Marvel Bang Fic: Part One - Try, Try Again
"I know," Steve says. "I know, I know, I know."
"I don't think you do, actually," Peggy says, raising a dramatic eyebrow. Steve knows it's for effect, watched her practice for hours in a mirror. He can't believe she's trying to use it on him. "I just think it would be better if you moved on."
"To what?" Steve asks, incredulous. Peggy always has this idea in her head that his life would suddenly be so much better if he moved on. It's her regular mantra. The problem is, even if he moved on he would still be the skinny, geeky kid he's always been. At least he's not short anymore. A totally unexpected growth spurt took care of that one. "Tell me, what glorious things am I currently missing out on because of it?"
Peggy bites her lip, eyes him for a beat too long. He would say, ha, see, can't think of anything if it weren't so pathetic. "There's..." she starts gamely but then falters. Steve just stares at her, not willing to help her out, hoping that he'll finally get her to give it up already.
She does something he isn't expecting, something worse. She's kind about it. "You wouldn't be such a target, you wouldn't be so there for him."
It's like a punch to the gut, hearing it put that way. Steve knows he'd be able to minimise the amount of daily torture he endured if he could just stay away but he's like a moth to a flame.
He keeps on getting burned by Tony Stark.
*
Steve was never confused about liking boys over girls. He'd taken one look at Tony Stark laughing and goofing with his friends and decided then and there with the surety of the very young that he was ruined for anyone else. Tony Stark didn't exactly feel the same way most of their high school careers, seemed to take enjoyment instead out of Steve's attention by finding new and interesting ways to embarrass him.
That's what Peggy's getting at though, that Steve would probably not be such a victim if he avoided Tony altogether.
He doesn't mean to be wherever Tony Stark is, just kind of finds himself in those places, idling and waiting for a glimpse. Tony usually sees him before he spots Tony worse luck, Tony's presence heralded with a shove, a called out name, a shoulder check that almost makes him stumble.
His Nana kept telling him that they will tire of it, these bullies, they always do and Steve kept waiting for that, kept waiting for Tony to just stop acknowledging him altogether, have his gaze skip past unseeing. It's like Tony's got as much of an imperative to hassle Steve as he has to be where Tony's going to be though.
Senior year and nothing's changed.
"Just think of it," Peggy says, smiling. "This time next year we'll be lounging around our college campus, being unbearably cool."
"I don't think a new school is going to fix me," Steve says because Peggy's been extolling the virtues of college for years, keeps assuring him that everything will slot neatly into place once they're there.
Steve thinks maybe he'll become more invisible but that's about all he can hope for.
"You'll see," Peggy says with a knowing look, trying to pull off imperious. "Get out from under the shadow of this school and Tony Stark and everything will be great."
Steve would like to believe her, he really would.
*
"Hey kid."
Someone grabs Steve in a head lock when he has his key in his front door. He struggles for a second but then the laugh filters through and he recognizes it and slumps. "Bucky, get off," he grumbles.
"Boy, you got tall," Bucky says, releasing Steve and stepping away. "I had to almost jump to get a hold of you."
"That's why I took the growth hormone, to make it just that little bit harder for you to noogie me," Steve says dryly, but he can't help the grin that cracks his face. He's always happy to see Bucky and Bucky knows it. He sees him less often since Bucky moved away, got all adult on him with his own apartment and a uniform. "How's the force treating you?"
"Can't complain," Bucky says. He brushes invisible lint from his shoulder and smirks. He looks good in a uniform, Steve would probably be able to appreciate it more if he wasn't permanently ruined by Tony.
Not that a crush on Bucky would be any more useful since when he was living across the street he would bring a different girl home every week, tell Steve it was only fair to give them all a shot.
The door opens behind Steve and his Nana pokes her head out, beams when she sees who it is. Bucky's parents hadn't exactly been around much when they were younger and Bucky had always come over to be fussed over and fed by Steve's grandmother. Steve sometimes wondered if Bucky was using him for the roast beef sandwiches.
"James," Eloise says, sounding delighted. "Get in here and give me a squeeze right this second."
Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes good naturedly but Steve can see the affection that floods Bucky's face when he leans over and gathers Eloise up in his arms, is overly gentle because these days she's much more brittle. Steve follows them inside, tossing his backpack and toeing out of his sneakers.
At the kitchen table, Eloise loads them up with leftover stew, crusty rolls and then makes noises about missing her shows and tutting about how scandalous they're getting and that they're more addictive because of it before disappearing into the living room.
"I don't know how you stay so skinny living here," Bucky says, cheeks stuffed and full spoon hovering near his chin. "Man, I'd be the size of a house by now."
"You are," Steve says, leans across to pinch the skin at Bucky's waist. Bucky jerks then kicks Steve under the table.
"Shut up, man. I'm svelte."
"You keep telling yourself that," Steve says with a chuckle and Bucky glares at him over his bowl. Steve's always wondered why he could be relaxed around someone like Bucky and yet turn into a blithering idiot when faced with Tony and his lacrosse buddies.
"I guess I gotta stop calling you shrimp and start calling you beanpole," Bucky muses, tearing his roll into smaller strips, ideal for scooping.
"Why do you like me?" Steve blurts, doesn't mean for it to come out so young and desperate sounding. Bucky just looks at him for a moment, frowning.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You're... y'know..." Steve says, flails his hands a little, kind of at a loss how to describe it.
"Awesome?" Bucky prompts, his amused expression sobering when Steve just looks down at his nails, pulls at them which is a nervous tic he's never been able to get rid of. "Aw man, is this about that Stark kid?"
"What?" Steve's head jerks up and he can already feel his cheeks flooding with heat. "Wh-what... how..?"
"Look, Peggy told me a while ago."
"Peggy has a big mouth," Steve snaps, scowling. He feels hurt by the betrayal of his confidence, especially since he'd listened to Peggy blather on about Bucky all freshman year and had never mentioned it to Bucky himself. He'd put up with her crush, silently and supportively. He doesn't know why she can't do the same.
"She's just worried," Bucky says, placatory. "You've been carrying that particular torch for a while now, kiddo."
"That's no one's business," Steve says sullenly.
"It's my business when the guy's making sport of you," Bucky says and Steve finds it hard to stay mad with the warmth of Bucky's protectiveness wrapping around him like his Nana's blanket. "I swear I should-"
"Do absolutely nothing," Steve interjects, putting a hand out to grasp Bucky's that's folded into a fist. "You're going to do nothing because he's done nothing."
"That's the problem though, am I right?" Bucky says, serious expression replaced with a dirty smirk and Steve rolls his eyes.
"Shut up man, I really hate you sometimes."
*
There's the stump of what must have been a giant and ancient tree under the bleachers at school. It makes a natural seat and Steve will take his lunch there when Peggy's held up, not really relishing the idea of eating at a table by himself in the cafeteria.
He likes being hidden from view but still being able to hear life around him. The cheerleaders cycle through their not very extensive repertoire and he can hear the Lacrosse players on the field opposite yelling to each other.
Steve doesn't watch them, would feel like a bit of a creeper to actually sit on the bleachers like he had any right to view their practice. Girlfriends, boyfriends and hangers-on gather above, unaware of him and he prefers it that way.
He goes to actual games though, can't really resist the temptation to be lost amongst a crowd and look his fill.
Usually the space under the bleachers is empty except for him but today when he ducks underneath, he sees Andrew Flecker, one of Tony's closest buddies and co-captain of the lacrosse team. Flecker has a lit cigarette clasped between first and middle finger and is holding it pointed towards Charlie Burwood’s face, the only kid in Steve’s whole year that’s actually smaller than him.
Steve must make some kind of noise because Flecker’s head whips around and his startled expression melts into a smirk. "Hey, what are you doing under here, Stunt?" Steve hates the nickname Stunt, hasn't been able to shake it even though he's most definitely not stunted anymore.
Steve has no idea what possesses him but he says, "Maybe you shouldn't be compromising your lung capacity since you're, you know, supposed to be an athlete."
Flecker squints at Steve, lip curling. "You just can't be cool, can you? It's genetically impossible."
"I think I'm happy with inheriting intelligence instead," Steve says and he really has no idea what he's doing. He's actually taller than Flecker now but Flecker outweighs him by a lot, a compact and meaty squareness to him. He sees Flecker regularly pick up the other players and toss them around when they score.
"Are you calling me stupid?" Flecker asks slowly, pointing the lit cigarette in Steve’s direction before dropping it to grind out under his heel.
Steve supposes maybe Bucky has made him reckless, cornering him about Tony and pissing him off. He's spoiling for a fight because he can't be mad at either Bucky or Peggy and his brain keeps screaming that he's currently picking the absolutely worst person to act as a surrogate but his mouth is late in getting the memo.
"If you have to ask I'm being too subtle."
Steve hasn't been in an actual real fight his entire life. He's been shoved and picked on for most of it because he's always been smaller than the other boys and they seemed to be offended by it, but they're older now. Flecker isn't going to content himself with giving Steve an atomic wedgie or a swirlie.
He's going to put Steve in the hospital.
Steve has a moment of satisfaction when Flecker turns on him and Charlie is able to slink backwards, throwing a look over Flecker’s shoulder that’s a mix of grateful and apologetic. Steve knows Charlie will go for help because he’s a good guy, but Flecker only needs a few precious seconds to pound Steve into the ground and he’s going to get them.
He comes at Steve with hands clenched in fists and Steve fights the urge to scramble backwards, has this insane idea that standing firm will be better than running for it when someone else says, "Hey Fleck, didn't your momma ever tell you not to hit girls?"
Flecker snorts, grin breaking out on his face as he turns to find Tony and Clint Barton behind him. Clint's one of the few jock types to have never actively hassled Steve and he's looking worried now while Tony just looks bemused.
"I just want to hit his smirky little face, just once," Flecker says and it sounds almost like he's asking Tony's permission which is strange. Steve knew Tony was pretty much the center of his social group but he didn't think the others would actively seek his approval that way.
Steve grabs up his sketch book, thinks maybe he should retreat while they're discussing whether or not to beat him up but then Tony's suddenly in his space, silent and quick. "You break something on him and there'll be more trouble than he's worth," Tony says and even though he's looking at Steve, looking right in his eyes, Steve knows he's still talking to Flecker.
"C'mon man, why do you always say we can't hurt this one anyway?" Flecker demands and Steve blinks at that, frowns because Tony's expression has gone funny and tight. Without any warning, Tony reaches a hand out and smacks the sketch book Steve had been carrying out of his hands.
The ground under the bleachers is always churned up because people cut through on the way to their cars after games and Steve's book lands in a muddy patch, face down with a wet splot. Steve winces, doesn't want to look at the damage. He's had the same book for years, doodles idly whenever he has a chance. He's mended the thing with tape more times than he can count, it practically has hand grooves in the cover.
For a crazy second, Steve thinks Tony looks apologetic, but then his trademark smirk is back in place. Flecker seems mollified, backs off and joins Clint who rolls his eyes and clips him in the back of the head. Tony turns back to his friends and they go, leaving Steve alone.
He drops to one knee, unmindful of the dirty water soaking through his pants and picks the sketch book carefully up. It's no use though, no matter how careful he is, the thing basically disintegrates as soon as he touches it, water having soaked through the pages like they were made of litmus paper.
Steve stands, kicks at the mess his book has become until it's an indistinguishable lump, feels hot tears in the back of his throat that he swallows down. He dashes angrily at his eyes with his sleeve, he's not a kid anymore so he doesn't get to cry about stuff like this.
For a moment he really does entertain the idea of sicking Bucky onto them, getting him to pull them over in full uniform, give them the scare of their lives.
He won't, he knows he won't, but it's a nice thought.
*
Steve would like nothing more than to go home and lick his wounds but he has hours before he can do that. He's making his way down to the art room because there at least he feels like no one will see him until he's calmed down a bit but Clint's loitering around the double doors leading into the studio that holds all the Senior final projects, exactly where Steve is headed.
Steve hesitates, because while Clint has never actually done anything himself, Steve has no idea why he would be there. Steve clears his throat when he gets closer and Clint startles a little, which is funny enough to almost put Steve into a better mood.
Almost.
"What is it?" he growls. He reaches down deep, finds his inner Bucky and squares his shoulders, meets Clint's gaze dead on. Clint though is ducking his head, shuffling his feet a little. He looks pained and Steve deflates to see it. He knows individually, other than Flecker of course, most of the guys on the Lacrosse team are fairly decent. It's just when they're in a group that they become a dangerous mass of one-upmanship.
"Hey, um," Clint starts, rubs the back of his head. "Look, I just wanted to say, ah, y'know, sorry about your book." The apology is given so haltingly that it takes a moment for Steve to realize that that's what it is.
"Oh, well, it's fine," Steve says automatically. His Nana always taught him that an apology, given sincerely, must be accepted. Clint looked pretty damn sincere. A tiny part of Steve kept wondering if maybe he was being set up for something but he couldn't see how this was leading anywhere.
"No, it's not," Clint says, slaps a hand against the brick wall next to the art room doors. "Flecker's an idiot and he's really going to hurt someone one day."
"Hopefully just himself," Steve says, but he knows what Clint means. Flecker's got a mean streak that's only growing worse with age.
"Look," Clint says, and now he's blushing. "Y'know Tony was just... he didn't really mean to-"
"No, it's... I don't care," Steve says, cutting off whatever justification Clint was going to offer for Tony's actions. He really doesn't want to hear it. "He's never going to change. He's always just going to be a caricature of himself."
Clint gives him a funny look, kind of shakes his head and frowns. "Look, I know he comes off a little..." Clint kind of spins his hand in the air and Steve rolls his eyes.
"It's really fine," Steve says. "It's... this was nice of you to... y'know."
"Oh, right," Clint says, goes back to shuffling his feet. "I just... I know it's hard, wanting someone and not thinking you have a hope in hell."
"What the fuck?" Steve blurts, suddenly hotly embarrassed. Clint knows and Steve is mortified.
“I know," Clint says, chewing on his lip. "No one else knows," he hurries to add. “I just... I recognize the signs. I'm in the same boat myself."
"Oh, okay," Steve says slowly.
"Anyway, I just, I wanted you to know we're not all complete dicks," Clint says and suddenly he's back to the Clint Steve is used to seeing from a distance on the field. He's smiling and bouncing on his feet, looks for all the world like they didn't just have a conversation about unrequited love and near misses with violent bullies.
"Thanks?" Steve says, a little uncertainly. Clint bobs his head, smacks Steve's shoulder and then he's gone.
Steve tries not to let the fact that Clint sought him out somewhere that no one would see them talking take away from the apology.
He understands.
*
The next few weeks pass uneventfully for Steve. He feels like everyone in the school is avoiding him barring Peggy, but that's nothing new. What's unsettling is that he's not even getting the daily dose of bullying. He's come to expect it, feels almost jittery without it, thinks he's probably really messed up if negative attention from Tony Stark is better than none at all.
He's left wondering why now, all of a sudden, Tony and the rest of his friends have decided to leave him alone. He wonders if maybe it was Clint. He was probably the second most popular guy in the school if it could be quantified that way, someone people gravitated towards. Maybe he'd said something like, leave him alone, guy's alright and people did, including Tony.
Maybe their little talk had some kind of knock-on effect.
He knows it's ludicrous to resent Clint if that's the case. The guy probably thought he was doing Steve a favor, giving him a little peace.
Peggy notices he's stewing and what's worse is that she knows the reason why in that scarily uncanny way of hers. She looks at him with worry in her eyes and the crease of her brow.
She doesn't understand though, she never could. Peggy is smart and beautiful, she chooses to hold herself apart from the crowd. Steve watches guy after guy try to tame her, try to find a way in. They all bounce right off the shield she's erected for herself but Steve knows one day that someone is going to figure it out and she'll be gone.
Steve tries not to think about it. Instead he makes plans for college, ignores the way Peggy rolls her eyes when he chooses Hamilton University because it has Stark House and the Stark Science Center. It has a good art program so he ignores her jibes and says, like Tony's going to the place where buildings are named after him.
He basically moves on like Peggy wanted him to, or at least, he goes through the motions of moving on and figures he'll mentally get there if he just keeps trying.
He starts thinking maybe it will work, right up until the night Tony rings him and asks for a ride home at two in the morning.
*
Steve should say a lot of things when Tony calls him, most of which have the F word in them. He should just laugh, say good luck with that when Tony laments about being abandoned, drunk and alone by his buddies when the cops showed at the bar they were at and everyone had panicked.
"I don't think they meant to just leave me," Tony says, a definite slur to his words, sounding uncertain and sad.
"I should leave your drunk ass in whatever gutter you've found," Steve mutters, but it's to himself and away from the mouthpiece of the phone so Tony doesn't hear him. He's missed Tony is the thing, as completely desperate and pitiful as that is.
"I just... you're the first person I thought of," Tony says and it's soft, barely there, but it hits Steve in the gut all the same.
"Can you see any landmarks?" Steve finally asks, because he knows trying to get an address out of Tony in his current state will be an exercise in frustration, already knew he was going to pick Tony up.
It wasn't ever really a question.
*
When Steve arrives, Tony looks completely dejected, like a kid who's been forgotten after soccer practice.
Steve pulls up and gets out of the car. It's an old junker Steve's grandfather built himself out of spare parts and sheer determination. When Steve drives it to school, he knows the other kids laugh at it. It's not a snazzy little sports number like Tony has or even a boring but respectable hand-me-down Honda like Peggy drives. Frankenstein, as he likes to call it, smokes and chokes its way to school and back, embarrassingly noisy and frustratingly reliable.
Tony watches Steve's approach blearily. He smiles when Steve gets closer and holds a hand out. Steve bypasses Tony's outstretched hand and ducks in on his other side, grabs Tony under the arm and tugs him up. He doesn't want to know what Tony's warm palm feels like, even for a second, not when it isn't shoving him aside anyway.
Tony stumbles and Steve ends up getting an arm around him anyway out of necessity before Tony knocks them both flat. Tony snorts to himself, gets his hand up and around before Steve can avoid it and pats at Steve's face clumsily. "Did you know there are a lot of people with the last name of Rogers," he says.
"Did you call all of them?" Steve asks, trying not to be amused and failing. He's finding it hard to be anything but breathless with Tony's warm length pressed into him.
"Felt like it," Tony huffs.
"C'mon, let's get you home," Steve says, guides Tony around to the passenger side of the car. He leans Tony up against the back door and gets the front one open. Tony is running the knuckles of one hand over the car's roof when Steve tugs him away and then down and in, Tony falling gracelessly so he's half-sprawled over the bench seat.
Steve makes sure Tony's feet are all the way in and then hip-checks the door closed before jogging around to the other side. Tony has stretched all the way out so Steve has to poke and prod him to get him to move over enough that he can get in behind the wheel again. He then holds Tony upright long enough to get a seat belt around him and lets him go, Tony slumping into it as soon as he's released.
Steve thinks Tony's passed out until ten minutes later when Tony's hand drifts into his line of sight. Steve bats it away, says, "Hey, watch it, I'm driving."
"I know that," Tony says. "Stop."
"The car?" Steve asks, then grimaces. "Aw man, are you going to be sick?" Steve doesn't wait for Tony's answer, just swings onto the soft shoulder of the road, pulls up under the cover of a tree. When he kills the engine and looks, he's not expecting Tony to just be sitting there, smiling at him. "What?"
Tony lunges at him. Steve automatically puts his hands up, expecting a hit but then Tony makes a disgruntled noise and Steve peeks out from between his fingers, sees Tony struggling with the seatbelt that's halted his progress across the seat. Tony finally looks up at him, frowning. "Little help?"
"You going to hit me?"
"What? No," Tony says, frowning harder.
"Okay, fine," Steve sighs, reaches across and undoes Tony's belt. Tony immediately shuffles across the seat at him again but this time Steve just waits, still flinches when Tony puts a hand up but all he does is bump his knuckles gently against Steve's cheekbone.
"Hi," he says, nonsensically.
"Hi?" Steve parrots back at him, feeling a little thrown by Tony's proximity. Tony leans in, gets close enough that his face is just an blurry smudge and then they're kissing, messy and hesitant.
Steve jerks away, more surprised than anything else. Tony makes that disgruntled noise again, gets a hand up and around so his palm is resting on Steve's nape. "What... what are you..?" Steve starts to ask.
"I thought that would be painfully obvious," Tony says, dirty smile in place as he tugs Steve to meet him, pushes open Steve's mouth with his tongue. Steve gets the taste of alcohol and smoke, breathes in too fast and chokes on it. He backs up again but there's nowhere to go, he's already wedged against the car door, handle pressing painfully into the middle of his spine.
Tony blinks at him, color flooding his cheeks. "Sorry, I thought you wanted... oh god, I'm a jerk, right?" Tony says, sounds hurt and embarrassed. He starts sliding away and that isn't what Steve wants at all. It's just taking him a moment for his brain to catch up to the proceedings, get with the program.
"Wait, sorry, you just startled me," Steve says, which sounds ridiculous, but Tony's stopped moving, turns back around when Steve finally gets his traitorous body to obey commands and manages to fist Tony's shirt at the shoulder, tugging. Tony smiles, reaches out both arms and links them around Steve's waist, tugs up and over till Steve is straddling him.
Steve, for once, is glad his car is such a giant monster of a thing that they have room to maneuver in the front seat.
Steve's had dreams like this, he thinks dizzily as Tony gets a hand tangled in the hair on his forehead, curls Steve down to him. The kiss this time is no less messy but more certain now, both of them intent. Steve licks into Tony's mouth this time, the alcohol and smoke taste mostly gone and instead it's just warm, wet and unbelievable.
Tony's looking up at him as Steve wrenches away to catch his breath. He's hard and as he rocks slowly forward, he can feel that Tony is too. Tony's eyes roll back and his grip on Steve's sides tightens almost painfully, nails digging half-moon bruises that Steve only hopes will last until he can look at them, see the evidence.
Tony slides sideways until he's mostly prone with Steve over him, propping himself on shaking arms. Tony's grinning, flushed. He thumbs Steve's lower lip, pushes the digit inside and Steve takes it, licks around the nail and bites gently.
Tony moans, an almost broken sound and Steve knows what he needs, what he wants to do. He starts edging backwards down Tony's body. Tony makes a noise of protest but Steve just grins up at him, pushes Tony's shirt up and away to bite at the hip bone above Tony's belt. He gets Tony's belt open, feels Tony's fingers push through his hair again as he gets the pants open.
Tony's cock is pushed against the fabric of his boxers. Steve only has to tug just the slightest bit for the head to be over the waistband. Steve takes a moment to stare at the wet tip, wet his lips and then lean down to lick it.
He's tentative, probably frustratingly so given how Tony's hands land on his shoulders and squeeze hard. Steve feels goose flesh break out all over his body at the contact, decides to hell with it and pushes Tony's underwear out of the way and sinks down.
Tony lets out a grunt, muffled like he's got his mouth pressed against something. One of his hands is gone and when Steve risks a look up, he can see Tony's biting the heel of his palm. Steve thought he was hard before, but now his dick jerks at the sight, that he's doing that.
He's getting used to the salty tang of Tony, tries to find a rhythm but knows he's probably failing. He just hopes that a messy, uncoordinated first timer blow job is still a good blow job, or at least enough but he thinks he must be doing okay from the way Tony's hips are thrusting shallowly and he's making these little uh uh uh noises.
Steve's getting lost in it when Tony's hand smacks into his forehead. Steve pulls back, feels heat flood his face at the obscene wet sound his mouth makes when it releases. "Sorry, just... I'm gonna-" Tony gets out, sounding absolutely ruined with it. Steve understands, gets a hand around Tony and jerks, made easy with his saliva.
Tony comes in Steve's fist with a broken grunt and a full-body shudder. Steve feels so close himself, knows if he so much as brushes his dick he's going to explode with it. He leans up instead, wants to get his mouth back on Tony's but he pauses before he can. Tony has one arm flung over his face, is breathing deep and even.
Steve just stares for a moment, disbelieving.
Tony's asleep.
*
Tony's house is huge. Steve knew it was going to be but he hadn't really imagined just how big. He thinks about propping Tony up against the door and making a run for it after he rings the ornate looking bell but figures that's probably pretty childish.
The man who answers the door looks resigned rather than surprised when he takes in Steve with Tony slung awkwardly across him. Steve knows this isn't Tony's dad, has seen pictures of Howard Stark in the papers. He figures it's an honest to god butler which is just insane.
"You'd better bring him inside," the man says with an English accent.
"Tony's feeling under the weather," Steve says lamely and the man arches an eyebrow.
"I'll bet," he says dryly, holding the door open and moving out of the way so Steve can try to herd Tony in. He'd roused somewhat when they'd gone past the large and imposing front gates, enough to punch in the entry code and now enough so that he's not exactly a dead weight.
Steve hands Tony over and he smiles groggily up at the man, says, "Jarvis, s'nice to see you."
"As always, sir," Jarvis says, with an eye roll and an easy affection that makes Steve like him immensely.
"I've had a weird night," Tony says and Steve takes that opportunity to slip out the door. He's almost to the car when he hears someone call out behind him.
Steve turns to see Jarvis approaching. He shoots his cuffs, adjusts his tie and Steve wonders at a man fully dressed like that at four in the morning. "I just wanted to thank you for seeing Mr. Stark home," Jarvis says.
"Oh, right. No problem."
"I thought I knew all of his friends. I haven't seen you before...?"
Jarvis leaves it open, waiting for a name and Steve feels a sudden tension in his gut, just wants to escape. He can still taste Tony on his tongue, he's still half-hard and just wants to go home and have a cold shower. "No, I haven't been before," Steve says.
Jarvis just looks at him for a moment before he nods. "Alright then, good morning."
"Uh, yeah, you too," Steve says. Before he goes, he weakens and turns back from his car, says, "Hey, um, can you tell Tony to call me when he's... when he feels better?" he asks, wants to take it back as soon as he says it.
"Of course," Jarvis says, offers a slight nod that would look ridiculous on most people but just appears courteous on him.
*
Tony doesn't call.
Steve tries to find it in himself to be surprised but he really isn't.
The rest of the school year rushes by in a blur. Steve sees Tony from a distance, if at all. Peggy's concerned look changes into something deeper but then everything ceases to matter because Steve's grandmother gets sick and he doesn't have time for anything else.
"I'll take a gap year, it'll be fine," Steve promises when he's helping Peggy pack. She's looking sad, eyes damp, chewing her bottom lip.
"People say that, but then they never do."
"I swear, I'll be there next year," Steve promises, even though he can't be sure. "It'll be..." easier this way he nearly says, but doesn't, catches the words behind his teeth before it's too late.
Part Two
"I don't think you do, actually," Peggy says, raising a dramatic eyebrow. Steve knows it's for effect, watched her practice for hours in a mirror. He can't believe she's trying to use it on him. "I just think it would be better if you moved on."
"To what?" Steve asks, incredulous. Peggy always has this idea in her head that his life would suddenly be so much better if he moved on. It's her regular mantra. The problem is, even if he moved on he would still be the skinny, geeky kid he's always been. At least he's not short anymore. A totally unexpected growth spurt took care of that one. "Tell me, what glorious things am I currently missing out on because of it?"
Peggy bites her lip, eyes him for a beat too long. He would say, ha, see, can't think of anything if it weren't so pathetic. "There's..." she starts gamely but then falters. Steve just stares at her, not willing to help her out, hoping that he'll finally get her to give it up already.
She does something he isn't expecting, something worse. She's kind about it. "You wouldn't be such a target, you wouldn't be so there for him."
It's like a punch to the gut, hearing it put that way. Steve knows he'd be able to minimise the amount of daily torture he endured if he could just stay away but he's like a moth to a flame.
He keeps on getting burned by Tony Stark.
*
Steve was never confused about liking boys over girls. He'd taken one look at Tony Stark laughing and goofing with his friends and decided then and there with the surety of the very young that he was ruined for anyone else. Tony Stark didn't exactly feel the same way most of their high school careers, seemed to take enjoyment instead out of Steve's attention by finding new and interesting ways to embarrass him.
That's what Peggy's getting at though, that Steve would probably not be such a victim if he avoided Tony altogether.
He doesn't mean to be wherever Tony Stark is, just kind of finds himself in those places, idling and waiting for a glimpse. Tony usually sees him before he spots Tony worse luck, Tony's presence heralded with a shove, a called out name, a shoulder check that almost makes him stumble.
His Nana kept telling him that they will tire of it, these bullies, they always do and Steve kept waiting for that, kept waiting for Tony to just stop acknowledging him altogether, have his gaze skip past unseeing. It's like Tony's got as much of an imperative to hassle Steve as he has to be where Tony's going to be though.
Senior year and nothing's changed.
"Just think of it," Peggy says, smiling. "This time next year we'll be lounging around our college campus, being unbearably cool."
"I don't think a new school is going to fix me," Steve says because Peggy's been extolling the virtues of college for years, keeps assuring him that everything will slot neatly into place once they're there.
Steve thinks maybe he'll become more invisible but that's about all he can hope for.
"You'll see," Peggy says with a knowing look, trying to pull off imperious. "Get out from under the shadow of this school and Tony Stark and everything will be great."
Steve would like to believe her, he really would.
*
"Hey kid."
Someone grabs Steve in a head lock when he has his key in his front door. He struggles for a second but then the laugh filters through and he recognizes it and slumps. "Bucky, get off," he grumbles.
"Boy, you got tall," Bucky says, releasing Steve and stepping away. "I had to almost jump to get a hold of you."
"That's why I took the growth hormone, to make it just that little bit harder for you to noogie me," Steve says dryly, but he can't help the grin that cracks his face. He's always happy to see Bucky and Bucky knows it. He sees him less often since Bucky moved away, got all adult on him with his own apartment and a uniform. "How's the force treating you?"
"Can't complain," Bucky says. He brushes invisible lint from his shoulder and smirks. He looks good in a uniform, Steve would probably be able to appreciate it more if he wasn't permanently ruined by Tony.
Not that a crush on Bucky would be any more useful since when he was living across the street he would bring a different girl home every week, tell Steve it was only fair to give them all a shot.
The door opens behind Steve and his Nana pokes her head out, beams when she sees who it is. Bucky's parents hadn't exactly been around much when they were younger and Bucky had always come over to be fussed over and fed by Steve's grandmother. Steve sometimes wondered if Bucky was using him for the roast beef sandwiches.
"James," Eloise says, sounding delighted. "Get in here and give me a squeeze right this second."
Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes good naturedly but Steve can see the affection that floods Bucky's face when he leans over and gathers Eloise up in his arms, is overly gentle because these days she's much more brittle. Steve follows them inside, tossing his backpack and toeing out of his sneakers.
At the kitchen table, Eloise loads them up with leftover stew, crusty rolls and then makes noises about missing her shows and tutting about how scandalous they're getting and that they're more addictive because of it before disappearing into the living room.
"I don't know how you stay so skinny living here," Bucky says, cheeks stuffed and full spoon hovering near his chin. "Man, I'd be the size of a house by now."
"You are," Steve says, leans across to pinch the skin at Bucky's waist. Bucky jerks then kicks Steve under the table.
"Shut up, man. I'm svelte."
"You keep telling yourself that," Steve says with a chuckle and Bucky glares at him over his bowl. Steve's always wondered why he could be relaxed around someone like Bucky and yet turn into a blithering idiot when faced with Tony and his lacrosse buddies.
"I guess I gotta stop calling you shrimp and start calling you beanpole," Bucky muses, tearing his roll into smaller strips, ideal for scooping.
"Why do you like me?" Steve blurts, doesn't mean for it to come out so young and desperate sounding. Bucky just looks at him for a moment, frowning.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You're... y'know..." Steve says, flails his hands a little, kind of at a loss how to describe it.
"Awesome?" Bucky prompts, his amused expression sobering when Steve just looks down at his nails, pulls at them which is a nervous tic he's never been able to get rid of. "Aw man, is this about that Stark kid?"
"What?" Steve's head jerks up and he can already feel his cheeks flooding with heat. "Wh-what... how..?"
"Look, Peggy told me a while ago."
"Peggy has a big mouth," Steve snaps, scowling. He feels hurt by the betrayal of his confidence, especially since he'd listened to Peggy blather on about Bucky all freshman year and had never mentioned it to Bucky himself. He'd put up with her crush, silently and supportively. He doesn't know why she can't do the same.
"She's just worried," Bucky says, placatory. "You've been carrying that particular torch for a while now, kiddo."
"That's no one's business," Steve says sullenly.
"It's my business when the guy's making sport of you," Bucky says and Steve finds it hard to stay mad with the warmth of Bucky's protectiveness wrapping around him like his Nana's blanket. "I swear I should-"
"Do absolutely nothing," Steve interjects, putting a hand out to grasp Bucky's that's folded into a fist. "You're going to do nothing because he's done nothing."
"That's the problem though, am I right?" Bucky says, serious expression replaced with a dirty smirk and Steve rolls his eyes.
"Shut up man, I really hate you sometimes."
*
There's the stump of what must have been a giant and ancient tree under the bleachers at school. It makes a natural seat and Steve will take his lunch there when Peggy's held up, not really relishing the idea of eating at a table by himself in the cafeteria.
He likes being hidden from view but still being able to hear life around him. The cheerleaders cycle through their not very extensive repertoire and he can hear the Lacrosse players on the field opposite yelling to each other.
Steve doesn't watch them, would feel like a bit of a creeper to actually sit on the bleachers like he had any right to view their practice. Girlfriends, boyfriends and hangers-on gather above, unaware of him and he prefers it that way.
He goes to actual games though, can't really resist the temptation to be lost amongst a crowd and look his fill.
Usually the space under the bleachers is empty except for him but today when he ducks underneath, he sees Andrew Flecker, one of Tony's closest buddies and co-captain of the lacrosse team. Flecker has a lit cigarette clasped between first and middle finger and is holding it pointed towards Charlie Burwood’s face, the only kid in Steve’s whole year that’s actually smaller than him.
Steve must make some kind of noise because Flecker’s head whips around and his startled expression melts into a smirk. "Hey, what are you doing under here, Stunt?" Steve hates the nickname Stunt, hasn't been able to shake it even though he's most definitely not stunted anymore.
Steve has no idea what possesses him but he says, "Maybe you shouldn't be compromising your lung capacity since you're, you know, supposed to be an athlete."
Flecker squints at Steve, lip curling. "You just can't be cool, can you? It's genetically impossible."
"I think I'm happy with inheriting intelligence instead," Steve says and he really has no idea what he's doing. He's actually taller than Flecker now but Flecker outweighs him by a lot, a compact and meaty squareness to him. He sees Flecker regularly pick up the other players and toss them around when they score.
"Are you calling me stupid?" Flecker asks slowly, pointing the lit cigarette in Steve’s direction before dropping it to grind out under his heel.
Steve supposes maybe Bucky has made him reckless, cornering him about Tony and pissing him off. He's spoiling for a fight because he can't be mad at either Bucky or Peggy and his brain keeps screaming that he's currently picking the absolutely worst person to act as a surrogate but his mouth is late in getting the memo.
"If you have to ask I'm being too subtle."
Steve hasn't been in an actual real fight his entire life. He's been shoved and picked on for most of it because he's always been smaller than the other boys and they seemed to be offended by it, but they're older now. Flecker isn't going to content himself with giving Steve an atomic wedgie or a swirlie.
He's going to put Steve in the hospital.
Steve has a moment of satisfaction when Flecker turns on him and Charlie is able to slink backwards, throwing a look over Flecker’s shoulder that’s a mix of grateful and apologetic. Steve knows Charlie will go for help because he’s a good guy, but Flecker only needs a few precious seconds to pound Steve into the ground and he’s going to get them.
He comes at Steve with hands clenched in fists and Steve fights the urge to scramble backwards, has this insane idea that standing firm will be better than running for it when someone else says, "Hey Fleck, didn't your momma ever tell you not to hit girls?"
Flecker snorts, grin breaking out on his face as he turns to find Tony and Clint Barton behind him. Clint's one of the few jock types to have never actively hassled Steve and he's looking worried now while Tony just looks bemused.
"I just want to hit his smirky little face, just once," Flecker says and it sounds almost like he's asking Tony's permission which is strange. Steve knew Tony was pretty much the center of his social group but he didn't think the others would actively seek his approval that way.
Steve grabs up his sketch book, thinks maybe he should retreat while they're discussing whether or not to beat him up but then Tony's suddenly in his space, silent and quick. "You break something on him and there'll be more trouble than he's worth," Tony says and even though he's looking at Steve, looking right in his eyes, Steve knows he's still talking to Flecker.
"C'mon man, why do you always say we can't hurt this one anyway?" Flecker demands and Steve blinks at that, frowns because Tony's expression has gone funny and tight. Without any warning, Tony reaches a hand out and smacks the sketch book Steve had been carrying out of his hands.
The ground under the bleachers is always churned up because people cut through on the way to their cars after games and Steve's book lands in a muddy patch, face down with a wet splot. Steve winces, doesn't want to look at the damage. He's had the same book for years, doodles idly whenever he has a chance. He's mended the thing with tape more times than he can count, it practically has hand grooves in the cover.
For a crazy second, Steve thinks Tony looks apologetic, but then his trademark smirk is back in place. Flecker seems mollified, backs off and joins Clint who rolls his eyes and clips him in the back of the head. Tony turns back to his friends and they go, leaving Steve alone.
He drops to one knee, unmindful of the dirty water soaking through his pants and picks the sketch book carefully up. It's no use though, no matter how careful he is, the thing basically disintegrates as soon as he touches it, water having soaked through the pages like they were made of litmus paper.
Steve stands, kicks at the mess his book has become until it's an indistinguishable lump, feels hot tears in the back of his throat that he swallows down. He dashes angrily at his eyes with his sleeve, he's not a kid anymore so he doesn't get to cry about stuff like this.
For a moment he really does entertain the idea of sicking Bucky onto them, getting him to pull them over in full uniform, give them the scare of their lives.
He won't, he knows he won't, but it's a nice thought.
*
Steve would like nothing more than to go home and lick his wounds but he has hours before he can do that. He's making his way down to the art room because there at least he feels like no one will see him until he's calmed down a bit but Clint's loitering around the double doors leading into the studio that holds all the Senior final projects, exactly where Steve is headed.
Steve hesitates, because while Clint has never actually done anything himself, Steve has no idea why he would be there. Steve clears his throat when he gets closer and Clint startles a little, which is funny enough to almost put Steve into a better mood.
Almost.
"What is it?" he growls. He reaches down deep, finds his inner Bucky and squares his shoulders, meets Clint's gaze dead on. Clint though is ducking his head, shuffling his feet a little. He looks pained and Steve deflates to see it. He knows individually, other than Flecker of course, most of the guys on the Lacrosse team are fairly decent. It's just when they're in a group that they become a dangerous mass of one-upmanship.
"Hey, um," Clint starts, rubs the back of his head. "Look, I just wanted to say, ah, y'know, sorry about your book." The apology is given so haltingly that it takes a moment for Steve to realize that that's what it is.
"Oh, well, it's fine," Steve says automatically. His Nana always taught him that an apology, given sincerely, must be accepted. Clint looked pretty damn sincere. A tiny part of Steve kept wondering if maybe he was being set up for something but he couldn't see how this was leading anywhere.
"No, it's not," Clint says, slaps a hand against the brick wall next to the art room doors. "Flecker's an idiot and he's really going to hurt someone one day."
"Hopefully just himself," Steve says, but he knows what Clint means. Flecker's got a mean streak that's only growing worse with age.
"Look," Clint says, and now he's blushing. "Y'know Tony was just... he didn't really mean to-"
"No, it's... I don't care," Steve says, cutting off whatever justification Clint was going to offer for Tony's actions. He really doesn't want to hear it. "He's never going to change. He's always just going to be a caricature of himself."
Clint gives him a funny look, kind of shakes his head and frowns. "Look, I know he comes off a little..." Clint kind of spins his hand in the air and Steve rolls his eyes.
"It's really fine," Steve says. "It's... this was nice of you to... y'know."
"Oh, right," Clint says, goes back to shuffling his feet. "I just... I know it's hard, wanting someone and not thinking you have a hope in hell."
"What the fuck?" Steve blurts, suddenly hotly embarrassed. Clint knows and Steve is mortified.
“I know," Clint says, chewing on his lip. "No one else knows," he hurries to add. “I just... I recognize the signs. I'm in the same boat myself."
"Oh, okay," Steve says slowly.
"Anyway, I just, I wanted you to know we're not all complete dicks," Clint says and suddenly he's back to the Clint Steve is used to seeing from a distance on the field. He's smiling and bouncing on his feet, looks for all the world like they didn't just have a conversation about unrequited love and near misses with violent bullies.
"Thanks?" Steve says, a little uncertainly. Clint bobs his head, smacks Steve's shoulder and then he's gone.
Steve tries not to let the fact that Clint sought him out somewhere that no one would see them talking take away from the apology.
He understands.
*
The next few weeks pass uneventfully for Steve. He feels like everyone in the school is avoiding him barring Peggy, but that's nothing new. What's unsettling is that he's not even getting the daily dose of bullying. He's come to expect it, feels almost jittery without it, thinks he's probably really messed up if negative attention from Tony Stark is better than none at all.
He's left wondering why now, all of a sudden, Tony and the rest of his friends have decided to leave him alone. He wonders if maybe it was Clint. He was probably the second most popular guy in the school if it could be quantified that way, someone people gravitated towards. Maybe he'd said something like, leave him alone, guy's alright and people did, including Tony.
Maybe their little talk had some kind of knock-on effect.
He knows it's ludicrous to resent Clint if that's the case. The guy probably thought he was doing Steve a favor, giving him a little peace.
Peggy notices he's stewing and what's worse is that she knows the reason why in that scarily uncanny way of hers. She looks at him with worry in her eyes and the crease of her brow.
She doesn't understand though, she never could. Peggy is smart and beautiful, she chooses to hold herself apart from the crowd. Steve watches guy after guy try to tame her, try to find a way in. They all bounce right off the shield she's erected for herself but Steve knows one day that someone is going to figure it out and she'll be gone.
Steve tries not to think about it. Instead he makes plans for college, ignores the way Peggy rolls her eyes when he chooses Hamilton University because it has Stark House and the Stark Science Center. It has a good art program so he ignores her jibes and says, like Tony's going to the place where buildings are named after him.
He basically moves on like Peggy wanted him to, or at least, he goes through the motions of moving on and figures he'll mentally get there if he just keeps trying.
He starts thinking maybe it will work, right up until the night Tony rings him and asks for a ride home at two in the morning.
*
Steve should say a lot of things when Tony calls him, most of which have the F word in them. He should just laugh, say good luck with that when Tony laments about being abandoned, drunk and alone by his buddies when the cops showed at the bar they were at and everyone had panicked.
"I don't think they meant to just leave me," Tony says, a definite slur to his words, sounding uncertain and sad.
"I should leave your drunk ass in whatever gutter you've found," Steve mutters, but it's to himself and away from the mouthpiece of the phone so Tony doesn't hear him. He's missed Tony is the thing, as completely desperate and pitiful as that is.
"I just... you're the first person I thought of," Tony says and it's soft, barely there, but it hits Steve in the gut all the same.
"Can you see any landmarks?" Steve finally asks, because he knows trying to get an address out of Tony in his current state will be an exercise in frustration, already knew he was going to pick Tony up.
It wasn't ever really a question.
*
When Steve arrives, Tony looks completely dejected, like a kid who's been forgotten after soccer practice.
Steve pulls up and gets out of the car. It's an old junker Steve's grandfather built himself out of spare parts and sheer determination. When Steve drives it to school, he knows the other kids laugh at it. It's not a snazzy little sports number like Tony has or even a boring but respectable hand-me-down Honda like Peggy drives. Frankenstein, as he likes to call it, smokes and chokes its way to school and back, embarrassingly noisy and frustratingly reliable.
Tony watches Steve's approach blearily. He smiles when Steve gets closer and holds a hand out. Steve bypasses Tony's outstretched hand and ducks in on his other side, grabs Tony under the arm and tugs him up. He doesn't want to know what Tony's warm palm feels like, even for a second, not when it isn't shoving him aside anyway.
Tony stumbles and Steve ends up getting an arm around him anyway out of necessity before Tony knocks them both flat. Tony snorts to himself, gets his hand up and around before Steve can avoid it and pats at Steve's face clumsily. "Did you know there are a lot of people with the last name of Rogers," he says.
"Did you call all of them?" Steve asks, trying not to be amused and failing. He's finding it hard to be anything but breathless with Tony's warm length pressed into him.
"Felt like it," Tony huffs.
"C'mon, let's get you home," Steve says, guides Tony around to the passenger side of the car. He leans Tony up against the back door and gets the front one open. Tony is running the knuckles of one hand over the car's roof when Steve tugs him away and then down and in, Tony falling gracelessly so he's half-sprawled over the bench seat.
Steve makes sure Tony's feet are all the way in and then hip-checks the door closed before jogging around to the other side. Tony has stretched all the way out so Steve has to poke and prod him to get him to move over enough that he can get in behind the wheel again. He then holds Tony upright long enough to get a seat belt around him and lets him go, Tony slumping into it as soon as he's released.
Steve thinks Tony's passed out until ten minutes later when Tony's hand drifts into his line of sight. Steve bats it away, says, "Hey, watch it, I'm driving."
"I know that," Tony says. "Stop."
"The car?" Steve asks, then grimaces. "Aw man, are you going to be sick?" Steve doesn't wait for Tony's answer, just swings onto the soft shoulder of the road, pulls up under the cover of a tree. When he kills the engine and looks, he's not expecting Tony to just be sitting there, smiling at him. "What?"
Tony lunges at him. Steve automatically puts his hands up, expecting a hit but then Tony makes a disgruntled noise and Steve peeks out from between his fingers, sees Tony struggling with the seatbelt that's halted his progress across the seat. Tony finally looks up at him, frowning. "Little help?"
"You going to hit me?"
"What? No," Tony says, frowning harder.
"Okay, fine," Steve sighs, reaches across and undoes Tony's belt. Tony immediately shuffles across the seat at him again but this time Steve just waits, still flinches when Tony puts a hand up but all he does is bump his knuckles gently against Steve's cheekbone.
"Hi," he says, nonsensically.
"Hi?" Steve parrots back at him, feeling a little thrown by Tony's proximity. Tony leans in, gets close enough that his face is just an blurry smudge and then they're kissing, messy and hesitant.
Steve jerks away, more surprised than anything else. Tony makes that disgruntled noise again, gets a hand up and around so his palm is resting on Steve's nape. "What... what are you..?" Steve starts to ask.
"I thought that would be painfully obvious," Tony says, dirty smile in place as he tugs Steve to meet him, pushes open Steve's mouth with his tongue. Steve gets the taste of alcohol and smoke, breathes in too fast and chokes on it. He backs up again but there's nowhere to go, he's already wedged against the car door, handle pressing painfully into the middle of his spine.
Tony blinks at him, color flooding his cheeks. "Sorry, I thought you wanted... oh god, I'm a jerk, right?" Tony says, sounds hurt and embarrassed. He starts sliding away and that isn't what Steve wants at all. It's just taking him a moment for his brain to catch up to the proceedings, get with the program.
"Wait, sorry, you just startled me," Steve says, which sounds ridiculous, but Tony's stopped moving, turns back around when Steve finally gets his traitorous body to obey commands and manages to fist Tony's shirt at the shoulder, tugging. Tony smiles, reaches out both arms and links them around Steve's waist, tugs up and over till Steve is straddling him.
Steve, for once, is glad his car is such a giant monster of a thing that they have room to maneuver in the front seat.
Steve's had dreams like this, he thinks dizzily as Tony gets a hand tangled in the hair on his forehead, curls Steve down to him. The kiss this time is no less messy but more certain now, both of them intent. Steve licks into Tony's mouth this time, the alcohol and smoke taste mostly gone and instead it's just warm, wet and unbelievable.
Tony's looking up at him as Steve wrenches away to catch his breath. He's hard and as he rocks slowly forward, he can feel that Tony is too. Tony's eyes roll back and his grip on Steve's sides tightens almost painfully, nails digging half-moon bruises that Steve only hopes will last until he can look at them, see the evidence.
Tony slides sideways until he's mostly prone with Steve over him, propping himself on shaking arms. Tony's grinning, flushed. He thumbs Steve's lower lip, pushes the digit inside and Steve takes it, licks around the nail and bites gently.
Tony moans, an almost broken sound and Steve knows what he needs, what he wants to do. He starts edging backwards down Tony's body. Tony makes a noise of protest but Steve just grins up at him, pushes Tony's shirt up and away to bite at the hip bone above Tony's belt. He gets Tony's belt open, feels Tony's fingers push through his hair again as he gets the pants open.
Tony's cock is pushed against the fabric of his boxers. Steve only has to tug just the slightest bit for the head to be over the waistband. Steve takes a moment to stare at the wet tip, wet his lips and then lean down to lick it.
He's tentative, probably frustratingly so given how Tony's hands land on his shoulders and squeeze hard. Steve feels goose flesh break out all over his body at the contact, decides to hell with it and pushes Tony's underwear out of the way and sinks down.
Tony lets out a grunt, muffled like he's got his mouth pressed against something. One of his hands is gone and when Steve risks a look up, he can see Tony's biting the heel of his palm. Steve thought he was hard before, but now his dick jerks at the sight, that he's doing that.
He's getting used to the salty tang of Tony, tries to find a rhythm but knows he's probably failing. He just hopes that a messy, uncoordinated first timer blow job is still a good blow job, or at least enough but he thinks he must be doing okay from the way Tony's hips are thrusting shallowly and he's making these little uh uh uh noises.
Steve's getting lost in it when Tony's hand smacks into his forehead. Steve pulls back, feels heat flood his face at the obscene wet sound his mouth makes when it releases. "Sorry, just... I'm gonna-" Tony gets out, sounding absolutely ruined with it. Steve understands, gets a hand around Tony and jerks, made easy with his saliva.
Tony comes in Steve's fist with a broken grunt and a full-body shudder. Steve feels so close himself, knows if he so much as brushes his dick he's going to explode with it. He leans up instead, wants to get his mouth back on Tony's but he pauses before he can. Tony has one arm flung over his face, is breathing deep and even.
Steve just stares for a moment, disbelieving.
Tony's asleep.
*
Tony's house is huge. Steve knew it was going to be but he hadn't really imagined just how big. He thinks about propping Tony up against the door and making a run for it after he rings the ornate looking bell but figures that's probably pretty childish.
The man who answers the door looks resigned rather than surprised when he takes in Steve with Tony slung awkwardly across him. Steve knows this isn't Tony's dad, has seen pictures of Howard Stark in the papers. He figures it's an honest to god butler which is just insane.
"You'd better bring him inside," the man says with an English accent.
"Tony's feeling under the weather," Steve says lamely and the man arches an eyebrow.
"I'll bet," he says dryly, holding the door open and moving out of the way so Steve can try to herd Tony in. He'd roused somewhat when they'd gone past the large and imposing front gates, enough to punch in the entry code and now enough so that he's not exactly a dead weight.
Steve hands Tony over and he smiles groggily up at the man, says, "Jarvis, s'nice to see you."
"As always, sir," Jarvis says, with an eye roll and an easy affection that makes Steve like him immensely.
"I've had a weird night," Tony says and Steve takes that opportunity to slip out the door. He's almost to the car when he hears someone call out behind him.
Steve turns to see Jarvis approaching. He shoots his cuffs, adjusts his tie and Steve wonders at a man fully dressed like that at four in the morning. "I just wanted to thank you for seeing Mr. Stark home," Jarvis says.
"Oh, right. No problem."
"I thought I knew all of his friends. I haven't seen you before...?"
Jarvis leaves it open, waiting for a name and Steve feels a sudden tension in his gut, just wants to escape. He can still taste Tony on his tongue, he's still half-hard and just wants to go home and have a cold shower. "No, I haven't been before," Steve says.
Jarvis just looks at him for a moment before he nods. "Alright then, good morning."
"Uh, yeah, you too," Steve says. Before he goes, he weakens and turns back from his car, says, "Hey, um, can you tell Tony to call me when he's... when he feels better?" he asks, wants to take it back as soon as he says it.
"Of course," Jarvis says, offers a slight nod that would look ridiculous on most people but just appears courteous on him.
*
Tony doesn't call.
Steve tries to find it in himself to be surprised but he really isn't.
The rest of the school year rushes by in a blur. Steve sees Tony from a distance, if at all. Peggy's concerned look changes into something deeper but then everything ceases to matter because Steve's grandmother gets sick and he doesn't have time for anything else.
"I'll take a gap year, it'll be fine," Steve promises when he's helping Peggy pack. She's looking sad, eyes damp, chewing her bottom lip.
"People say that, but then they never do."
"I swear, I'll be there next year," Steve promises, even though he can't be sure. "It'll be..." easier this way he nearly says, but doesn't, catches the words behind his teeth before it's too late.
Part Two