"Currently being the key word there," Steve retorts without missing a beat. "Should I take my shirt off so you can enjoy the view, too? I'm sure you could use a little eye candy." He huffs an amused breath through his nose. Truth be told, this is probably more entertaining than the movie he's forgotten all about.
"I'm already enjoyin' the view," Tony says, his eyes on Steve's and his voice soft and sweet—or at least it was before he continues, "but since you were so generous to offer..."
Steve just shrugs and leans back slightly against the couch before he reaches down and grabs the hem of his shirt, peeling it off and over his head. That done, he allows Tony to settle back against him, his bare skin radiating heat. "Better?"
Shuffling closer and hiding his smile, Tony nuzzles his temple into Steve's washboard abs and sighs, "Immeasurably," more content to bask in the contact than ogle that body, which is certainly deserving of being ogled, just ... later. This alone is nice right now, especially after such a long day.
Steve doesn't say anything, just smiles down at Tony and cards his fingers through his hair. He'd rather have the contact than the ogling, too; he likes just touching Tony and being touched, even in a purely platonic way.
"Y'all think about getting a room?" Sam's voice comes from the doorway. His tone is dry, but not especially surprised; either he's worked things out for himself or talked to Natasha, or maybe both. (It's probably both.) "'Cause you might be into exhibitionism, but not everyone else is."
Tony's linked hands stiffen at Sam's voice; the rest of him soon follows suit. After sucking in air, Tony blows it out of his nose and then sits up onto his elbows. "Wilson," he greets.
"Hey, Sam," Steve adds afterward, giving Sam a sheepish grin. He doesn't reach for his shirt just yet; he doesn't feel exposed in front of Sam the way he might in front of, say, Wanda. "Did you need something?" His phone's in his pocket, but he hasn't looked at it since they sat down.
Sam leans against the frame of the door, studying the scene in front of him. Whatever he's thinking, it doesn't show on his face. "Nah, just came down here to watch some Chopped. But it's fine." He waves a hand loosely. "I can do it in my room, no big deal." He pauses, then addresses Tony: "Rhodey know about this?"
Wilson seems fine with "this," as he put it, or at least he's not going, "Really? Him?" at Steve to Tony's face. Small blessings. "Maybe a detail more than he cares for, but yes," Tony answers.
It's not like the Avengers haven't noticed Tony's occasional appearances and Steve's equally periodic weekends away and put two and two together themselves. Rhodey and Sam, in particular, spent some time back in January discussing their opinions on the matter. Which is why Sam mutters something under his breath - he can't believe Rhodey didn't tell him - and rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, well, you're about two layers of cloth away from a detail more than I care for, so I can't say I blame him." Sam makes a face at both of them, and Steve at least has the decency to blush slightly. Apparently Tony hasn't yet rid him of all his shame. "I'll leave you two alone to keep pretending to watch a movie. Pro tip, you might wanna try hitting the play button so it looks plausible."
For his part Tony is unfazed and unimpressed. He's been caught doing far worse than a shirtless snuggle, both with and by far worse people. "Great idea. We'll even turn the volume on," he agrees amicably, but his eyes directly on Sam are not unlike someone's standing guard and waiting on him to leave.
Sam knows when to take a hint, and he just snorts at Tony's comment and leaves. If he has anything else to say to Steve, he'll do it later.
"Well, that could've gone worse," Steve murmurs once Sam's gone, running his fingers through Tony's hair again. He's not oblivious enough to think that nobody's noticed what's going on - especially not since Nat's made a couple of pointed comments to him. It doesn't seem either of his friends mind, as far as he can tell. And if Tony's already told Rhodey, then he must not have any significant complaints, either.
After Sam leaves, Tony watches the empty doorway like a Dobermann lying alert at his owner's feet until the mailman disappears back into his car, which is a more apt simile than Tony cares for considering the petting settles him down. Head back on Steve's lap, he peers up at him thoughtfully. He acknowledges it could've gone worse with a simple "Hm," but notes, "You're less red than I thought you'd be," rather than continue about Wilson or the others finding out. That's a concern for tomorrow.
"It's just Sam." Sam's seen him in varying states of undress after workouts plenty of times, and Tony- well, Tony just has his head in his lap. It's a thousand times less embarrassing than when Rhodey walked in on Tony sucking him off under the desk, that's for sure. If it had been Wanda or Vision walking in, then he'd be a bit more flustered, but Sam's a friend, and one who (Steve assumes) isn't exactly inexperienced, not with the way he'd been talking.
"Besides," he tacks on, "I think you're slowly rubbing off all my shame. You're a terrible influence, you know." But Steve says it as he smiles fondly down at Tony. "Absolutely corrupting."
Between a coy smirk and his big eyes, Tony somehow manages endearing over lecherous when he nudges his nose into Steve's bare stomach and coos, "You like it when I rub off on you."
It's a fine line, especially with the touch of his nose against bare skin, and Steve just grunts as he focuses on not getting hard. "'s not what we're talking about right now." Yes, he's aware he's the one who brought it up, you don't have to point it out to him.
"Right, my bad," Tony apologizes and shimmies closer to the cushions' edge, face brought farther from Steve's bare skin—though he doesn't seem that sorry, given his smug, amused look. "Forgot you have a hair trigger. Containment measures for lil' Cap initiated." His forehead at least is no longer pinched from pain.
Steve pulls a face, pretending to be indignant. "Not that little, and you know it." And if he keeps on that subject, that's not going to help, either. He leans back against the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes halfway. "I'm trying to get better at it. It's just-" He lifts a hand and lets it flop back down again. "Everything all at once. Kinda overwhelming." And the serum plays a large part in it, too; he's well aware of that. But it still makes him feel awkward and self-conscious.
Tony bites back a smile, interjecting, "I mean, in comparison..." but he drops the matter of size in favor of sympathizing (very helpfully, he might add), "Not to mention your decades of sexual repression and just how gosh-darned attractive I am. It'd be too much for any man, let alone one with a body locked in overdrive."
"I was unconscious for most of that time," Steve feels obligated to protest. "It's not like I spent the last half of the twentieth century not getting laid on purpose." He realizes that there are only so many excuses for being a nonagenarian virgin, but he at least has to try to defend himself.
And- look, Steve's not stupid. He knows that, objectively, the man he sees in the mirror is handsome. (The fact that he's not wild about looking in mirrors is a whole other thing.) But that still doesn't keep him from thinking on the regular that someone like Tony Stark is way out of his league. Part of his brain is still stuck in the mindset of the skinny kid from Brooklyn nobody wanted, and he's not sure he'll ever be able to rid himself of that. He's also not sure how to voice any of it without sounding completely stupid.
"Especially when you insist on going around in tight jeans," Steve adds instead. "Or those suits that you have tailored specially to make your ass look even better." Yes, let's keep the topic of conversation on Tony.
"It's a hard-cock life for you," Tony sing-songs with the corners of his mouth quivering in a restrained smile from their exchange of humor and Steve's compliments both.
"What?" Steve just looks confused. He gets the terrible pun, yes, thanks Tony, but there's pretty clearly a pop culture reference of some kind involved as well, from the way he actually sings it. "Is there another movie I have to watch?" Okay, there's always something he has to watch, but he means a specific movie.
The joke less amusing when the only person to share in it, Tony sobers. Still, he had to make it, too good to pass up, etcetera. "Nah, wouldn't say have to. It's enjoyable, though," he says, but after a beat, his eyes drop and his face gains that lost, introspective look where he's staring down the entrance of the labyrinth in his head. He retains enough presence to mutter, "Fun musical," but once those trains start rolling, he'll be swept along with them. Fact is, he saw Annie with his mother years and years ago. The memory, sad and wistful before, feels slashed through with red like a knife wound now—blood-red, not the little orphan's hair color red. Maria Stark was murdered along with his father by HYDRA, and Tony found out too late. Anger and pain hum just below his skin.
He feels Tony slip away from him, his gaze drifting until his eyes lose focus. He doesn't know what triggered it, but it's easy enough to guess where his thoughts have wandered. Steve abandons his gentle caresses and bodily hauls Tony upright, propping him against the expanse of his bare chest. "Hey," he whispers. "Tony, stay with me." He's not pleading yet, but he will if he has to. For now, he just wraps his arms around him and tries to banish the ghosts with his presence.
Being suddenly hauled upright and enveloped stuns Tony speechless, but he soon leans into Steve and shares in his scent and heat. Back when his parents died, he didn't have anything like this. Jarvis, the flesh and blood one, had already passed. Rhodey and he were still stupid kids playing at being men (or maybe that was just Tony, probably just Tony). At most they shared some beers and companionable silences. And Obadiah—well, looking back, he always was the business partner first. Everything else (friend, confidant, mentor, father figure) came second for Stane, despite what Tony thought. Nevertheless, whether by his own making or otherwise, Tony was alone back then. But that's changed.
Slowly, he reaches a hand up and grabs hold of one of Steve's arms enveloping him, though he meant to pat it. Instead, it becomes his anchor. "I'm here," Tony reassures and swallows a lump. "Just took a short trip down memory lane. It wasn't one-way."
Steve places his other hand over Tony's, tucks his chin on top of his head. "I know," he murmurs. "Just don't want you getting lost for too long." He wonders if what he did was for the best, but there's no point in wondering that - Tony was right, and it's not his call to make. He just has to be here for the fallout, has to do all he can.
(He wonders what'll happen when Tony goes back to his house in the city, left alone with all the ghosts of the past - if he'll slip into mourning or anger or both. He doesn't want him to go back, and for once, it's not for his own selfish reasons. Steve's genuinely concerned about Tony's mental state.)
"How's the headache?" he asks, just because he doesn't really know what else to talk about. It's a good, neutral topic, and those are in short supply right now.
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"Y'all think about getting a room?" Sam's voice comes from the doorway. His tone is dry, but not especially surprised; either he's worked things out for himself or talked to Natasha, or maybe both. (It's probably both.) "'Cause you might be into exhibitionism, but not everyone else is."
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Sam leans against the frame of the door, studying the scene in front of him. Whatever he's thinking, it doesn't show on his face. "Nah, just came down here to watch some Chopped. But it's fine." He waves a hand loosely. "I can do it in my room, no big deal." He pauses, then addresses Tony: "Rhodey know about this?"
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"Yeah, well, you're about two layers of cloth away from a detail more than I care for, so I can't say I blame him." Sam makes a face at both of them, and Steve at least has the decency to blush slightly. Apparently Tony hasn't yet rid him of all his shame. "I'll leave you two alone to keep pretending to watch a movie. Pro tip, you might wanna try hitting the play button so it looks plausible."
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"Well, that could've gone worse," Steve murmurs once Sam's gone, running his fingers through Tony's hair again. He's not oblivious enough to think that nobody's noticed what's going on - especially not since Nat's made a couple of pointed comments to him. It doesn't seem either of his friends mind, as far as he can tell. And if Tony's already told Rhodey, then he must not have any significant complaints, either.
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"Besides," he tacks on, "I think you're slowly rubbing off all my shame. You're a terrible influence, you know." But Steve says it as he smiles fondly down at Tony. "Absolutely corrupting."
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And- look, Steve's not stupid. He knows that, objectively, the man he sees in the mirror is handsome. (The fact that he's not wild about looking in mirrors is a whole other thing.) But that still doesn't keep him from thinking on the regular that someone like Tony Stark is way out of his league. Part of his brain is still stuck in the mindset of the skinny kid from Brooklyn nobody wanted, and he's not sure he'll ever be able to rid himself of that. He's also not sure how to voice any of it without sounding completely stupid.
"Especially when you insist on going around in tight jeans," Steve adds instead. "Or those suits that you have tailored specially to make your ass look even better." Yes, let's keep the topic of conversation on Tony.
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Slowly, he reaches a hand up and grabs hold of one of Steve's arms enveloping him, though he meant to pat it. Instead, it becomes his anchor. "I'm here," Tony reassures and swallows a lump. "Just took a short trip down memory lane. It wasn't one-way."
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(He wonders what'll happen when Tony goes back to his house in the city, left alone with all the ghosts of the past - if he'll slip into mourning or anger or both. He doesn't want him to go back, and for once, it's not for his own selfish reasons. Steve's genuinely concerned about Tony's mental state.)
"How's the headache?" he asks, just because he doesn't really know what else to talk about. It's a good, neutral topic, and those are in short supply right now.
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