit down again, you might have to caveman-carry me out." After a beat, he pulls back and comically narrows his eyes. "Don't get any ideas."
"Who, me?" Steve strives to look innocent and fails. "I'm just worried about you making it to the kitchen all right. You're looking a little wobbly there." And if Tony loses his balance on the way to the kitchen, Steve's absolutely going to carry him the rest of the way. It's about as big a deal for him as spending money is for Tony, which is to say, not at all.
If Tony were more himself (or rather, had more of his normal guards up), he might insist that he can manage the trek just fine. As it stands, he wants to be coddled, and Steve's playfulness is feeding his own. Tony's narrowed eyes switch to a forlorn look. Swaying purposely into Steve, he presses the back of his hand to his brow like a nineteenth century lady. "Oh, you know what, I am feelin' kinda faint. I dunno if I'll make it," he laments.
"I'll fetch the smelling salts," Steve retorts, utterly deadpan. Nevertheless, he crouches slightly and scoops Tony up into a bridal carry, one arm tucked in the crook of his knees, the other supporting his back, and cradles him close to his chest. "Maybe if you didn't have a house the size of an entire city block, this wouldn't be a problem," he points out as he walks. It might be an exaggeration, but not by much. It seems ridiculous to him to have this whole place just for one solitary person. At least he'll have more people around when he moves to the compound with the rest of them.
"Gonna need you to lend a hand here." He stops in front of the refrigerator, showing no sign of putting Tony down. Instead, he clearly intends for Tony to open the fridge and take the cake out himself.
Tony swings an arm around Steve's neck. Not that Steve needs any help—Tony just doesn't want to lie there like a hapless damsel, and getting his hands on Steve is always a plus. He tilts his head away to share a small smile. "It's the only thing that can fit my ego," he chirps, though the humor has a tired edge to it; he's trying too hard to act normal. The rest of the way, he's quieter. If Steve continues on silently, keeping his eyes ahead and off of Tony, then bit by bit Tony will rest his head on him, only allowing himself to wilt without an audience.
Once they cross into the kitchen, Tony lifts his head, ready to stand, but Steve keeps marching to the fridge. Tony shoots him a bemused look. "This isn't our stop?" He retrieves the cheesecake with both hands, trusting Steve to keep him aloft, and holds it on his stomach. "Hello, gorgeous," he says to it.
He chuckles. "If I have to carry you, I'm only doing it once," he points out. "Might as well just take the cheesecake with us to go watch the movie." Hopefully Tony isn't too fussy about the possibility of getting cheesecake on his sofa, because Steve clearly doesn't intend to get plates. Instead, he just juggles Tony a little to grab a pair of forks and a knife.
Mindlessly Tony mutters, "Uh-huh, sounds great," and takes the utensils into hand. As Steve carries him, Tony pops off the plastic dome of the packaging, scoops a bite of the creamy cheesecake into his mouth, and groans. "I feel like a teenaged girl with a tub of ice cream post-break-up," he admits sadly.
"You're the one who wanted to watch a rom-com," Steve reminds him cheerily. He waits till Tony's in between bites to set him down on the sofa, then grabs the remote and curls up next to him. "Got any requests?" He's become adept at using television remotes, but he doesn't know what movie, if any, Tony has in mind. Although he has a fork of his own, he steals Tony's to take a bite of the cheesecake while waiting for him to answer.
Tony makes a face at Steve just shy of sticking out his tongue before he answers, "I'm feelin' ... The Princess Bride. It's a classic. Definitely something to add to your repertoire."
Steve responds by kissing a stray smear of cheesecake from Tony's lips. "Got it." It takes him a couple minutes to navigate through the menus and find the movie on Netflix. "I should've brought my Snuggie along for you, huh?" he teases. But there's a blanket on the back of the couch, and he tucks it around the both of them to keep Tony warm.
By the time Steve wraps them up, Tony feels warm in more ways than physical. He pulls the blanket up on one side; from the other he sneaks his arm out to fetch more bites of cheesecake and the halved strawberries on top. "Dying to see more of your things on me? So possessive," he teases back.
"I've already seen the Snuggie on you." Steve wrinkles his nose playfully and places a finger over Tony's lips as the movie starts. It doesn't take long for him to get engrossed - he's always enjoyed good movies - and whenever Tony glances over at him, he's usually smiling or chuckling at whatever's just happened. In between, he steadily picks at the cheesecake, and the better part of it is gone by the end of the movie.
Afterwards, they sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Steve resting his chin on Tony's head. Hopefully, he thinks, they'll be able to have more nice nights like this when Tony moves to the compound. Maybe he can even find him a red and gold Snuggie to wrap up in. "You ready for bed?" he asks finally, before they end up falling asleep on the couch.
For his part, Tony stops picking at the cheesecake not long into the movie and instead nibbles on the cut strawberries. The Princess Bride is a childhood favorite, a comfort—a dashing hero outsmarting villains and defeating all obstacles to reach his true love while spouting off banter always appealed to him, and he secretly loves the fantasy genre. When he's not sneaking a glance at Steve, he's quietly smiling to himself, save for dire moments, like when the giant shrieking eel lunges mouth-first at the screen. There, Tony sees the toothy maw of a much more alien leviathan. He falls strangely still and quiet after that, which he resolves by sitting length-wise on the couch and using Steve's side as a backrest. By the movie's end, Tony is already halfway to dozing on Steve. The exhaustion of subdrop has caught up to him.
He sucks in a deep breath and jostles his head like he just snapped out of sleep. He sounds like it, too, his voice coming out scratchy. "Yup. Bed sounds great. Let's go, buttercup."
When Tony shifts to sit with his back against him, Steve moves his arm to let him rest against his side, then idly combs his fingers through Tony's hair through the rest of the movie. The gesture is almost instinctual, and he doesn't give much thought, if any, to Tony changing positions. It's normal enough, and he's too caught up in the plot. He'd always been entranced by tales of knights and chivalry as a child, and of course he's a sap for true love.
"As you wish," Steve replies easily, with a kiss to the top of Tony's head, then (perhaps on purpose) ruins a potentially emotional moment by adding, "I'm not carrying you again, though."
For a long moment, Tony doesn't move, face ducked away from Steve's view. Then, he cranes his neck around and up and says, "Did you just ... confess your love for me via movie quote?"
"It's better than Star Wars?" Steve offers up lamely, his cheeks suddenly red. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time, but now Tony's making it into one, and he feels awkward. Of course he loves him. He hasn't tried to hide the fact, he's just never come out and stated it before. Tony's planning on moving in with him, and you don't do that with someone you're just casually fucking, even when there's a two hour commute involved. But he's still nervous about Tony's reaction, in that silly teenage girl butterflies in the stomach kind of way.
Tony's face falls into numb shock. The thing coursing through his head is, I don't deserve this. First Pepper, now Steve—Tony keeps sucking these goodhearted, amazing people in like a black hole, where his singularity eventually crushes them. He knew Steve cared deeply for him. Wanted him. But to frame that as love, that cements it somehow. That's the event horizon. Are you sure? he wants to ask. There's no going back after that. Tony will pull Steve into him with a greedy, terrifying force, hoard Steve like a dragon with his treasure, paranoid over when it'll be taken away; until one day (his thoughts spiral out of his control from here) he'll find Steve and the shield cleaved in two with the rest of their friends, all dead. Because of Tony. His mistakes.
Breathing funnily, he faces forward again. Say something! he yells at himself, but his mind only blares back at him with, I don't deserve this. So he tells it, Too bad. You have this, anyway.
"I'm not there yet," he hears. Belatedly, Tony recognizes his own distant, scared voice. He can sense Steve falling into him, but he already knows Steve won't turn back. He won't even wear a helmet.
Steve freezes at the words like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he tells himself, he goddamn knows better than to let his feelings slip with Tony. He comes on too fast, too hard, throws himself in headfirst even when he shouldn't and ruins it with something as stupid as a movie quote. I'm not there yet, to him, translates as a polite rejection. He's scared Tony off with his intensity when he knows perfectly well he needs to play it slow and safe, and now he wants to erase what had been an incredibly good evening up till now.
"Yeah, okay," he says finally, feeling like he's supposed to say something but not really knowing what. "That's. Uh." It's not fine, he can't make himself say the word fine. He wants to distance himself somehow, but doesn't have any reasonable excuse to do it, and sitting there on the couch, he feels like he's on one of those goddamn double dates with a girl who's not interested in him and no way to escape. He doesn't move, doesn't do anything to further betray his emotions.
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Tony goes to the dresser, and Steve retrieves some more comfortable clothes from his bag, pulling on a t-shirt and loose sleep pants. He could wander around the house naked, but there's no need to. "God, how much does it even cost to heat a place like this?" he wonders idly. Not that the expense is anywhere near enough for Tony to worry about, but Steve remembers huddling in a one-room apartment during the winter, wearing all the clothes he could, and this place is unfathomably large to 1930s sensibilities.
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"Huh?" Tony says, distant. "Sorry. Fireplace? I have one. Uses gas, I think?" He stands and suddenly, desperately wants Steve to hold him. He squeezes his eyes shut.
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"You okay?" He's pretty sure the answer to that should be no, and equally certain that Tony will say yes.
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"Gonna need you to lend a hand here." He stops in front of the refrigerator, showing no sign of putting Tony down. Instead, he clearly intends for Tony to open the fridge and take the cake out himself.
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Once they cross into the kitchen, Tony lifts his head, ready to stand, but Steve keeps marching to the fridge. Tony shoots him a bemused look. "This isn't our stop?" He retrieves the cheesecake with both hands, trusting Steve to keep him aloft, and holds it on his stomach. "Hello, gorgeous," he says to it.
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Afterwards, they sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Steve resting his chin on Tony's head. Hopefully, he thinks, they'll be able to have more nice nights like this when Tony moves to the compound. Maybe he can even find him a red and gold Snuggie to wrap up in. "You ready for bed?" he asks finally, before they end up falling asleep on the couch.
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He sucks in a deep breath and jostles his head like he just snapped out of sleep. He sounds like it, too, his voice coming out scratchy. "Yup. Bed sounds great. Let's go, buttercup."
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"As you wish," Steve replies easily, with a kiss to the top of Tony's head, then (perhaps on purpose) ruins a potentially emotional moment by adding, "I'm not carrying you again, though."
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Breathing funnily, he faces forward again. Say something! he yells at himself, but his mind only blares back at him with, I don't deserve this. So he tells it, Too bad. You have this, anyway.
"I'm not there yet," he hears. Belatedly, Tony recognizes his own distant, scared voice. He can sense Steve falling into him, but he already knows Steve won't turn back. He won't even wear a helmet.
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"Yeah, okay," he says finally, feeling like he's supposed to say something but not really knowing what. "That's. Uh." It's not fine, he can't make himself say the word fine. He wants to distance himself somehow, but doesn't have any reasonable excuse to do it, and sitting there on the couch, he feels like he's on one of those goddamn double dates with a girl who's not interested in him and no way to escape. He doesn't move, doesn't do anything to further betray his emotions.
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