Chapter Text
Tony doesn’t come out of his room until the next morning. He’s showered and had a pep talk, and in some ways he’s decided this is better.
After all, now he knows.
Now he knows Steve doesn’t want him.
Tony swallows tightly, glancing around the common room even though J.A.R.V.I.S. had assured him Steve was out with Sam. It’s too late to be their morning run, which means they’re probably hashing out last night together and deciding what Steve should do about it.
Tony’s determined to convince Steve he doesn’t need to do anything about it. After all, it was just a bit of a make-out session after a particularly bad battle. Tony’ll just explain he was trying to help Steve forget about it, and that it’s nothing personal. He’s Tony Stark, and it was just an offer of casual sex. A friends with benefits after battles kinda thing. Steve wasn’t down, he gets that. There’s no need for Steve to make it weird.
It sounds pathetic even in his own head, but he hasn’t had anything to drink yet. Once he’s got a glass of scotch in his hand he can make just about anything sound convincing. It’s practically a Stark genetic trait.
His stomach is rolling, but he forces himself to take sips of the amber liquid to calm himself as he waits. He nods to Natasha and Clint as they come through on the way to the couch and pretends he’s just out here on his tablet working instead of out here waiting for Steve. Definitely not out here pathetically hoping he can salvage this so that he doesn’t just end up as Steve’s Co-Leader instead of his friend.
Jesus, he’s an idiot.
He running all the scenarios, all the things Steve might say or do over in his head when the hiss of the elevator opening catches him by surprise. He’s only managed to pull himself together and step away from his chair with what is going to pass for a smile today pasted on his lips when Steve comes striding in.
He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a sage green t-shirt below his tan leather motorcycle jacket, and Tony has the stray thought that it’s really tragic this is what Steve’s going to break his heart in, because Tony’s always really liked this look on him.
Steve’s tense, body held stiffly and jaw at a determined angle as he nods perfunctorily at the two on the couch before he zeroes in on Tony with piercing blue eyes. Angry then, Tony thinks to himself as Steve strides towards him like a freight train. He’ll need to defuse him, make Steve realize he’s reacting with a 1940’s mindset to this entire situation. It’s all casual sex and calmly exploring where exactly you lay on the Kinsey scale in this century.
“Listen, Steve we need to talk about,-“
The breath gets knocked out of Tony as Steve bends down without breaking his stride and lifts him in a fireman carry. Tony’s glass crashes to the ground, shattering spectacularly, but even that doesn’t make Steve’s long gate pause. Tony doesn’t have time to do anything about it besides noting the sharp plume of his finely aged scotch as the scent hits the air, because Steve is already carry him out of the room.
To be completely honest, this was not anywhere on Tony’s list of possible scenarios for this talk. He’s fairly sure he’s working without an important data set here, but he’s having a little trouble reverse engineering this situation to find the information he might be missing.
Clint’s wide eyes and Natasha’s raised eyebrow peeking over the couch are the last thing Tony’s sees before they’re on the staircase up to his floor. So apparently he’s not the only one a little surprised by these events. Good. There’s that at least.
Tony belatedly realizes how lucky he had been to escape last night, he hadn’t really been aware of how quickly Steve could move when he needed, or wanted, too. They’re in his bedroom- Tony winces as his door smashes back against the wall – and he’s once again thrown onto his bed. This time there’s a lot more anger, and he doesn’t get Cap looming over him with sexy bedroom eyes.
No, Steve’s prowling the carpet between him and the door, nostrils flaring in agitation.
“Steve-“ he starts hesitantly. Only Steve rounds on him, eyes practically on fire, and Tony quiets, pretty sure now that it’s apparently not his turn to talk.
Steve opens his mouth and turns towards him twice before he actually says anything, each time pacing a little bit more, like he’s trying to calm himself for what he needs to say. Finally he stops, shoves a hand through his hair with a force that makes Tony want to wince, and stills as he turns towards Tony again.
For a split second before he speaks Steve looks strangely desperate, confused, and just a little bit helpless. He glances around the room as if the furnishings will help him find the words he’s searching for. Tony doesn’t know what to make of that, what to make of any of this. He’s in emergency mode, trying to observe and react as quickly as possible.
“Tony, I have buddies,” he bursts out suddenly, and it’s not anything Tony was expecting to hear, “I have Sam and Natasha, and Bucky if he ever just stops running from it. I don’t-“
He cuts himself off as his voice begins to rise, puffing out a breath that’s less angry and more confused again.
“I mean yes I want us to have that,” he acknowledges as he shakes his head a little at himself for getting it wrong on the first go. He puts his hands on his hips for a moment as he looks down at the floor in too-deep contemplation, “We do have that, but I want more than that.”
“And you just-“ Steve’s hands are thrown up briefly in a gesture that his half exasperation, half hopeless shrug, as if that will explain Tony somehow, “You have sex with people and then it’s like they don’t even exist anymore. You use them or you let them use you and then it’s just-“
Steve shakes his head again, face contorting in something like pain.
“And I can’t do that,“ he admits mournfully, like he’s let Tony down somehow, like he’s confessing some fault that will forever bar him from living in this century. It’s quiet in the room for a moment, and Tony watches the process as Steve gathers his resolve, his shoulders squaring. He’s seen Steve do this so many times before a particularly harrowing battle. He has a second to wonder if he’s going to be able to weather whatever Steve’s preparing to dish out to him. He has a moment to wonder how bad this is going to hurt. He feels a little dazed.
Then Steve rounds on Tony, meeting his eyes for the first time since he quieted him with a look. It’s direct and piercing gaze, and then he’s crossing the room and looming over Tony where he stares up at Steve from his seat on the bed.
“I mean, I want you Tony. I want you so badly that it makes me shake sometimes,” It’s there in his voice for a moment, the shaking. Steve’s eyes slowly dilate as he looks at him, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, “You wear those damn sleep pants around the house, or you get this look in your eyes when we’re out there in battle and I could just-“
He glances away, swallowing tightly and tensing his jaw before he looks back down at Tony. He reaches out and grazes the back of his knuckles across Tony’s cheek, his eyes darting across Tony’s face.
“I want more than that though. You deserve more than that and so do I. If I have to wait until you can get that through your thick shell head then I will, and if –“
Steve takes in a breath, and it’s a little ragged at the end when he breaths it back out. His hand drops back to his side, like a puppet with his string cut.
“-if you don’t want the same thing then I can live with that, but I’ve been waiting for the right partner for a long damn time and I’m not selling either of us short now that I found you.”
The silence seems deafening after Steve barks out his last words, this odd combination of confession and ultimatum. Tony realizes he can hear his own heartbeat, hear his blood rushing in his ears. The beat is too fast to be normal, but the knowledge is a distant thing. He’s a cacophony of noise inside, of course his heart would join along to the tempest.
He’s shaking. He’s trembling like he would after a nightmare and he can’t make himself stop.
He’s never had someone see him this clearly, he’s never felt this naked and raw. He’s split open and Steve is just looking at everything inside him, as if that’s something people do every day. As if it’s not the first time Tony’s ever had someone see and touch him like this.
Like he’s special. Like they care. Like they’re going to love him whether he likes it or not.
He doesn’t know what to say. Tony Stark always has something to say, something to break the tension or distract the masses, but he has nothing. Why is Steve the only person who can leave him speechless? Steve’s got him pinned to his bed with just his eyes and he’s stripped bare like a raw nerve. His defenses have crumbled, Steve’s standing over him offering him everything he wants, and Tony’s so terrified he can’t find a way to speak.
He’s only just realized how much of a coward he apparently is, because this shouldn’t be his biggest fear. This shouldn’t be the thing that makes him feel like he might be on the raw edge of a panic attack. But it is. It’s love. It’s respect and friendship and intimacy and it can be his if he’s brave enough to take it.
Only, Tony trusts himself, he’s only ever completely trusted himself, and he’s a futurist, and he knows where this ends.
He lets out a shaky breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in while Steve talked. He feels better pulling oxygen back into his lungs, air filled with the scent and warmth of Steve. It calms him, it pushes back the panic and Tony can meet Steve’s eyes again. Steve’s calm, sure blue eyes.
Steve, who is the perfect fulcrum, the point Tony can stand on to move the world.
Maybe he just needs to try to trust in that.
“When you’re around, I know who I want to be. I-,“ deep breath out, deep breath in. “I am who I want to be. I feel strong, like I can – like we can handle anything.”
Steve doesn’t melt in relief or pleasure, because even under all that pressure, even throwing himself open in front of sarcastic, bitter Tony Stark, he’s unshakable. He’s a fixed point, a mountain nothing can really move. Steve doesn’t tremble or break under hope the way Tony feels he might, he just nods, looking unflinchingly into Tony’s eyes.
“I feel the same way,” he says simply, honestly. That’s Steve in a nutshell, always so damn sincere and genuine, always so brave and strong. So maybe Tony can trust in that. Maybe it’s okay that all his walls have crumbled and the sharks with lasers somehow missed Steve vaulting over the moat. Maybe it’s safe to let Steve inside. After all, he’s already found his way in, he’s already got the layout. He knows the dark corners and he’s stared into the heart of Tony without looking away or giving in. Maybe it’s time to trust him to be there, and stop trying to push him out.
Maybe he can trust in Steve.
“Okay then,” he says with a little more confidence then the hand that reaches out to tentatively ghost its way over Steve’s ribs might suggest, “Okay, I’m in.”