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.
Tony feels Steve tucking him close to his body like he'd feel the final locks of the armor shutting him inside. He quells the distant protests about being fine and not needing to be coddled and closes his eyes. Beneath his ear, Steve's heart beats, as strong and steady as a metronome. Tony's worse thoughts are momentarily overridden. "Faded, for the most part," he mumbles, then admits, "though I probably shouldn't stare into any bright screens for a while."
"So keep your phone away from you," Steve jokes. "Got it." He's aware that Tony isn't likely to tempt fate anyway - maybe he would have once, when he was younger, but these days he seems to be more aware of his body and the effects of abusing it. "No Angry Birds for the rest of the night."
Tony chuckles lowly. When was the last time he even played a mobile game? Maybe he needs a vacation. Somewhere nice, like—like the Bahamas. Take that little getaway his parents were robbed of. He could bring Steve, too. "You're just afraid I'd beat your high scores without even trying," he ribs.
"You'd just cheat and hack the game," Steve teases right back. "Come on, you use a targeting computer, what kind of aim do you have?" Thanks to the serum, Steve has uncanny accuracy and an excellent eye for physics, although he's never actually tested how that might carry over to video games.
Tony sets aside the vacation idea as quickly as he gets it. There's too much to be done, to prepare and watch out for. "Well, I'm no Clint Barton," he confesses, "but I do know trajectories and how to best wreck a place." He bites his cheek against his brain adding, Just ask a huge swath of the Middle East.
"I believe that," Steve agrees wryly. He doesn't know about Tony's internal conflict, doesn't even think about his past. "Maybe not the same way as Banner, but that's a whole other kind of redecorating." He wonders, not for the first time, where Bruce is, how he managed to disappear so completely, if they should've tried harder to find him. Maybe there's something of his own past rearing its head in that train of thought.
"Right, because I do it with style, which is worth like a bajillion extra points. Ergo, easy high score," Tony declares, waving a hand lazily and glossing over the mention of Bruce. That's another rabbit hole Tony can fall into if he lingers near it, and Steve needs him with him in the here and now.
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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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