Physical Therapy, Part III, wip
Part I
Part II
*
When he comes back to himself, he's been deposited back in the Iron Man-changing room, which, all things considered, is a kindness; his catsuit is in utter ruin, it's literally torn apart and his thighs are shiny with lube and come running down from his stomach and tickling slowly out of his ass. He aches all over and sitting down is going to be so much fun for the next couple of days. There are bruises, hand-shaped ones on his hips and legs and arms, on his biceps, on his wrists and scrapes on his back from banging against the wall again and again. He knows Steve didn't set out to hurt him, but he'd clearly lost a bit more of his control than usual.
Tony can't remember the last time he had angry sex. A known billionaire playboy running around pissing off his bed partners, that's just asking for tell-all interviews and tabloid crucifixion.
And while Tony is sated enough and that ache deep inside him is the good kind of ache, the satisfied ache, he mostly just feels tired and a bit sad now. If he's honest with himself (and in his head Pepper is saying, god, Tony, really?) this rough, brittle passion is not what he's been jerking off to late at night for the last three weeks. He's tried to think of other things, other people, the girls in the limo double-teaming him, one of them riding him, the other sitting on his face and then one of the girls had a strap-on in her purse, because apparently that's what young, modern women brings with them to a gala ball these days, who would have thought, and had been very enthusiastic with it) and while that memory does carry him a good part of the way towards orgasm, it's always Steve when he comes, Steve spreading him out on the bed, tying him up and making him melt, petting his hair afterwards, watching him as he fell asleep, smiling that smile Tony has come to think of as his.
He hadn't expected Steve to be willing to touch him with a ten foot pole ever again, (but it's been more than three weeks and apparently Steve has been on the withdrawal too), so he should probably just take what he's been given and put it all out of his mind. And go clubbing again as soon as his body is up to it.
Tony cleans up and dresses in whatever he has lying in his changing room (clothes from the workshop he's clearly worn before some mission and then just left on the floor. Just a tad on the nasty side, but they'll do. Even ratty jeans and a wife-beater with oil-stains and smelling of stale sweat are godsends in this situation) and braces himself for the debriefing.
*
When Tony finally slinks into the meeting room, the others are already seated and busy with intel and leads on the robot-sponsor and they don't notice him. Tony knows it would be a disaster of epic proportions to even try to to sit down inconspicuously, so he just leans against the wall next to the door, his arms crossed, watching them.
Natasha is doing Blank Face no. 3 at Fury, the one meaning 'I already know this and I'm just humoring you and waiting for you to shut up so we can get some real work done', Bruce is poking at a tablet and frowning, he's looking exhausted; he always is after having hulked out and there's several empty nutrition shakes in front of him, Clint and Thor are doing their version of pillow-talk; shooting the shit about the mission, sounding more like a couple of frat-boys after a party than two members of the world's best superhero-team. Steve is fiddling with his pen and looking distracted and Tony is so not thinking about why that would be, really, he is not, and that's when Steve looks up at him and blanches, which of course makes Fury finally notices him. He gives Tony an annoyed look, clearly by reflex, because then he double-takes at Tony and just... stares. The room is suddenly very quiet.
“Shit, Stark, did you get mauled by a tiger?” Clint says after a minute, with maybe just a bit of concern in his voice and Tony suddenly realizes that in this outfit most of the bruises on his torso are clearly visible and impossible to interpret as anything but what they are; souvenirs from some very rough sex.
Oops.
“Oh, that.” Tony says, in a flippant voice. “It's not important, just one of those kind of things, you know?”
“What kind of 'things', Tony?” Thor asks, voice already tight with anger, gripping Mjolnir hard, clearly ready to do violence to anyone who'd dare lay a hand on one of his team mates and Tony need to put a stop to that line of thinking right now.
“Oh, stop looking at me like that.” He says, stretching out, doing that little satisfied shiver, looks at them all from under his eyelashes, smiling smugly. “As long as they don't get me for bestiality, I don't give a shit. Just make animal control take the thing away when I'm done with it.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake Stark, keep that stuff to yourself-” Clint starts, only to be interrupted by Tony, who has make an effort not to put his hands on his hips as he lays into Clint. Instead he just crosses his arms over his chest and tries no to sound too bitchy.
“You didn't have a problem last week, when I came in at shit o'clock in the morning from that club and gave way more TMI than I'm giving you now and it's the same damn thing.” Tony says, speaking fast. He's suddenly angry and he doesn't know why. He takes a breath and says as matter-of-factly as he can, “It's just sex. Forget about it, I already have.”
That's when Steve gets up, so fast that his chair almost topples over. The others fall silent immediately and watch astonished as Steve stalks towards to him, radiating barely contained anger.
“You'll have to excuse us. I need to borrow Tony for a moment,” He says, voice tight as he steers Tony out of the room.
*
They're barely out in the hallway when Steve pushes Tony up against the wall.
“What the fuck, Steve,” Tony says, only to be cut off by Steve. He's angry, but it's not the same kind of sudden, red-hot primal anger as in the locker-room, it's more focused this time, more distilled, the kind of anger that has been simmering for a long, long time and it's all directed straight at Tony.
“Tony, just. Be quiet please.” Steve says and takes something out of the pocket of his jeans.
It's a jewellery box. Holy fuck.
“I was going to ask you nicely,” Steve says, opening the box and holding it out towards Tony, who can't help but trying to take a step back, but there's a wall in the way and he has a sudden memory of Clint, trapped against the kitchen wall, trying desperately to get away from the Clint Basher, “but since you can't stop being an ass...”
“...you're kidding, right?” Tony says. It's honestly the only thought in his head right now. Steve must be fucking kidding. But the content of that box, a single silvery ring in a simple, masculine design, says otherwise. God, that's not silver, that's Vibranium, Tony can recognize it anywhere, it's metal from Steve's shield, holy fuck. His palms starts to sweat and he honestly feels faint. How the fuck is he going to get out of this one?
“I'm not asking you to marry me this very instant,” Steve says, closing the lid on the box again with a snap, never breaking eye-contact with Tony, “but every time you act like this is nothing, you hurt me and I won't have that any more. If this is what it takes to for you to get into you thick skull that that we are serious, that this could be so much more than what you're trying to limit it to, then than that's what's we're going to do.”
Tony just gapes at him. He's experiencing one hell of a mental discrepancy - Steve is standing completely straight and imposing, towering a bit over Tony, his voice commanding, it's- it's his Captain America-voice, he's in full-on on Captain America-mode, full of that presence he never unleashes out of his uniform and Tony can never not find that hot and also, Steve is just incredibly sexy when he's angry and all his energy is focused on Tony and it all goes straight to Tony's dick - but on the hand Tony is starting to realize that Steve really does mean it and that's-
Holy fuck.
Tony is gaping like a fish out of water, unable to say anything, even if he had the faintest clue of what to say. He can't think, his head is still filled with blind panic and Steve takes a step back, turns his face away, he's said his piece and now it's not Captain America in front of him any more, it's Steve; Steve who is human, vulnerable.
“Tell me what you are thinking, Tony,” Steve says, voice quieter and god, he's an open book and Tony doesn't know what to do with that, with what he sees in Steve's face. It's too much.
“I think,” Tony says, looking away from it all, voice barely more than a whisper, a hiss. His stomach is a tight knot of- of /fear/, god-damn it, sudden, deep fear that makes it hard to speak, hard to get the next words out, “I think we really don't have any more to talk about. We're done here.”
*
When Tony storms away from the corridor outside the meeting room, leaving Steve behind (and Tony will not look back, he will not, he will not - oh god, that look on Steve's face, it's that look, that look he had after his nightmare, when he thought Tony was about to throw him out of his bed, only so, so much worse and Tony is not fleeing, he is not), he almost collides with Rhodey in the doorway into the elevator. Oh, right, Rhodey had been on that mission-thingy, some good old-fashioned military-stuff, no suit required.
“Hey, hey Tony, what's up, where're you going?” Rhodey says, clasping his shoulder, stopping him effectively.
“Back to Malibu. I have a date with alcohol poisoning.” Tony answers, voice tight, looking straight ahead, he's not looking back, he's not, he's not.
“...well, I better come with you then.” Rhodey says and Tony feels his temper flare. He pushes Rhodey out of the way, moves into the elevator; Rhodey scrambles to keep up, barely gets in as the doors close and Tony hits the button to the basement.
“You don't have to 'better' do anything.” Tony says with a sneer in his voice. “If you want to, fine, but don't come babysit me out of some old sense of duty or misplaced guilt. I do not need your pity.”
“...I can see why you need to get drunk.” Rhodey says, staring at him. “We're taking the suits?”
“We're so taking the suits.”
*
“You're doing what with Cap?”
“Was. Past tense. As in, not doing it any more.”
“Is that why we're here, getting drunk?”
“No, small setback aside, we stopped doing it some weeks ago. Today was just... There was this thing in the middle of the meeting...”
“I guess it's not easy working with your ex.”
“Especially when he goes around proposing to you.”
“...Wow. And I thought I was drunk enough for this. We need more alcohol.”
“That's funny. That's what Pepper said too.”
*
“I can honestly say I did not see that coming.”
“Me neither.”
“How long were you together?”
“We weren't together.”
“...okay. How long did you have sex?”
“Eh. A month? No, around a month and a half.”
“Tony, when was the last time you had a relationship that lasted more than a month? That's longer than you and Pepper! And Cap, man. Can't imagine him being the 'just sex' kind of guy. I'm just saying, maybe you should have seen it coming.”
*
It's later. Tony has passed the 'oh, hey, alcohol, hello'-stage, he has passed the 'I can't feel me face, how funny'-stage, the 'oh god, I can't feel my faaace'-stage, the 'words, what words'-stage and by now he has sort of lost track of all the stages and that's... bad. He has experience enough with these things to know to keep track of his own progress towards oblivion, so he knows when to call Happy to get him out of here and when to call Pepper to get his publicist out of bed at four in the morning and start doing damage control.
Speaking of Pepper...
Tony fumbles to pick up his phone, fights to hit the right button to kill that noise, god, when did he think 'Fight For Your Right' was a good idea for her ringing tone? Not right now, when the party is so much over, that's for certain.
“Tony. Where are you?” And wow, Tony has to think really hard about that one.
“...On the floor?”
Pepper is silent for a long time.
“Oh, don't be like that, it's all right, Rhodey's here with me. On the floor.” Tony can't help but giggle at that, “Rhodey has passed aaaall the stages and has passed out. On the floor. And I have not. I win!”
“Oh, Tony. Just... Just stay where you are, I'm flying in.”
*
When Pepper arrives much later in the evening, Tony is playing basket in the yard, riding himself of the last of his hangover. He's in the prototype of an exoskeleton, a stripped-down version of the suit, no armour, no weapons and his opponent is Mark VII, the suit he uses when training with the others. Its only weapons is low-grade tasers and it's heavily padded on the outside. Or rather, he's playing against JARVIS, who's remote controlling the ting. And besides that Tony still is kind of groggy and queasy and that JARVIS is playing dirty, they're also using the occasion to test a new program, a learning IA. And it's working. And Tony is getting his ass kicked.
It's twilight when JARVIS tells him that Pepper is approaching. In the sudden quiet after the whirring sounds of the machines and their noisy play, he can her heels clacking as she gets closer, accompanied by the cikades. She has taken off her jacket in the warm evening air and her cream-coloured blouse and her skin are glowing in the light of the lanterns.
“You've ruining the yard.” is the first thing she says to him, looking around. Then she walks the rest of the way over to him and kisses his cheek. And puts her arms around him and hugs him tight.
Tony freezes, all he can think of is that he's sweating and disgusting and that Pepper is ruining her nice clothes.
“You're supposed to hug me back, Tony.”
Tony puts his hands gingerly on her hips.
“Well, that's a start. Now put you head on my shoulder.” Pepper says, her words muffled against his neck.
Tony does, inhales her perfume, all the little Pepper-smells and then suddenly his hands are wrapped tightly around her waist and his face is buried in her silky-soft hair. Pepper holds tighter and starts rocking them gently.
“That's good, Tony. That's good.” Pepper says and she is sniffling and that's just. Tony hates making Pepper cry, especially when he doesn't know why. “You were rubbish at this when it was us, too.”
“Hugging?” He asks her, but all he gets is a 'oh, Tony', which isn't very helpful.
They remain in the yard for a long time, wrapped around each other. It's the longest Tony can remember touching anybody outside sex and hospitals.
*
They're sharing a chaiselong down at the pool, wrapped in blankets, not touching the white wine Tony had brought out on reflex.
Pepper hasn't said anything yet, hasn't yelled at him and she isn't acting all 'god, you're being such an idiot' either, she just holds him and lets him be, letting him know that if he wants to talk that's okay, but if he doesn't, that's okay too. It reminds him of that flight home from Monaco, years ago, when he had been dying and Pepper had looked at him with this small smile, like a Madonna who'd forgive you everything if you had the courage to tell her about it.
Tony hadn't.
He's not sure he has it now, either.
*
It takes more than just a couple of days for Pepper and Rhodey to finally convinced Tony to join the world of the living; there might have been threats to ducktape him and drive him to Stark Tower themselves, hogtied in the trunk, but that's neither here nor there. What finally convinces him is that Pepper agrees to fend off Fury if he gets his ass of to Stark Tower and at least does some kind of work.
And so far it's a perfectly boring day - there's never-ending meetings and when there isn't any meetings, he's grounded in his (okay, Pepper's) office, just like old days. Only difference is that instead of being out doing scarily effective work-related things, Pepper has gone out to get herself a spa-treatment. Getting her feet eaten by small fish. Yikes, Tony had said. Loudly. But really, after what he's put her through the last couple of days, he doesn't begrudge her a little me-time.
And then his perfectly boring day is interrupted by the fire alarm going off.
Tony is calling up security; he needs to know asap if this is a fluke, an actual fire or a freak-show about to start and that's when Clint barges in (the secretary is still SHIELD, damn it), walks over to his desk and puts down the smoking remains of the the Clint Basher Mark V and stands back, glaring at Tony, arms crossed.
Tony is still holding the phone halfway up to his ear, the fire-alarm is still blaring and Clint just continues to glare at him.
“Uh, false alarm, Garry, code 507-F, authorization Anthony Edward Stark. Just got a visit from a fellow Avenger, codename Hawkeye. Yeah, I'll be all right, just a bit of business.”
He hangs up and in the sudden silence after the blaring of the fire alarm, looks Clint over more thoroughly.
“Not that I have any right to judge, but are you drunk, Barton?”
“Yes. You can be damn sure I am. There is no way in hell I am going to do this sober.” Clint says, only slurring his words a little. “But don't call security, I am not that drunk. Though, if I had been, you'd deserve whatever 'that drunk'-me would do to you” Clint slaps his his palm with his fist, and yeah, Tony gets the picture.
“Now, you listen Stark, like you never listened before: I talked to Steve. Just take a minute and think about how bad this is, how much you've screwed up, for me to get involved in your drama, for me to talk about feelings.” Clint is silent for a moment, glaring at Tony and letting that sink in.
“How- how is he?” Tony asks before he can stop himself. Clint snorts.
“It's Steve, Stark. So stoic. But well. Steve. We talked. Or rather, I drank and he talked. About how since his girl back in the war, Peggy, there hasn't been anyone else. Don't make me say it, Stark. Feelings stuff. Anyway, the words attraction and love and rings were involved, you should be able to fill out the blanks from there.
Tony reaches out and starts fiddling with the ruined Basher. It's been pierced with several of Clint's trick-arrows, his own design, the EMP-ones. And then it's been shot by a 9-mm. And kicked and stomped on. A crowbar may have been involved, too. But Tony could still fix it, rebuild it and make it work again, make it better.
Machines are so much easier.
Clint slams a palm down on the table directly in front of Tony's face, startling him and effectively recapturing his attention. Boy, is he angry now.
Tony is not usually scared by Clint. Bruce, hulked out and Tony out of his armour? Yes. Thor, when he's been riled up by Loki (and is Tony glad those two have a hesitating truce these days, oh yes, he is. Thanks to Steve. Always thanks to Steve) and is mad with rage and the very air is crackling around him? Yes. Natasha? Always.
Steve? When he's Captain America, full of righteous anger and using the full force of his strength, his charisma, his brilliance? No. Never then. But Steve, when he is looking like a sad, little lost boy, like he'd done when Tony had first met him and he'd thought no one was looking, or when he understands all too well what's going on in the world today and isn't jaded, just so, so sad, then Tony is scared, but not of Steve. Just for him.
But Clint? Clint is the annoying brother, or more like a cousin, someone who's safe to rile up and bully around, because you know they can take it and give it back with interests and because at the end of the day, they're stuck with you and will have your back.
The Clint in front of him? Is one scary fucker. Normal-Clint is snarky and nonchalant and focused and disciplined in the field. This Clint is sort of a primal thing, filled with justified rage, who has come to rip him into shreds for hurting one of his pack. Or worse, one of the members of his crazy carnie pseudo family.
Tony can't say he blames him. He is also sort of regretting hanging up on security.
“Stark! Pay attention!” Clint is leaned forward aggressively, getting right in his face. Tony can smell the alcohol on his breath, cheap beer and expensive whiskey. Probably Tony's own.
“I'm going to give you a piece of advice: you need to forget what you think you want and think about what you need. Also think about if anything better than Cap will ever come along. After him anyone would disappointing you and you know it.” Clint stands back, scowling at Tony's stunned face.
“Oh, and by the way. Steve didn't say it out loud, but it was pretty clear that losing Peggy still hurt like hell. I will fuck you up if you make Steve hurt like that again. And when I'm done, guess what, the rest of the team will be in line. And then all of SHIELD. Actually, most of the Earth will. Even the villains. And in say, four hours, me and Thor will take Steve out and do our damn best to get him drunk and convince him what an utter ass-hole you are and that he could do so much better. You have four hours, Stark. Think about it. Think really hard.”
Then Clint turns on his heal and leaves. Tony buries his head in his hands.
Attraction. Love. Rings.
That look on Steve's face when Tony left him the hallway, his slumped, defeated shoulders, his white-knuckled grip around the box with the ring.
On his desk, the Clint Basher continues to smoke gently.
*
Tony goes to the workshop, the one in Malibu. He goes slow enough to enjoy the scenery and not piss off the air controls, so it’s early afternoon when he finally arrives.
He gets a drink, goes downstairs, puts the destroyed Basher on the workstation, cranks Black Sabbath up to eleven and gets to work
It takes three satisfyingly mindless hours before he resurfaces.
The Clint Basher Mark VIII now has small rocket launchers and can skate around on small ball-joints while shooting with perfect aim; it may be about to develop a personality and it can also to brew the perfect cup of coffee, and Tony still has that itching under his skin. He contemplates having JARVIS find him a nice mountain range that needs demolition and taking the War Machine suit out for a spin.
He keeps shooting looks at the mirror, at that car and then forcing himself to look away. There’s some things better not dwelt on and Steve taking him against the glass wall, on the hood of the car, in the car...
Tony closes his eyes and puts his head on the table. He does not think about Steve bringing him sandwiches and forcing him to eat, that one time he forcibly took his tablet from his hands and turned off the lights. If Steve wants to cuddle you, there is no escape. If Steve wants to pet him to sleep - well, he’s more than welcome.
Tony freezes up at that thought, wondering when things went from mindless mirror sex to, well, sandwiches and waking each other up from nightmares.
He still want to take Steve to Yellowstone park, he realizes. Not for some conference, just because he wants to. Because he wants to do nice things with Steve. To Steve, and isn’t that a nice thought. There’s so many things they haven’t tried yet, so many things they haven't tried enough. Tony wants to ride Steve again, he wants him stretched out in the sunlight, he wants to... eat ice-cream in bed and watch horrible movies and heckle them and abandon them in favour of eating ice-cream out of each other's mouths, and other ridiculous things Tony has never done before, he can barely believe that he's actually thinking this, but he wants to donormal things with Steve, things you can do in public without getting arrested for indecent exposure.
Tony gets up, walks over to the display cases with the old suits. Mark I is a replica, but Tony has the remains of the original tucked away somewhere, too broken and damaged to be displayed.
He presses his hand to the surface of the replica's case, rests his head against the cool glass. He didn’t have to make new arc reactors for the display models, it was totally unnecessary, he could have given them blue LED lights and no one would have been able to tell the difference. But here they are, three miniature suns on display, ready for someone to come and take them. And someone did. But if Tony didn’t want that, he would have locked them away, never put them on display in the first place, for all the world to see and touch and steal.
“Cut the music, Jarvis.”
In the sudden silence, JARVIS’ voice is loud and clear.
“If I may make a suggestion, Sir? In the two weeks Captain Rogers and you were most... physically active, your nutrition intake became somewhat normal, your sleep pattern improved greatly, and your blood pressure was lower than it has been in years. Also,”
A hologram appears in front of Tony. It’s him, splayed out over the hood of Stark 11, Steve’s head buried in his crotch, but that’s not what makes Tony stare: It’s the expression on his own face.
“If I may be so bold, sir, this does not exactly look like a hardship. Your body language here is the most relaxed I have observed yet under these circumstances and your audio output is approximately 7.2% higher than usual.”
Tony is barely listening, still captivated by that look on his own face. It’s a look he has seen before - on Steve, when he has worn Tony completely out and thinks he isn’t looking.
“Jarvis,” he says, voice rough, “Call Pepper. I need to talk her.”
*
“Tony, for god’s sake, I’m about to get a massage, this better be important.”
“Um. I left the wheel. Sorry.”
“Tony, when you say you’re going to babysit the company, I expect you to babysit the company.”
“Peps, I'm sorry, but I need to- I need to find Steve-”
“Oh thank god. I was just about to give the girls your nuts on a plate.”
*
Later, Tony has rambled and raved and Pepper has talked him down from a panic attack at least twice and Tony finally is about to hang up, he gets a thought and can’t help asking:
“I don’t really want to know, but oh wait I do, because I'm a masochist - what did you plan you tell the girls?
“You don't remember everything you said when you were drunk, do you?”
“Maybe? Probably not? Should I be mortified?”
“Oh, I don't know. That depends. It was just stuff about how Steve sucks cock like a champ and that you love it when he fucks you within an inch of your life, but that it's even better when he goes so slow that you think you're going insane, but that you don't know what to do with the way he looks at you afterwards, but that's still what you jerk off to when he's not there and that you've considered getting new toys that matches him in size, because after this you've become even more of a size queen.”
“…wow. You need a raise.”
“I do. Shall I continue?”
“There's more?”
“Oh yes.”
“I'll just go with mortified and strangely amused and then we'll never talk about it again?”
“Well, that depends. Be good. Or else.”
“...specifics, please.”
“Be good or you know exactly what my wedding speech will be about. Oh and, Tony, you won't find him at SHIELD.”
“No? Where, then?”
“I might have heard something about him expressing a wish to see Yellowstone Park. But you didn't hear it from me.”
*
Tony almost turns around three times on his way to Yellowstone, tail between his legs, fleeing back to the workshop and probably the whiskey, but Jarvis keeps him on course by mutinously engaging the autopilot and then showing a steady stream of clips from the surveillance cameras, of him coming home from that party that had ended up with those girls in the limo, of him bragging about it in the kitchen, a close-up of Steve's face, of his face as he demolishes a bunch of punching bags afterwards and then wipes the floor with Thor. And of course, Tony leaving him in that fucking hallway, Steve's white-knuckled grip around the box with the ring, the way he hides his face from the camera, his shoulders hunched, defeated.
Tony never wanted to be the one hurting Steve. Had it been anyone else, they had been dust by now. And maybe his long-term planning and his impulse control need some work, because he clearly hadn't thought this through when he started this thing with Steve, hadn't thought about were they would end up - either Steve overly committed and the ensuing bad break, or Tony learning him everything he would ever need to know about sex and then letting him loose on the world, and as soon as that thought enters his mind, a bolt of rage flashes through Tony, sudden and spontaneous and then there's a flaming inferno underneath him, where before there was a small forest.
Tony forces himself to land and deal with the fire, using the suit's fire extinguishers and afterwards he stays on the ground until his head is clear again.
All he had thought about back in the kitchen, ages ago, was the delicious blush appearing on Steve's cheeks as Tony spoke to him, spreading down his throat, under his shirt - and then when he had realized exactly what Steve was telling him, that Steve, Steve's first time suddenly were within Tony's reach - well, then Tony hadn't been thinking any more. At all.
“You appear distressed, Sir. I am sorry that I upset you. I assure you, I am only looking out for your needs, as I am programmed to.”
“Thank you, Jarvis.” Tony says, sitting in the middle of a field, looking at the smoking remains of the forest. “But this... It's really not something you can help me with. I- I don't know what I'm doing any more. I shouldn't have started this; nothing good have come out of it. All I have done is hurt him.”
“If I may, Sir.” Jarvis says and another set of images starts playing before Tony's eyes. The end of their tryst in the car; Steve's face as he comes, eyes locked with Tony's, saying his name like it's a prayer and the way he freezes afterwards, knowing that he has crossed a boundary he wasn't even suppose to acknowledge. And then Tony leans forward and kisses him, slow and sweet and wipes that look off Steve's face and it's like the sun appearing on a cold winter day, so bright it hurts your eyes and Tony watches himself shy away from it, hiding his face in Steve's neck, he watches the way Steve folds his arms around him and holds tight, still smiling and kissing his head, and Tony remember the feeling of those warm, strong arms around him, how safe they'd made him feel.
Jarvis isn't done yet. He shows Tony images from later that night, when Tony had woken Steve up from a nightmare and how he'd started with stuffing his foot in his mouth, all the way to the knee and then some (and it's only now, with the images of his own face and body language right in front of him, that Tony can see what happened - how panicked he'd been seeing Steve so vulnerable and hurting and not knowing what to do), the way his words had ripped through Steve - but then he had apologised (sort of) and made Steve pliant and relaxed under his hands, made him fall asleep smiling a little.
“I believe that you actually made that situation better in the end, Sir.”
The last image is of Steve's face lightening up like Christmas when Tony tells him about how he wants to take him to Yellowstone, and then the robot-foot is blasting towards them and-
“Stop, Stop, Jarvis, I don't need see to any more, I remember the rest all too well.” And he does. He remembers thinking that this would stay with him for the rest of his days and so far it seems he was right and it's still too much.
Steve had known. He had known exactly what would happen if he told Tony why he needed so desperately to save him. He had known Tony wasn't ready for being confronted with those emotions. He'd known Tony's reaction would be to bolt, to run.
Steve had known and he'd told him anyway, because Tony had demanded an answer and Steve would never lie to him.
It's not Steve's fault that Tony can't stop lying to himself.
*
Tony is filthy and exhausted and freezing and he got caught in a downpour and his very nice Italian suit is completely ruined, his feet are aching, and he doesn’t want to think about the state of his shoes.
He hasn’t called ahead and the receptionist at the hotel just stares at him for a long minute and Tony is tempted to just walk away, fly back home to his own bed and try to track down Steve tomorrow, but he knows himself too well and yeah, that won't work. One moment of inertia is all it will take for his fragile resolve to crumble, he can't allow himself to stops now and give himself time to start second guessing, he will loose courage, he run, he will go back to his little lonely life, he will lose his window (he doesn't know how, but there is a window, he's sure of it, there has to be, maybe the planets are aligned right, maybe it's a momentum inside himself, but he has an opportunity here, he knows he does, and he knows it won't last forever), he will never make it right with Steve.
Steve deserves better. Even if Tony has used his last chance, even if this finally was the last straw and Steve wont' have anything to do with him any more (and Tony wouldn't blame him), then Tony still at least owes it to him to see him face to face, to end it properly if that’s how it has to be.
After all he has put Steve through, after Steve put himself out there, stood up to Tony and demanded an end to his bullshit, after Steve laid himself bare and made himself vulnerable by finally telling Tony what he wanted and Tony just threw it all back in his face - Steve deserves honesty. Steve deserves so many things Tony will never be able to give him, but honesty, well, at least he can try to give him that.
Tony has to do this now. He can’t give up yet.
“Just... Miss, just give me a room, any room. You do have dry-cleaner service, right? Then we’re good.” Tony puts down his credit card on the counter and slides it towards the girl and voilà, that gets her out of her ‘Oh my god, Tony Stark just walked in, looking like a drowned hobo’-induced stupor, and suddenly he can have a room in half an hour.
He thanks her and goes to the bar, very intent on testing how much alcohol he can consume in that half an hour, and who knows, maybe they even serve some halfway decent food, he kind hasn’t eaten since-
Steve is sitting at the bar.
*
He hasn’t seen Tony yet, but Tony can recognize his body anywhere, the broadness of his shoulders, his posture. He also recognizes the leather jacket Steve is wearing; it’s one he himself made Steve buy in one of his many attempts to make Steve look less like he’s raided his grandpa’s closet.
Tony has that terrible impulse again, to turn around and run away. There’s a sudden bolt of fear, he starts sweating - I can’t do this, I don’t know how to do this, I can’t do this.
Then Steve turns around and looks at him, face blank and impassive and so tired-looking, his eyes dead and Tony often forgets that this side of Steve even exist, this hopelessness, this hurt, he sees it so rarely.
It's so easy to think that Steve's strength never weakens, that his faith and his sense of duty will keep him going through anything the world can throw at him, but this is Steve too and Tony forgot and he is so ashamed. He has seen Steve with broken bones, dead on his feet from exhaustion and still giving the ones around him, be it his team or civilians, strength and encouragement, giving them exactly what they needed to keep going, but right now Steve isn't able to hide anything at all, isn’t even trying.
And it was Tony who did this.
All Tony wants to do is go over to him, put his arms around him, hold him, have Steve's arms tighten around him, banish that look from his face, Steve is not supposed to look so defeated, Tony can't bear it.
Tony takes a step towards Steve and stumbles, suddenly he notices that he is shaking - he's freezing, he knew that, but it's like he's only feeling it now. The short walk towards Steve is a daze, Tony has tunnel-vision, can't look away from Steve's face.
Steve stands up to greet him.
“What are you doing here, Tony?” he asks, with no emotions whatsoever.
“I came to find you,” Tony says and he had stuff planned he wanted to say, but it's gone now, Steve is here and Tony’s mind is wiped clear.
“You're soaking wet,” Steve observes and gently pushes Tony away from the bar, steers him towards the rooms. The touch makes Tony stiffen, he doesn't know if he can lean into it, so he just lets Steve guide him, stiff as a board.
“Yeah, they grounded me. The rangers,” he elaborates at Steve's raised eyebrows. “The suit was freaking out the bears. And I wanted to find you.”
“So the logical thing to do was to trek through the park on foot? In those shoes? You could have come back tomorrow with proper gear.”
“No, I couldn't, I... I would have lost my nerve if I'd went home now.”
“I'm surprised you came at all.” Steve says (not bitter, just matter-of-fact, and that's worse, that’s so much worse) as he opens the door to his room. He plants Tony on a chair and fetches a couple of towels from the bathroom and unceremoniously starts undressing Tony, his hands brisk and impersonal. Tony closes his eyes, concentrates on keeping his breath steady.
Then his hand shoots out without his permission, grips Steve's wrist, makes him stop unbuttoning Tony’s wet shirt.
“Steve, I came to talk to you. Jarvis talked some sense to me, showed me the errors of my ways. In technicolors. Steve, I...” Tony trails off, the words aren't there, he doesn't know how to do this.
The silence hangs heavy between them, Steve's face is impassive, waiting - then he seems to do a mental double take and asks:
“...Technicolors? Do you mean, literately showed you-”
“Oh, um. Jarvis records everything in the house. So-”
“Even the sex?”
“Especially the sex. For security reasons.”
“Tony, that's-”
“Its not like that, and no, not like that either, I can't even access it myself, it's just in case someone tries to throw sexual assault charges my way, Steve, it doesn't matter. What I was trying to say- I was wrong Steve, you're my friend, one of my best, if not the best and I didn't treat you like that and I'm sorry.”
“Your friend,” Steve states woodenly.
“Okay, this conversation is not going as I planned, it all makes sense in my head - it's not just sex for me either, okay? And I never meant to hurt you.”
“You did.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” It's not enough. It's just words. He means them, yes, he feels them, but they're so inadequate. He's so inadequate.
Steve doesn’t reply, just looks away and stands up.
He takes Tony’s hand, pulls him to his feet.
“You’re still freezing, Tony. We need to get you warm.”
Steve steers him into the bathroom, starts filling the large bath tub and finishes undressing Tony. His hands are slower now, little touches lingering on Tony’s skin and Tony can’t help but closing his eyes and lean into it, relaxing in Steve’s hands.
Steve peels off his wet shirt carefully and now his hands are definitely caressing him and Tony feels light-headed. He’s panting slightly and Steve is watching him intently and the expression on his face is so familiar, oh God, Tony missed this, seeing that tenderness, seeing how much Steve wants him.
He can feel it all over his body, it’s exploding inside him, a burst of happiness. Steve still feels the same for him, he still wants him, they’re going to be all right. Tony did it, somehow he did it and the relief makes him stagger into Steve’s arms and Steve pulls him in and holds him tight, hides his face in Tony’s neck. They’re both half-hard, but that’s not important right now: Steve has taken him back, it’s not too late and the joy is spreading through Tony like a wildfire and Tonywould tell him, he wants to share it with Steve, he tries to, but he can’t, there’s something wrong with this voice his throat won't work right and Steve holds him tighter, says, oh Tony, I missed you too, and it’s going to be all right, they’re all right, they’re going to be all right, and he doesn’t know whose lips finds whose, but they’re kissing, deep and slow and tender and it’s all right.
*
Tony is warm and comfortable, lying against Steve’s chest, Steve’s arms around him, he’s surrounded by warm water and it shouldn’t be this comfortable, two grown men fitting into an ordinary bath tub and especially when one of them Steve Rogers, but Tony doesn’t remember when he last was this relaxed, this happy. Steve is stroking his back, his arms, his chest, every part of Tony that he can reach, petting his hair and Tony could go to sleep like this, his feet has finally stopped aching, his body is heavy and tired, but there’s still something he needs to know.
“Do you still have the ring?”
Steve stills under him, Tony can feel his breath pausing.
“Yes, I still have it. Of course I still have it.”
“Can I see it?”
“Hand me my jeans?”
Tony does, getting half the floor wet in the process, and this time when Steve gives it to him, Tony does not run.
END
Part II
*
When he comes back to himself, he's been deposited back in the Iron Man-changing room, which, all things considered, is a kindness; his catsuit is in utter ruin, it's literally torn apart and his thighs are shiny with lube and come running down from his stomach and tickling slowly out of his ass. He aches all over and sitting down is going to be so much fun for the next couple of days. There are bruises, hand-shaped ones on his hips and legs and arms, on his biceps, on his wrists and scrapes on his back from banging against the wall again and again. He knows Steve didn't set out to hurt him, but he'd clearly lost a bit more of his control than usual.
Tony can't remember the last time he had angry sex. A known billionaire playboy running around pissing off his bed partners, that's just asking for tell-all interviews and tabloid crucifixion.
And while Tony is sated enough and that ache deep inside him is the good kind of ache, the satisfied ache, he mostly just feels tired and a bit sad now. If he's honest with himself (and in his head Pepper is saying, god, Tony, really?) this rough, brittle passion is not what he's been jerking off to late at night for the last three weeks. He's tried to think of other things, other people, the girls in the limo double-teaming him, one of them riding him, the other sitting on his face and then one of the girls had a strap-on in her purse, because apparently that's what young, modern women brings with them to a gala ball these days, who would have thought, and had been very enthusiastic with it) and while that memory does carry him a good part of the way towards orgasm, it's always Steve when he comes, Steve spreading him out on the bed, tying him up and making him melt, petting his hair afterwards, watching him as he fell asleep, smiling that smile Tony has come to think of as his.
He hadn't expected Steve to be willing to touch him with a ten foot pole ever again, (but it's been more than three weeks and apparently Steve has been on the withdrawal too), so he should probably just take what he's been given and put it all out of his mind. And go clubbing again as soon as his body is up to it.
Tony cleans up and dresses in whatever he has lying in his changing room (clothes from the workshop he's clearly worn before some mission and then just left on the floor. Just a tad on the nasty side, but they'll do. Even ratty jeans and a wife-beater with oil-stains and smelling of stale sweat are godsends in this situation) and braces himself for the debriefing.
*
When Tony finally slinks into the meeting room, the others are already seated and busy with intel and leads on the robot-sponsor and they don't notice him. Tony knows it would be a disaster of epic proportions to even try to to sit down inconspicuously, so he just leans against the wall next to the door, his arms crossed, watching them.
Natasha is doing Blank Face no. 3 at Fury, the one meaning 'I already know this and I'm just humoring you and waiting for you to shut up so we can get some real work done', Bruce is poking at a tablet and frowning, he's looking exhausted; he always is after having hulked out and there's several empty nutrition shakes in front of him, Clint and Thor are doing their version of pillow-talk; shooting the shit about the mission, sounding more like a couple of frat-boys after a party than two members of the world's best superhero-team. Steve is fiddling with his pen and looking distracted and Tony is so not thinking about why that would be, really, he is not, and that's when Steve looks up at him and blanches, which of course makes Fury finally notices him. He gives Tony an annoyed look, clearly by reflex, because then he double-takes at Tony and just... stares. The room is suddenly very quiet.
“Shit, Stark, did you get mauled by a tiger?” Clint says after a minute, with maybe just a bit of concern in his voice and Tony suddenly realizes that in this outfit most of the bruises on his torso are clearly visible and impossible to interpret as anything but what they are; souvenirs from some very rough sex.
Oops.
“Oh, that.” Tony says, in a flippant voice. “It's not important, just one of those kind of things, you know?”
“What kind of 'things', Tony?” Thor asks, voice already tight with anger, gripping Mjolnir hard, clearly ready to do violence to anyone who'd dare lay a hand on one of his team mates and Tony need to put a stop to that line of thinking right now.
“Oh, stop looking at me like that.” He says, stretching out, doing that little satisfied shiver, looks at them all from under his eyelashes, smiling smugly. “As long as they don't get me for bestiality, I don't give a shit. Just make animal control take the thing away when I'm done with it.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake Stark, keep that stuff to yourself-” Clint starts, only to be interrupted by Tony, who has make an effort not to put his hands on his hips as he lays into Clint. Instead he just crosses his arms over his chest and tries no to sound too bitchy.
“You didn't have a problem last week, when I came in at shit o'clock in the morning from that club and gave way more TMI than I'm giving you now and it's the same damn thing.” Tony says, speaking fast. He's suddenly angry and he doesn't know why. He takes a breath and says as matter-of-factly as he can, “It's just sex. Forget about it, I already have.”
That's when Steve gets up, so fast that his chair almost topples over. The others fall silent immediately and watch astonished as Steve stalks towards to him, radiating barely contained anger.
“You'll have to excuse us. I need to borrow Tony for a moment,” He says, voice tight as he steers Tony out of the room.
*
They're barely out in the hallway when Steve pushes Tony up against the wall.
“What the fuck, Steve,” Tony says, only to be cut off by Steve. He's angry, but it's not the same kind of sudden, red-hot primal anger as in the locker-room, it's more focused this time, more distilled, the kind of anger that has been simmering for a long, long time and it's all directed straight at Tony.
“Tony, just. Be quiet please.” Steve says and takes something out of the pocket of his jeans.
It's a jewellery box. Holy fuck.
“I was going to ask you nicely,” Steve says, opening the box and holding it out towards Tony, who can't help but trying to take a step back, but there's a wall in the way and he has a sudden memory of Clint, trapped against the kitchen wall, trying desperately to get away from the Clint Basher, “but since you can't stop being an ass...”
“...you're kidding, right?” Tony says. It's honestly the only thought in his head right now. Steve must be fucking kidding. But the content of that box, a single silvery ring in a simple, masculine design, says otherwise. God, that's not silver, that's Vibranium, Tony can recognize it anywhere, it's metal from Steve's shield, holy fuck. His palms starts to sweat and he honestly feels faint. How the fuck is he going to get out of this one?
“I'm not asking you to marry me this very instant,” Steve says, closing the lid on the box again with a snap, never breaking eye-contact with Tony, “but every time you act like this is nothing, you hurt me and I won't have that any more. If this is what it takes to for you to get into you thick skull that that we are serious, that this could be so much more than what you're trying to limit it to, then than that's what's we're going to do.”
Tony just gapes at him. He's experiencing one hell of a mental discrepancy - Steve is standing completely straight and imposing, towering a bit over Tony, his voice commanding, it's- it's his Captain America-voice, he's in full-on on Captain America-mode, full of that presence he never unleashes out of his uniform and Tony can never not find that hot and also, Steve is just incredibly sexy when he's angry and all his energy is focused on Tony and it all goes straight to Tony's dick - but on the hand Tony is starting to realize that Steve really does mean it and that's-
Holy fuck.
Tony is gaping like a fish out of water, unable to say anything, even if he had the faintest clue of what to say. He can't think, his head is still filled with blind panic and Steve takes a step back, turns his face away, he's said his piece and now it's not Captain America in front of him any more, it's Steve; Steve who is human, vulnerable.
“Tell me what you are thinking, Tony,” Steve says, voice quieter and god, he's an open book and Tony doesn't know what to do with that, with what he sees in Steve's face. It's too much.
“I think,” Tony says, looking away from it all, voice barely more than a whisper, a hiss. His stomach is a tight knot of- of /fear/, god-damn it, sudden, deep fear that makes it hard to speak, hard to get the next words out, “I think we really don't have any more to talk about. We're done here.”
*
When Tony storms away from the corridor outside the meeting room, leaving Steve behind (and Tony will not look back, he will not, he will not - oh god, that look on Steve's face, it's that look, that look he had after his nightmare, when he thought Tony was about to throw him out of his bed, only so, so much worse and Tony is not fleeing, he is not), he almost collides with Rhodey in the doorway into the elevator. Oh, right, Rhodey had been on that mission-thingy, some good old-fashioned military-stuff, no suit required.
“Hey, hey Tony, what's up, where're you going?” Rhodey says, clasping his shoulder, stopping him effectively.
“Back to Malibu. I have a date with alcohol poisoning.” Tony answers, voice tight, looking straight ahead, he's not looking back, he's not, he's not.
“...well, I better come with you then.” Rhodey says and Tony feels his temper flare. He pushes Rhodey out of the way, moves into the elevator; Rhodey scrambles to keep up, barely gets in as the doors close and Tony hits the button to the basement.
“You don't have to 'better' do anything.” Tony says with a sneer in his voice. “If you want to, fine, but don't come babysit me out of some old sense of duty or misplaced guilt. I do not need your pity.”
“...I can see why you need to get drunk.” Rhodey says, staring at him. “We're taking the suits?”
“We're so taking the suits.”
*
“You're doing what with Cap?”
“Was. Past tense. As in, not doing it any more.”
“Is that why we're here, getting drunk?”
“No, small setback aside, we stopped doing it some weeks ago. Today was just... There was this thing in the middle of the meeting...”
“I guess it's not easy working with your ex.”
“Especially when he goes around proposing to you.”
“...Wow. And I thought I was drunk enough for this. We need more alcohol.”
“That's funny. That's what Pepper said too.”
*
“I can honestly say I did not see that coming.”
“Me neither.”
“How long were you together?”
“We weren't together.”
“...okay. How long did you have sex?”
“Eh. A month? No, around a month and a half.”
“Tony, when was the last time you had a relationship that lasted more than a month? That's longer than you and Pepper! And Cap, man. Can't imagine him being the 'just sex' kind of guy. I'm just saying, maybe you should have seen it coming.”
*
It's later. Tony has passed the 'oh, hey, alcohol, hello'-stage, he has passed the 'I can't feel me face, how funny'-stage, the 'oh god, I can't feel my faaace'-stage, the 'words, what words'-stage and by now he has sort of lost track of all the stages and that's... bad. He has experience enough with these things to know to keep track of his own progress towards oblivion, so he knows when to call Happy to get him out of here and when to call Pepper to get his publicist out of bed at four in the morning and start doing damage control.
Speaking of Pepper...
Tony fumbles to pick up his phone, fights to hit the right button to kill that noise, god, when did he think 'Fight For Your Right' was a good idea for her ringing tone? Not right now, when the party is so much over, that's for certain.
“Tony. Where are you?” And wow, Tony has to think really hard about that one.
“...On the floor?”
Pepper is silent for a long time.
“Oh, don't be like that, it's all right, Rhodey's here with me. On the floor.” Tony can't help but giggle at that, “Rhodey has passed aaaall the stages and has passed out. On the floor. And I have not. I win!”
“Oh, Tony. Just... Just stay where you are, I'm flying in.”
*
When Pepper arrives much later in the evening, Tony is playing basket in the yard, riding himself of the last of his hangover. He's in the prototype of an exoskeleton, a stripped-down version of the suit, no armour, no weapons and his opponent is Mark VII, the suit he uses when training with the others. Its only weapons is low-grade tasers and it's heavily padded on the outside. Or rather, he's playing against JARVIS, who's remote controlling the ting. And besides that Tony still is kind of groggy and queasy and that JARVIS is playing dirty, they're also using the occasion to test a new program, a learning IA. And it's working. And Tony is getting his ass kicked.
It's twilight when JARVIS tells him that Pepper is approaching. In the sudden quiet after the whirring sounds of the machines and their noisy play, he can her heels clacking as she gets closer, accompanied by the cikades. She has taken off her jacket in the warm evening air and her cream-coloured blouse and her skin are glowing in the light of the lanterns.
“You've ruining the yard.” is the first thing she says to him, looking around. Then she walks the rest of the way over to him and kisses his cheek. And puts her arms around him and hugs him tight.
Tony freezes, all he can think of is that he's sweating and disgusting and that Pepper is ruining her nice clothes.
“You're supposed to hug me back, Tony.”
Tony puts his hands gingerly on her hips.
“Well, that's a start. Now put you head on my shoulder.” Pepper says, her words muffled against his neck.
Tony does, inhales her perfume, all the little Pepper-smells and then suddenly his hands are wrapped tightly around her waist and his face is buried in her silky-soft hair. Pepper holds tighter and starts rocking them gently.
“That's good, Tony. That's good.” Pepper says and she is sniffling and that's just. Tony hates making Pepper cry, especially when he doesn't know why. “You were rubbish at this when it was us, too.”
“Hugging?” He asks her, but all he gets is a 'oh, Tony', which isn't very helpful.
They remain in the yard for a long time, wrapped around each other. It's the longest Tony can remember touching anybody outside sex and hospitals.
*
They're sharing a chaiselong down at the pool, wrapped in blankets, not touching the white wine Tony had brought out on reflex.
Pepper hasn't said anything yet, hasn't yelled at him and she isn't acting all 'god, you're being such an idiot' either, she just holds him and lets him be, letting him know that if he wants to talk that's okay, but if he doesn't, that's okay too. It reminds him of that flight home from Monaco, years ago, when he had been dying and Pepper had looked at him with this small smile, like a Madonna who'd forgive you everything if you had the courage to tell her about it.
Tony hadn't.
He's not sure he has it now, either.
*
It takes more than just a couple of days for Pepper and Rhodey to finally convinced Tony to join the world of the living; there might have been threats to ducktape him and drive him to Stark Tower themselves, hogtied in the trunk, but that's neither here nor there. What finally convinces him is that Pepper agrees to fend off Fury if he gets his ass of to Stark Tower and at least does some kind of work.
And so far it's a perfectly boring day - there's never-ending meetings and when there isn't any meetings, he's grounded in his (okay, Pepper's) office, just like old days. Only difference is that instead of being out doing scarily effective work-related things, Pepper has gone out to get herself a spa-treatment. Getting her feet eaten by small fish. Yikes, Tony had said. Loudly. But really, after what he's put her through the last couple of days, he doesn't begrudge her a little me-time.
And then his perfectly boring day is interrupted by the fire alarm going off.
Tony is calling up security; he needs to know asap if this is a fluke, an actual fire or a freak-show about to start and that's when Clint barges in (the secretary is still SHIELD, damn it), walks over to his desk and puts down the smoking remains of the the Clint Basher Mark V and stands back, glaring at Tony, arms crossed.
Tony is still holding the phone halfway up to his ear, the fire-alarm is still blaring and Clint just continues to glare at him.
“Uh, false alarm, Garry, code 507-F, authorization Anthony Edward Stark. Just got a visit from a fellow Avenger, codename Hawkeye. Yeah, I'll be all right, just a bit of business.”
He hangs up and in the sudden silence after the blaring of the fire alarm, looks Clint over more thoroughly.
“Not that I have any right to judge, but are you drunk, Barton?”
“Yes. You can be damn sure I am. There is no way in hell I am going to do this sober.” Clint says, only slurring his words a little. “But don't call security, I am not that drunk. Though, if I had been, you'd deserve whatever 'that drunk'-me would do to you” Clint slaps his his palm with his fist, and yeah, Tony gets the picture.
“Now, you listen Stark, like you never listened before: I talked to Steve. Just take a minute and think about how bad this is, how much you've screwed up, for me to get involved in your drama, for me to talk about feelings.” Clint is silent for a moment, glaring at Tony and letting that sink in.
“How- how is he?” Tony asks before he can stop himself. Clint snorts.
“It's Steve, Stark. So stoic. But well. Steve. We talked. Or rather, I drank and he talked. About how since his girl back in the war, Peggy, there hasn't been anyone else. Don't make me say it, Stark. Feelings stuff. Anyway, the words attraction and love and rings were involved, you should be able to fill out the blanks from there.
Tony reaches out and starts fiddling with the ruined Basher. It's been pierced with several of Clint's trick-arrows, his own design, the EMP-ones. And then it's been shot by a 9-mm. And kicked and stomped on. A crowbar may have been involved, too. But Tony could still fix it, rebuild it and make it work again, make it better.
Machines are so much easier.
Clint slams a palm down on the table directly in front of Tony's face, startling him and effectively recapturing his attention. Boy, is he angry now.
Tony is not usually scared by Clint. Bruce, hulked out and Tony out of his armour? Yes. Thor, when he's been riled up by Loki (and is Tony glad those two have a hesitating truce these days, oh yes, he is. Thanks to Steve. Always thanks to Steve) and is mad with rage and the very air is crackling around him? Yes. Natasha? Always.
Steve? When he's Captain America, full of righteous anger and using the full force of his strength, his charisma, his brilliance? No. Never then. But Steve, when he is looking like a sad, little lost boy, like he'd done when Tony had first met him and he'd thought no one was looking, or when he understands all too well what's going on in the world today and isn't jaded, just so, so sad, then Tony is scared, but not of Steve. Just for him.
But Clint? Clint is the annoying brother, or more like a cousin, someone who's safe to rile up and bully around, because you know they can take it and give it back with interests and because at the end of the day, they're stuck with you and will have your back.
The Clint in front of him? Is one scary fucker. Normal-Clint is snarky and nonchalant and focused and disciplined in the field. This Clint is sort of a primal thing, filled with justified rage, who has come to rip him into shreds for hurting one of his pack. Or worse, one of the members of his crazy carnie pseudo family.
Tony can't say he blames him. He is also sort of regretting hanging up on security.
“Stark! Pay attention!” Clint is leaned forward aggressively, getting right in his face. Tony can smell the alcohol on his breath, cheap beer and expensive whiskey. Probably Tony's own.
“I'm going to give you a piece of advice: you need to forget what you think you want and think about what you need. Also think about if anything better than Cap will ever come along. After him anyone would disappointing you and you know it.” Clint stands back, scowling at Tony's stunned face.
“Oh, and by the way. Steve didn't say it out loud, but it was pretty clear that losing Peggy still hurt like hell. I will fuck you up if you make Steve hurt like that again. And when I'm done, guess what, the rest of the team will be in line. And then all of SHIELD. Actually, most of the Earth will. Even the villains. And in say, four hours, me and Thor will take Steve out and do our damn best to get him drunk and convince him what an utter ass-hole you are and that he could do so much better. You have four hours, Stark. Think about it. Think really hard.”
Then Clint turns on his heal and leaves. Tony buries his head in his hands.
Attraction. Love. Rings.
That look on Steve's face when Tony left him the hallway, his slumped, defeated shoulders, his white-knuckled grip around the box with the ring.
On his desk, the Clint Basher continues to smoke gently.
*
Tony goes to the workshop, the one in Malibu. He goes slow enough to enjoy the scenery and not piss off the air controls, so it’s early afternoon when he finally arrives.
He gets a drink, goes downstairs, puts the destroyed Basher on the workstation, cranks Black Sabbath up to eleven and gets to work
It takes three satisfyingly mindless hours before he resurfaces.
The Clint Basher Mark VIII now has small rocket launchers and can skate around on small ball-joints while shooting with perfect aim; it may be about to develop a personality and it can also to brew the perfect cup of coffee, and Tony still has that itching under his skin. He contemplates having JARVIS find him a nice mountain range that needs demolition and taking the War Machine suit out for a spin.
He keeps shooting looks at the mirror, at that car and then forcing himself to look away. There’s some things better not dwelt on and Steve taking him against the glass wall, on the hood of the car, in the car...
Tony closes his eyes and puts his head on the table. He does not think about Steve bringing him sandwiches and forcing him to eat, that one time he forcibly took his tablet from his hands and turned off the lights. If Steve wants to cuddle you, there is no escape. If Steve wants to pet him to sleep - well, he’s more than welcome.
Tony freezes up at that thought, wondering when things went from mindless mirror sex to, well, sandwiches and waking each other up from nightmares.
He still want to take Steve to Yellowstone park, he realizes. Not for some conference, just because he wants to. Because he wants to do nice things with Steve. To Steve, and isn’t that a nice thought. There’s so many things they haven’t tried yet, so many things they haven't tried enough. Tony wants to ride Steve again, he wants him stretched out in the sunlight, he wants to... eat ice-cream in bed and watch horrible movies and heckle them and abandon them in favour of eating ice-cream out of each other's mouths, and other ridiculous things Tony has never done before, he can barely believe that he's actually thinking this, but he wants to donormal things with Steve, things you can do in public without getting arrested for indecent exposure.
Tony gets up, walks over to the display cases with the old suits. Mark I is a replica, but Tony has the remains of the original tucked away somewhere, too broken and damaged to be displayed.
He presses his hand to the surface of the replica's case, rests his head against the cool glass. He didn’t have to make new arc reactors for the display models, it was totally unnecessary, he could have given them blue LED lights and no one would have been able to tell the difference. But here they are, three miniature suns on display, ready for someone to come and take them. And someone did. But if Tony didn’t want that, he would have locked them away, never put them on display in the first place, for all the world to see and touch and steal.
“Cut the music, Jarvis.”
In the sudden silence, JARVIS’ voice is loud and clear.
“If I may make a suggestion, Sir? In the two weeks Captain Rogers and you were most... physically active, your nutrition intake became somewhat normal, your sleep pattern improved greatly, and your blood pressure was lower than it has been in years. Also,”
A hologram appears in front of Tony. It’s him, splayed out over the hood of Stark 11, Steve’s head buried in his crotch, but that’s not what makes Tony stare: It’s the expression on his own face.
“If I may be so bold, sir, this does not exactly look like a hardship. Your body language here is the most relaxed I have observed yet under these circumstances and your audio output is approximately 7.2% higher than usual.”
Tony is barely listening, still captivated by that look on his own face. It’s a look he has seen before - on Steve, when he has worn Tony completely out and thinks he isn’t looking.
“Jarvis,” he says, voice rough, “Call Pepper. I need to talk her.”
*
“Tony, for god’s sake, I’m about to get a massage, this better be important.”
“Um. I left the wheel. Sorry.”
“Tony, when you say you’re going to babysit the company, I expect you to babysit the company.”
“Peps, I'm sorry, but I need to- I need to find Steve-”
“Oh thank god. I was just about to give the girls your nuts on a plate.”
*
Later, Tony has rambled and raved and Pepper has talked him down from a panic attack at least twice and Tony finally is about to hang up, he gets a thought and can’t help asking:
“I don’t really want to know, but oh wait I do, because I'm a masochist - what did you plan you tell the girls?
“You don't remember everything you said when you were drunk, do you?”
“Maybe? Probably not? Should I be mortified?”
“Oh, I don't know. That depends. It was just stuff about how Steve sucks cock like a champ and that you love it when he fucks you within an inch of your life, but that it's even better when he goes so slow that you think you're going insane, but that you don't know what to do with the way he looks at you afterwards, but that's still what you jerk off to when he's not there and that you've considered getting new toys that matches him in size, because after this you've become even more of a size queen.”
“…wow. You need a raise.”
“I do. Shall I continue?”
“There's more?”
“Oh yes.”
“I'll just go with mortified and strangely amused and then we'll never talk about it again?”
“Well, that depends. Be good. Or else.”
“...specifics, please.”
“Be good or you know exactly what my wedding speech will be about. Oh and, Tony, you won't find him at SHIELD.”
“No? Where, then?”
“I might have heard something about him expressing a wish to see Yellowstone Park. But you didn't hear it from me.”
*
Tony almost turns around three times on his way to Yellowstone, tail between his legs, fleeing back to the workshop and probably the whiskey, but Jarvis keeps him on course by mutinously engaging the autopilot and then showing a steady stream of clips from the surveillance cameras, of him coming home from that party that had ended up with those girls in the limo, of him bragging about it in the kitchen, a close-up of Steve's face, of his face as he demolishes a bunch of punching bags afterwards and then wipes the floor with Thor. And of course, Tony leaving him in that fucking hallway, Steve's white-knuckled grip around the box with the ring, the way he hides his face from the camera, his shoulders hunched, defeated.
Tony never wanted to be the one hurting Steve. Had it been anyone else, they had been dust by now. And maybe his long-term planning and his impulse control need some work, because he clearly hadn't thought this through when he started this thing with Steve, hadn't thought about were they would end up - either Steve overly committed and the ensuing bad break, or Tony learning him everything he would ever need to know about sex and then letting him loose on the world, and as soon as that thought enters his mind, a bolt of rage flashes through Tony, sudden and spontaneous and then there's a flaming inferno underneath him, where before there was a small forest.
Tony forces himself to land and deal with the fire, using the suit's fire extinguishers and afterwards he stays on the ground until his head is clear again.
All he had thought about back in the kitchen, ages ago, was the delicious blush appearing on Steve's cheeks as Tony spoke to him, spreading down his throat, under his shirt - and then when he had realized exactly what Steve was telling him, that Steve, Steve's first time suddenly were within Tony's reach - well, then Tony hadn't been thinking any more. At all.
“You appear distressed, Sir. I am sorry that I upset you. I assure you, I am only looking out for your needs, as I am programmed to.”
“Thank you, Jarvis.” Tony says, sitting in the middle of a field, looking at the smoking remains of the forest. “But this... It's really not something you can help me with. I- I don't know what I'm doing any more. I shouldn't have started this; nothing good have come out of it. All I have done is hurt him.”
“If I may, Sir.” Jarvis says and another set of images starts playing before Tony's eyes. The end of their tryst in the car; Steve's face as he comes, eyes locked with Tony's, saying his name like it's a prayer and the way he freezes afterwards, knowing that he has crossed a boundary he wasn't even suppose to acknowledge. And then Tony leans forward and kisses him, slow and sweet and wipes that look off Steve's face and it's like the sun appearing on a cold winter day, so bright it hurts your eyes and Tony watches himself shy away from it, hiding his face in Steve's neck, he watches the way Steve folds his arms around him and holds tight, still smiling and kissing his head, and Tony remember the feeling of those warm, strong arms around him, how safe they'd made him feel.
Jarvis isn't done yet. He shows Tony images from later that night, when Tony had woken Steve up from a nightmare and how he'd started with stuffing his foot in his mouth, all the way to the knee and then some (and it's only now, with the images of his own face and body language right in front of him, that Tony can see what happened - how panicked he'd been seeing Steve so vulnerable and hurting and not knowing what to do), the way his words had ripped through Steve - but then he had apologised (sort of) and made Steve pliant and relaxed under his hands, made him fall asleep smiling a little.
“I believe that you actually made that situation better in the end, Sir.”
The last image is of Steve's face lightening up like Christmas when Tony tells him about how he wants to take him to Yellowstone, and then the robot-foot is blasting towards them and-
“Stop, Stop, Jarvis, I don't need see to any more, I remember the rest all too well.” And he does. He remembers thinking that this would stay with him for the rest of his days and so far it seems he was right and it's still too much.
Steve had known. He had known exactly what would happen if he told Tony why he needed so desperately to save him. He had known Tony wasn't ready for being confronted with those emotions. He'd known Tony's reaction would be to bolt, to run.
Steve had known and he'd told him anyway, because Tony had demanded an answer and Steve would never lie to him.
It's not Steve's fault that Tony can't stop lying to himself.
*
Tony is filthy and exhausted and freezing and he got caught in a downpour and his very nice Italian suit is completely ruined, his feet are aching, and he doesn’t want to think about the state of his shoes.
He hasn’t called ahead and the receptionist at the hotel just stares at him for a long minute and Tony is tempted to just walk away, fly back home to his own bed and try to track down Steve tomorrow, but he knows himself too well and yeah, that won't work. One moment of inertia is all it will take for his fragile resolve to crumble, he can't allow himself to stops now and give himself time to start second guessing, he will loose courage, he run, he will go back to his little lonely life, he will lose his window (he doesn't know how, but there is a window, he's sure of it, there has to be, maybe the planets are aligned right, maybe it's a momentum inside himself, but he has an opportunity here, he knows he does, and he knows it won't last forever), he will never make it right with Steve.
Steve deserves better. Even if Tony has used his last chance, even if this finally was the last straw and Steve wont' have anything to do with him any more (and Tony wouldn't blame him), then Tony still at least owes it to him to see him face to face, to end it properly if that’s how it has to be.
After all he has put Steve through, after Steve put himself out there, stood up to Tony and demanded an end to his bullshit, after Steve laid himself bare and made himself vulnerable by finally telling Tony what he wanted and Tony just threw it all back in his face - Steve deserves honesty. Steve deserves so many things Tony will never be able to give him, but honesty, well, at least he can try to give him that.
Tony has to do this now. He can’t give up yet.
“Just... Miss, just give me a room, any room. You do have dry-cleaner service, right? Then we’re good.” Tony puts down his credit card on the counter and slides it towards the girl and voilà, that gets her out of her ‘Oh my god, Tony Stark just walked in, looking like a drowned hobo’-induced stupor, and suddenly he can have a room in half an hour.
He thanks her and goes to the bar, very intent on testing how much alcohol he can consume in that half an hour, and who knows, maybe they even serve some halfway decent food, he kind hasn’t eaten since-
Steve is sitting at the bar.
*
He hasn’t seen Tony yet, but Tony can recognize his body anywhere, the broadness of his shoulders, his posture. He also recognizes the leather jacket Steve is wearing; it’s one he himself made Steve buy in one of his many attempts to make Steve look less like he’s raided his grandpa’s closet.
Tony has that terrible impulse again, to turn around and run away. There’s a sudden bolt of fear, he starts sweating - I can’t do this, I don’t know how to do this, I can’t do this.
Then Steve turns around and looks at him, face blank and impassive and so tired-looking, his eyes dead and Tony often forgets that this side of Steve even exist, this hopelessness, this hurt, he sees it so rarely.
It's so easy to think that Steve's strength never weakens, that his faith and his sense of duty will keep him going through anything the world can throw at him, but this is Steve too and Tony forgot and he is so ashamed. He has seen Steve with broken bones, dead on his feet from exhaustion and still giving the ones around him, be it his team or civilians, strength and encouragement, giving them exactly what they needed to keep going, but right now Steve isn't able to hide anything at all, isn’t even trying.
And it was Tony who did this.
All Tony wants to do is go over to him, put his arms around him, hold him, have Steve's arms tighten around him, banish that look from his face, Steve is not supposed to look so defeated, Tony can't bear it.
Tony takes a step towards Steve and stumbles, suddenly he notices that he is shaking - he's freezing, he knew that, but it's like he's only feeling it now. The short walk towards Steve is a daze, Tony has tunnel-vision, can't look away from Steve's face.
Steve stands up to greet him.
“What are you doing here, Tony?” he asks, with no emotions whatsoever.
“I came to find you,” Tony says and he had stuff planned he wanted to say, but it's gone now, Steve is here and Tony’s mind is wiped clear.
“You're soaking wet,” Steve observes and gently pushes Tony away from the bar, steers him towards the rooms. The touch makes Tony stiffen, he doesn't know if he can lean into it, so he just lets Steve guide him, stiff as a board.
“Yeah, they grounded me. The rangers,” he elaborates at Steve's raised eyebrows. “The suit was freaking out the bears. And I wanted to find you.”
“So the logical thing to do was to trek through the park on foot? In those shoes? You could have come back tomorrow with proper gear.”
“No, I couldn't, I... I would have lost my nerve if I'd went home now.”
“I'm surprised you came at all.” Steve says (not bitter, just matter-of-fact, and that's worse, that’s so much worse) as he opens the door to his room. He plants Tony on a chair and fetches a couple of towels from the bathroom and unceremoniously starts undressing Tony, his hands brisk and impersonal. Tony closes his eyes, concentrates on keeping his breath steady.
Then his hand shoots out without his permission, grips Steve's wrist, makes him stop unbuttoning Tony’s wet shirt.
“Steve, I came to talk to you. Jarvis talked some sense to me, showed me the errors of my ways. In technicolors. Steve, I...” Tony trails off, the words aren't there, he doesn't know how to do this.
The silence hangs heavy between them, Steve's face is impassive, waiting - then he seems to do a mental double take and asks:
“...Technicolors? Do you mean, literately showed you-”
“Oh, um. Jarvis records everything in the house. So-”
“Even the sex?”
“Especially the sex. For security reasons.”
“Tony, that's-”
“Its not like that, and no, not like that either, I can't even access it myself, it's just in case someone tries to throw sexual assault charges my way, Steve, it doesn't matter. What I was trying to say- I was wrong Steve, you're my friend, one of my best, if not the best and I didn't treat you like that and I'm sorry.”
“Your friend,” Steve states woodenly.
“Okay, this conversation is not going as I planned, it all makes sense in my head - it's not just sex for me either, okay? And I never meant to hurt you.”
“You did.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” It's not enough. It's just words. He means them, yes, he feels them, but they're so inadequate. He's so inadequate.
Steve doesn’t reply, just looks away and stands up.
He takes Tony’s hand, pulls him to his feet.
“You’re still freezing, Tony. We need to get you warm.”
Steve steers him into the bathroom, starts filling the large bath tub and finishes undressing Tony. His hands are slower now, little touches lingering on Tony’s skin and Tony can’t help but closing his eyes and lean into it, relaxing in Steve’s hands.
Steve peels off his wet shirt carefully and now his hands are definitely caressing him and Tony feels light-headed. He’s panting slightly and Steve is watching him intently and the expression on his face is so familiar, oh God, Tony missed this, seeing that tenderness, seeing how much Steve wants him.
He can feel it all over his body, it’s exploding inside him, a burst of happiness. Steve still feels the same for him, he still wants him, they’re going to be all right. Tony did it, somehow he did it and the relief makes him stagger into Steve’s arms and Steve pulls him in and holds him tight, hides his face in Tony’s neck. They’re both half-hard, but that’s not important right now: Steve has taken him back, it’s not too late and the joy is spreading through Tony like a wildfire and Tonywould tell him, he wants to share it with Steve, he tries to, but he can’t, there’s something wrong with this voice his throat won't work right and Steve holds him tighter, says, oh Tony, I missed you too, and it’s going to be all right, they’re all right, they’re going to be all right, and he doesn’t know whose lips finds whose, but they’re kissing, deep and slow and tender and it’s all right.
*
Tony is warm and comfortable, lying against Steve’s chest, Steve’s arms around him, he’s surrounded by warm water and it shouldn’t be this comfortable, two grown men fitting into an ordinary bath tub and especially when one of them Steve Rogers, but Tony doesn’t remember when he last was this relaxed, this happy. Steve is stroking his back, his arms, his chest, every part of Tony that he can reach, petting his hair and Tony could go to sleep like this, his feet has finally stopped aching, his body is heavy and tired, but there’s still something he needs to know.
“Do you still have the ring?”
Steve stills under him, Tony can feel his breath pausing.
“Yes, I still have it. Of course I still have it.”
“Can I see it?”
“Hand me my jeans?”
Tony does, getting half the floor wet in the process, and this time when Steve gives it to him, Tony does not run.
END