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amelioraate
[ He hasn't seen Tony since Siberia. Talked to him on the phone once or twice to negotiate their return, yeah, texted a few times, but in person? Nothing. Not that Steve's been allowed to see anyone. He has his own floor in the tower, and everyone's being very careful to say that none of them are prisoners, but guess what? They're prisoners.
To be fair, it's a nice prison, with pretty much every cable channel invented by man, high-speed internet, the works. His food's delivered - possibly by a robot, Steve isn't really sure, it just sort of shows up in the fridge and all he has to do is microwave it, and he suspects that robots do everything around here because he sure hasn't seen a human being.
(He hasn't seen any robots, either, apart from the little vacuum robot, and it's a sign of how desperate he is that he's starting to think of it like a pet. Especially when it gets confused and runs into the wall repeatedly.
Yeah, Steve's pretty sure he's cracking up.)
All of his negotiations are conducted via terse emails with various government officials, who a) are incensed that he refuses to sign the Accords (he read them, okay? it's not just turning control of the Avengers over to a UN panel) and b) can't believe that he isn't even remotely apologetic for everything he's done, won't even try to deny that he did it. He's glad Bucky's untouchable back in Wakanda, safely tucked away in one of T'challa's cryogenic pods. He has the king's word that nothing will happen to him, and from what Steve's seen, T'challa would rather die than break his word.
Steve's starting to wish he was back there, too. He'd mainly come back to try and repair things with Tony - to fix everything, but it's his splintered friendship that hurts the most - but Tony won't even come near him. He doesn't blame him, figures it's exactly what he deserves. Tony can keep the shield and the costume; they don't matter to him. They were only ever just a symbol. They'd started life as propaganda, and they can end that way. He just wants to be Steve Rogers, but he's not even sure he'll be allowed that much. ]
To be fair, it's a nice prison, with pretty much every cable channel invented by man, high-speed internet, the works. His food's delivered - possibly by a robot, Steve isn't really sure, it just sort of shows up in the fridge and all he has to do is microwave it, and he suspects that robots do everything around here because he sure hasn't seen a human being.
(He hasn't seen any robots, either, apart from the little vacuum robot, and it's a sign of how desperate he is that he's starting to think of it like a pet. Especially when it gets confused and runs into the wall repeatedly.
Yeah, Steve's pretty sure he's cracking up.)
All of his negotiations are conducted via terse emails with various government officials, who a) are incensed that he refuses to sign the Accords (he read them, okay? it's not just turning control of the Avengers over to a UN panel) and b) can't believe that he isn't even remotely apologetic for everything he's done, won't even try to deny that he did it. He's glad Bucky's untouchable back in Wakanda, safely tucked away in one of T'challa's cryogenic pods. He has the king's word that nothing will happen to him, and from what Steve's seen, T'challa would rather die than break his word.
Steve's starting to wish he was back there, too. He'd mainly come back to try and repair things with Tony - to fix everything, but it's his splintered friendship that hurts the most - but Tony won't even come near him. He doesn't blame him, figures it's exactly what he deserves. Tony can keep the shield and the costume; they don't matter to him. They were only ever just a symbol. They'd started life as propaganda, and they can end that way. He just wants to be Steve Rogers, but he's not even sure he'll be allowed that much. ]
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It continues when Tony pushes forward the use of his Tower for the hosting of 'hose arrest' (that wasn't what they called it really, but it was the reality of it and Tony wasn't about to go and call a pile of shit art) and then went about giving those in the Tower as much autonomy as possible. There was always food, there was a gym, there were movies and internet and-- everything but communication really. But that one wasn't on Tony, not really.
While they are all in the Tower, Tony makes himself scarce; holes up in his workshop with robots and computers and things that he understands. Buries himself in ideas and even paperwork (Pepper doesn't comment, not even when he is signing things long before her asking for them, they are still... fragile) and ignores the looming ghost in his space like it's his fucking job. There are cracks in his heart, in his armour, and he can't pull himself together enough to pretend other wise right now. But he knows that Clint is creeping out more and more, making use of the new arrows that find their way to his doorstep. Knows that Wanda is spending time with Vision in the kitchens, the theatre room, the gym. And Steve is-- well Tony doesn't care. Nope, he doesn't.
It stagnates when Tony realizes that he is avoiding the other half of the equation.
Between trying to fix what he broke (what they broke? No, no Steve isn't trying to fix much of anything that he broke) and keep up his facade with the public, and maybe make the public thing better of him and his teammates, Tony is stretched too thin.
He is getting to old for this.
Sure they have talked. If you count like two and a half phone calls and some text messages back and forth but-- since Steve has come back, Tony has avoided him like Steve might be trying to kill him. Which, isn't far off the mark considering the last time they saw each other (not that he ever really tried to kill Steve, he was angry, vicious and hut, but kill Steve? No, he would rip out his own heart, thank you). There is too much there, a weight in Tony's chest (shrapnel shaped like stars and stripes and too blue eyes) that makes it hard to breathe, has him running for the bottle more than he would like, and he just-- can't.
It begins again when, one night at three am, Tony is thirty nine hours without sleep and just a little drunk and suddenly not on the floor he was supposed to be on. He asked FRIDAY to take him back to the lab to finish the specs on the new stealth suit for Cap and Widow and-- now he is where exactly? He drops his head to the elevator door and curses.]
Fuck you, FRIDAY. Very funny. Now take me to the lab!
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(The treadmill might be making a noise like it's about to die. Steve doesn't know, he's not familiar with the machines.)
When he hears a voice outside his door, Steve hits the stop button on the treadmill, drapes a towel around his neck. Doesn't really register the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt, because it's the middle of the night. He opens the door to see what's going on, and-
Oh.
And, okay, maybe he's been acting childish and sulking, all well, if Tony doesn't want to talk to me, then I'm not going to try and reach out to him. He hasn't been talking to the others, either, no matter how they try to involve him in things. He's been keeping his distance from everyone, because he ruined everything to try and save Bucky, and in the end? He's not even sure it mattered, because here he is, just as alone as he'd been in the first place.
Might as well go stand out on a glacier.
So, yeah, even Steve Rogers has a pity party sometimes. (It's stoic and stubborn and the kind of party no one else even wants to come to.) Maybe he needs to get the goddamn hell over himself, like Sam keeps saying. But every time he thinks about Tony, he remembers his anger, trying to put his shield through his chest - Tony's chest, what the hell was he thinking? He deserves all the shit Tony wants to pile on him and more.
Steve rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door for a moment, closes his eyes. He can do this. And if Tony doesn't want to talk to him, then he can just tell him to fuck off. Probably will, in fact. He opens the door, pokes a tousled head out. ]
Do you ever sleep, Stark?
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Banging against the elevator door weakly he curses at his AI again. This is-- this is not what he needed right now. He was going to talk to Steve. Eventually. You know, when he didn't feel like he was falling apart at the seams every time he saw those blue eye and blond hair and the stab of hurt when he remembers how much rage and fury was behind the shield there in Siberia. When he thought that maybe he had some semblance of control over his emotions and his traitor of a mouth that liked to run off on its own when he was hurt or-- no, nope. No more of this. He couldn't afford to think like this, not if--
Oh shit.
Tony hears the door open, hears the one person he is actively avoiding move into the hall and, shit, how the fuck is this his life? There is another low noise, possibly a whimper, as he bangs his head against the elevator doors. He can't-- this isn't-- fuck.]
You know the answer to that, Rogers. I sleep when the future does. Which is exactly never, and--
[ His mistake is looking away from the elevator doors because Steve? Steve apparently doesn't see the point of shirts at this hour and fuck, Tony is not okay with this he needs to go because Steve looks like-- like Steve. There is a choked noise caught behind Tony's teeth as he stares wide eyed at Steve.
This? This is why Tony avoids the fuck out of Steve. Because beneath the shield shaped bruise on his chest, and the betrayal that worries the space between his brows, Tony still aches. There is shrapnel in his veins, lodged in his fucking heart, and it's shaped like all the is Good and Right and Just and-- Tony never said anything before. About how Steve was fucking important to him; that Tony wouldn't think twice before putting his own life on the line for Steve's how-- how it didn't matter at all because Steve had Barnes and the past and Tony had robots and alcohol and more guilt on his shoulders than even the armour could carry.
Deflating a little against the door, Tony keeps his eyes closed and rubs at the back of his neck, trying so hard not to look at Steve.]
Sorry. I will... be gone in a minute. You know, when my AI stops hating me. I am going to donate you, FRIDAY!
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[ Steve wonders if he ought to start talking to the AI, if she would talk back. It's probably a mark of how desperate he is for any conversation that isn't awkward as hell that he's seriously considering talking to a computer. Next he'll be leaving dog biscuits for the vacuum robot.
Then Tony looks at him like that, and Christ, it makes Steve want to go jump out a window. Tony looks like a wounded animal, like someone who's had his heart ripped out by someone he trusted, and suddenly Steve's pain seems petty, like a paper cut (except it's not, it's shards of glass - of razor-sharp ice - that pierce him whenever he breathes). It's all his fault, and he doesn't know how to fix it or if it can be fixed, so he just doesn't do anything because, hell, at least if he doesn't try to make it better, he's not making it worse.
(He might be wrong about that.)
But his inertia has grown into a wall of strangling vines between them, one that threatens to choke the life out of anything they have left - if they even have anything left - and, hell, one of them has to start somewhere or else they'll just be petty and snipe at each other until it peters out completely and then-
And then Steve won't have anyone.
(He's not sure he has anyone now. He sure as hell can't pretend to have any claim on Tony anymore, not after what he's done, and Bucky's on ice.)
Steve won't have anyone, and nobody will even care about Steve Rogers, and all that will be left is the shell of Captain America, an animated suit. Might as well get Tony to make a robot, like one of his suits. It could do the job, and Steve could just-
He's so tired sometimes, a weary ache that's bone-deep that seems like it'll never go away, and he thinks about the ice- ]
Tony. Come in here and take a break for five minutes, all right?
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[ There is the barest ghost of a laugh at that as Tony sags against the door a little bit. Yeah, flowers. God, he couldn't even get the things he created to like him, how the fuck did he expect other people to put up with him? The fact of the matter was that he didn't. Clearly FRIDAY just wanted to torment him which is why she had locked him out of his own elevator on the one floor in the whole Tower that he had zero desire to be on.
Actually, it wasn't that he had zero desire to be here, it was more-- he was kind of terrified. There was only so much that he could handle, so much backlash from his reckless decisions and ahead of the curve thought processes before he just splintered apart. Seeing Steve here... it was like a physical blow for Tony. One that resonated in his chest and made his teeth ache. Tony wants, he wants to talk to Steve, wants to make things between them better, wants to say he's sorry, he didn't mean it, why did you chose him? There is just... there is too much that Tony wants, and he is being fucking greedy about it. Knows that he should just be happy that Steve agreed to come back, to take up residence here because, while the other option was some where chosen by the government, Tony was sure it would be better for Steve than this.
But he is here, just out of Tony's reach and he just--
Tony doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to fix this, doesn't know if it is even fixable at this point. Doesn't know if Steve wants it fixed and--
There is a quiet noise trapped in the back of Tony's throat, something quiet and broken and terrified. ]
I didn't mean to-- I mean, I don't want to just--
[ He turns from the door, forehead still pressed to the smooth metal as he looks at Steve. Really looks. At the tense shoulders and the darkness in his eyes. He looks... he looks tired; tired and weighed down and fuck fuck fuck, Tony is the reason he looks so broken. Even after all this time, all the fights and words and bruises, Tony never wants to be responsible for that look. It makes something in him crack, between the alcohol and lack of sleep, Tony just can't.]
Steve... I'm so sorry.
[ The words are soft and shaky, barely there between them. ]
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Instead, he takes a step toward him, holding his hands out as- what, a peace offering? He's not really sure. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Say the words, you idiot. ]
I'm sorry.
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Shit.
Closing his eyes, tony inhales deeply. When he exhales he pulls away from the elevator door, tries to pull himself together a little more and opens his eyes. He still looks tired, too tired to function by most people's standards anyway, but he tries for together and moves towards Steve.]
I think we fucked up.
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He just hates that it's come to this. ]
A guy who's almost a century old oughta be more mature.
[ Steve laughs ruefully, shaking his head. ]
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But he never had much of a choice when it came to Steve. Always ended up falling into his fucking gravity well like some lost fucking comet. This time is really no different.
Tony comes to a stand still all but a foot away from Steve and just... stops. He stares at Steve, Steve who is too young and too old, too good and too much all at once. He is a soldier, and a fucking kid as far as Tony is concerned and it just-- it hurts. All he wants to do is press forward, rest his forehead against Steve's shoulder and stay there, ignoring the world, but he can't and he doesn't think Steve will let him. Not after everything.]
We both know you aren't that old, Steve. I should have-- I didn't mean--- [ He looks down, breath pushed out harshly as he fights for words. ] If its any consolation, I know it wasn't him. I know now. He will be exonerated. All of you will be.
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[ The joke falls a little flat, and Steve's weak laugh echoes more than he wants it to in the silence. ]
Yeah. The lawyers have already told me, although I can't say the government's too happy about it. Not if I'm reading their emails right. [ A pause, and Steve sucks in a deep breath. ] Thank you. For the lawyers, and the tower, and just- everything you've done. I know you feel like you have to, but you really didn't. And I appreciate it, I really do.
[He doesn't know if he deserves any of it. He knows Tony's doing it to try and lift some measure of the guilt that rests on his shoulders, but- there's nothing Steve can do to atone. He's never liked accepting handouts; it's the sort of thing that's etched into your bones when you grow up poor but too damn proud. And now that whatever was between them is broken, it feels too much like a handout. ]
Listen, could we stop standing in the hall? I've got a perfectly good couch you paid some designer a lot of money to pick out. We can sit down and have - okay, not coffee. Something. Nothing. I don't know, just.
[ Just come in and sit down and let him pretend things are okay for five goddamn minutes. ]
/shuffles away from tumblr to finish this
[ It's half muttered as he rubs at his face, the echo of familiar banter lacing his words despite everything that has happened. Tony crosses his arms and just... stares at Steve as he speaks. Something sits in his stomach, cold and bitter, the more Steve speaks; like Tony can feel the tension behind the man's words. He doesn't even have the energy to bristle at it, just sighs and hangs his head a little.
There are things that he wants to say, no, needs to say. About how he really never meant to break the Avengers apart like this, that he didn't mean to make it so that Steve had to choose (Tony wasn't stupid, he knew that if it ever came down to it, there was no way Steve, or anyone for that matter, would chose him), so that they would end up-- here. But Tony can't find the words, he is about to mutter another sorry, hope to god that was enough and try to hide i his lab a little longer when--]
Uh.... I'll take the coffee actually. It's uh... been a long couple of days and... yeah. [ He has no doubt that he probably has the lingering smell of scotch on him, mixed with grease and electricity. Coffee might do him some good right now.]
And it was Pepper. [ Pause ] That picked the couch, not-- she did most of this. Before... you know.
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...You want something to keep you up longer? [Steve's not really sure that's healthy. It looks to him like Tony just needs to go to bed - not that he has any room to talk in that department, but he's a super-soldier, he can go longer without sleep than a normal person.
And Steve really does mean his words of gratitude, because it's more than he expected from anyone, let alone Tony, who has no reason to treat him like a decent human being. It's just that he has his own underlying issues and...Christ, no matter what he does to make things better, they're just going to get worse.
He heads back into the apartment, shuffling in the direction of the kitchenette to start a pot of coffee. He's glad Tony hasn't embraced the damn pod craze; real coffee just tastes better to him. ]
Well. It's a nice couch, whoever picked it out.
[ He guesses. He doesn't really know much about couches, and, god, why is he trying to make small talk at this time of night? ]
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Uh, yes? I mean that-- coffee isn't the best at that anymore but I made a solemn vow to Rhodes that I wouldn't dip back into anything better. Worse. Depends on how you look at it. [ Addiction was addiction, and Tony has been addicted to a lot of different things in his years. Alcohol was sadly the most benign of them all.
Since coming back from Siberia, Tony avoided sleep even more than usual; now he had nightmares about the world closing in, about space swallowing him whole, along side the image of Steve gritting his teeth and slamming the shield into his chest, into his throat and-- well, there was only so many times you can wake up screaming and tangled in your bedsheets before you figure that maybe sleep wasn't the greatest plan in the world. So Tony has been spending more and more time in the workshop. Creating. Building. Hiding. Call it whatever you want.
He really should be there and not-- here. Here was taunting. Steve was all awkward angles and tension just beneath the surface and Tony was hovering on that razor's edge of stupid right now and Steve-- the fucker wasn't helping. He's making fucking coffee the way Tony likes it, like he never forgot, in nothing but sweatpants that hang too low and fuck--
Tony must have been a fucking horrible person in his last life to deserve this. Wait, no, he was a horrible person in this life, never mind.
Dropping onto the couch with no grace whatsoever, Tony tries to focus elsewhere, anywhere, that isn't the bare skin go Steve's back. ]
Yeah well, I'm not going to make you fucking sit on iron spikes or anything. That and it's apparently super durable, figured you'd... uh.... yeah.
[ That brought to mind things he really shouldn't be thinking about right now. Fuck. Tony needs to go. ]
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He is, however, starting to get a bit chilly now that he's stopped working out and the sweat on his skin is drying, so once the coffee's percolating, he ambles back over to the treadmill, grabbing the tank top draped over one of the railings and tugging it back over his head.
(It really does nothing whatsoever to help Tony's predicament, because pretty much everything in Steve's wardrobe looks like it's under extreme duress and fabric might explode everywhere at any moment.)
Steve sits down next to Tony, elbows on his legs, trying to pretend he's not intensely awkward but goddamnit he's going to have a conversation with the man. ]
So. Uh. Did you invent the little vacuum robot? Cute little fella.
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God damnit, why did FRIDAY do this to him? What good would come of him being stuck in a room with Steve and his stupid face and all the fucking ghosts of their past looming about them? Honest to fuck, Tony was surprised that the man was even tlaking to him, let alone was letting him in his room.
Then again, maybe he just felt like he had to. Like because Tony turned up on his doorstep like some lost, drunk puppy, that he had to take care of him or something. It was totally like Steve to think that way, surely there was no reason for the blond to actually want to see Tony. Not after-- after everything.
So when Steve sits back down, radiating awkward and stiff, Tony snaps. He is standing before he really notices it, something between anger and hurt in his words.]
You don't have to fucking make small talk with me Rogers, I don't--- fuck, I don't need your goddamned pity! You owe me nothing, okay? Nothing. I am not putting you up here so you feel obliged to make nice to me, to pretend like you fucking care okay. I did it because I know I fucked up, I fucked up and I needed to make shit as right as I could. That's what Barnes will be free in the next four months, you and the rest of the Avengers too. I don't-- fuck I cannot handle you pretending like you give a damn, justdon't okay. Fuck.
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Apparently not.
He drops his head to his hands, presses them into his eyes, because Tony knows exactly how to make people want to snap right back at him, and he'll be damned if he lets this turn into another fight, another wall between them. A deep breath, another, and Steve looks up at Tony. ]
It's not pity, Stark. The only one feeling sorry for you is you.
[ Of course I care, he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat, dig in their claws, and he can't make them come out. ]
Talking to you is like - it's like walking through a goddamn minefield. I bring up the couch, for crying out loud, and it reminds you of Pepper. So I don't know what to say, because I don't want to step in the wrong place and set off a mine. I want both of us to make it out of here whole. I want- I just want to be able to talk to you.
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[ At this point, Tony doesn't care (or maybe he cares too much, maybe this is too much like before, when Steve was around and was a fixture in Tony's life and Tony thought that maybe he could rely on the blond only for it all to go to hell around them). He is shaking, the anger and fear and nights of no sleep and too much alcohol coursing through him and he just wants for this to stop already.
When Steve speaks, Tony can't help the self depreciating laugh that spills from his throat; something tired and hurt and just a little bit sharp. It has Tony bleeding out between them, honesty in his words that he never would have shared otherwise.]
You think I am fucking hurt when you bring up Pepper? When you talk about things I have fucked up? It doesn't hurt, Steve, I knew what I was doing when we broke up. Yeah, it wasn't easy for a while , but we discussed it. What fucking hurts, what is going to set off a fucking mine, is you pretending you care. I fucking-- fuck, you were one of three people in my life that I thought I could count on, Rogers. One of three. That number is down to one and he can't fucking walk now because of the shit you pulled. You ripped me into pieces when you left me in Siberia. [ Tony makes a choked noise, anger giving way just a little, but he refuses to cry, keeps the tears at bay.]
I can't fucking talk to you without wanting to scream and-- fuck! [ He spins around, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as he tries to calm down.] ... I saw you dead, you know that? That was-- when Wanda showed us our fears. Mine-- you were dead Steve, and it was my fault.
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So Steve gives up on talking, rises to his feet and gathers Tony into his arms. It's all he can do at this point, and if Tony punches him, then- hell, he'll probably just stand there and let him use him as a punching bag, if that'll make him feel better. ]
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There is a moment where it was almost as if Tony short circuits. Stills in Steve's arms as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on because what? This isn't-- This is not something that Tony saw coming, and he was usually pretty good at seeing things coming, this was-- what. Before Tony really realizes what he is doing, he has one hand curled around Steve's forearm, not hard or demanding but... tentative.]
...Steve?
[ He hates how hoarse his voice is, how its cracked around the edges enough for something like hope to spill through. ]
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I'm here, Tony. [ One hand slides up his back, cupping the back of his head tenderly. ] And I goddamn care, okay?
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Now he apparently has Steve's arms around him and fuck. Steve's arms aren't enough to keep him together, not this time. Tony shatters apart; it starts as nothing, a hitch in his breathing as Steve sets them down on the couch and then-- then there are hands in his hair and fuck it, Tony's done, fraying at the seams and shaking apart with silent noises of grief and guilt and relief as he collapses in on himself.
I'm here.
And fuck if Tony didn't want him to just stay.]
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Which is why he feels intensely awkward when Tony starts sobbing, because, hell, how do you deal with someone falling apart in your arms? But this is probably exactly what he signed up for when he gathered him up in the first place, something he was aware of on some level, and so Steve- Steve does what he does best; he's a solid rock of comfort, an anchor for Tony to cling to until he's cried himself out. He's just there, holding Tony in his arms. ]
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He presses his face against Steve's shoulder and lets out a shaky breath.] I kind of hate you, but not at all you know.
[ The words are barely formed, almost silent, but he knows Steve hears him. Wonders if he understands what he means by it. ]
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That's probably it. And there definitely isn't a corner of his brain that thinks about how nice it would be to just curl up and sleep like this. ]
You're goddamn crazy, Tony.
[ But there's a laugh underneath that. He gets it, sort of. Or he thinks he does. ]
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He should, he knows he should, but fuck he is tired.]
No shit. But I am fucking brilliant at it at least.
[ His voice is raw, a little cracked open, and he sounds hollowed out, but the weary edge of hurt seems to have been rubbed away. It was-- well it was something. ]
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I'm not sure that's something to be proud of.
[ But he's right. Steve's done a little research on the side, looked up all of Tony's public, messy crashes. Every one of them has made his heart hurt, because he can see how much it kills Tony a little more every time, how he's been driven to where he is now. It's dumb, but he wants to just- gather him up and keep him safe from the world.
(Tony would hate that so much.) ]
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He is a little stiff under Steve's arm, wary about the casual affection that seems to be in the movement, but he knows that if he tries to get up and leave right now, no good will come of it. And, maybe if he was honest with himself, he could say he wants this. Someone to actually care. He wants to believe Steve.]
Hey, gotta rock what you've got, right? I've got insanity in droves, along with messy explosions and a knack for numbers. Whatever works, right?
[ Tony would never respond well to being kept safe, mainly because he is the one thing he needs to be kept safe from most of the time. ]
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(Sometimes Steve feels like he's still frozen in ice, too.) ]
You wouldn't know what to do if you weren't being a smartass.
[ Fall to pieces, apparently, if his display earlier is any indication. ]
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Tony can feel Steve speaking, can feel the rumble in his chest, notes how Steve still seems a little high strung around the edges like he doesn't know how to let go of the tension and Tony gets that. But he doesn't know how to help Steve, so he just-- breathes deep and melts a little more against the blond.
He could always claim temporary insanity and drunkenness tomorrow.]
That is the core of who I am, yes. So being a smartass or blowing shit up, take your pick.
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I think that's probably an and, Tony. Not an or.
[ What he's really thinking is that Tony uses the sharp edge of his words to keep people at bay, that it's just another one of the masks he wears, one of the walls. That he wants to see the real Tony, but he knows the other man is too vulnerable, too afraid to ever do that. That he might have, once, before everything fell apart, but now things are different.
His words are starting to slur together a little, and maybe if he just lets his eyes close for a moment- ]
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When Steve speaks of both, Tony does the only thing that comes to mind, he turns his head just a little and bites Steve.]
The two are not mutually inclusive.
[ He tires for sounding standoffish, but it falls a little short. There is a moment, or three, where Tony just stays there against the blond. Lets the sound of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest lull him into a trance like state before her jerks out of with a twitch. Tony shakes his head and sits up.]
Uh...I should...go. Steve? [ Tony blinks, realizing that the blond is actually sleeping and... oh... ]
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