Of course Steve is aware of the effect his appearance has on Tony, but in his defense, he absolutely chose this outfit because he thought they were going on a date, with both the intention of getting Tony worked up on the date and the obvious post-date implications of being unwrapped slowly and carefully, layer by layer. (He thinks about the set of ropes tucked away in his closet, how he'd spent a solid week looking at them and debating before taking the plunge and ordering them.)
"You too." But that's obvious; Tony always looks good, and Steve always enjoys the way he looks in his fitted suits. Still, he softens around the edges, and the skin around his eyes crinkles a little. "I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go, I guess."
"I could change that," punches out from Tony's mouth before he can even think about it: a knee-jerk reaction to please. The shock at himself passes quickly and he sucks his lips in between his teeth. This is not going as he planned. It's like Steve accidentally bumped into the table that held Tony's Scrabble board of constructed arguments and scattered the letter tiles into loose nonsense and Tony just wanted to tell him it's okay, the game sucked, anyway.
Steve just chuckles quietly. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd be happy to whisk me off to Paris or Venice or somewhere fancy on a whim." And, yeah, he'd be lying if he said that part of him didn't want to see the world with Tony by his side, but there'll be plenty of time for that someday, he figures. (He hopes.) The romantic in him indulges in a moment of pure fantasy, the level of Tony Stark excess that usually makes him roll his eyes, but he tucks that away for a later date.
"You said you wanted to talk to me," Steve reminds Tony gently. "About business."
Grateful to be steered back on track, Tony gasps out, "Right. Yeah," like he was holding in his breath. His eyes trail down to somewhere past Steve's bicep. "Strap in. This is gonna be a doozy," he mutters and then squares his shoulders, posture tall and strong like the successful businessman's, before he changes his mind and slouches forward instead, closer, an elbow on the desk. Just doesn't feel right anymore shutting himself off from Steve like that.
"What's your take on the ... damage the Avengers can leave behind?" he begins. It's a question Tony has needed to field before. Not Steve so much; Tony tries to keep him (and the others) out of the hot seat. Steve has a team to lead. Even before they dated, Tony has smoothed Steve's way as much as he can.
The tack Tony takes with the conversation isn't a huge surprise; Steve follows Tony's media appearances closely enough that he's seen the subject crop up more than once. However, it isn't one that he's personally given much thought to - he started doing this in the middle of a war, after all, and things were usually pretty well wrecked before he got there. (Also, he has precisely zero remorse for ruining any Hydra facilities.)
"I think it's a legitimate problem," he says slowly, "but not one we can really do much to avoid. We don't choose where our fights happen, and I don't think people understand that."
"And the people who lose more than just money or buildings? Who lose other people?" Tony presses gently. He's not pushing Steve in any direction, but he's opening the door for him all the same, inciting Steve to look inside. "A 'sorry for your loss' card doesn't really cut it for them, does it?"
"I know," Steve agrees softly. He's not unaware of the cost their fights have, regardless of what the media might say. "If I could evacuate everyone from the area before fights, I would. But there's not always enough time to do that. Sometimes lives are lost, and the only excuse I have is that it's to save more lives. That doesn't make it better, but there's no real way to avoid it."
That kind of conviction must be nice, Tony thinks at Steve, because he looks at the numbers one-hundred seventy-seven (Sokovia) or seventy-four (New York) or others (always others) and thinks, I could've done better. "So that'd be your answer, then?" Tony asks with a kind of anticipatory gravitas like Alex Trebek on Jeopardy. "'Too bad, so sad, but hey, we tried our best!'" Finally, he lifts his eyes to Steve's. The groundwork has been laid. Time to move on to the main event. "We're not the ones drawing the short straw here, Steve," Tony whispers, eyes steadfast but pleading. Please listen. Please understand, they beg. Even though his stupid sentimental heart assures him that Steve will, Tony's head overthinks and second-guesses it.
"We can always do better," Steve corrects him quietly. "I won't argue that. But some things are unavoidable." When you're fighting an army of Ultrons, for example, there's no way to be everywhere at once, to stop everything. Sheer numbers make that impossible. Steve looks at these fights with the tactical mind of a general: losses will happen, and you have to minimize those losses while still defeating the enemy. He started doing this during a war, and so it's only natural to have a soldier's mindset.
"I'm worried that one day it'll be one of us drawing the short straw." Pietro already had; Steve carries that loss with him, thinking he should have found some way to prevent it. He knows that it's inevitable, that one of them will make the wrong move. He sees it in his dreams at night, worries about it when he's awake, and maybe that's what keeps him from worrying more about civilians. There's only so much weight even he can carry.
Tony's breath catches. "I'm not talking about us right now," he grits out, tensing, because it's supposed to be about the people they protect. If he starts thinking about his friends like that, those closest to him, his family, he—he just can't. He can't go there and stay intact. "Hell, there might not even be an us down the line!" he shouts, growing a bit manic, and God, he's losing it. This is the worst timing. Hold it together, Stark. Deep breaths.
Steve starts to rise from his chair, reaching out to grip Tony's arm. "Calm down," he tells him, keeping his tone steady and even. "Just take a deep breath." He knows this conversation is important to Tony, and he wants him to be able to focus on it. "People want to disband the Avengers?" He gently redirects things back on track - maybe a little less gently than intended, since he's gripping Tony's arm more tightly now.
Huffing, eyes locked onto Steve's hand gripping him, Tony breathes in deep enough that his shoulders lift. He holds it, and then pushes it back out. Calm. Instinctively, he rasps in answer, "I won't let that happen." Everything in him rebels at the thought—for Steve's sake, really. Tony will snarl and snap at anyone who tries to take away the home Steve has found. The knee-jerk reaction passes as his head clears. It's not just for Steve. The whole world needs the Avengers, and besides, disbanding is unlikely. No, that'd come only as a last resort—as long as they, he and Steve, face this before disaster can strike. "I mean, no. No, not disband," Tony clarifies. Here it is, here comes the big one, he hypes himself. Buck up and rip off that band-aid. He meets Steve's eyes again. "There's been ... talk on Capitol Hill about regulation for the Avengers. Nothing concrete yet, but I've ... heard some proposals. None of them ideal. But, Steve," he places his hand over Steve's, and he really starts rolling, gaining traction, "I think we should work with them. Hash something out, head the worse stuff off at the pass. It's bound to happen with or without our input. We've operated without red tape for years. To hell with laws and sovereign borders, we're the Avengers, right? We're the heroes. After New York and Hydra, people were too afraid to tell us no, but that's changing. They want accountability, and no one should be above laws, especially not us." His own grip tightens. "Tell me you understand."
Steve closes his eyes for a second. There hadn't been any accountability during the war, just goals to be accomplished. That's what he's used to - going in and getting the job done, no matter what it takes. But if he takes a step back and examines what they do in the framework of this new society, then, yeah, he can see where Tony's coming from, even if he doesn't like it, even if he doesn't think their hands should be bound by politics. What if someone needs help and the President wants to withhold it for whatever reason? He's not part of the petty power games Washington plays, and frankly, if someone told him no because of that, he'd just do it anyway, and damn the consequences.
Relief whooshes out of Tony. Steve isn't stonewalling him. Steve is listening, like Tony hoped (like he knew). "We can work that out," he says, almost woozy with the relief, but that was just the first hurdle. He curls his fingers around Steve's hand, a full hold instead of just resting on top: the reassurance that Tony is with him and a plea for Steve to not pull away both. "We still have leverage in this. We get on it now, we have a better chance of writing something up more on our terms."
"I trust you," Steve says simply, and he does. He's not any good at the wheeling and dealing of politics, the twisty state of mind needed to work through things like this. Steve's bull in a china shop attitude has never made him any political friends, whether in the past or now. But Tony, he knows, can do this; business and politics are just about kissing cousins, and he has no doubt that Tony can wrangle what they need from Congress or the Pentagon or whoever. Steve is more likely to make enemies if he tries to do this kind of thing, and while Tony can backtalk politicians when it suits him, Steve also knows that he can play the game if he has to.
The last piece of something unravels in Tony under Steve's gaze and trust. Slowly, a closed smile breaks through, warm and loose; it deepens his laugh lines and crow's feet. Tony ducks his head with it as if he's shy. (He kinda is, when facing and feeling such affection.) Loving Steve back seems to be only a matter of time. "Lemme pull some strings. Meet some people. I'll get us an audience," Tony whispers contentedly and strokes his thumb along the back of Steve's hand. This went better than he could have expected. To have Steve simply place his trust in him like that, like how Tony does in him when he's in subspace—that's huge. That's a real partnership, like the one Tony had with Pepper. The real deal.
Leaning across the desk, Steve catches the corner of Tony's mouth in a kiss. Of course he trusts him - trusting people is what Steve does, and nowhere is that more evident than with Tony.
"Any chance of squeezing some pleasure in now that we've got business out of the way?" God, he loves the way Tony looks like this, relaxed and open. It would be so easy to have another weekend of debauchery, to seclude themselves for a few days and wring every drop of pleasure from their time. Even a night would suffice. (He's going to be absolutely insatiable once Tony moves in; it's only a matter of time.)
They should probably talk more, lay out some of the legislation Tony's heard about and get Steve's opinions, but ... eh. Later. Caught between I'd give you anything and oh, boy, playtime, Tony mirrors Steve, tilting forward and angling his head, a breath away from a kiss. "I brought the collar," he murmurs suggestively. "I'd love to get on my knees for you right now, if you're so inclined. A lil' dessert before dinner, yeah?"
"You think I'm gonna say no to that?" That tone of voice is enough to get his cock to stand at attention, even without what Tony's actually suggesting. Steve huffs a laugh, his breath puffing against Tony's mouth. "You better make sure the door's locked this time." Even though the rest of the team is theoretically occupied, he's still not taking any chances. They got lucky last time; doesn't mean that'll happen again.
Tony steals a kiss with a smack and then stands, whirling to the far side of his chair from Steve, a cat and mouse where the mouse wants to be caught but finds enjoyment in the chase. "Don't wanna move this to your bedroom first? Impatient boy. Naughty, naughty," Tony chides and slings his suit jacket over his shoulder with smugness and swagger. He feels tall, and it's not just the heels on his shoes.
Steve just grins and leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "You're the one who said you wanted to get on your knees right now. I'm just trying to give you what you want." And if it happens to be what he wants as well, then even better. He does his best to look innocent, wide blue eyes blinking up at Tony, a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Tony stopped considering Steve at all innocent around the time he clamped Tony's nipples and flogged his dick. Nonetheless, with Steve's refusal to get up, Tony feels his brain slip. Sure, he said "right now," but he meant "right now" in relative terms, meaning once they reached somewhere comfortable and private. Yet Steve sits there pretty, sticking to his guns, so either they're starting play already, or Steve just enjoys being a pedantic little shit. Time to test which.
"Your generosity knows no bounds," Tony drawls, and then sits one thigh on the edge of the desk, head turned over his shoulder in his best demure maiden impression. He's learned he can't out-stubborn a dominant Steve (or any Steve, to be honest), but Tony has other tools in his arsenal. "Oh, sir, can we please move to the bedroom? It has a nice bed and pillows for me to bite and everything," he says, tone reedy and totally fake.
"Have you ever bitten a pillow when I've fucked you?" Steve rolls his eyes at Tony's tone, which is just enough to rub him the wrong way - and, unfortunately, only make him more obstinate. "Maybe I just want to bend you over the desk after you suck me off, or ride me while I sit nice and pretty in my chair." He gives Tony a brittle, false smile. "Maybe I want to make you come all over that expensive suit and wear it through the halls when you leave." He doesn't, but he knows how to push Tony by now.
Called out on the pillow-biting, Tony hides his smirk into the lifted shoulder. Maybe he just hasn't had a reason to keep quiet yet, he'd retort, but he's concluded that yup, that's Steve in Dom mode all right, so time to switch gears. "You want to just use me and parade me? How barbaric," Tony titters, calling Steve out right back, but he slips off the desk and drops his jacket onto it in a heap all the same. "Left inner pocket," he instructs in his normal tone.
"Might be barbaric, but you like it." Steve's smile is predatorial, with far too many teeth. He reaches inside the discarded jacket pocket and feels the smooth leather against his fingertips. "You wanna be paraded before you've been used?" Pulling the collar out, he lets it uncoil and dangle between thumb and forefinger. The leather is a bright stripe of blue down his forearm, standing out against the fabric of his shirt.
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"You too." But that's obvious; Tony always looks good, and Steve always enjoys the way he looks in his fitted suits. Still, he softens around the edges, and the skin around his eyes crinkles a little. "I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go, I guess."
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"You said you wanted to talk to me," Steve reminds Tony gently. "About business."
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"What's your take on the ... damage the Avengers can leave behind?" he begins. It's a question Tony has needed to field before. Not Steve so much; Tony tries to keep him (and the others) out of the hot seat. Steve has a team to lead. Even before they dated, Tony has smoothed Steve's way as much as he can.
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"I think it's a legitimate problem," he says slowly, "but not one we can really do much to avoid. We don't choose where our fights happen, and I don't think people understand that."
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"I'm worried that one day it'll be one of us drawing the short straw." Pietro already had; Steve carries that loss with him, thinking he should have found some way to prevent it. He knows that it's inevitable, that one of them will make the wrong move. He sees it in his dreams at night, worries about it when he's awake, and maybe that's what keeps him from worrying more about civilians. There's only so much weight even he can carry.
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(That definitely isn't what Tony wants to hear.)
"What kind of regulations?" he asks finally.
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"Any chance of squeezing some pleasure in now that we've got business out of the way?" God, he loves the way Tony looks like this, relaxed and open. It would be so easy to have another weekend of debauchery, to seclude themselves for a few days and wring every drop of pleasure from their time. Even a night would suffice. (He's going to be absolutely insatiable once Tony moves in; it's only a matter of time.)
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"Your generosity knows no bounds," Tony drawls, and then sits one thigh on the edge of the desk, head turned over his shoulder in his best demure maiden impression. He's learned he can't out-stubborn a dominant Steve (or any Steve, to be honest), but Tony has other tools in his arsenal. "Oh, sir, can we please move to the bedroom? It has a nice bed and pillows for me to bite and everything," he says, tone reedy and totally fake.
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