"So, who taught you to make waffles?" Tony asks him from the table. He's thrown on an old band t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and his hair is still mussed from sleep. The sight of him looking comfortable and well-rested makes Steve's chest swell, and he has to turn away so he doesn't embarrass himself.
"My grandmother," he says, opening the waffle iron when the little light starts blinking at him. He pulls out another perfect waffle and pours more of the batter in. "She raised me. Had to learn to cook, it was just easier that way."
Tony is silent for a few long moments, and Steve checks to make sure he didn't fall asleep.
"You'll have to show me sometime," Tony says softly, not quite meeting his gaze and Steve snorts and turns back to the stove.
"So you can burn down the mansion? I don't think so."
Behind him, Tony makes an outraged noise and throws a dishcloth at him.
---
"He convinced you to stay, then?" Pepper asks him, eyebrow arched as she enters the office.
"Guess so," he replies, sheepish, avoiding her gaze. Pepper makes a thoughtful noise, taps her finger on his desk.
"Well, I'm glad he did," she says quietly, and he looks up at her, "you're good for him."
Steve doesn't think about the way his cheeks heat or the pounding in his chest. He wants to know how she knows this, wants to know everything she knows about Tony and more. He wants to ask about the blue thing in his chest, but can't bring himself to.
"Well, I'm glad I can help," he says instead, lamely, and Pepper makes another noise before barging into Tony's office.
"What have I told you about wearing pants in the office, Tony, come on!"
---
Steve isn't exactly sure how he got to be here, on a date, with his boss.
Well, he knows it's because Tony's date bailed on him at the last second and Steve had to go to the benefit anyway, so it makes sense for Steve to slide easily into the empty space.
And it's not really a date anyway, because Steve had to come anyway and it wasn't like Tony was treating him like a date because there were definitely no wandering hands, thank the lord, and really, Steve was just his PA, and that's fine. That's great.
Except he can't help but think that maybe he'd want to be Tony's date to one of these things someday, and not just the guy who manages his schedule and keeps him away from cretins like Justin Hammer.
Tony turns to look at him, catches him looking. "What? Is there something wrong with me? I've told you, please, just brush whatever it is off, I really have no boundaries."
"You look fine," Steve tells him, smiling. "Promise."
---
"Would you like to dance?" Tony asks, and that's his sixth glass of champagne, Steve knows, but he also doesn't have the heart to tell him to stop. This benefit is for the Maria Stark Foundation, something his mom started that means a lot to him but also brings a wave of memories whenever he has to attend one of these things.
So, Steve knows that Tony should stop drinking that champagne, but he really can't bring himself to make him.
"Sure," he says, smiling in what he hopes is a mild way. "I don't really know how to, though, I have to warn you."
"That's fine, I'm sure I've had enough lessons for the both of us." Tony takes his hand, leads him to the dance floor and pulls him close. "Just follow what I do," he murmurs, and Steve finds it's a lot easier than he thought it would be.
"You're really good," Tony tells him, eyes bright as the song ends. Steve laughs at that, shaking his head.
"You're just being nice, but thank you." Tony opens his mouth to respond, but some woman comes and bombards him with questions, and Steve slips off to get a drink of his own.
---
When he finds Tony again, he's frighteningly sober, and looks like he's about to strangle someone.
"Time to go?" Steve asks, and Tony manages a terse nod before Steve's got his phone out and calling Happy.
They get in the car quickly, and Steve doesn't even mind the way Tony sits too close to him on the way back to the mansion.
---
They get inside and Steve removes his jacket, takes Tony's and puts them in the closet in the front hall. Steve will probably forget about them by the time it's morning, but he doesn't really care.
He hears the slide of a cabinet door and the clink of a bottle and a glass, the thud of glass against wood and he sighs.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asks as Tony emerges, drink in his hand.
"No," Tony answers, downing what's left in his glass in one go. Steve winces in sympathy.
"Come here," Steve says, patting the space next to him on the couch and Tony comes, sits down, glass still in his hand. Steve takes it, puts it on the table.
"Tony, I-"
"That'll leave a ring. The bottom of the glass is wet."
"What? No it won't, what are you-"
"Yes, it will! That table's an antique, Steve, come on, use a coaster-"
"I bought this table for you two months ago, it's not an antique, what-"
"Well, fine, then it's new and I don't want to ruin it, so please-"
Steve cuts Tony off this time with a kiss, a hand coming to rest on his jaw, keeping him still.
"Can I talk now?" He asks when they pull apart for breath, and Tony nods.
"I guess, but I really would rather-"
Steve kisses him again, to shut him up.
"I like you," Steve says, thumb tracing Tony's jaw. "I like you a lot, Tony, and I know that it's inappropriate and that I really should just quit and find another job but I just- I can't. I hate that I'm the only one who takes care of you, or who wants to take care of you and I need you to know that."
"That you resent having to take care of me?" Tony asks, voice a dangerous tone, and of course, of course he pulled the wrong meaning out of Steve's poorly phrased thoughts.
"No," Steve says sternly, "that I care about you. That I want to take care of you. That I want to kiss you more than a ridiculous amount most days, and that you're a good person, no matter what that woman said to you tonight."
He lets his hand drop from Tony's face down onto the couch and looks away. It is silent for a long time.
"I'm sorry, I'll just, I can go," he says, starting to get up, but Tony's hand is on his arm and oh, wow, that's a stronger grip that Steve is used to.
"Oh hell no," he says, pulling Steve down. "I am not letting you get away again." And then he kisses him.
---
They make it up to the bedroom with little to no interruption, except that Steve loses his shirt somewhere in the living room and his pants on the stairs. He doesn't care.
Tony's lips are soft, much softer than Steve remembers and he can't stop kissing them. His hands slide over Tony's thighs and up to his hips, curling in the waistband of his pants to pull him closer. Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat, grinds his hips down and kisses Steve again, hand pulling at his hair. Steve tugs the shirt out of the waistband and works on the buttons, pushing the shirt up and off his shoulders as he kisses down his neck. Tony lets his head fall back as Steve works his way down, breath hitching when Steve stops at the metal rim of the blue glowy thing.
He still doesn't know what it is. Steve looks up at Tony, hands moving up his stomach and to his chest to frame the thing, thumb catching on the edge of it. It's warmer than he expects.
"Tony, what is this?" he asks softly. Tony tries to pull away, but Steve catches him, flips them over like it's nothing and pins him with his hips. "C'mon, Tony, just tell me," he says, thumb stroking at the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his pants.
"Glorified pacemaker," Tony breathes, and, "I'll tell you later, I promise, but please, gorgeous, you're killing me here." He downright whimpers when Steve tugs open the buttons on his pants, kisses down his stomach and mouths at the head of his dick through the underwear. Tony moans, shoving his hips up and Steve catches them, pinning them back to the bed. He moves back up Tony's body leisurely placing kisses on any patch of skin he can find. His teeth graze a nipple and Tony shudders and Steve leans up to press their mouths together, grinding slowly down with his hips at the same time.
"What do you want, Tony?" he murmurs in Tony's ear, nipping at the lobe and it takes longer than it should for Tony to answer him.
"F-fuck me," he responds, hand coming up to catch on the back of Steve's head, the nape of his neck and Steve's hands move down to get their underwear off. He settles back in between Tony's thighs, nails dragging lightly up and toward what he knows Tony wants.
Tony sits up suddenly, wraps an arm around Steve's neck and licks into his mouth. Steve moans, leans over to fumble around in the nightstand, gets distracted by the way Tony starts to kiss down his jaw and neck to suck on his collarbone. By the time he gets the lube open and onto his fingers, he's sure Tony's left what will be a large mark by the morning.
Tony's breath shudders again as Steve runs his hand down his backside and in between his cheeks, pressing lightly at his entrance. He works a finger in, then two, then three and before he knows it, Steve's gotten Tony as ready as he's going to get him. He removes his fingers and tears open a condom as Tony writhes on the bed and whines for him to hurry, rolls the condom on and takes his place again, pressing his forehead to the other man's.
"Are you sure about this, Tony?" he asks, and Tony wrenches his eyes open, looks up at him with black eyes and Steve's hips jerk involuntarily at the sight.
"Of course I'm sure," Tony replies, and Steve kisses him again as he pushes in with one long, slow thrust. Tony's back arches off the bed and he grips at Steve's shoulders.
"Jesus Christ," Steve murmurs against Tony's lips, and he's never had it like this, so close, so full of heat and intensity that's been building for far too long. Tony barks out a laugh that turns into a sharp inhalation of breath when Steve starts to thrust, slow and easy. He meets them with movement of his hips each time, letting his noises grow in volume as Steve's thrusts get faster and harder until he's just saying something that sounds like Steve's name over and over when they both finally come.
Steve tries to land mostly on the bed, but thinks he fails miserable, judging by the way Tony's pawing at his chest. He pulls out, rolls over, throws the condom in the trash and stares up at the ceiling, mind blissfully blank.
He moves his arm automatically as Tony nudges it and moves in beside him, arm thrown over his chest and head resting on his shoulder. Steve lets his arm wrap around Tony's back and pulls him closer as he feels the other man's breath even out into sleep.
---
Tony wakes up alone in his bed the next morning.
Really, he should have suspected. There's only so many times you can hit on and finally seduce a PA before they slip out in the night without you waking up. Or something. He isn't really sure, he just woke up.
In any case, he'd thought, after everything that happened, everything Steve had said to him, that maybe Steve would have stayed. Clearly he'd been wrong.
"Jarvis, what time is it?"
"It is 9:32 in the morning, sir, and the City is a crisp 45 degrees, with a projected high of 68. Mr. Rogers is in the kitchen making coffee, and your clean clothes have been replaced to your wardrobe by your cleaning bots, sir. Is there anything else you need?"
"No, no, it's fine, thank you, Jarvis," Tony responds, ignoring everything after the time. He stands, stretches, winces as his back pops and pulls on some clean underwear and sweatpants and a tank top before making his way downstairs.
---
He enters the kitchen and stops in the doorway, staring at Steve at the stove.
Steve, sensing the change in air pressure or something, Tony has no idea because here is Steve, constantly surprising him, and says, "Hey. I'm making omelets. What do you like on yours?"
Steve's hair is messed up from last night, his lips are a bee-stung red and slightly swollen and he has a hickey the size of a quarter on his collar bone. And, he's wearing a pair of Tony's boxers and an apron that says in big, red letters "KISS THE CHEF"
It takes Tony a moment to gather his thoughts.
"Uh, spinach," he answers, rubbing self-consciously at his chest, fingers catching on the rim of the arc reactor. "Cheese. Onions."
"You don't have any onions," Steve responds, turning back to the stove, flipping what must be his own omelet. "Besides, I wouldn't kiss you if you had onion breath."
"Were you planning on kissing me?" Tony asks, and he's horrified to realize that it comes out as an honest question. It's just-- he woke up alone and figured Steve had done the smart thing and left, he hadn't expected him to stay and cook without being asked.
Steve turns to look at him, hurt in his eyes, blush creeping up on his cheeks. "I mean, I thought we- I guess I was wrong," he says, moving to untie the apron.
"No, no no," Tony says quickly, bolting to keep Steve where he is. He puts his hands on Steve's hips, holding him there. "What I meant to say was, were you planning on kissing me right now, or do I have to wait until you're done cooking? Because I think it should be the first one, don't you?"
Steve's face floods with relief as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to Tony's mouth. He lingers there for a moment, driving Tony crazy, and then pulls away again.
"Can't let this burn," he says, and if Tony weren't so hungry, he'd protest.
---
to: srogers@pri_starkind.com
from: tstark@pri_starkind.com
subject: there's a party in my pants
Steve,
I'm hungry make me waffles?
--
Anthony E Stark
President of Stark Industries
to: tstark@pri_starkind.com
from: srogers@pri_starkind.com
subject: I hope I'm invited
Tony,
No. There's no stove here. Also, we're at work. There is something called a "lunch break" wherein I could be persuaded to make you waffles.
--
Steve Rogers
Personal Assistant to Mr. Stark
to: srogers@pri_starkind.com
from: tstark@pri_starkind.com
subject: of course you're invited who do you think i am
but your waffles are so fluffy and lovely and i have piles of work to do. seriously can't take a break but this is me recognizing that i need to eat that has to be worth something right?
--
Anthony E. Stark
President of Stark Industries
to: tstark@pri_starkind.com
from: srogers@pri_starkind.com
subject: I'll have to check my schedule
Tony,
It is worth something, you're right. It's worth you taking a break and me making you waffles. I can't even make waffles here, unless you're inventing a waffle iron down there.
--
Steve Rogers
Personal Assistant to Tony Stark
to: srogers@pri_starkind.com
from: tstark@pri_starkind.com
subject: that hurts steve
I could be persuaded.
--
Anthony E. Stark
President of Stark Industries
---
When the door to the workshop opens, Steve doesn't really know what he's expecting-- it's a common theme with Tony, really-- but he's pleasantly surprised to find that nothing has exploded or been set on fire and the lab seems perfectly safe, for the time being.
Tony, however, from what Steve can see, is hunched over his table, mask pulled over his face as he welds something with a blow torch. He waits until he sees Tony straighten and flip his mask up and turn off his blow torch before making his way over. Safety first, of course.
"Mr. Stark, sir, I brought you something," he says, deliberately changing his voice to see if Tony can tell he's kidding.
"Whatever it is, give it to my assistant, he's upstairs how did you even get-" Tony looks up, stops talking when he sees the big grin on Steve's face. He purses his lips and narrows his eyes in return, a bad imitation of a glare. Steve knows Tony can't stay mad at him.
"I have waffles," he says, and Tony's face changes completely as he lunges forward, dropping the blow torch with a loud clang.
"Oh my god, you beautiful soul, did you make them? Where did they come from? Are those chocolate chips? Is that whipped cream? What did I do to deserve you?" Tony says in a rush, speaking more to the waffles than to Steve. He cradles the container very gently in his arms and then snaps at one of his robots very suddenly. "Dummy! A fork. Now." The bot chirps at him and rolls away.
"I didn't make them, I had to order them, so I'm sorry if they're not what you're used to," Steve starts, but Tony shakes his head.
"No, no, no, thank you Steve. Pepper never got me waffles when I asked for them. Clearly you're a much better assistant than her." Tony turns away from Steve and back to the food, praising Dummy when he--she? Steve has no idea, the one time he'd tried to ask, Tony had gone off in a tangent about socially constructed gender roles and biological imperatives and Steve lost the thread of the conversation before it even began-- returns with a fork.
The bit about Pepper hits him harder than it probably should, but, well, Steve thought that after they'd, well, that after the benefit that he was more than just an assistant. He smiles, lips pressed tightly together, clears his throat, "I'll just go back up, then. I have lots of work to do. Remember, you have a meeting at three-thirty with the Board, Pepper will hurt both of us if you're late."
"Right, thank you Steve," Tony says, nodding, not seeming to notice the difference in Steve's demeanor as he obliterates the waffles.
"No problem, boss." Steve turns on his heel and leaves, cursing himself on the way back up the elevator.
---
What had he been thinking? Sleeping with Tony was the stupidest thing he could have done, and he knew that, and he did it anyway. He'd just wanted Tony to know that he wasn't useless, he wasn't unworthy of his family name or whatever other shit that people fling at him to tear him down.
But Steve also figures that he's seen Tony put on more faces than anyone; he's seen him slide from eccentric scientist to company president in less than an hour, and he's seen Tony's slick smile that he reserves for public appearances. Tony isn't even be honest with him about the device in his chest, (and Steve is his personal assistant, that's a legal and health matter, not even a personal one) so how is he going to be honest about his feelings? Steve should have known that it was just another act.
---
Steve goes to the Shield that night after work, takes his usual stool and tries not to grimace as Clint sits down next to him.
"Long time no see," he says, and Steve ignores the hurt in his voice. "Called you a couple of times."
"Yeah, my boss finally came back from Japan. Things have been a little hectic," Steve replies, hoping he doesn't sound as fake to Clint as he does to his own ears. A silent moment stretches between them.
"If you didn't-" Clint finally says with a sigh, rubs his eyes, "If we moved too fast or something, I'm sorry."
Steve does not want to have this conversation here. He doesn't want to have it at all, really, but he actually doesn't want to have it here, especially not with the eye-patch sporting bartender staring him down.
"It wasn't that."
"Then what was it?"
Steve takes a large swallow of his beer, squeezes his eyes shut.
"I'm kind of in love with my boss." He opens them again after a moment to see Clint staring at him, dumbfounded.
"Don't you work for Tony Stark?" he asks, eyebrow quirking up, and moving even higher when Steve nods in confirmation. "I guess there's no accounting for taste, then." He laughs, and Steve lets go of the breath he'd been holding.
"I really am sorry," Steve says, because he is, because Clint's nice, if not a jackass about certain things, and Steve had fun with him. Could stand to have more fun with him, and who knows, without Tony in the picture maybe things would have been different.
"It's all right, I guess. At least it's Tony Stark and not some random guy on the street," Clint shrugs.
"You're not mad?"
"No, I'm pissed. I figure there's just nothing I can do about it."
"Well, if it makes you feel better, you can laugh at me," Steve offers, throwing a hand up in the air. "Because I slept with the guy and today he treats me like I'm nothing."
Clint looks at him for a long moment, chin in his hand. Steve feels himself blush slightly under the gaze, but doesn't break it.
"He'll come to his senses soon enough," Clint says softly, and Steve blinks, looks away.
"What if he doesn't?" Steve answers, even softer, but Clint's warm hand lands on his shoulder and he catches his eyes again.
"He will," he says, squeezing Steve's shoulder lightly. "Now come on, let's get wasted."
---
Tony is standing at Steve's apartment door when he gets back-- much more wasted than he'd like to admit-- looking kind of furious.
Steve thinks that's funny, since he's the one who should be furious. But he's fine. Really.
"I've been calling you almost non-stop, why is your phone off?" Tony nearly barks at him, but Steve just chuckles, fumbling for his keys.
"I was in a bar, it must have run out of battery, I'll charge it now." AHA! There they are. He takes his time, carefully selecting the right key, but drops them. His fingers must be slick or something.
"Charging it now won't help me, I already messed up my date," Tony says, stooping quickly to pick up the keys and shove one in the door at random, trying to unlock it.
"Date?" Steve says, stomach filling with dread, though that may be the extra order of mozzarella sticks he ate coming back to haunt him.
"Yes, date, with a very important client. I forgot my papers," Tony says, still struggling with the door, "and she threw her wine on me and I lost the deal." The door finally swings open, but neither of them go in. Steve stands against the frame, halfway supporting himself as he looks Tony up and down.
"So why are you here? To yell at me about my phone?"
Tony lets out a breath. "No, no, I just-" He groans, "I'm just sorry, and I just-" He fails for a moment, hands waving in the air before he leans up, grabbing Steve's collar to pull him down into a kiss.
A kiss that Steve-- even drunk Steve who loves to kiss everyone-- does not return.
Instead, he puts his hands on Tony's chest and pushes him away gently.
"One:," he starts, holding up a finger, "I'm drunk, so no dice. Two: you can't just sleep with me to make yourself feel better, that's not in my job description." He walks into his apartment, turns on a light while Tony stands dumbstruck in the doorway.
"You're the best assistant I've ever had," he says, and Steve chuckles as he pulls his tie off.
"Better than Pepper, right?" he says wryly, and Tony steps into the room, uninvited. Steve doesn't mind much.
"A million times better than Pepper, and she now runs the company," Tony tells him. "Is that what this is about? How I compared you to Pepper earlier? I'm not- I don't-" He sighs. "I should leave."
"That would probably be best," Steve agrees, though he definitely doesn't want that, and he can hear drunk Steve yelling at him in his head. But, no. He knows this is the right thing to do. Even if the mere sight of Tony's retreating back makes him lonely.
"You told me you'd stay," Tony says so quietly from the doorway that Steve almost doesn't catch it.
"I am," Steve replies with a shrug. "I'm not going anywhere Tony, you're the one who keeps acting like you don't need me."
Tony turns away again, leaving Steve alone in his cold, cramped apartment.