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cap_ironman2013-01-12 08:58 am
muccamukk) wrote in cap_ironman2013-01-12 08:58 am
A Gift of Fic for slashersivi!
Title: Courtship for the Post-12/21 21st Century
Recipient: slashersivi
Author/Artist: first_quadrant
Universe: MCU (No-powers AU)
Rating: G
Warnings: None?
A/N: I'm sorry this is G-rated ):
Summary: Steve is trying really hard to date, and Tony's trying really hard to date Steve.
It's eleven thirty at night. Steve looks down at his watch and then takes the nipped red rose out of his breast pocket, tosses it on the bar along with a twenty, and heads out the door. He looks pretty dejected as he walks out, hands stuffed in his coat, eyes on the crushed glass in the sparkling Brooklyn sidewalk. He looks up as he sees a beautiful woman with curly black hair and gorgeous long legs rush towards him, but she runs on by and profusely apologizes to a man behind Steve for being late.
People tumble in and out of the bar, and Steve makes his way towards the train, wondering idly if he might like to stop at the Checkers first, drown out a bad night in french fries and milkshakes. He doesn't get much further into that thought when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Steve grabs for a wrist, tugs forward, slings his weight back, and finds a man in a suit on the ground, wind knocked out of him.
"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry," Steve says, because he doesn't have a good reason to believe anyone is trying to mug him from tapping on his shoulder. He offers a hand to the man he just flipped, asks if he's alright, and then apologizes again.
He's given, as a response, "What just happened?"
"I don't like being snuck up on," Steve replies quickly, as an excuse.
"Yeah. Guessed that, Clark Kent. Where do you hide the muscles?" But the man is good-natured, takes Steve's hand, and tries to ignore the fact that Steve is so skinny that he's pulled forward with the force of picking up his weight. The patrons at Checkers were staring for a bit, but they seem to go back to business, since nobody has to call the cops or an ambulance now. Now it's just a random Friday night.
"It's Steve. Steve Rogers." He never answered Steve's question, so he repeats it. "Are you hurt? I'll call you a cab."
"No, it's fine. Really." He straightens up, and looks fine from the front. He might look fine from the back too, but probably a little dirty. "You just high-tailed it out of the bar so fast and didn't hear me call after you. Left your phone." The man fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over. "Careful handling the guys holding your tech. If this wasn't a Stark phone I think you'd have broken it. Where'd you learn how to throw like that anyway?"
"Um." Steve takes the phone and then sticks it in his pocket, not even checking to see if it's broken or anything. "I take self-defense lessons after work. And… thanks."
They talk for the next fifteen minutes about absolutely nothing in particular. Steve is generally friendly and this guy could probably talk his ear off about blueberries if he wanted. The conversation is just easier than he expected it to be, and Steve almost forgets that he was just stood up.
"Oh, it's midnight, I'm gonna miss the ball drop-- text me the number of your self-defense place; I could use a workout. Hey, you don't want to come up to midtown, do you?"
He can't have everything.
"Actually, I was going to work tomorrow, so I need to head home. But I'll text you. Thanks, again-- are you sure you don't want cab fare or something?" Steve is highly concerned at this other man, who gives him an odd look. He wonders what that's about, but he gets waved off.
"Work on New Years? Wow, either your boss sucks or you really wanna blow me off."
"I just… have a lot to do," Steve responds, and he looks apologetic, which to the other man, looks like he's making an excuse, so he doesn't press on.
"My name's Tony, by the way." And then he grins, light-heartedly, and makes his leave.
"Happy new year!" Steve calls after, as he heads down the stairs to the subway. It isn't until he's sitting down on one of the benches and hears the alarm for the train's arrival that he realizes he never asked for Tony's number or even his last name.
The sound of the A train chugs on by, and he falls asleep twice on his way home.
--
When he gets back to the surface, he receives a text message, and on his caller ID it says "Tony".
Oh.
It reads: Your password's lousy. P.S. Happy New Year.
Steve is not sure why Tony's being so friendly to him, but it's a nice change of pace, especially since his date never showed. He's still trying to come up with a reply when he gets to the top landing of his fourth-floor walkup, a tiny one-bedroom he shares with his best friend. He walks into his apartment calling greetings for the new year, and notices that the shared living space is surprisingly clean.
"Hey! Happy New Year!" Bucky exclaims as he turns away from kissing a girl with a blonde bob, fuchsia lips and a slinky silver dress. "This is Titania. Titania, this is Steve.
"Easy there tiger, I'm glad the date went well but you might wanna wait a day before trying to set up another one."
"She never showed. I almost left my phone at the bar and the guy who found it talked to me for a bit," he replies.
Titania rests her head on Bucky's shoulder and her hand on his thigh. She's so bored with Steve's love life, but she knows that Bucky's not going to ditch his friend. She's right.
"That blows. Is he cute, at least?" he asks. Ever since Steve started his job drawing comics, he hasn't had time to meet people. Bucky's set him up on a few dates, and so have a few of Steve's coworkers. It's almost like Steve's forgotten how to date or something, because none of them ever go well. He hasn't had a relationship since his college sweetheart, Peggy. And that was years ago.
Steve finally figures out the message he's going to write and then fires it off. It reads: Already in Times Square, Wally West?
He is also vaguely aware that Bucky just asked him a question, and by the smirk on his face, he can guess what it was. "Not my type." His phone's already buzzing again; it's Tony. Of course it's Tony. No one else would be texting him at this hour, save Bucky.
Stuck on Canal. Never seen Chinatown so busy at midnight.
Something about that makes Steve smile, and leads Bucky to nudge his lady friend, leaning over and whispering something in her ear. Not needing to be told twice, she gets up to go to his room, waving goodbye to Steve, who wishes them both a good night.
"Sure he's not your type?" Bucky asks.
Steve shoots him a look. "Turn off the hall light, will you?"
"What's his name?"
"And don't stay up too late, 'cause we've got work in the morning."
"You have work. I'm taking a day off. Your deadline's not until the fourth. Take a day. Don't even hang out with me. Go see what he-who-must-not-be-named is doing."
"Good night, Bucky."
"Okay, okay. We'll talk in the morning. Good night, Steve."
Steve's room is the back half of the living room, separated from the front half by the couch against his dresser and a dressing panel on the other side. His doorway's the gap between these two; it's not a very wide apartment.
After changing into pajamas and brushing his teeth, he tucks himself into bed and turns off his light.
Five minutes later, he grabs his phone and writes, Sorry you missed the ball drop. Better luck next year. Going to bed now, goodnight.
--
Steve's alarm clock doesn't go off the next morning, so he wakes up to a call and wonder who it is so early in the morning before he realizes it's already ten. It's from a number his phone doesn't recognize, and he picks up as he threads his beanpole legs into a pair of old trousers.
"Hi, Steve?" asks an unfamiliar woman's voice.
"Yes, this is he." He's wondering if it's someone at the studio, calling because he said he'd be there no later than eight and work tirelessly until this thing was banged out to start off the new year right. It might be one of the new secretaries; he doesn't know them all yet, and he thinks of names on resumes as he slips into the bathroom to brush his teeth. She doesn't sound like Rachel, Mona, or Alex…
"Oh, hey, I'm really sorry about last night. I'm Danielle, by the way. I was supposed to meet you last night for drinks? I had to work late and I just got so caught up that I totally forgot until the fireworks started going off. Do you think we could rain-check? I know I should have called you."
Steve is surprised. And confused. He really thought she'd come, seen him sitting there, and just left. It wouldn't be the first time and surely wouldn't be the last time it happened to him. "Sure! Same time, same place on Saturday?"
"That'd be lovely. Thanks so much for understanding. Promise I'll be on time," she says. "Oh, I've gotta run though, and Happy New Year!"
Click. She's hung up.
He feels kind of a strange twist in his stomach of something that's not unlike hope and not unlike anxiety.
While he was asleep, Tony sent him a text wishing him a good night.
He thinks nothing of it until he emerges from the subway on his way to work, nearly breathless by the time he gets to the top of the stairs and into the studio to find that no one else decided to come into work. That means one thing to Steve: he can plug in his playlist and there's no one to argue with him about it.
Just after he sets up his desk, his phone buzzes.
Are you actually working? JW.
Very quickly, Steve doodles a portrait of Tony from memory and takes a picture of his desk. Yes.
Oh, wow. That's actually really good. Is that me?
Steve is finishing the sketch of a page, references tabbed up everywhere, hands covered in graphite. He wipes his hands off to check his texts, sends back replies, and before he knows it, he has to start deleting messages from his inbox to conserve space. He finds himself pressed for inspiration around lunchtime halfway through his project, until Tony sends back a message with a download link to some song he was referencing a few hours ago and couldn't remember.
Should've known it was called Saturday Night. Speaking of, are you free then?
Can't. Got a date.
He works through lunch, starts with the inks, and then realizes his phone's been quiet for a bit. So he writes, Friday?
There's not a reply. Or, okay, there's not an instantaneous reply, and that makes a lot of sense. Tony's probably busy, maybe actually eating lunch. And even if he wasn't, just because he was responding super quickly earlier doesn't mean that's the speed he usually texts at. Maybe he stepped away from his phone.
It doesn't matter, because Steve has work to do and he ends up with ink on his nose and marker on his shirt before he's done. But his pages are all ready to scan and it's barely even two in the afternoon. He adds Saturday Night to his playlist, a stark difference from the jazz and big band. He's dancing along to Sing, Sing, Sing when his phone buzzes and that is how Steve Rogers managed to score two dates in one weekend. It is a personal record for him.
--
On Wednesday, about five hundred texts later, Steve gets a parcel in his mailbox and it contains some sort of electronic chip and a letter. "Said you were running out of space? You really should upgrade your phone to the Stark 7. But here's some memory in the meantime."
--
He makes his way out of the 4 train and walks a few blocks down. It's a little confusing, because this restaurant's moved up the block within the last two years, so all the sites still have it listed wrong. It's off the avenue now, but it's a well-loved establishment of the neighborhood, so that hasn't dented its business one bit.
There's a huge crowd of people waiting inside, but a hostess greets Steve warmly and takes him upstairs when he says he's waiting for a friend. The place is dimly-lit but modern and sleek, with an antiquated flair. There's a glass panel behind the bar, painted black where there's a pattern that looks like it belongs on an old rug, illuminated from the back by a hot pink light. They light up a few columns in the center, gold and slightly engraved with a similar design. Walking up the stairs to the balcony, a bright neon light runs up the banister, a sharp straight line to contrast with the sway of the hostess' hips.
Tony looks up and beckons Steve over with his grin. "Have you ever had Thai before?" he asks.
"No," Steve answers, sitting down. "I've… had Thai iced tea?"
"Good, it's excellent here. And extra good, because this place isn't the most authentic. But the food tastes great, which is why I keep coming back." Tony orders them two iced teas and then passes Steve the menus, because he gets the same thing every time he comes here.
Steve's made his choice, but he asks, "What should I pick as a protein?" since he gets to choose from a few.
Tony's answer is immediate. "Crispy pork belly. It's delicious."
So Steve gets that and a soup, which turns out to be a little too spicy for him, but Tony offers to trade for his lettuce wraps. He ends up eating both of their appetizers, though at his insistence, Steve does try a wrap. It's divine. The salt of the stir-fried hot duck and the crisp freshness of the lettuce are about as perfect of a match as apples and cinnamon, and that's a huge compliment from Steve Rogers.
The pork belly, as it turns out, is phenomenal. It basically blows all other pork products, except maybe bacon and hot dogs, completely out of the water. It's sweet and succulent and the fattiness adds a lot to the texture of his noodles, which are big and wonderful and much too filling. Steve ends up with half a plate left, and has to get it boxed up to go.
Tony is not less talkative when he's eating, and Steve has no idea how he manages to get so much tucked away while speaking. Steve finds him immensely witty and interesting. He's got a nice lilt to his voice that carries over even in text, and Steve finds himself listening more than participating in the conversation, which is alright. Tony likes to talk, and he has a captivated audience, and that's all that matters.
After dinner, they take a walk through the park; everything around them save restaurants is closed for the night, and it's pretty cold outside, but there's a crowd. Someone is practicing music, there are a few skateboarders, and a pair of friends are playing frisbee with their dogs.
Tony practically drags Steve to the back, to a large pavilion up at the north end of the park that's usually dark this time of night, but tonight it's well-lit and there are beautiful large curtains hanging from the decorative stone entrance. Steve has never been able to figure out what this structure is for, but he figures it's a general community area, since sometimes he volunteers to help with events that happen here during the daytime.
He looks for a sign, and quickly takes Tony's arm. Not one who likes lying on pavement, Tony looks back to Steve, who says, "It's closed for a private event."
Tony relaxes. "Yeah, this one. Pulled in a few favors from friends. You said you liked dancing, right?"
Steve may have made a throwaway remark about how he'd always wanted to go swing dancing, but over their short correspondence he'd said a lot of things and didn't think Tony would remember.
It's a beautiful little hall, with a band sitting at one end that Steve thinks must really have owed Tony a big favor, all dressed up like they're performing at Carnegie Hall. In this weather?
Steve is… distracted, and shocked, and overwhelmed by the gesture, so much so that he barely notices Tony offering him a hand. And then he shies away, and looks worried for a second. "I… don't know how to dance," he confesses.
Tony takes his hand anyway, prepared to literally sweep Steve off his feet, if he has to. "That's what we're here for, isn't it?"
A grin cracks on Steve's face, and he accepts Tony's offer. And although he turns out to be a terrible dancer, Tony has a good humor about it and Steve learns quickly; they dance until security comes to tell them the park is closed. Tony starts to protest, but Steve stops him, says it's fine and they can go somewhere else.
Somewhere else turns out to be a little Italian café in the East Village that is a legend among pastry connoisseurs. There are lights in front that boast that this place has been around since 1894, and there are welcoming red awnings and warm wooden doors.
Steve says he's stuffed and orders just a drink, but just a drink turns into a cannoli, a slice of the lightest sponge cake Steve has ever tasted, and a half-eaten slice of signature New York cheesecake that gets passed back and forth between the two men, neither of whom have any room left in their stomachs.
"I had a great time," Steve says, picking away at the cheesecake because it's honestly too good to waste.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I don't know," Steve says, and at first he knits his brows in thought but then he melts into a smile. "I just like spending time with you."
Before Tony can say anything, Steve checks his watch and adds, "Oh, wow, it's really late. I should go. Sorry, were you going to say something?"
Yes, yes Tony was. But he shakes his head. "No. Hey, slow down, I'll drive you home."
Steve thinks about it, but then remembers that the polite thing to do would be to invite Tony up for coffee, and Bucky will still be awake. Bucky will love Tony, and that will just make everything uncomfortable. "Astor place is right outside. I can walk three blocks," Steve replies. "I don't want you to go so far out of your way," he adds, and that's truth.
He extricates himself before Tony can counter-offer, but waves his phone and asks him to text.
--
Steve comes home to find Bucky with his feet on the coffee table and flipping through channels. "So? How was your date?"
"Wasn't a date," Steve replies. "But it was nice."
"I thought you went out for dinner." Bucky turns off the television, since nothing's on.
Steve sits down beside him and turns the t.v. back on to watch the news. "We did. And then we went to the park, and then we went dancing." He drops the rest of the Thai food by Bucky's feet, if he wants any. "I had a lot of fun. It was great."
Bucky peers at him, wondering how his best friend can't see the stars in his own eyes when he talks about this date of his. "Steve, I've never pegged you for a high-maintenance kind of guy, but that was a date. And it was a nice one. Does a guy have to come to your door wearing a blue tux with a corsage to count? Man, guess you didn't kiss him goodnight. That's a shame. Call him up tomorrow, set another one up."
Steve kicks Bucky's leg.
"What? You don't like him? You text him all the time," Bucky teases.
"I text you all the time."
Bucky shrugs. And then: "You really haven't thought about it," he decides.
No, Steve thinks. He hasn't.
--
Your date's the bartender?
Steve looks around him. Are you following me?
A familiar face comes to sit down by him, orders them a round of drinks. "The place next door makes the best doubles in town that's still open after ten," Tony replies. "And I go out of my way for excellency."
"Is that so?" Steve asks, looking at Tony out of the corner of his eye. He knows it, if last night is any indication, but he also thinks that Tony's going far out of his jurisdiction for Steve.
"Come on Rogers, it's like you barely know me at all."
"That's because I don't, Tony." Steve thinks, for as much as Tony talks, he doesn't say much about himself.
Tony thinks a lot of things, and none of them are positive. "Let's change that, since I know so much about you," he replies instead, a smile to mask his thoughts.
"What do you know about me?"
"I know you're a good artist, you are a great dancer, and you have a really busy girlfriend."
Steve gives Tony a thoughtful look, and then crosses his arms. "We uh… haven't actually gone on a date yet. She really is busy."
"Ouch," Tony replies, and it's his turn to give Steve a look. He can't believe this woman stood him up twice and he's still waiting here, possibly for a few hours. "Have you tried calling her?" he asks after awhile, because inexplicably to him, he likes Steve quite a bit and it's clear that Steve likes this girl very much.
Everyone wants what they can't have, and Steve is certainly no exception. Tony isn't, either. He thought they'd really hit it off, and they'd had a great date last night. He feels a little twinge of jealousy, because this had been really good and here Steve is, waiting for a woman who didn't care about him or his time. And it has been far too long since Tony has gone on a date with someone who has no idea who he is. It's refreshing to be Tony, with-but-without the Stark attached. He hasn't been this comfortable since Pepper. All of that seems to just start to disappear.
"No," says Steve, tucking his phone away. "Don't have her number. She's got mine, though. She's probably just working, that's all."
Tony agrees, but this is kind of awkward and he thinks he should go.
"Tell me something about yourself," Steve says, and Tony's gotten so caught up in feeling sorry for himself that he's almost forgotten how they got to this part of the conversation in the first place.
He tries: "I'm a billionaire."
Steve arches an eyebrow the way he does when Tony makes a joke and he's not sure if he's serious. Or, that's how Tony imagined he looked, reading some of his texts. He makes a mental checkmark next to that item on the list of things that he's thought about Steve Rogers.
He hates that over the week, he's generated a whole list. It drives him crazy that he's not charming enough for Steve and that every time he hears from Steve it makes his minute or his hour or his day.
"Alright," Steve says, trying him on. "What do you do for a living?"
"I'm the CEO of a technology company."
"If you're Tony Stark then I'm Steve Jobs," he replies, although it was a funny joke and he did buy into it for a whole embarrassing ten seconds.
Tony thinks Steve has been living under a rock. Seriously, his face is on the cover of everything. There are even internet memes about him and Game of Thrones. He is obviously perplexed that he's let Steve know who he is and he still doesn't want to believe it. "Google me," he says, because this is just ridiculous.
Steve quirks a brow. "Okay. What's your last name? Your real one."
"Stark," he insists. "And I come here because nobody cares who I am even though they know, except you apparently, don't know. Also, the place down the street really does make phenomenal doubles."
Steve has no idea what doubles are. Steve doesn't know a lot of things and he's still trying to process that Tony is Tony Stark and that Tony Stark is sitting here with him and hasn't left yet. He asks, "What are doubles?"
Well, that's a start to getting somewhere.
But Tony looks a little wounded, and gets up. Steve's about to reach out and tell him to stay when he says, "Come on. I'll show you."
There's a line outside this tiny hole-in-the-wall that Steve was previously unaware existed. He passes it every night he goes to the dive bar, once coming from the subway and once going back, and never even noticed. Of course, there are lots of fast food places on the block, so it's not like he expected to find anything exceptional.
Apparently, exceptional comes to find him. There's barely enough room for Tony and Steve to fit in, and he can't even find the menu. Doubles, it turns out, are little fried dough pieces with stewed chickpeas inside and a tangy tamarind sauce on top. They each get two, and Steve selects an apple soda as Tony goes for the ginger beer. The place is so small that they have to sit on a bench and a small table outside.
"This is really good," Steve says, washing it down after having taken a bite of spicy garlic sauce.
"That's why I get two."
They're kind of messy, as foods go, and Steve gets some sauce all over his hand. But the lady behind the counter did give them a generous amount of napkins, like she knew. They make a great late night snack, and they're a dollar twenty-five a pop. Steve doesn't understand. Tony is spending his Friday and Saturday nights eating American-adapted Thai and street food with skinny Steve Rogers.
Steve thinks Tony is a great friend, or he's crazy.
"Do you like flowers?" Tony asks, after a pause.
"What?"
"Flowers," Tony repeats. "I can send you flowers."
"That's not necessary," Steve replies, looking rather confused.
"A car? Then you won't have to take the subway anymore."
"Tony, don't be ridiculous, I don't want you to buy me a car." Steve places a hand on Tony's wrist and looks him in the eye, trying to figure out what he's getting at. Does he think Steve is a charity case, or something? Is that what this is?
All Tony replies with is: "It doesn't have to be a nice car? I mean, I'm not going to make you drive a junky car but I don't have to put you in a Mercedes or anything, if that's weird for you."
"No, Tony." Steve doesn't understand what just happened. "Tony, what are you trying to do?"
"I'm trying to impress you."
"You're trying--"
"Let me finish. First of all, you never check your email. I tried to send everyone home in your office on New Years so no one would have to work. I tried to set up another date with you. I tried figuring out what you like and you really need Facebook or something, you're impossible to find online. You didn't like dinner last night, you didn't like dancing, and you don't like doubles. You practically ran out on me last night. Do you really not want this car? I can get it for you right now."
He just looks at Steve, as if he's expecting an answer.
"Are you finished?"
Tony looks exasperated. "Yes."
"I do like doubles. Dancing was great. I-- dinner was great too, I told you that last night."
"Yeah, but you were just being polite. You also said you liked the Jurassic Park sequels."
There's a pause. "What's wrong with the Jurassic Park sequels?"
Tony is an idiot. "Oh. Wait, really? Wow. Okay, first of all, next time we go out, I'm introducing you to better movies. Second, I'm glad you actually had fun. And third, the car offer still stands."
Steve looks serious at first, but then he breaks into a smile bright enough, Tony thinks, to eclipse the arc reactor technology he's working on. And then he laughs, just lightly, but has to hold his head in his hand and doesn't recover for a minute. A whole minute.
He thinks he needs to evaluate some things about his life. One, he needs to start listening to Bucky more. And secondly, he is really regretting how dense he is that he couldn't figure out Tony liked him. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious, and he was just seeing things the way the whole world was telling him to see them.
"Forget about the car, Tony, I already like you." He's so small, but when he smiles like that, Tony thinks he looks bigger than he actually is. Or maybe he's getting that impression because he's getting closer
For a moment, Tony doesn't know what to say. And then he does, but he keeps his mouth shut, which is a good call, because suddenly he finds his mouth occupied kissing Steve's. Steve tastes like salt and apple soda, his lips are soft and his hands are warm against Tony's face when he kisses back.
When it's over, they're keenly aware of January air between them.
"You like me," Tony says, like he doesn't believe it.
"Yeah." Steve ducks in for another kiss, thinks about it, and comes to a conclusion for himself. "Yeah, I do."
Recipient: slashersivi
Author/Artist: first_quadrant
Universe: MCU (No-powers AU)
Rating: G
Warnings: None?
A/N: I'm sorry this is G-rated ):
Summary: Steve is trying really hard to date, and Tony's trying really hard to date Steve.
It's eleven thirty at night. Steve looks down at his watch and then takes the nipped red rose out of his breast pocket, tosses it on the bar along with a twenty, and heads out the door. He looks pretty dejected as he walks out, hands stuffed in his coat, eyes on the crushed glass in the sparkling Brooklyn sidewalk. He looks up as he sees a beautiful woman with curly black hair and gorgeous long legs rush towards him, but she runs on by and profusely apologizes to a man behind Steve for being late.
People tumble in and out of the bar, and Steve makes his way towards the train, wondering idly if he might like to stop at the Checkers first, drown out a bad night in french fries and milkshakes. He doesn't get much further into that thought when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Steve grabs for a wrist, tugs forward, slings his weight back, and finds a man in a suit on the ground, wind knocked out of him.
"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry," Steve says, because he doesn't have a good reason to believe anyone is trying to mug him from tapping on his shoulder. He offers a hand to the man he just flipped, asks if he's alright, and then apologizes again.
He's given, as a response, "What just happened?"
"I don't like being snuck up on," Steve replies quickly, as an excuse.
"Yeah. Guessed that, Clark Kent. Where do you hide the muscles?" But the man is good-natured, takes Steve's hand, and tries to ignore the fact that Steve is so skinny that he's pulled forward with the force of picking up his weight. The patrons at Checkers were staring for a bit, but they seem to go back to business, since nobody has to call the cops or an ambulance now. Now it's just a random Friday night.
"It's Steve. Steve Rogers." He never answered Steve's question, so he repeats it. "Are you hurt? I'll call you a cab."
"No, it's fine. Really." He straightens up, and looks fine from the front. He might look fine from the back too, but probably a little dirty. "You just high-tailed it out of the bar so fast and didn't hear me call after you. Left your phone." The man fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over. "Careful handling the guys holding your tech. If this wasn't a Stark phone I think you'd have broken it. Where'd you learn how to throw like that anyway?"
"Um." Steve takes the phone and then sticks it in his pocket, not even checking to see if it's broken or anything. "I take self-defense lessons after work. And… thanks."
They talk for the next fifteen minutes about absolutely nothing in particular. Steve is generally friendly and this guy could probably talk his ear off about blueberries if he wanted. The conversation is just easier than he expected it to be, and Steve almost forgets that he was just stood up.
"Oh, it's midnight, I'm gonna miss the ball drop-- text me the number of your self-defense place; I could use a workout. Hey, you don't want to come up to midtown, do you?"
He can't have everything.
"Actually, I was going to work tomorrow, so I need to head home. But I'll text you. Thanks, again-- are you sure you don't want cab fare or something?" Steve is highly concerned at this other man, who gives him an odd look. He wonders what that's about, but he gets waved off.
"Work on New Years? Wow, either your boss sucks or you really wanna blow me off."
"I just… have a lot to do," Steve responds, and he looks apologetic, which to the other man, looks like he's making an excuse, so he doesn't press on.
"My name's Tony, by the way." And then he grins, light-heartedly, and makes his leave.
"Happy new year!" Steve calls after, as he heads down the stairs to the subway. It isn't until he's sitting down on one of the benches and hears the alarm for the train's arrival that he realizes he never asked for Tony's number or even his last name.
The sound of the A train chugs on by, and he falls asleep twice on his way home.
--
When he gets back to the surface, he receives a text message, and on his caller ID it says "Tony".
Oh.
It reads: Your password's lousy. P.S. Happy New Year.
Steve is not sure why Tony's being so friendly to him, but it's a nice change of pace, especially since his date never showed. He's still trying to come up with a reply when he gets to the top landing of his fourth-floor walkup, a tiny one-bedroom he shares with his best friend. He walks into his apartment calling greetings for the new year, and notices that the shared living space is surprisingly clean.
"Hey! Happy New Year!" Bucky exclaims as he turns away from kissing a girl with a blonde bob, fuchsia lips and a slinky silver dress. "This is Titania. Titania, this is Steve.
"Easy there tiger, I'm glad the date went well but you might wanna wait a day before trying to set up another one."
"She never showed. I almost left my phone at the bar and the guy who found it talked to me for a bit," he replies.
Titania rests her head on Bucky's shoulder and her hand on his thigh. She's so bored with Steve's love life, but she knows that Bucky's not going to ditch his friend. She's right.
"That blows. Is he cute, at least?" he asks. Ever since Steve started his job drawing comics, he hasn't had time to meet people. Bucky's set him up on a few dates, and so have a few of Steve's coworkers. It's almost like Steve's forgotten how to date or something, because none of them ever go well. He hasn't had a relationship since his college sweetheart, Peggy. And that was years ago.
Steve finally figures out the message he's going to write and then fires it off. It reads: Already in Times Square, Wally West?
He is also vaguely aware that Bucky just asked him a question, and by the smirk on his face, he can guess what it was. "Not my type." His phone's already buzzing again; it's Tony. Of course it's Tony. No one else would be texting him at this hour, save Bucky.
Stuck on Canal. Never seen Chinatown so busy at midnight.
Something about that makes Steve smile, and leads Bucky to nudge his lady friend, leaning over and whispering something in her ear. Not needing to be told twice, she gets up to go to his room, waving goodbye to Steve, who wishes them both a good night.
"Sure he's not your type?" Bucky asks.
Steve shoots him a look. "Turn off the hall light, will you?"
"What's his name?"
"And don't stay up too late, 'cause we've got work in the morning."
"You have work. I'm taking a day off. Your deadline's not until the fourth. Take a day. Don't even hang out with me. Go see what he-who-must-not-be-named is doing."
"Good night, Bucky."
"Okay, okay. We'll talk in the morning. Good night, Steve."
Steve's room is the back half of the living room, separated from the front half by the couch against his dresser and a dressing panel on the other side. His doorway's the gap between these two; it's not a very wide apartment.
After changing into pajamas and brushing his teeth, he tucks himself into bed and turns off his light.
Five minutes later, he grabs his phone and writes, Sorry you missed the ball drop. Better luck next year. Going to bed now, goodnight.
--
Steve's alarm clock doesn't go off the next morning, so he wakes up to a call and wonder who it is so early in the morning before he realizes it's already ten. It's from a number his phone doesn't recognize, and he picks up as he threads his beanpole legs into a pair of old trousers.
"Hi, Steve?" asks an unfamiliar woman's voice.
"Yes, this is he." He's wondering if it's someone at the studio, calling because he said he'd be there no later than eight and work tirelessly until this thing was banged out to start off the new year right. It might be one of the new secretaries; he doesn't know them all yet, and he thinks of names on resumes as he slips into the bathroom to brush his teeth. She doesn't sound like Rachel, Mona, or Alex…
"Oh, hey, I'm really sorry about last night. I'm Danielle, by the way. I was supposed to meet you last night for drinks? I had to work late and I just got so caught up that I totally forgot until the fireworks started going off. Do you think we could rain-check? I know I should have called you."
Steve is surprised. And confused. He really thought she'd come, seen him sitting there, and just left. It wouldn't be the first time and surely wouldn't be the last time it happened to him. "Sure! Same time, same place on Saturday?"
"That'd be lovely. Thanks so much for understanding. Promise I'll be on time," she says. "Oh, I've gotta run though, and Happy New Year!"
Click. She's hung up.
He feels kind of a strange twist in his stomach of something that's not unlike hope and not unlike anxiety.
While he was asleep, Tony sent him a text wishing him a good night.
He thinks nothing of it until he emerges from the subway on his way to work, nearly breathless by the time he gets to the top of the stairs and into the studio to find that no one else decided to come into work. That means one thing to Steve: he can plug in his playlist and there's no one to argue with him about it.
Just after he sets up his desk, his phone buzzes.
Are you actually working? JW.
Very quickly, Steve doodles a portrait of Tony from memory and takes a picture of his desk. Yes.
Oh, wow. That's actually really good. Is that me?
Steve is finishing the sketch of a page, references tabbed up everywhere, hands covered in graphite. He wipes his hands off to check his texts, sends back replies, and before he knows it, he has to start deleting messages from his inbox to conserve space. He finds himself pressed for inspiration around lunchtime halfway through his project, until Tony sends back a message with a download link to some song he was referencing a few hours ago and couldn't remember.
Should've known it was called Saturday Night. Speaking of, are you free then?
Can't. Got a date.
He works through lunch, starts with the inks, and then realizes his phone's been quiet for a bit. So he writes, Friday?
There's not a reply. Or, okay, there's not an instantaneous reply, and that makes a lot of sense. Tony's probably busy, maybe actually eating lunch. And even if he wasn't, just because he was responding super quickly earlier doesn't mean that's the speed he usually texts at. Maybe he stepped away from his phone.
It doesn't matter, because Steve has work to do and he ends up with ink on his nose and marker on his shirt before he's done. But his pages are all ready to scan and it's barely even two in the afternoon. He adds Saturday Night to his playlist, a stark difference from the jazz and big band. He's dancing along to Sing, Sing, Sing when his phone buzzes and that is how Steve Rogers managed to score two dates in one weekend. It is a personal record for him.
--
On Wednesday, about five hundred texts later, Steve gets a parcel in his mailbox and it contains some sort of electronic chip and a letter. "Said you were running out of space? You really should upgrade your phone to the Stark 7. But here's some memory in the meantime."
--
He makes his way out of the 4 train and walks a few blocks down. It's a little confusing, because this restaurant's moved up the block within the last two years, so all the sites still have it listed wrong. It's off the avenue now, but it's a well-loved establishment of the neighborhood, so that hasn't dented its business one bit.
There's a huge crowd of people waiting inside, but a hostess greets Steve warmly and takes him upstairs when he says he's waiting for a friend. The place is dimly-lit but modern and sleek, with an antiquated flair. There's a glass panel behind the bar, painted black where there's a pattern that looks like it belongs on an old rug, illuminated from the back by a hot pink light. They light up a few columns in the center, gold and slightly engraved with a similar design. Walking up the stairs to the balcony, a bright neon light runs up the banister, a sharp straight line to contrast with the sway of the hostess' hips.
Tony looks up and beckons Steve over with his grin. "Have you ever had Thai before?" he asks.
"No," Steve answers, sitting down. "I've… had Thai iced tea?"
"Good, it's excellent here. And extra good, because this place isn't the most authentic. But the food tastes great, which is why I keep coming back." Tony orders them two iced teas and then passes Steve the menus, because he gets the same thing every time he comes here.
Steve's made his choice, but he asks, "What should I pick as a protein?" since he gets to choose from a few.
Tony's answer is immediate. "Crispy pork belly. It's delicious."
So Steve gets that and a soup, which turns out to be a little too spicy for him, but Tony offers to trade for his lettuce wraps. He ends up eating both of their appetizers, though at his insistence, Steve does try a wrap. It's divine. The salt of the stir-fried hot duck and the crisp freshness of the lettuce are about as perfect of a match as apples and cinnamon, and that's a huge compliment from Steve Rogers.
The pork belly, as it turns out, is phenomenal. It basically blows all other pork products, except maybe bacon and hot dogs, completely out of the water. It's sweet and succulent and the fattiness adds a lot to the texture of his noodles, which are big and wonderful and much too filling. Steve ends up with half a plate left, and has to get it boxed up to go.
Tony is not less talkative when he's eating, and Steve has no idea how he manages to get so much tucked away while speaking. Steve finds him immensely witty and interesting. He's got a nice lilt to his voice that carries over even in text, and Steve finds himself listening more than participating in the conversation, which is alright. Tony likes to talk, and he has a captivated audience, and that's all that matters.
After dinner, they take a walk through the park; everything around them save restaurants is closed for the night, and it's pretty cold outside, but there's a crowd. Someone is practicing music, there are a few skateboarders, and a pair of friends are playing frisbee with their dogs.
Tony practically drags Steve to the back, to a large pavilion up at the north end of the park that's usually dark this time of night, but tonight it's well-lit and there are beautiful large curtains hanging from the decorative stone entrance. Steve has never been able to figure out what this structure is for, but he figures it's a general community area, since sometimes he volunteers to help with events that happen here during the daytime.
He looks for a sign, and quickly takes Tony's arm. Not one who likes lying on pavement, Tony looks back to Steve, who says, "It's closed for a private event."
Tony relaxes. "Yeah, this one. Pulled in a few favors from friends. You said you liked dancing, right?"
Steve may have made a throwaway remark about how he'd always wanted to go swing dancing, but over their short correspondence he'd said a lot of things and didn't think Tony would remember.
It's a beautiful little hall, with a band sitting at one end that Steve thinks must really have owed Tony a big favor, all dressed up like they're performing at Carnegie Hall. In this weather?
Steve is… distracted, and shocked, and overwhelmed by the gesture, so much so that he barely notices Tony offering him a hand. And then he shies away, and looks worried for a second. "I… don't know how to dance," he confesses.
Tony takes his hand anyway, prepared to literally sweep Steve off his feet, if he has to. "That's what we're here for, isn't it?"
A grin cracks on Steve's face, and he accepts Tony's offer. And although he turns out to be a terrible dancer, Tony has a good humor about it and Steve learns quickly; they dance until security comes to tell them the park is closed. Tony starts to protest, but Steve stops him, says it's fine and they can go somewhere else.
Somewhere else turns out to be a little Italian café in the East Village that is a legend among pastry connoisseurs. There are lights in front that boast that this place has been around since 1894, and there are welcoming red awnings and warm wooden doors.
Steve says he's stuffed and orders just a drink, but just a drink turns into a cannoli, a slice of the lightest sponge cake Steve has ever tasted, and a half-eaten slice of signature New York cheesecake that gets passed back and forth between the two men, neither of whom have any room left in their stomachs.
"I had a great time," Steve says, picking away at the cheesecake because it's honestly too good to waste.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I don't know," Steve says, and at first he knits his brows in thought but then he melts into a smile. "I just like spending time with you."
Before Tony can say anything, Steve checks his watch and adds, "Oh, wow, it's really late. I should go. Sorry, were you going to say something?"
Yes, yes Tony was. But he shakes his head. "No. Hey, slow down, I'll drive you home."
Steve thinks about it, but then remembers that the polite thing to do would be to invite Tony up for coffee, and Bucky will still be awake. Bucky will love Tony, and that will just make everything uncomfortable. "Astor place is right outside. I can walk three blocks," Steve replies. "I don't want you to go so far out of your way," he adds, and that's truth.
He extricates himself before Tony can counter-offer, but waves his phone and asks him to text.
--
Steve comes home to find Bucky with his feet on the coffee table and flipping through channels. "So? How was your date?"
"Wasn't a date," Steve replies. "But it was nice."
"I thought you went out for dinner." Bucky turns off the television, since nothing's on.
Steve sits down beside him and turns the t.v. back on to watch the news. "We did. And then we went to the park, and then we went dancing." He drops the rest of the Thai food by Bucky's feet, if he wants any. "I had a lot of fun. It was great."
Bucky peers at him, wondering how his best friend can't see the stars in his own eyes when he talks about this date of his. "Steve, I've never pegged you for a high-maintenance kind of guy, but that was a date. And it was a nice one. Does a guy have to come to your door wearing a blue tux with a corsage to count? Man, guess you didn't kiss him goodnight. That's a shame. Call him up tomorrow, set another one up."
Steve kicks Bucky's leg.
"What? You don't like him? You text him all the time," Bucky teases.
"I text you all the time."
Bucky shrugs. And then: "You really haven't thought about it," he decides.
No, Steve thinks. He hasn't.
--
Your date's the bartender?
Steve looks around him. Are you following me?
A familiar face comes to sit down by him, orders them a round of drinks. "The place next door makes the best doubles in town that's still open after ten," Tony replies. "And I go out of my way for excellency."
"Is that so?" Steve asks, looking at Tony out of the corner of his eye. He knows it, if last night is any indication, but he also thinks that Tony's going far out of his jurisdiction for Steve.
"Come on Rogers, it's like you barely know me at all."
"That's because I don't, Tony." Steve thinks, for as much as Tony talks, he doesn't say much about himself.
Tony thinks a lot of things, and none of them are positive. "Let's change that, since I know so much about you," he replies instead, a smile to mask his thoughts.
"What do you know about me?"
"I know you're a good artist, you are a great dancer, and you have a really busy girlfriend."
Steve gives Tony a thoughtful look, and then crosses his arms. "We uh… haven't actually gone on a date yet. She really is busy."
"Ouch," Tony replies, and it's his turn to give Steve a look. He can't believe this woman stood him up twice and he's still waiting here, possibly for a few hours. "Have you tried calling her?" he asks after awhile, because inexplicably to him, he likes Steve quite a bit and it's clear that Steve likes this girl very much.
Everyone wants what they can't have, and Steve is certainly no exception. Tony isn't, either. He thought they'd really hit it off, and they'd had a great date last night. He feels a little twinge of jealousy, because this had been really good and here Steve is, waiting for a woman who didn't care about him or his time. And it has been far too long since Tony has gone on a date with someone who has no idea who he is. It's refreshing to be Tony, with-but-without the Stark attached. He hasn't been this comfortable since Pepper. All of that seems to just start to disappear.
"No," says Steve, tucking his phone away. "Don't have her number. She's got mine, though. She's probably just working, that's all."
Tony agrees, but this is kind of awkward and he thinks he should go.
"Tell me something about yourself," Steve says, and Tony's gotten so caught up in feeling sorry for himself that he's almost forgotten how they got to this part of the conversation in the first place.
He tries: "I'm a billionaire."
Steve arches an eyebrow the way he does when Tony makes a joke and he's not sure if he's serious. Or, that's how Tony imagined he looked, reading some of his texts. He makes a mental checkmark next to that item on the list of things that he's thought about Steve Rogers.
He hates that over the week, he's generated a whole list. It drives him crazy that he's not charming enough for Steve and that every time he hears from Steve it makes his minute or his hour or his day.
"Alright," Steve says, trying him on. "What do you do for a living?"
"I'm the CEO of a technology company."
"If you're Tony Stark then I'm Steve Jobs," he replies, although it was a funny joke and he did buy into it for a whole embarrassing ten seconds.
Tony thinks Steve has been living under a rock. Seriously, his face is on the cover of everything. There are even internet memes about him and Game of Thrones. He is obviously perplexed that he's let Steve know who he is and he still doesn't want to believe it. "Google me," he says, because this is just ridiculous.
Steve quirks a brow. "Okay. What's your last name? Your real one."
"Stark," he insists. "And I come here because nobody cares who I am even though they know, except you apparently, don't know. Also, the place down the street really does make phenomenal doubles."
Steve has no idea what doubles are. Steve doesn't know a lot of things and he's still trying to process that Tony is Tony Stark and that Tony Stark is sitting here with him and hasn't left yet. He asks, "What are doubles?"
Well, that's a start to getting somewhere.
But Tony looks a little wounded, and gets up. Steve's about to reach out and tell him to stay when he says, "Come on. I'll show you."
There's a line outside this tiny hole-in-the-wall that Steve was previously unaware existed. He passes it every night he goes to the dive bar, once coming from the subway and once going back, and never even noticed. Of course, there are lots of fast food places on the block, so it's not like he expected to find anything exceptional.
Apparently, exceptional comes to find him. There's barely enough room for Tony and Steve to fit in, and he can't even find the menu. Doubles, it turns out, are little fried dough pieces with stewed chickpeas inside and a tangy tamarind sauce on top. They each get two, and Steve selects an apple soda as Tony goes for the ginger beer. The place is so small that they have to sit on a bench and a small table outside.
"This is really good," Steve says, washing it down after having taken a bite of spicy garlic sauce.
"That's why I get two."
They're kind of messy, as foods go, and Steve gets some sauce all over his hand. But the lady behind the counter did give them a generous amount of napkins, like she knew. They make a great late night snack, and they're a dollar twenty-five a pop. Steve doesn't understand. Tony is spending his Friday and Saturday nights eating American-adapted Thai and street food with skinny Steve Rogers.
Steve thinks Tony is a great friend, or he's crazy.
"Do you like flowers?" Tony asks, after a pause.
"What?"
"Flowers," Tony repeats. "I can send you flowers."
"That's not necessary," Steve replies, looking rather confused.
"A car? Then you won't have to take the subway anymore."
"Tony, don't be ridiculous, I don't want you to buy me a car." Steve places a hand on Tony's wrist and looks him in the eye, trying to figure out what he's getting at. Does he think Steve is a charity case, or something? Is that what this is?
All Tony replies with is: "It doesn't have to be a nice car? I mean, I'm not going to make you drive a junky car but I don't have to put you in a Mercedes or anything, if that's weird for you."
"No, Tony." Steve doesn't understand what just happened. "Tony, what are you trying to do?"
"I'm trying to impress you."
"You're trying--"
"Let me finish. First of all, you never check your email. I tried to send everyone home in your office on New Years so no one would have to work. I tried to set up another date with you. I tried figuring out what you like and you really need Facebook or something, you're impossible to find online. You didn't like dinner last night, you didn't like dancing, and you don't like doubles. You practically ran out on me last night. Do you really not want this car? I can get it for you right now."
He just looks at Steve, as if he's expecting an answer.
"Are you finished?"
Tony looks exasperated. "Yes."
"I do like doubles. Dancing was great. I-- dinner was great too, I told you that last night."
"Yeah, but you were just being polite. You also said you liked the Jurassic Park sequels."
There's a pause. "What's wrong with the Jurassic Park sequels?"
Tony is an idiot. "Oh. Wait, really? Wow. Okay, first of all, next time we go out, I'm introducing you to better movies. Second, I'm glad you actually had fun. And third, the car offer still stands."
Steve looks serious at first, but then he breaks into a smile bright enough, Tony thinks, to eclipse the arc reactor technology he's working on. And then he laughs, just lightly, but has to hold his head in his hand and doesn't recover for a minute. A whole minute.
He thinks he needs to evaluate some things about his life. One, he needs to start listening to Bucky more. And secondly, he is really regretting how dense he is that he couldn't figure out Tony liked him. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious, and he was just seeing things the way the whole world was telling him to see them.
"Forget about the car, Tony, I already like you." He's so small, but when he smiles like that, Tony thinks he looks bigger than he actually is. Or maybe he's getting that impression because he's getting closer
For a moment, Tony doesn't know what to say. And then he does, but he keeps his mouth shut, which is a good call, because suddenly he finds his mouth occupied kissing Steve's. Steve tastes like salt and apple soda, his lips are soft and his hands are warm against Tony's face when he kisses back.
When it's over, they're keenly aware of January air between them.
"You like me," Tony says, like he doesn't believe it.
"Yeah." Steve ducks in for another kiss, thinks about it, and comes to a conclusion for himself. "Yeah, I do."
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Edit: Oh and I don't mind that it's G rated at all! I just wanted to include the possibility of sexytimes in the prompt in case my giver wanted to pursue it. xD Oh, and may I ask about the title? (just a little thrown by the "post-apocalyptic" part!)