"Big Brother is watching you", Avengers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Title: Big Brother is watching you
Author:
scrollgirl
Fandom: Avengers (2012)
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony, Jarvis, most of the Avengers, Jane, Darcy
Words: ~3000
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Written for plingo_kat for the
cap_ironman 2011 Secret Santa. Originally posted here.
Summary: Steve develops a sudden and inexplicable crush on Tony Stark. Thankfully Tony has Jarvis looking out for him, which Steve doesn't seem to mind at all.
Big Brother is watching you
by Scroll
SHIELD Headquarters takes a pounding in Loki's final salvo and most of the buildings suffer structural damage, including the barracks. When the battle's done, Steve's quarters no longer have walls or a ceiling. He had grown attached in spite of himself and it guts him to lose the standard issue cot and the metal shelves and the tiny American flag he'd picked up off the street on a rare excursion in the city.
It's all gone. Again. Steve's not sure how many more times he can try to make a place for himself. It's an effort to even find the locket with Peggy's picture.
Thor is equally homeless, at least here on Earth, but when Dr Foster makes noises about the two of them leasing an apartment in Tribeca, Fury puts down his foot. (He wears size fourteen combat boots. When he puts his foot down, people pay attention.)
"Hell no. Stark's taking you off my hands. Guy's got a whole mansion on Fifth Avenue."
"Isn't forcing him to quarter us a violation of his Third Amendment rights?" Steve carefully points out.
Fury raises an eyebrow at him. "Ask me if I give a damn."
To Steve's surprise, Tony is all for the Avengers taking over his home. "I bet you Natasha sleeps naked. She seems like the type to have silk sheets on her bed and a knife under her pillow and sleep totally bare-assed. Not that I'd ever try to catch a peek, because I like my dick just fine where it is, and she's fast with that knife--like, scary-fast. But there's bound to be an alien invasion or some kind of world-ending catastrophe in the middle of the night and maybe she'll run out without putting on clothes. What? A guy can dream, right? Go big or go home. Plus, Darcy says that Jane doesn't really wear bras unless she's going out, so there's that."
"Tony, please," he sighs, tired, and Tony actually shuts up about bras and instead offers to help Steve dig his civvies out from under a pile of rubble.
Jarvis takes some getting used to. Maybe it's beneath him, but Steve feels a petty satisfaction that Clint and Dr Foster and even Darcy, who prides herself as Steve's native guide to being a hot, single, socially-competent twenty-something in New York, are just as uncomfortable as he is with the disembodied voice running their new home. No one's been able to make coffee, or take a shower, or steal one of Tony's cars for a joyride without Jarvis effortlessly improving on the user experience.
"Even opening a window is like a fucking revelation, like Stark invented fresh air ten minutes ago and I get to test the prototype," Clint mutters darkly as he sips a double espresso brewed to perfection. "Goddamn freaky house."
Natasha smiles faintly and says, "You'll get used to it. Him."
Thor laughs and greets Jarvis like an old friend. Apparently his people are accustomed to all-knowing, all-seeing gatekeepers.
Steve blushes the first time he sees Tony in a thin, sleeveless shirt that shows off his arms and the glow of the arc reactor. It's the morning after the Avengers move into the mansion and Steve's walking the perimeter, familiarizing himself with the grounds. The formal gardens are lovely, timeless, and it's too easy to pretend that Howard's just turned up the next path and that Steve only needs to hurry his steps to catch him.
But it's Tony's influence and not Howard's that Steve feels in every corner of this place. The solid neo-classical exterior is nothing like the fierce, limitless lines of Stark Tower or the graceful contours of the Malibu house, but the mansion's interior is all Tony. Discreet technology enhances the beautifully appointed rooms. The art collection is true to Tony's personality, if not his more haphazard purchases. (There are Picassos. Steve lives in a house with Picassos. For that alone, Miss Potts is probably Steve's favourite person of the future.) The simple fact that Tony has welcomed the Avengers under his roof speaks volumes about the man, no matter what he might say about the ladies' undergarments.
Inside, Steve wanders down to the lower levels and discovers Tony's workshop, a clean, brightly-lit, strictly functional space that still manages to be homey and welcoming. There's loud, angry music playing, the kind with people yelling the lyrics instead of singing them. Tony is bent over the Iron Man suit, performing minor surgery on its chest cavity. There's grease streaked over the curve of his biceps and Steve finds himself unable to tear his gaze away.
He stands in the shadowed doorway for nearly half an hour, watching, before leaving without saying a word. Tony doesn't notice, oblivious to Steve's sudden and inexplicable attraction.
After that, he begins to notice Tony more and more. He notices Tony brushing past him in the hall or Tony sitting next to him on the couch on team movie nights or Tony swooping in with covering fire when he's Iron Man and Captain America is pinned down by the enemy. He especially notices Tony wearing those shirts that Clint calls "wife-beaters" (which Steve can't imagine is the proper name) and Dr Foster calls "tank tops" and Darcy calls "muscle shirts". Steve's partial to "muscle shirts", since the rippling of muscles is mostly what he notices about Tony's bare arms.
That, and his golden skin, and his skilful hands.
"Mr. Rogers, shall I set up a video feed on your laptop so that you may continue to observe Mr Stark from the comfort of your bedroom?" asks Jarvis, out of the blue, when Steve is once again lurking in Tony's workshop and debating whether to call it a night or stay and watch the other man finish his repairs to War Machine. "It is getting rather late."
Steve sucks in a startled breath and checks Tony's expression to see if he heard, but thankfully Tony is completely immersed in his work. He's probably forgotten that Steve is even in the room, perched on a stool with a Churchill biography that he's not really reading. Ears burning with shame, Steve whispers, "No, no. Please don't, Jarvis."
He tiptoes out, all the way upstairs until he's in the privacy of his own room. "Jarvis?" Steve is never sure where he should look when he's speaking to Jarvis, but settles on the control panel on the wall that controls the lights, windows, heat, and humidity. He bites his lip, wishing this stupid crush would just go away. The potential for humiliation if it gets out twists Steve's stomach into knots. "Are you going to tell Tony that I've been watching him?"
"Is there any reason I should not?" asks Jarvis. Then, almost apologetically: "Your psychological profile is classified a matter of national security and Mr Stark has, unfortunately, been unable to upload a copy of your file to my servers. I lack sufficient data to accurately predict the likely outcome of your stalking Mr Stark." Meaning: You're being a creep, Rogers, and I don't trust your intentions. "If, however, you were to desist your covert activities, I could be induced to remain silent on the matter. For now."
It's a better answer than Steve honestly expects to hear, especially considering the betrayal Tony suffered in what should have been the safety of his own home, at the hands of a man who had his trust. (Fury gave Tony's file to Steve as homework, so he knows all about the late Obadiah Stane.) It's no wonder that Jarvis is protective of Tony.
In the days after, he strives to keep his distance. He doesn't avoid Tony altogether, because that would be cruel to both of them--they're teammates, after all, and becoming good friends now that they've agreed to pretend they never said the dumb things they said to one another in the beginning. But Steve stops visiting the workshop and he sits next to Natasha on movie nights and he never lets his gaze linger on Tony, not even a little bit.
There's an added consequence to Jarvis calling him out, which is that Steve is now reluctant to take matters into his own hands in the shower. The first time he moans Tony's name as he comes, he freezes up with the absolute certainty that Jarvis is listening, watching, judging.
"Steve, Steve, you can't listen to Darcy, she's ridiculous," says Tony, exasperated. "Seriously, this isn't 1984, okay? Jarvis is not Big Brother, he's not even Skynet--"
"You're ridiculous, Tony," Darcy interjects. "I was talking about the reality show! You know, a house full of superheroes? Cut off from normal people--except for yours truly--and who's sleeping with who and you walking in on Natasha naked in the bathroom? If I wasn't living in a billionaire's mansion on Fifth Avenue, I would totally pay for a cable package to watch Avengers Big Brother."
"Okay, Lewis, first of all? As of this moment, I'm blocking access to all reality television in this house--except America's Next Top Model, and maybe The Amazing Race. Secondly, that bathroom incident was not my fault and Natasha only cut me up a little bit. She didn't mean to! It's just that she has ninja reflexes. Thirdly--" Tony turns back to Steve. "Jarvis does not, nor will he ever, monitor you when you're jacking off in the shower. Scout's honour."
Jane glances up from her tablet. "That's 'live long and prosper', Tony."
"Geek."
Tony finds him in the gym an hour later. "I mean, unless you want Jarvis to listen in? Because I can tweak--"
"No, Tony."
"Perhaps," says Jarvis, a week after the Big Brother conversation, "you should simply inform Mr Stark of your feelings?"
It's the middle of the night and Steve is wide awake, lying flat on his back with the covers shoved down to his waist. He lifts the arm he has draped over his eyes and peers up at the ceiling. "I don't think that's a good idea, Jarvis."
"Mr. Rogers, I would not suggest it without first performing extensive calculations. Based on thirty-two simulations run using data extrapolated from Mr Stark's sexual and romantic history from ages fourteen to forty, weighting homosexual interactions over heterosexual at three-to-one, there is an eighty-seven percent probability of success should you initiate sexual relations with Mr Stark within the next seventy-two hours."
Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. "Thank you, Jarvis, that's very helpful." Steve lets his arm drop back over his face. "What happens after seventy-two hours?"
"Mr Stark is expected in Tokyo for a nanotechnology conference. He is likely to find companionship while he is there."
Of course, because Tony Stark never lacks for companionship. Steve, on the other hand, has never even kissed a man. It doesn't seem fair that he's always at such a disadvantage in terms of experience when it comes to love and romance, but at least it's easier talking to a man he likes than it is talking to a woman.
He's suddenly blind-sided by the memory of Peggy's dark snapping eyes, her frustration and pique over the Fondue Misunderstanding of 1944. All the time they wasted...
If he's learned anything since the night he met Dr Erskine, it's that life can change quickly and unexpectedly. People can be torn away from each other in a heartbeat, at the whim of fate, or because of the evil deeds of men. He doesn't want to regret missing his chance with Tony the way he regrets never dancing with Peggy.
The next morning, Steve goes to beard the lion in its den. He can only pray that Tony will let him down gently, that the bonds of friendship and camaraderie forged in the battlefield can withstand the embarrassment and unease they're both sure to feel once Steve makes his feelings known.
Tony swivels around in his chair when Steve walks in. "Hey, Cap, you wanna tell me what you've been doing to Jarvis? Why the hell do you have him running probability matrices on my love-life, for fuck's sake?"
Stopped dead in his tracks, caught out, Steve scrambles for an explanation that Tony will actually buy. He can't think of one. "I'm sorry, Tony, I really am," he says, finally. "I had no right to do that without your permission."
But Tony dismisses the apology with a wave. "Who cares about that--I wanna know why."
Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, hoping for lightning to strike. "Jarvis was just... trying to help me out with a problem."
"A problem with my love-life?" Leaning back in his chair, Tony eyes Steve speculatively. "Or were you using me as a baseline? Because I gotta warn you, Steve, since you may not know this about me, but I'm not really the statistical norm when it comes to things like maintaining a healthy, long-term relationship. One-night stands, sure. Lost weekends in Tahiti, why the hell not. But you strike me, and no offence intended, as more of a 'till death do us part' kind of guy."
"You're... not wrong about that." It's like Steve said to Peggy all those years ago: he wants a partner, a real one, an equal, someone to share his life. He wanted it to be her. That dream might be dead, but for the first time since he woke up in this century, he thinks there's still a chance for him.
He pulls a stool closer to Tony and sits down. Contemplates his friend, his partner.
Tony's starting to frown, the worry lines around his mouth deepening. "Uh, you're starting to freak me out here, buddy, I'm getting a little uncomfortable." It's all bluster. Tony is here, waiting, open, with a look in his eyes that says, 'please, please trust me.'
Steve can't help the smile that steals over his face, but that's SOP with Tony. The man makes him laugh and smile all the damn time, and sure, Tony also makes him grumble and growl in frustration, but nothing beats the smiles and the laughter, the warmth, the generous heart hidden under all that flash. And so he says, "Jarvis was trying to figure out what my chances were with you."
"Your chances with me for what?" asks Tony, clearly not getting it.
"I like you, Tony." There. Plain and simple. Direct. "I think you're amazing. Your mind, your creativity. Your courage. Your, uh, your body." Steve turns as red as a tomato, inevitably, but he doesn't even care. Tony's wearing another one of those muscle shirts, his naked arms so close and touchable. He adds, awkward and honest, "I'm really attracted to you, okay?"
"Holy shit," whispers Tony, shocked. "Are you coming on to me?"
Is that really so hard to believe? "Yeah, Tony, I am." Steve rests a hand on Tony's shoulder, and when it's not shrugged off, he allows his fingertips to trail down warm skin, over the curve of a biceps, to linger in the vulnerable inside bend of an elbow. Tony stares up at him, his breath hitching as Steve gently tugs on his arm. The chair rolls Tony closer.
Searching the other man's face for a clue, Steve leans in slowly and kisses Tony, softly, tentatively. After a moment, though, he thinks the hell with it and stops being so damned careful. Slanting his mouth over Tony's, he kisses him with all the pent-up desire of the past weeks sparking behind his eyelids.
Tony breaks off the kiss with another holy shit, then shakes his head in bewilderment. It's an adorable look on him. "Steve, what the hell? No, wait--" He cuts himself off. "Maybe you're having some kind of psychotic break, I don't actually want to know. Just kiss me again, okay? Because you were doing a really good job with that, seriously, I wouldn't have predicted that--"
This time it's Steve who cuts him off, yanking Tony out of his chair and practically into Steve's lap. Super-soldier reflexes keep them from tipping over onto the floor, though now that Steve thinks about it, the floor might be a good place for them to be.
"Shall I engage the usual filters on the security cameras, sir?"
Jarvis. Asking Tony something that Steve should probably care about.
Tony laughs, low and sexy, and rocks his hips against Steve's. "Yeah, Jarvis, you should probably do that."
Maybe it's because Jarvis has proved to be trustworthy, or because Steve's sense of fair play won't allow him to do anything less, but he says, "No, don't." When Tony blinks in confusion, he shrugs and tries to explain. "I'd rather Jarvis didn't record us, but maybe he could continue monitoring us? I think he'd feel more comfortable if he could, you know, keep an eye out."
"You... want Jarvis to monitor us."
"Yes. Unobtrusively." Caressing Tony's cheek with the back of his fingers, Steve says, "Hey, I'm glad you have Jarvis looking out for you. He's a good friend."
"You are too kind, Mr. Rogers," says Jarvis.
It's not a smirk, exactly, that Tony gives him, but it's not exactly a smile either. "Yeah, okay. Jarvis, what he said, do that."
"As you wish, sir."
Steve grins at Tony, feeling pleased with himself and the world at large.
"Oh, God, enough with the cute, you're killing me," Tony grumbles, threading his fingers through Steve's hair. "I'm trying to make out with you, and it's kind of hard to do when you're smiling like that. Thank God you don't have dimples, I don't think I could handle this much cute if you also had dimples." He tries to nip at Steve's bottom lip and fails miserably when Steve ducks his head, laughing. "Hey, come on, cut that out!"
"Sorry, sorry, I'll stop now." Steve kisses him properly, jumping a little when Tony licks into his mouth, but then melting into it. He wraps his arms around Tony's back, lips once again curving up into a smile. Tony pinches his ass in retaliation. "I can't help it," Steve protests. "I'm just happy."
+++
Feedback would be loved!
Oh, and Happy Epiphany! Blessings to all of you who celebrate this day!
I prefer comments on Dreamwidth |
comment(s)
Author:
scrollgirl
Fandom: Avengers (2012)
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony, Jarvis, most of the Avengers, Jane, Darcy
Words: ~3000
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Written for plingo_kat for the
cap_ironman 2011 Secret Santa. Originally posted here.
Summary: Steve develops a sudden and inexplicable crush on Tony Stark. Thankfully Tony has Jarvis looking out for him, which Steve doesn't seem to mind at all.
Big Brother is watching you
by Scroll
SHIELD Headquarters takes a pounding in Loki's final salvo and most of the buildings suffer structural damage, including the barracks. When the battle's done, Steve's quarters no longer have walls or a ceiling. He had grown attached in spite of himself and it guts him to lose the standard issue cot and the metal shelves and the tiny American flag he'd picked up off the street on a rare excursion in the city.
It's all gone. Again. Steve's not sure how many more times he can try to make a place for himself. It's an effort to even find the locket with Peggy's picture.
Thor is equally homeless, at least here on Earth, but when Dr Foster makes noises about the two of them leasing an apartment in Tribeca, Fury puts down his foot. (He wears size fourteen combat boots. When he puts his foot down, people pay attention.)
"Hell no. Stark's taking you off my hands. Guy's got a whole mansion on Fifth Avenue."
"Isn't forcing him to quarter us a violation of his Third Amendment rights?" Steve carefully points out.
Fury raises an eyebrow at him. "Ask me if I give a damn."
To Steve's surprise, Tony is all for the Avengers taking over his home. "I bet you Natasha sleeps naked. She seems like the type to have silk sheets on her bed and a knife under her pillow and sleep totally bare-assed. Not that I'd ever try to catch a peek, because I like my dick just fine where it is, and she's fast with that knife--like, scary-fast. But there's bound to be an alien invasion or some kind of world-ending catastrophe in the middle of the night and maybe she'll run out without putting on clothes. What? A guy can dream, right? Go big or go home. Plus, Darcy says that Jane doesn't really wear bras unless she's going out, so there's that."
"Tony, please," he sighs, tired, and Tony actually shuts up about bras and instead offers to help Steve dig his civvies out from under a pile of rubble.
Jarvis takes some getting used to. Maybe it's beneath him, but Steve feels a petty satisfaction that Clint and Dr Foster and even Darcy, who prides herself as Steve's native guide to being a hot, single, socially-competent twenty-something in New York, are just as uncomfortable as he is with the disembodied voice running their new home. No one's been able to make coffee, or take a shower, or steal one of Tony's cars for a joyride without Jarvis effortlessly improving on the user experience.
"Even opening a window is like a fucking revelation, like Stark invented fresh air ten minutes ago and I get to test the prototype," Clint mutters darkly as he sips a double espresso brewed to perfection. "Goddamn freaky house."
Natasha smiles faintly and says, "You'll get used to it. Him."
Thor laughs and greets Jarvis like an old friend. Apparently his people are accustomed to all-knowing, all-seeing gatekeepers.
Steve blushes the first time he sees Tony in a thin, sleeveless shirt that shows off his arms and the glow of the arc reactor. It's the morning after the Avengers move into the mansion and Steve's walking the perimeter, familiarizing himself with the grounds. The formal gardens are lovely, timeless, and it's too easy to pretend that Howard's just turned up the next path and that Steve only needs to hurry his steps to catch him.
But it's Tony's influence and not Howard's that Steve feels in every corner of this place. The solid neo-classical exterior is nothing like the fierce, limitless lines of Stark Tower or the graceful contours of the Malibu house, but the mansion's interior is all Tony. Discreet technology enhances the beautifully appointed rooms. The art collection is true to Tony's personality, if not his more haphazard purchases. (There are Picassos. Steve lives in a house with Picassos. For that alone, Miss Potts is probably Steve's favourite person of the future.) The simple fact that Tony has welcomed the Avengers under his roof speaks volumes about the man, no matter what he might say about the ladies' undergarments.
Inside, Steve wanders down to the lower levels and discovers Tony's workshop, a clean, brightly-lit, strictly functional space that still manages to be homey and welcoming. There's loud, angry music playing, the kind with people yelling the lyrics instead of singing them. Tony is bent over the Iron Man suit, performing minor surgery on its chest cavity. There's grease streaked over the curve of his biceps and Steve finds himself unable to tear his gaze away.
He stands in the shadowed doorway for nearly half an hour, watching, before leaving without saying a word. Tony doesn't notice, oblivious to Steve's sudden and inexplicable attraction.
After that, he begins to notice Tony more and more. He notices Tony brushing past him in the hall or Tony sitting next to him on the couch on team movie nights or Tony swooping in with covering fire when he's Iron Man and Captain America is pinned down by the enemy. He especially notices Tony wearing those shirts that Clint calls "wife-beaters" (which Steve can't imagine is the proper name) and Dr Foster calls "tank tops" and Darcy calls "muscle shirts". Steve's partial to "muscle shirts", since the rippling of muscles is mostly what he notices about Tony's bare arms.
That, and his golden skin, and his skilful hands.
"Mr. Rogers, shall I set up a video feed on your laptop so that you may continue to observe Mr Stark from the comfort of your bedroom?" asks Jarvis, out of the blue, when Steve is once again lurking in Tony's workshop and debating whether to call it a night or stay and watch the other man finish his repairs to War Machine. "It is getting rather late."
Steve sucks in a startled breath and checks Tony's expression to see if he heard, but thankfully Tony is completely immersed in his work. He's probably forgotten that Steve is even in the room, perched on a stool with a Churchill biography that he's not really reading. Ears burning with shame, Steve whispers, "No, no. Please don't, Jarvis."
He tiptoes out, all the way upstairs until he's in the privacy of his own room. "Jarvis?" Steve is never sure where he should look when he's speaking to Jarvis, but settles on the control panel on the wall that controls the lights, windows, heat, and humidity. He bites his lip, wishing this stupid crush would just go away. The potential for humiliation if it gets out twists Steve's stomach into knots. "Are you going to tell Tony that I've been watching him?"
"Is there any reason I should not?" asks Jarvis. Then, almost apologetically: "Your psychological profile is classified a matter of national security and Mr Stark has, unfortunately, been unable to upload a copy of your file to my servers. I lack sufficient data to accurately predict the likely outcome of your stalking Mr Stark." Meaning: You're being a creep, Rogers, and I don't trust your intentions. "If, however, you were to desist your covert activities, I could be induced to remain silent on the matter. For now."
It's a better answer than Steve honestly expects to hear, especially considering the betrayal Tony suffered in what should have been the safety of his own home, at the hands of a man who had his trust. (Fury gave Tony's file to Steve as homework, so he knows all about the late Obadiah Stane.) It's no wonder that Jarvis is protective of Tony.
In the days after, he strives to keep his distance. He doesn't avoid Tony altogether, because that would be cruel to both of them--they're teammates, after all, and becoming good friends now that they've agreed to pretend they never said the dumb things they said to one another in the beginning. But Steve stops visiting the workshop and he sits next to Natasha on movie nights and he never lets his gaze linger on Tony, not even a little bit.
There's an added consequence to Jarvis calling him out, which is that Steve is now reluctant to take matters into his own hands in the shower. The first time he moans Tony's name as he comes, he freezes up with the absolute certainty that Jarvis is listening, watching, judging.
"Steve, Steve, you can't listen to Darcy, she's ridiculous," says Tony, exasperated. "Seriously, this isn't 1984, okay? Jarvis is not Big Brother, he's not even Skynet--"
"You're ridiculous, Tony," Darcy interjects. "I was talking about the reality show! You know, a house full of superheroes? Cut off from normal people--except for yours truly--and who's sleeping with who and you walking in on Natasha naked in the bathroom? If I wasn't living in a billionaire's mansion on Fifth Avenue, I would totally pay for a cable package to watch Avengers Big Brother."
"Okay, Lewis, first of all? As of this moment, I'm blocking access to all reality television in this house--except America's Next Top Model, and maybe The Amazing Race. Secondly, that bathroom incident was not my fault and Natasha only cut me up a little bit. She didn't mean to! It's just that she has ninja reflexes. Thirdly--" Tony turns back to Steve. "Jarvis does not, nor will he ever, monitor you when you're jacking off in the shower. Scout's honour."
Jane glances up from her tablet. "That's 'live long and prosper', Tony."
"Geek."
Tony finds him in the gym an hour later. "I mean, unless you want Jarvis to listen in? Because I can tweak--"
"No, Tony."
"Perhaps," says Jarvis, a week after the Big Brother conversation, "you should simply inform Mr Stark of your feelings?"
It's the middle of the night and Steve is wide awake, lying flat on his back with the covers shoved down to his waist. He lifts the arm he has draped over his eyes and peers up at the ceiling. "I don't think that's a good idea, Jarvis."
"Mr. Rogers, I would not suggest it without first performing extensive calculations. Based on thirty-two simulations run using data extrapolated from Mr Stark's sexual and romantic history from ages fourteen to forty, weighting homosexual interactions over heterosexual at three-to-one, there is an eighty-seven percent probability of success should you initiate sexual relations with Mr Stark within the next seventy-two hours."
Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. "Thank you, Jarvis, that's very helpful." Steve lets his arm drop back over his face. "What happens after seventy-two hours?"
"Mr Stark is expected in Tokyo for a nanotechnology conference. He is likely to find companionship while he is there."
Of course, because Tony Stark never lacks for companionship. Steve, on the other hand, has never even kissed a man. It doesn't seem fair that he's always at such a disadvantage in terms of experience when it comes to love and romance, but at least it's easier talking to a man he likes than it is talking to a woman.
He's suddenly blind-sided by the memory of Peggy's dark snapping eyes, her frustration and pique over the Fondue Misunderstanding of 1944. All the time they wasted...
If he's learned anything since the night he met Dr Erskine, it's that life can change quickly and unexpectedly. People can be torn away from each other in a heartbeat, at the whim of fate, or because of the evil deeds of men. He doesn't want to regret missing his chance with Tony the way he regrets never dancing with Peggy.
The next morning, Steve goes to beard the lion in its den. He can only pray that Tony will let him down gently, that the bonds of friendship and camaraderie forged in the battlefield can withstand the embarrassment and unease they're both sure to feel once Steve makes his feelings known.
Tony swivels around in his chair when Steve walks in. "Hey, Cap, you wanna tell me what you've been doing to Jarvis? Why the hell do you have him running probability matrices on my love-life, for fuck's sake?"
Stopped dead in his tracks, caught out, Steve scrambles for an explanation that Tony will actually buy. He can't think of one. "I'm sorry, Tony, I really am," he says, finally. "I had no right to do that without your permission."
But Tony dismisses the apology with a wave. "Who cares about that--I wanna know why."
Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, hoping for lightning to strike. "Jarvis was just... trying to help me out with a problem."
"A problem with my love-life?" Leaning back in his chair, Tony eyes Steve speculatively. "Or were you using me as a baseline? Because I gotta warn you, Steve, since you may not know this about me, but I'm not really the statistical norm when it comes to things like maintaining a healthy, long-term relationship. One-night stands, sure. Lost weekends in Tahiti, why the hell not. But you strike me, and no offence intended, as more of a 'till death do us part' kind of guy."
"You're... not wrong about that." It's like Steve said to Peggy all those years ago: he wants a partner, a real one, an equal, someone to share his life. He wanted it to be her. That dream might be dead, but for the first time since he woke up in this century, he thinks there's still a chance for him.
He pulls a stool closer to Tony and sits down. Contemplates his friend, his partner.
Tony's starting to frown, the worry lines around his mouth deepening. "Uh, you're starting to freak me out here, buddy, I'm getting a little uncomfortable." It's all bluster. Tony is here, waiting, open, with a look in his eyes that says, 'please, please trust me.'
Steve can't help the smile that steals over his face, but that's SOP with Tony. The man makes him laugh and smile all the damn time, and sure, Tony also makes him grumble and growl in frustration, but nothing beats the smiles and the laughter, the warmth, the generous heart hidden under all that flash. And so he says, "Jarvis was trying to figure out what my chances were with you."
"Your chances with me for what?" asks Tony, clearly not getting it.
"I like you, Tony." There. Plain and simple. Direct. "I think you're amazing. Your mind, your creativity. Your courage. Your, uh, your body." Steve turns as red as a tomato, inevitably, but he doesn't even care. Tony's wearing another one of those muscle shirts, his naked arms so close and touchable. He adds, awkward and honest, "I'm really attracted to you, okay?"
"Holy shit," whispers Tony, shocked. "Are you coming on to me?"
Is that really so hard to believe? "Yeah, Tony, I am." Steve rests a hand on Tony's shoulder, and when it's not shrugged off, he allows his fingertips to trail down warm skin, over the curve of a biceps, to linger in the vulnerable inside bend of an elbow. Tony stares up at him, his breath hitching as Steve gently tugs on his arm. The chair rolls Tony closer.
Searching the other man's face for a clue, Steve leans in slowly and kisses Tony, softly, tentatively. After a moment, though, he thinks the hell with it and stops being so damned careful. Slanting his mouth over Tony's, he kisses him with all the pent-up desire of the past weeks sparking behind his eyelids.
Tony breaks off the kiss with another holy shit, then shakes his head in bewilderment. It's an adorable look on him. "Steve, what the hell? No, wait--" He cuts himself off. "Maybe you're having some kind of psychotic break, I don't actually want to know. Just kiss me again, okay? Because you were doing a really good job with that, seriously, I wouldn't have predicted that--"
This time it's Steve who cuts him off, yanking Tony out of his chair and practically into Steve's lap. Super-soldier reflexes keep them from tipping over onto the floor, though now that Steve thinks about it, the floor might be a good place for them to be.
"Shall I engage the usual filters on the security cameras, sir?"
Jarvis. Asking Tony something that Steve should probably care about.
Tony laughs, low and sexy, and rocks his hips against Steve's. "Yeah, Jarvis, you should probably do that."
Maybe it's because Jarvis has proved to be trustworthy, or because Steve's sense of fair play won't allow him to do anything less, but he says, "No, don't." When Tony blinks in confusion, he shrugs and tries to explain. "I'd rather Jarvis didn't record us, but maybe he could continue monitoring us? I think he'd feel more comfortable if he could, you know, keep an eye out."
"You... want Jarvis to monitor us."
"Yes. Unobtrusively." Caressing Tony's cheek with the back of his fingers, Steve says, "Hey, I'm glad you have Jarvis looking out for you. He's a good friend."
"You are too kind, Mr. Rogers," says Jarvis.
It's not a smirk, exactly, that Tony gives him, but it's not exactly a smile either. "Yeah, okay. Jarvis, what he said, do that."
"As you wish, sir."
Steve grins at Tony, feeling pleased with himself and the world at large.
"Oh, God, enough with the cute, you're killing me," Tony grumbles, threading his fingers through Steve's hair. "I'm trying to make out with you, and it's kind of hard to do when you're smiling like that. Thank God you don't have dimples, I don't think I could handle this much cute if you also had dimples." He tries to nip at Steve's bottom lip and fails miserably when Steve ducks his head, laughing. "Hey, come on, cut that out!"
"Sorry, sorry, I'll stop now." Steve kisses him properly, jumping a little when Tony licks into his mouth, but then melting into it. He wraps his arms around Tony's back, lips once again curving up into a smile. Tony pinches his ass in retaliation. "I can't help it," Steve protests. "I'm just happy."
+++
Feedback would be loved!
Oh, and Happy Epiphany! Blessings to all of you who celebrate this day!
I prefer comments on Dreamwidth |
comment(s)