cap_ironman_fe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cap_ironman2013-12-30 12:57 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2013-12-30 12:57 pm
Entry tags:
Secret Santa: Seasons of the Night
Gift from Santa's quinjet for: Fandomfrolics
Title: Seasons of the Night
Rating: Teen and up
Universe: MCU with a couple of references to 616
Warnings: minor character death, references to sexual activity and alcohol abuse, mild cursing
From:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellid
Forever Autumn
It's a cold, clear November night the first time he sees Captain America cry.
They aren't in the city thanks to Hydra deciding that attacking the NORAD command center in Colorado with their latest batch of super-weapons is a great way to celebrate an early Thanksgiving. Being away from New York may be part of it, or so Tony thinks at first; he’s heard rumors of Steve running for hours in Central Park after a bad dream, or camping out at his friend Sam's place in Harlem when the memories are too much, so hearing that familiar cry of "Heil Hydra!' for the first time since he woke up has to hurt.
But here, a mile above sea level on a night so crisp and dry it almost hurts to breathe, Steve can't hop the subway to 135th Street or pound his way around the reservoir until even his lungs give out. Whatever old hurts bubble up through the mask of leadership can't be assuaged with the comforting and the familiar.
Even so, it's a shock to hear the sobs.
Madam Hydra got away of course, melting into the crowd until the next time she decides it's time to dye her hair green and make a stab at world domination, but most of her followers didn't, so SHIELD took over the cleanup after Steve gave the all-clear. Most of the team hit the showers and then the cafeteria to get a hot meal instead of an MRE, with Steve the only exception.
“I need to talk to the brass at Peterson,” he'd said, and strode off in his battle-stained uniform, every bit as commanding and patriotic as he'd been seventy years earlier when the brass who'd debriefed him had been at SHAEF and not CINCNORAD. Tony hadn’t thought anything of it, and it wasn’t until a random officer had shown up hours later to escort Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to their less than luxurious guest quarters that he’d realized that Steve hadn’t returned.
Finding him had taken longer than Tony had expected – just how places can you hide a 6’2” super soldier who dresses like Old Glory? – but in the end Steve is exactly where Tony should have looked from the beginning: standing on the roof of one of the buildings, facing east, staring into what would be the dawn in a few hours. His cowl lies on his shoulders, the stenciled wings reflecting in the faint light of moon and stars, and if weren’t for the violent shudders that rip through him, Tony would never know that the strongest man he knows went up here for something other than stargazing.
“Cap?” The wind picks up, and until Steve lifts his head and turns Tony wonders if his voice had been lost in the rushing air. “Steve?”
“What is it?” His voice is thick and ragged. “If there's trouble, I'll be with you in a - “
“No, we're good, just wondering where you'd gotten to.” Tony moves toward him. “You all right?”
“Me? I’m fine – I'm – I just – “ The clear blue eyes are glazed with tears. Behind him, a shooting star blazes across the dark, dark sky. "I - oh hell. You might as well know. She died this afternoon.”
Tony freezes in mid-stride. “She?” he asks, even though he’s sure he knows the answer.
“Peggy Carter.” Steve’s jaw clenches, and he reaches up to dash fresh tears from his cheek. “Her niece texted me while I was talkin’ with the base commander.”
“I'm sorry,” says Tony, and why had he never realized before how little those words actually meant? “I didn't know her well, but if there's anything I can do - “
Steve shakes his head. He sniffles slightly, wipes his nose on his arm. "Not much to be done. Funeral's next week. Her kids are holding off till I can get there, but - ”
He draws a breath so deep Tony winces in sympathy. "I knew she wasn't well, didn't have much time. I still thought there'd be enough warning for me to fly over before the end. Guess I was wrong."
Tony wants to say he's sorry again, even though “sorry” can't begin to cover it. Steve's been through so much already since he woke up: the Chitauri invasion, rumors of trouble at SHIELD, the struggle to prove who he was and claim his place in the twentieth-first century. Losing Peggy to seven decades in the ice was bad enough, but losing her forever, even as a friend, has to cut deep.
"You can use the corporate jet to fly to England," he says at last. "I know it's not much, but sometimes? It's good to be rich."
"Thanks." Steve's lips quirk in what might be a shaky attempt at a smile. He tilts his face, looks up into the night sky. “You know, I never saw the stars until the war bonds tour. Too many lights in the city. First time I ever noticed how many there were was on a train somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania.”
Tony comes to stand beside him, hesitantly places his hand between the rigid shoulders and starts to move it up and down along the ridge of that perfectly straight back. Normally he wouldn't dare touch the man, but tonight -
“They really have a way of putting us humans in our place, don't they?" Tony says after a pause that isn't nearly as long as it feels. “Billions - hell, trillions of 'em. We really are pretty small in - “
“Peggy told me about the constellations once during the run-up to D-Day,” Steve interrupts. Another shooting star spits across the sky, pure white against true black. “Training had run late and we were the last ones back to quarters. Had to walk to our billet.”
He pulls a wad of Kleenex out of one of his belt pouches to blow his nose, and something in Tony breaks at how someone so young can look so very, very old. “I said something about all the stars, how I'd never seen more than a couple growing up. Peggy just shook her head and told me I should know about 'em if I was gonna call myself an artist.
"So she started tellin' me the old myths about the stars, what they'd meant to the Greeks and the Romans – that sort of thing. I knew some already, but I never let on.”
“That's why you're here?” Tony murmurs. The muscles under his hand have started to relax, and he's surprised at how much warmth he can sense through the layers of Kevlar and Nomex. "God, Steve, if I'd known I would have left you alone. You deserve your privacy."
"It's all right. I need to go inside, get a few hours down before we head home." Steve stuffs the dirty Kleenex back into the pouch. "Probably could stand a shower, too."
"You're cleaner than most of us," says Tony, and it's nothing but the truth. "Besides, I think Thor used most of the hot water washing that pink goo out of his hair so you'd have to wait anyway unless you like cold showers."
Steve's head droops as the last traces of adrenaline and grief dissipate. He makes a noise that might have begun as a laugh. "What the hell was that stuff, anyway? It smelled okay, but still."
“No idea, but let me tell you, I’ve never been happier to see a garden hose. I wasn’t looking forward to running the armor through the base car wash.”
“That sounds disgusting,” says Steve. There’s a faint growling sound from the general area of his midriff. “Sorry. Guess I forgot to eat.”
"Looks like it." Tony gives him a final pat on the back. "I think they still have something that resembles a military version of pot roast downstairs if you're hungry. It wasn't exactly Zagat-worthy but Clint had seconds."
"He would." The laugh is less forced this time. "You go ahead, I'll follow in a bit."
"So you can conveniently forget and keel over on the flight back to New York when your blood sugar crashes? Not a chance." Tony pulls out his phone, taps the icon that activates the link to JARVIS. "Say the magic word and pot roast a la Air Force'll be on its way."
"I'll be okay - a couple of MRE's - "
Below them, a squad of sleepy, yawning airmen trundles by, nudging a round lump of pink goo toward what Tony hopes to hell is a clean room so Fitz (or is it Simmons?) can start analyzing it. "You saved them from that. The least they can do is bring us dinner."
"Us? Tony, I'll be fine," says Steve. He sounds almost convincing. "You don't have to - "
Two streaks cut through the stars, one seeming to chase the other. "Of course I do, plus Birdboy ate what was supposed to be my dinner so I'm starving," says Tony, even though he's already wrestled down enough military chow to last him a week.
"Besides, you think I'm going to let you hog the Leonids? Ha." He gestures at the sky. "Did you know I took some astronomy classes at MIT? And I almost never get to show off what I know? Pull up a chair and prepare to have your star-spangled jock strap - "
"Tony. I don't wear a jock strap."
" - or whatever protective equipment you use to keep Private Rogers safe and snug during a fight blown away." Tony grins when he realizes that Steve is chuckling. "Did you know the Leonids are actually part of a comet? And that they've been recorded for centuries, if not millennia? And that they have nothing to do with the constellation they're named for?"
"No," says Steve. He smiles, a real one this time. "Tell me more."
In the Bleak Midwinter
It's a cloudy December night the first time Steve sees Tony drunk.
Tony believes in “doing Christmas right,” which means a private party for his nearest and dearest on Christmas Eve, a buffet the next afternoon at the Tower for the team, their significant others, their handlers, and whichever senior Stark Industries employees can’t get home to be with their families, and an “at-home” on the 26th to finish off the leftovers. That doesn’t even count celebrations for Hanukkah, New Year’s, and Kwanzaa, a holiday Steve finds fascinating even though his parents were from County Wexford.
It all means a lot of food, and wine, and liquor, and more food that ranges from turkey to cookies to canapés to vegetarian delights, and it’s all in addition to the many, many charity appearances – the Stark Foundation fundraising gala two weeks before Christmas is only the beginning – that are expected from the Avengers, both as individuals and as a team. Fury had asked them all to choose a worthy cause to sponsor when their identities became public, and in the run-up to Christmas Natasha sponsors a martial arts exhibition at a battered women’s shelter, Clint teaches archery to teenage girls who want to be the next Katniss Everdeen, Bruce and Tony volunteer at a science-oriented charter school, and Thor goes wherever he's asked on the grounds that “a prince must mindful of his people’s needs.”
Steve himself is busier than any of them except Tony himself, and it's his own fault. Everyone loves Captain America, everyone needs Captain America, and before he knows it Steve has agreed to spend Christmas morning at a VFW hall (a hot breakfast with eggs and bacon and ham and pancakes, all surprisingly good considering it’s glorified Army chow), lay a wreath at the World Trade Center at 1130 to honor the 9/11 first responders (continental breakfast from a local deli that turns out to be bagels and doughnuts and what passes for croissants in America), and turkey and all the fixings at Fort Hamilton with the troops at 1400 (not the best he’s ever had but better than K-rats heated on the exhaust manifold of a Jeep). He smiles and laughs and jokes with everyone at every stop, signs autographs until his wrist aches, poses for photo after photo, and eats until even he’s full. It's busy and exhausting and surprisingly fun, and by the time Steve hops on his bike and heads for the Tower, he’s almost forgotten that it’s not 1945.
Of course there’s more food – Tony loves to feed people – and after a couple of hours of chatting with his teammates, opening the silly gag gifts the Avengers agreed to give each other (who knew Clint had his own brand of underwear?), and watching a video of a burning log, Steve is able to contemplate nibbling on some of the lavish spread without feeling queasy.
And lavish it is. Tony might live on tuna sandwiches and fast food cheeseburgers when he’s on an inventing binge, but tonight the buffet tables are laden with the sort of bounty that only wealth can bring. Fresh oysters flown in from Virginia, caviar that even Natasha admits is superb, tender white asparagus glossy with hollandaise, artisan cheeses from Dutchess County and the Berkshires, grass-fed roast beef cooked to the perfect temperature, free-range heirloom turkey and organic cranberries, a gingerbread house designed to look like St. Patrick’s down to stained glass windows of colored sugar – it’s so beautiful and so unlike anything he ever thought he’d see that Steve actually pulls out his Moleskine and roughs out a quick sketch or two of the groaning board before the guests descend like the locusts in The Good Earth and leave nothing but bones and crumbs.
The company is good, too. The dress code was officially “holiday casual,” and after the horrified look Tony shot him when he arrived in his Class A’s, Steve had changed to a simple turtleneck and slacks. Not only is he comfortable, he’s not nearly as recognizable, and after a few minutes of sipping and nibbling and people-watching, he’s relaxed enough to start mingling. An hour later he’s talked shop with Maria Hill, critiqued the latest show at MOMA with a couple of art buffs, and even let Natasha give him a few basic dance lessons so he’ll have fun when the dancing starts later on.
All in all it’s pretty great, at least until Steve realizes that Tony disappeared two hours ago and hasn't been seen since.
At his own party.
Tracking Tony down is relatively easy – all Steve has to do ask JARVIS, who sounds far more worried than any artificial intelligence should, for his location – and after he manages to extract himself from an intense and somewhat frightening woman from California he later learns is a reality star from the Celebrity Channel who wants to have a superhero’s baby in time for the next season of Chillin' with Chyara, Steve takes the elevator up to the penthouse, makes his way through the dark, quiet rooms, and finds himself out on the balcony overlooking the Park Avenue Viaduct.
It’s dark out here too, dark enough that only someone with enhanced eyesight would be able to make out the man silhouetted against the lights of Midtown. “Tony? You okay?”
Tony stirs. His breath is pale in the cold, damp air. “Never better. Pepper send you?”
Steve frowns. Tony is too close to the railing for comfort, and his speech is slurred. “No. I came on my own.”
“Figured.” Tony tosses back what’s left in a highball glass. “Don’ tell me, lemme guess. She’s boogieing down with Happy, right?”
“They were dancing the last time I saw them,” says Steve. He moves closer, nose wrinkling as the scent of expensive whiskey hits him from a yard away. “Seemed to be having a good time.”
“Yeah. Dating does that to people.” The glass slips from Tony’s fingers and falls onto one of the expensive mesh chairs that face the sunrise. “Coulda been me, but I fucked it up. Always fuck things up – “
He sways, and Steve grabs him and pulls him away from the edge. Tony shakes his head, blinking rapidly enough that his eyes water slightly. “Loved her. So much. No good for her – no good for anyone – “
“Tony.” Steve wraps both arms around the smaller man, holds on tight. Tony is trembling – he’s only wearing his shirt, not a jacket, and the skin beneath the fabric feels like ice – and breathing too fast as he fights for control. “That’s not true. You’re plenty good.”
“Then why’d she leave?” Tony all but wails. “I tried, tried so hard – wasn’t enough, never’ll be enough – “
“Tony, Tony.” Steve shifts in place, rocking slightly from side to side as Tony cries himself out. “Shh, shh. It’s all right, I’ve got you.”
“Not a’right.” Tony wipes his arm on his sleeve, whimpers as he lifts his chin to meet Steve’s eyes. “Can’t blame her, he’s stead – steady. Solid. Loves her right, puts her first and I never did. I – I – I don’ know if – “
“Hey. None of that.” Steve puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders. There’s no moon tonight, and even Orion and Canis Major can't cut through the haze and the lights from the skyscrapers. “There’s no right or wrong way to love someone. Sometimes even people who love each other can’t make it work.”
Tony’s laugh is bitter. “Like you’re an expert. God, Steve – “
Steve sets his jaw. “Maybe not, but I’ve seen and done more than most people give me credit for.” His voice drops.
“One of my Army buddies – he’d been married before the war, really gorgeous girl. They were crazy about each other, but even when they were living together they never stopped fighting. He cried like a baby when she sent him the divorce papers, but he signed ‘em.”
“Goody for him,” says Tony. He slumps against Steve’s shoulder. “It’s for t’best. I know that. Still hurts like hell.”
“I know,” says Steve. Tony’s shivering again, so he starts moving toward the sliding door into the penthouse. The glass can wait till morning. “Come on inside, you must be freezing.”
“Yeah. What - whatever.” Tony lets Steve lead him inside, help him into an armchair in front of a small gas fireplace. He doesn’t move until Steve tells JARVIS to shut and lock the door onto the balcony. “Not gonna jump. Not without the armor.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t fall.” The kitchen’s right next to the sitting area, so it doesn’t take long for Steve to pour a glass of water, shake four ibuprofen into his hand, and set both down very carefully on the end table next to Tony’s chair. “Here. You’re gonna have a hell of a headache tomorrow if you don’t.”
“Thanks, Captain Mommy.” Tony almost succeeds in smiling. He closes his eyes when Steve doesn’t react, sighs, then swallows the pills and drinks. “’m a big boy.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t need someone watching your back sometimes,” says Steve. The fireplace lights up, the flames blue and red and white and gold, and Tony unconsciously holds out his hands toward the heat. “Like right now.”
He picks up a beautifully woven wool afghan from the back of the sofa and drapes it over Tony. Tony makes a little whimpering sound and snuggles underneath the soft black and brown fabric. “Warm. Nice.”
“Good,” says Steve. He watches as Tony stops shivering, as his face and body relax. He looks so much younger like this, and so very, very fragile.
He barely makes a sound as he heads toward the kitchen – thanks to the serum he’s all but silent when he wants to be – and starts the kettle. Knowing Tony, he probably didn’t eat nearly enough to absorb all the alcohol, and a cup of tea might help settle his stomach. He’s found the ginger chamomile tea and is about to pour when Tony speaks.
“Steve?” He struggles to sit up, voice rising in panic. “Steve - “
“I’m here, Tony.” Steve turns off the burner and kneels beside his friend. He clasps Tony’s hands, his strong, scarred, callused hands, between his own. “Not going anywhere.”
“Good,” murmurs Tony. He doesn’t move, not even a twitch as his muscles unclench, and Steve waits until his breath has smoothed out into deep, true sleep before gently detaching his hands and easing himself onto the sofa.
They’re probably dancing downstairs by now, eating and drinking and laughing and flirting, whooping it up and enjoying themselves, and he’s missing it all. A tiny part of him wonders if Natasha will forgive him for wasting her lessons, but he puts the thought aside for later. There’ll be other nights for dancing. Right now he’s exactly where he needs to be.
“Get some sleep, Shellhead,” he says, and settles back on cushions that are actually wide enough and deep enough to be comfortable. “I’ll be here in the morning.”
Under African Skies
It's a warm tropical night in May the first time Tony realizes that Steve has become more than a friend.
SHIELD needs more vibranium – something about a holding cell on a plane – and since the only way to get more without melting down Steve's shield is to visit Wakanda, it's off to Wakanda the Avengers go, hey-ho! King T'Challa, whom Tony knew from scientific and technical conferences long before he took over from his father, was delighted to see his old friend again, and even more delighted to meet Steve.
“My father would be proud of your work with this,” he'd said in his deep, cultured voice as he hefted the shield, and Tony was pretty sure he hadn't imagined the pleased little flush that spread over Steve's face at the praise.
That had set the tone for the rest of the visit, and now, on the last night, he's standing in the palace gardens, a glass of Cristal in his hand, tie loosened, dinner jacket slung over his shoulder as he admires the equatorial sky and basks in the knowledge that the ol' Tony Stark charm still works. The Wakandans have agreed to a limited partnership with SHIELD to trade vibranium for yet more technology (not that the place isn't already an East African version of Eureka as it is), King T'Challa has scheduled a trip to the Triskelion during his state visit to Washington in June, and Steve has spent most of the last two days closeted with thrilled Wakandan metallurgists putting the most famous piece of their chief export through its paces.
“Nice job, Stark,” Nick Fury had murmured after T'Challa had signed the paperwork, and drifted over to the buffet to load up on more local delicacies before Tony could so much as blink. "Really nice."
The stars here are familiar, and they aren't. Wakanda is near enough to the equator that both the Northern and Southern constellations are visible, and Wakandan science has reduced the amount of ambient light pollution from the palace to the point that the sky is thick with tiny glowing dots. Tony's never seen so many stars outside of a planetarium, not even on the cold, cold nights in Westford when he huddled over the eyepiece of MIT's telescope and wrote down what he saw.
It's breathtaking, and he's half-convinced that yes, that actually is the Seventh Sister of the Pleiades when he realizes he's not alone.
"Hello?"
"Tony? Hey. Didn't know you were here." Steve, in tropical white formalwear instead of his usual Class A's or mess dress, all but glows in the darkness as he walks deliberately across the grass. His tie is still a neat little bow despite the warm air, and the jacket a truly fabulous tailor altered to accommodate his ridiculous shoulders is neither creased nor stained. "Just came out to get a little air."
"Same here." Tony waves expansively as the other man slowly drifts up to stand beside him. "Some view, eh?"
"You can say that again." Steve's lips part as he drinks in the sight of what really does look like billions and billions of stars. "Wow."
"Never been to Africa before?"
Steve shakes his head. "Closest I ever got was the Cyclades rooting out some Hydra partisans, and that's not very close. Your dad wanted to take me to meet King T'Chaka in Cairo in the spring of '45, but then we got the word about Zola's train and - "
He swallows. "Well. You know what happened."
There's nothing to say, so for once Tony keeps his mouth shut. A bird, loud and tropical and way too close to those weird exotica remixes for comfort, screams what is probably a mating call, and there's a delicate trill in response.
"Tony? You all right?"
Tony frowns, as much because his right hand has somehow lost the champagne and ended up on Steve's upper bicep as because he's been jolted out of a brown study. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
He removes his hand, and why does his palm tingle at the loss of the warmth that Steve seems to throw off like a live coal? "What about you? Isn't this time of year some sort of anniversary for you? Last year you were on a solo mission but - "
"Give the genius a cigar. It was V-E Day last week, yeah." Steve looks more thoughtful than anything else. "Maybe I should be in the dumps, but you know? I missed the first one so it's not like this brings up memories or something."
"You missed the first - damn." Tony could kick himself for forgetting that Steve had gone into the ice in April, not May, so had missed the end of the war he'd fought so hard to win. "Goddamn, and here I was trying to make everyone watch Inglourious Basterds when you asked for Citizen Kane - "
Steve, God or Einstein or Thor bless him, ducks his head and bursts out laughing. "Tony, Tony, it's all right. It's fine. Being with the team - being with my friends - that helped more than you can know."
He turns the full force of that beautiful, perfect smile on Tony, and if he didn't know better Tony would swear that the arc reactor stopped working for a beat or two. The Milky Way shines about his head like the aura from one of the mourning pictures of Captain America and FDR that had been so popular when word had gotten out that the greatest American hero had been lost.
"Really?" Tony quickly wets his lips, and oh how he wishes it were Steve's tongue and not his own. "It's a lousy movie anyway, all that blood and - "
“Tony, seriously,” says Steve, and he's so calm, his voice so even, that Tony doesn't dare reply. "Believe me, I've seen a worse. A lot worse."
Another bird, or is a giant mutated gecko this time, calls to its mate. Steve shifts in place, and Tony can breathe again.
"Say." Someone has to break the silence, so Tony does. "You busy next week? I've got tickets for the Jazzfest tribute to Thelonius Monk at Lincoln Center Thursday night. We're talking primo seats thanks to Stark Industries being a corporate sponsor, so I can treat you and the lucky lady of your choice, God willing and Dr. Doom stays in Latveria."
"Jazzfest? Huh," says Steve. "That sounds like fun. I'll see if Natasha's busy and - "
"Natasha? What, you can't get a girl who isn’t an Avenger to go out with you?" Tony exclaims, and if there's the merest tinge of relief underlying the mock horror that Captain America can't get a date, Steve doesn't seem to notice. "Oh no, no no no. We can't let that happen. I'll call a few girls in my address book - "
"What?" Steve furrows his brow. "Tony, no, you don't need - "
" - and fix you up, it's time you started circulating anyway - "
"Tony, wait!" Steve holds up both hands, palms out, fingers splayed wide. "That's a swell offer, but I haven't exactly been lonely on the weekends. I only said Natasha because she likes good jazz and she's scheduled to be in town."
Tony can’t help gaping, just a little. “But – I thought you hadn't - “
Steve rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond. “Just because I haven't brought anyone back to the Tower doesn't mean I've been livin' in a cave the last six months or so.”
"You - you've been dating?" Tony says, and the last time he'd felt this stupid was when his glorious attempt to steal the Ibis at the Harvard Lampoon his junior year at college had ended with him hanging upside down next to the 254th Smoot Mark. "That did not come out the way I meant it to, I'm sorry, I - "
"It's all right," says Steve again, visibly fighting down a chuckle. "I kept it quiet, didn’t want the press attention. Sharon said she didn't care, she’s been on TV enough that it doesn't matter, but Joey's still covert so giving the paparazzi a crack at him was a lousy idea.”
“Joey?” Him? Tony has to struggle not to make a fool of himself for the second time in five seconds. “As in short for Joseph? Not Josephine?”
“Yeah. Joey’s a man,” says Steve, and it's not Tony's imagination that his lips (beautiful, soft, fuller than he'd expected from the old newsreels, stop he’s your teammate) tighten. “You got a problem with that? Cause from what I understand you used to step out with the occasional guy even if it never was all that serious.”
“You understood right. I did, and that includes at least two male models and the lead singer for the Longfellow Bridge Hardcore Revue.” Tony cocks his head, and cancel what he thought a minute ago, because right now Tony feels about as smart as the average amphioxus since he's pretty sure he'd actually met this Joey guy a couple of times on the Helicarrier. “I was just surprised since I didn't know you played for both teams, so to speak.”
Steve visibly relaxes. "First time I kissed someone it was another guy, back in high school - and no, it wasn't Bucky, he was chasin' skirts almost as soon as his voice broke."
He looks past Tony at a time only he remembers. "Course I couldn't do anything about it back then. It was illegal and I had enough problems without ending up on a list of perverts somewhere.
"Then I met Peggy and I didn't look at anyone else. She was exactly what I wanted, so why mess it up dating someone else? I was gonna ask her out after the war, but that didn't happen.” He shrugs, and Tony wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight even through Steve is taller, broader, and probably hasn’t been the Little Spoon since dear ol’ Dad blasted him with enough radiation to kill a herd of goats.
“Like I said, I haven't found anyone special yet, but this time I don't have to worry about being – what's the word?”
“Outed,” says Tony, and it's no coincidence that he moves closer to Steve, takes a deep breath and leans close enough to smell the clean, bracing aftershave Steve slaps on for formal occasions. “DADT being repealed must have surprised you.”
“Yeah.” Steve turns, and there's a spark in his eyes that Tony's never seen before. Even in the dark it’s clear he’s flushed scarlet, thank you whatever genetic combination made the man so fair-skinned. "You could put it that way. I never had to sign off on a blue ticket, but – “
He doesn’t flinch when Tony comes close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. “It was a relief not having to hide, wasn't it.”
“You could put it that say,” murmurs Steve. He cocks his head, parts those beautiful lips the way he does whenever he’s calculating a tactical plan. It’s Tony’s turn to flush. “Not havin’ to hide who I was, what - who I wanted – “
Their faces are inches from each other. Tony’s starting to close his eyes and position his head for what will be the sweetest kiss of his life when someone coughs behind him.
“Captain Rogers? Mr. Stark?”
Steve sucks in a breath, and suddenly he’s Captain America, noble and stalwart and manly and pure of heart and hand and deed, not a man out of time who’d come within an inch of kissing his best friend. Tony steps out of the way as he addresses the palace servitor who’d arrived without warning.
“Yes. Is there trouble?” he says, and of course Steve would automatically be on alert, even here in the heart of the most technologically advanced, safest place on the continent.
“All is well,” says the man, and Steve no longer looks like a jungle cat poised to strike. “However, my royal master informs me that the entertainment is to be begin momentarily and requests your presence at his table.”
Steve smiles, at least his face does even though his eyes have gone a bit flat. “Looks like we’re on, Shellhead.”
“Yeah, it does,” says Tony. He slips into his jacket and adjusts his tie, and if he’s mentally damning the poor schmuck of a servant for preventing Steve from ripping the thing off with those beautiful white teeth, well, if there’s one thing Tony Stark knows it’s how to party in public whether he likes it or not. “Let’s do it.”
“Yeah.” Steve is too well disciplined to let anything show but enthusiasm for whatever T’Challa has arranged for their pleasure. “Let’s.”
The Region of the Summer Stars
It's a hot August night when Steve finally gets up his nerve and kisses Tony.
AIM had established an underground lab in a tiny town somewhere near Ames, Iowa, something about "advanced biotechnical research" that turned out to be yet another attempt to recreate Dr. Erskine's experiments. The resulting mess had leveled half the town's business district and put a dozen of SHIELD's best into the hospital, and that was before the Avengers had been rousted at oh-dark-thirty to salvage what was left of Pilsburg and Strike Team Alpha-Beta.
And then they'd discovered that AIM's version of a super soldier was something called MODOK, and the less said about the next eighteen hours, the better.
Thank God even a Mobile Organism Designed Only for Killing couldn't take on the Hulk and Thor and Iron Man all at once. It - he? - was now in an Asgardian-proof cell en route to the Raft, weapons neutralized, all systems except life support disengaged. The rest of the lab's personnel had either thrown themselves on SHIELD's mercy the instant the Helicarrier had shown up or were in another transport headed for a prison designed for ordinary humans until they could be arraigned. The town fathers of Pilsburg had all but wept when told that they wouldn't have to worry about AIM anymore, Fury had said something about "good job" that had sounded mostly sincere, and a special division of FEMA had arrived to clean up the mess left by a typical super-battle.
"Cap? You ready?" says Clint. He sports a bandage on one powerful bicep - no surprise - and is watching protectively as Natasha, walking stiffly but not limping, mounts the gangplank into the cargo bay of the medical transport. "Doctors want a look-see. You took a couple of bad hits."
"Not necessary. You know me, I'll be fine," says Steve. He yanks off his gloves and shoves them through his belt, pushes back his cowl enough for his sniper to see that the cuts on his hands and his left cheekbone have already mostly healed. "Get the casualties to the nearest trauma center first, then send someone back for me."
"You sure?" Clint scratches his head. "Getting thrown into a building by a big giant head looked pretty painful."
"That?" Steve slings the shield onto his back and snorts. "Remind me to tell you about the time in '44 the Red Skull tried to drop a bridge onto my head. That hurt. This was - "
"Lots of booms and screams and malproportioned weirdos waving their surprisingly useless arms and legs around," says a voice that makes Steve's heart skip, every single time. "Seriously, Hawkguy - "
"Hawkeye, Jesus, were you born on frickin' Long Island?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, and as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Cap has a point." Tony, visor back, grinning like the loon he is, lands beside Steve and claps an arm around his shoulders. "From an engineering standpoint, MODOK should be called CRAPO. I mean, seriously, a head and a float chair? That's AIM's secret weapon? You have got to be kidding me."
Clint frowns. "MODOK being kinda stupid looking didn’t stop him from nearly turning Cap into an oil slick. We've got room - "
Steve gestures to the pilot, who gives him a thumbs up and starts the liftoff sequence for the transport. Clint yelps and dances backwards as the cargo door begins to shut. "Like I said, I'm fine. That changes, Iron Man'll give me a lift."
"I sure will!" Tony says, waving cheerily as the transport rises into the air. He waits until it's clear of the smoking ruins of the Baker Building to speak. "So, how are you really? I know your strength is as the strength of ten, but MODOK turning you into the Human Frisbee looked pretty painful."
"Wasn't much fun." Steve hadn't been lying about the bridge being worse, but hurtling through plate glass and brick while a giant head shrieked incoherently about blood hadn't been much fun. He glances about, sees the medics and the forensic team doing their job, and lets Tony support his weight. "You?"
"Better than you, Winghead." Tony's eyes narrow. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
Steve wants nothing more than to agree - he's hungry, and tired, and what doesn't hurt itches like crazy as skin and flesh and bone repair themselves - but he has his responsibilities. "Not yet. There's still work to be done."
"Which people who are fresh, rested, and didn't spend the last day or so fighting evil mad scientists are actually doing." Tony wraps an arm about his waist, sticks a boot under his foot, and flips the visor into place. "No arguments this time. You're taking a break before everyone and his Aunt Matilda get to see Captain America fall flat on his star-spangled face."
And just like that they're streaking up, up, up, straight into the dark, hot night. Steve holds on, exhilarated despite his battle wounds by the rush of the air past his face, by the strength of the metal-clad arm holding him tight, by the ease with which Iron Man carries the weight of an adult man. He slumps against Tony, close enough that he’d be able to feel the man's heart (damaged but unstoppable, he was a soldier whether he admitted it or not) beat against his chest if the armor weren’t in the way. As it is he can smell the expensive shampoo Tony uses whenever he's in New York, hear the soft puffs of breath through the helmet’s interface, breathe the same thinning air -
They level out high above the ruins of Pilsburg, high enough to see the transport's running lights as it flies toward the blaze that is the nearest city. Steve's heart is fluttering the way it hasn't in almost five years for him, two or three lifetimes for the rest of the world. "This is your idea of a break?"
"Fresh air'll do us good," says Tony. The visor flips back, and he waggles his eyebrows fast enough that Steve expects him to whip out a cigar and claim he's Captain Spaulding. "Pepper keeps telling me I need to slow down and smell the flowers, and since AIM trashed the Pilsburg Garden Club's botanical gardens, a few minutes stargazing will have to do."
It's so good to hear Tony mention Pepper without bitterness or tears, to know that they've rebuilt their friendship despite her blossoming relationship with Happy Hogan. Steve pushes his cowl back onto his shoulders with his free hand. They might be a couple thousand feet up, but he knows Tony won't let him fall.
"Nothing wrong with good country air," he says. The lights of Des Moines and Omaha and Ames are far enough below not to destroy the beauty of the Great Square of Pegasus, the pale ribbon of the Milky Way. There's no moon tonight.
A streak of white whips through the air. "Perseids?"
Tony arches a brow. "Give the super soldier an A+. You've been studying?"
"Some. Can't see many stars in the city, but you never know when it'll come in handy." Steve points up at the Pole Star, traces a line from it to the lopsided W of the next group of stars. "Little Dipper, Cassiopeia - "
Tony's free hand comes up, connects the W of Andromeda's mother to the boxy shape of her father.
"- Cepheus, Draco the Dragon not the ferret - "
Steve chuckles at the reference to Harry Potter, takes up the list as Iron Man pivots slowly in midair so it's easier for them to point up at the next constellation.
" - Big Dipper - "
Tony grins, bright and beautiful and so full of life. "What, you don't call it the Drinking Gourd? Wasn't that the old name?"
Steve grins back, and is it his imagination that something more than friendship flares in those brilliant eyes? "I’m not that old, Tony. Not even close."
"Could fool me sometimes." The whisper is almost lost in the flowing night air. "The stuff you call music - “
“Hey, you're the one with the Lincoln Center tickets,” Steve replies, and why had it taken him so long to figure out why Tony had brought Clint when he'd given his spare ticket to Natasha?
“ - that crummy little apartment in Flatbush - “
“Where I haven't lived in almost a year.“ And what a relief it had been to move out of something only made his transition to the twentieth-first century harder. “You do know SHIELD dumped me there, don't you? I was from Red Hook so why they put me in Greenpoint I have no idea.”
“ - those awful plaid things you called 'shirts' - "
"Didn't choose those either. Why do you think I gave 'em to Goodwill during the clothing drive last December?”
“ - all sort of give the impression that you're a little, ah, backward, but.” Tony stops. They're so high up his skin is almost as pale as Steve's from the cold. “You really aren't, are you.”
"Maybe at first, but not anymore,” Steve murmurs, and oh no, he's not imagining the tiny shiver that runs through his friend as he lays his palm against the other man's cheek. "I'm learning fast."
Tony's lips part. He swallows, closes his eyes as Steve's fingertips trace the line of his cheek, the arch of his brow, the fullness of his lower lip.
"Is that so," he says, breath ragged as if he can't quite allow himself to believe what he's hearing and feeling and saying.
"Try me," says Steve, and guides Tony's mouth onto his own.
It's gentle, their first kiss, gentle and tentative and almost chaste. Steve isn't an expert, even now, but he knows enough to interpret the sound Tony makes as more more please yes more. He grasps the armor with his left hand and pulls Tony toward him, and just like that they're face to face, bodies pressed close, flesh on metal, kissing and grinding and moaning each other's names into the splendid sky.
It lasts an hour, a minute, it's tender and fierce, quiet and needy, and by the time Steve has to pull back enough to give Tony a chance to breathe, his lower lip throbs where Tony nipped and sucked and licked. "Tony. Oh God. That was - "
" - amazing," says his best friend, the man who'd given him a home, a place, a shoulder to lean on, the first proof that the future birthed soldiers as brave as any he'd known. "How long have you - "
Steve rests his forehead against Tony's, breathes deep of sweat and dirt and expensive cologne. "Long enough. Does it matter? Finally got up the courage to do it, that's all that counts."
Tony rubs his cheek against Steve's. The stubble scratches but the beard is soft. "You sure did."
He raises his head, kisses Steve again and doesn't stop until Steve is clutching at the armor hard enough to warp the metal slightly. "What - what now? Dinners out? Long walks on the beach? Dropping me off in time for curfew?"
"A hotel with a hot shower, room service, and a king size bed," says Steve, and oh how he wishes Tony could feel how hard he is through the gleaming alloy that is his pride and joy. He swipes his tongue along Tony's cheekbone, stopping only when the helmet gets in the way. "You okay with that?"
Tony shudders, laughs, scrapes his teeth over the tiny birthmarks on Steve's throat and along his jaw. "Captain Rogers, are you trying to seduce me? Because if you are - "
Another meteor blazes across the sky, and another, and another. Steve doesn't try to repress a groan at how good the bites feel, how much he wants it, wants Tony. "What - what makes you think that?"
" - everything you've done in the last five minutes, do you think I'm an idiot, and the answer is hell to the yes." Tony pulls away, slams the visor into place and snaps out a command to JARVIS that sends them hurtling toward civilization. "Hotel, food, shower, bed - "
"All of it?" Steve has to shut his eyes this time, they're going so fast (and was that his left gauntlet yanking free in the wind?), but he doesn't care, he doesn't, not when he thinks of what they'll be doing as soon as they're alone.
"Count on it," says Tony as they spiral downwards out of the darkness into the light.
Title: Seasons of the Night
Rating: Teen and up
Universe: MCU with a couple of references to 616
Warnings: minor character death, references to sexual activity and alcohol abuse, mild cursing
From:
ellidForever Autumn
It's a cold, clear November night the first time he sees Captain America cry.
They aren't in the city thanks to Hydra deciding that attacking the NORAD command center in Colorado with their latest batch of super-weapons is a great way to celebrate an early Thanksgiving. Being away from New York may be part of it, or so Tony thinks at first; he’s heard rumors of Steve running for hours in Central Park after a bad dream, or camping out at his friend Sam's place in Harlem when the memories are too much, so hearing that familiar cry of "Heil Hydra!' for the first time since he woke up has to hurt.
But here, a mile above sea level on a night so crisp and dry it almost hurts to breathe, Steve can't hop the subway to 135th Street or pound his way around the reservoir until even his lungs give out. Whatever old hurts bubble up through the mask of leadership can't be assuaged with the comforting and the familiar.
Even so, it's a shock to hear the sobs.
Madam Hydra got away of course, melting into the crowd until the next time she decides it's time to dye her hair green and make a stab at world domination, but most of her followers didn't, so SHIELD took over the cleanup after Steve gave the all-clear. Most of the team hit the showers and then the cafeteria to get a hot meal instead of an MRE, with Steve the only exception.
“I need to talk to the brass at Peterson,” he'd said, and strode off in his battle-stained uniform, every bit as commanding and patriotic as he'd been seventy years earlier when the brass who'd debriefed him had been at SHAEF and not CINCNORAD. Tony hadn’t thought anything of it, and it wasn’t until a random officer had shown up hours later to escort Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to their less than luxurious guest quarters that he’d realized that Steve hadn’t returned.
Finding him had taken longer than Tony had expected – just how places can you hide a 6’2” super soldier who dresses like Old Glory? – but in the end Steve is exactly where Tony should have looked from the beginning: standing on the roof of one of the buildings, facing east, staring into what would be the dawn in a few hours. His cowl lies on his shoulders, the stenciled wings reflecting in the faint light of moon and stars, and if weren’t for the violent shudders that rip through him, Tony would never know that the strongest man he knows went up here for something other than stargazing.
“Cap?” The wind picks up, and until Steve lifts his head and turns Tony wonders if his voice had been lost in the rushing air. “Steve?”
“What is it?” His voice is thick and ragged. “If there's trouble, I'll be with you in a - “
“No, we're good, just wondering where you'd gotten to.” Tony moves toward him. “You all right?”
“Me? I’m fine – I'm – I just – “ The clear blue eyes are glazed with tears. Behind him, a shooting star blazes across the dark, dark sky. "I - oh hell. You might as well know. She died this afternoon.”
Tony freezes in mid-stride. “She?” he asks, even though he’s sure he knows the answer.
“Peggy Carter.” Steve’s jaw clenches, and he reaches up to dash fresh tears from his cheek. “Her niece texted me while I was talkin’ with the base commander.”
“I'm sorry,” says Tony, and why had he never realized before how little those words actually meant? “I didn't know her well, but if there's anything I can do - “
Steve shakes his head. He sniffles slightly, wipes his nose on his arm. "Not much to be done. Funeral's next week. Her kids are holding off till I can get there, but - ”
He draws a breath so deep Tony winces in sympathy. "I knew she wasn't well, didn't have much time. I still thought there'd be enough warning for me to fly over before the end. Guess I was wrong."
Tony wants to say he's sorry again, even though “sorry” can't begin to cover it. Steve's been through so much already since he woke up: the Chitauri invasion, rumors of trouble at SHIELD, the struggle to prove who he was and claim his place in the twentieth-first century. Losing Peggy to seven decades in the ice was bad enough, but losing her forever, even as a friend, has to cut deep.
"You can use the corporate jet to fly to England," he says at last. "I know it's not much, but sometimes? It's good to be rich."
"Thanks." Steve's lips quirk in what might be a shaky attempt at a smile. He tilts his face, looks up into the night sky. “You know, I never saw the stars until the war bonds tour. Too many lights in the city. First time I ever noticed how many there were was on a train somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania.”
Tony comes to stand beside him, hesitantly places his hand between the rigid shoulders and starts to move it up and down along the ridge of that perfectly straight back. Normally he wouldn't dare touch the man, but tonight -
“They really have a way of putting us humans in our place, don't they?" Tony says after a pause that isn't nearly as long as it feels. “Billions - hell, trillions of 'em. We really are pretty small in - “
“Peggy told me about the constellations once during the run-up to D-Day,” Steve interrupts. Another shooting star spits across the sky, pure white against true black. “Training had run late and we were the last ones back to quarters. Had to walk to our billet.”
He pulls a wad of Kleenex out of one of his belt pouches to blow his nose, and something in Tony breaks at how someone so young can look so very, very old. “I said something about all the stars, how I'd never seen more than a couple growing up. Peggy just shook her head and told me I should know about 'em if I was gonna call myself an artist.
"So she started tellin' me the old myths about the stars, what they'd meant to the Greeks and the Romans – that sort of thing. I knew some already, but I never let on.”
“That's why you're here?” Tony murmurs. The muscles under his hand have started to relax, and he's surprised at how much warmth he can sense through the layers of Kevlar and Nomex. "God, Steve, if I'd known I would have left you alone. You deserve your privacy."
"It's all right. I need to go inside, get a few hours down before we head home." Steve stuffs the dirty Kleenex back into the pouch. "Probably could stand a shower, too."
"You're cleaner than most of us," says Tony, and it's nothing but the truth. "Besides, I think Thor used most of the hot water washing that pink goo out of his hair so you'd have to wait anyway unless you like cold showers."
Steve's head droops as the last traces of adrenaline and grief dissipate. He makes a noise that might have begun as a laugh. "What the hell was that stuff, anyway? It smelled okay, but still."
“No idea, but let me tell you, I’ve never been happier to see a garden hose. I wasn’t looking forward to running the armor through the base car wash.”
“That sounds disgusting,” says Steve. There’s a faint growling sound from the general area of his midriff. “Sorry. Guess I forgot to eat.”
"Looks like it." Tony gives him a final pat on the back. "I think they still have something that resembles a military version of pot roast downstairs if you're hungry. It wasn't exactly Zagat-worthy but Clint had seconds."
"He would." The laugh is less forced this time. "You go ahead, I'll follow in a bit."
"So you can conveniently forget and keel over on the flight back to New York when your blood sugar crashes? Not a chance." Tony pulls out his phone, taps the icon that activates the link to JARVIS. "Say the magic word and pot roast a la Air Force'll be on its way."
"I'll be okay - a couple of MRE's - "
Below them, a squad of sleepy, yawning airmen trundles by, nudging a round lump of pink goo toward what Tony hopes to hell is a clean room so Fitz (or is it Simmons?) can start analyzing it. "You saved them from that. The least they can do is bring us dinner."
"Us? Tony, I'll be fine," says Steve. He sounds almost convincing. "You don't have to - "
Two streaks cut through the stars, one seeming to chase the other. "Of course I do, plus Birdboy ate what was supposed to be my dinner so I'm starving," says Tony, even though he's already wrestled down enough military chow to last him a week.
"Besides, you think I'm going to let you hog the Leonids? Ha." He gestures at the sky. "Did you know I took some astronomy classes at MIT? And I almost never get to show off what I know? Pull up a chair and prepare to have your star-spangled jock strap - "
"Tony. I don't wear a jock strap."
" - or whatever protective equipment you use to keep Private Rogers safe and snug during a fight blown away." Tony grins when he realizes that Steve is chuckling. "Did you know the Leonids are actually part of a comet? And that they've been recorded for centuries, if not millennia? And that they have nothing to do with the constellation they're named for?"
"No," says Steve. He smiles, a real one this time. "Tell me more."
In the Bleak Midwinter
It's a cloudy December night the first time Steve sees Tony drunk.
Tony believes in “doing Christmas right,” which means a private party for his nearest and dearest on Christmas Eve, a buffet the next afternoon at the Tower for the team, their significant others, their handlers, and whichever senior Stark Industries employees can’t get home to be with their families, and an “at-home” on the 26th to finish off the leftovers. That doesn’t even count celebrations for Hanukkah, New Year’s, and Kwanzaa, a holiday Steve finds fascinating even though his parents were from County Wexford.
It all means a lot of food, and wine, and liquor, and more food that ranges from turkey to cookies to canapés to vegetarian delights, and it’s all in addition to the many, many charity appearances – the Stark Foundation fundraising gala two weeks before Christmas is only the beginning – that are expected from the Avengers, both as individuals and as a team. Fury had asked them all to choose a worthy cause to sponsor when their identities became public, and in the run-up to Christmas Natasha sponsors a martial arts exhibition at a battered women’s shelter, Clint teaches archery to teenage girls who want to be the next Katniss Everdeen, Bruce and Tony volunteer at a science-oriented charter school, and Thor goes wherever he's asked on the grounds that “a prince must mindful of his people’s needs.”
Steve himself is busier than any of them except Tony himself, and it's his own fault. Everyone loves Captain America, everyone needs Captain America, and before he knows it Steve has agreed to spend Christmas morning at a VFW hall (a hot breakfast with eggs and bacon and ham and pancakes, all surprisingly good considering it’s glorified Army chow), lay a wreath at the World Trade Center at 1130 to honor the 9/11 first responders (continental breakfast from a local deli that turns out to be bagels and doughnuts and what passes for croissants in America), and turkey and all the fixings at Fort Hamilton with the troops at 1400 (not the best he’s ever had but better than K-rats heated on the exhaust manifold of a Jeep). He smiles and laughs and jokes with everyone at every stop, signs autographs until his wrist aches, poses for photo after photo, and eats until even he’s full. It's busy and exhausting and surprisingly fun, and by the time Steve hops on his bike and heads for the Tower, he’s almost forgotten that it’s not 1945.
Of course there’s more food – Tony loves to feed people – and after a couple of hours of chatting with his teammates, opening the silly gag gifts the Avengers agreed to give each other (who knew Clint had his own brand of underwear?), and watching a video of a burning log, Steve is able to contemplate nibbling on some of the lavish spread without feeling queasy.
And lavish it is. Tony might live on tuna sandwiches and fast food cheeseburgers when he’s on an inventing binge, but tonight the buffet tables are laden with the sort of bounty that only wealth can bring. Fresh oysters flown in from Virginia, caviar that even Natasha admits is superb, tender white asparagus glossy with hollandaise, artisan cheeses from Dutchess County and the Berkshires, grass-fed roast beef cooked to the perfect temperature, free-range heirloom turkey and organic cranberries, a gingerbread house designed to look like St. Patrick’s down to stained glass windows of colored sugar – it’s so beautiful and so unlike anything he ever thought he’d see that Steve actually pulls out his Moleskine and roughs out a quick sketch or two of the groaning board before the guests descend like the locusts in The Good Earth and leave nothing but bones and crumbs.
The company is good, too. The dress code was officially “holiday casual,” and after the horrified look Tony shot him when he arrived in his Class A’s, Steve had changed to a simple turtleneck and slacks. Not only is he comfortable, he’s not nearly as recognizable, and after a few minutes of sipping and nibbling and people-watching, he’s relaxed enough to start mingling. An hour later he’s talked shop with Maria Hill, critiqued the latest show at MOMA with a couple of art buffs, and even let Natasha give him a few basic dance lessons so he’ll have fun when the dancing starts later on.
All in all it’s pretty great, at least until Steve realizes that Tony disappeared two hours ago and hasn't been seen since.
At his own party.
Tracking Tony down is relatively easy – all Steve has to do ask JARVIS, who sounds far more worried than any artificial intelligence should, for his location – and after he manages to extract himself from an intense and somewhat frightening woman from California he later learns is a reality star from the Celebrity Channel who wants to have a superhero’s baby in time for the next season of Chillin' with Chyara, Steve takes the elevator up to the penthouse, makes his way through the dark, quiet rooms, and finds himself out on the balcony overlooking the Park Avenue Viaduct.
It’s dark out here too, dark enough that only someone with enhanced eyesight would be able to make out the man silhouetted against the lights of Midtown. “Tony? You okay?”
Tony stirs. His breath is pale in the cold, damp air. “Never better. Pepper send you?”
Steve frowns. Tony is too close to the railing for comfort, and his speech is slurred. “No. I came on my own.”
“Figured.” Tony tosses back what’s left in a highball glass. “Don’ tell me, lemme guess. She’s boogieing down with Happy, right?”
“They were dancing the last time I saw them,” says Steve. He moves closer, nose wrinkling as the scent of expensive whiskey hits him from a yard away. “Seemed to be having a good time.”
“Yeah. Dating does that to people.” The glass slips from Tony’s fingers and falls onto one of the expensive mesh chairs that face the sunrise. “Coulda been me, but I fucked it up. Always fuck things up – “
He sways, and Steve grabs him and pulls him away from the edge. Tony shakes his head, blinking rapidly enough that his eyes water slightly. “Loved her. So much. No good for her – no good for anyone – “
“Tony.” Steve wraps both arms around the smaller man, holds on tight. Tony is trembling – he’s only wearing his shirt, not a jacket, and the skin beneath the fabric feels like ice – and breathing too fast as he fights for control. “That’s not true. You’re plenty good.”
“Then why’d she leave?” Tony all but wails. “I tried, tried so hard – wasn’t enough, never’ll be enough – “
“Tony, Tony.” Steve shifts in place, rocking slightly from side to side as Tony cries himself out. “Shh, shh. It’s all right, I’ve got you.”
“Not a’right.” Tony wipes his arm on his sleeve, whimpers as he lifts his chin to meet Steve’s eyes. “Can’t blame her, he’s stead – steady. Solid. Loves her right, puts her first and I never did. I – I – I don’ know if – “
“Hey. None of that.” Steve puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders. There’s no moon tonight, and even Orion and Canis Major can't cut through the haze and the lights from the skyscrapers. “There’s no right or wrong way to love someone. Sometimes even people who love each other can’t make it work.”
Tony’s laugh is bitter. “Like you’re an expert. God, Steve – “
Steve sets his jaw. “Maybe not, but I’ve seen and done more than most people give me credit for.” His voice drops.
“One of my Army buddies – he’d been married before the war, really gorgeous girl. They were crazy about each other, but even when they were living together they never stopped fighting. He cried like a baby when she sent him the divorce papers, but he signed ‘em.”
“Goody for him,” says Tony. He slumps against Steve’s shoulder. “It’s for t’best. I know that. Still hurts like hell.”
“I know,” says Steve. Tony’s shivering again, so he starts moving toward the sliding door into the penthouse. The glass can wait till morning. “Come on inside, you must be freezing.”
“Yeah. What - whatever.” Tony lets Steve lead him inside, help him into an armchair in front of a small gas fireplace. He doesn’t move until Steve tells JARVIS to shut and lock the door onto the balcony. “Not gonna jump. Not without the armor.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t fall.” The kitchen’s right next to the sitting area, so it doesn’t take long for Steve to pour a glass of water, shake four ibuprofen into his hand, and set both down very carefully on the end table next to Tony’s chair. “Here. You’re gonna have a hell of a headache tomorrow if you don’t.”
“Thanks, Captain Mommy.” Tony almost succeeds in smiling. He closes his eyes when Steve doesn’t react, sighs, then swallows the pills and drinks. “’m a big boy.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t need someone watching your back sometimes,” says Steve. The fireplace lights up, the flames blue and red and white and gold, and Tony unconsciously holds out his hands toward the heat. “Like right now.”
He picks up a beautifully woven wool afghan from the back of the sofa and drapes it over Tony. Tony makes a little whimpering sound and snuggles underneath the soft black and brown fabric. “Warm. Nice.”
“Good,” says Steve. He watches as Tony stops shivering, as his face and body relax. He looks so much younger like this, and so very, very fragile.
He barely makes a sound as he heads toward the kitchen – thanks to the serum he’s all but silent when he wants to be – and starts the kettle. Knowing Tony, he probably didn’t eat nearly enough to absorb all the alcohol, and a cup of tea might help settle his stomach. He’s found the ginger chamomile tea and is about to pour when Tony speaks.
“Steve?” He struggles to sit up, voice rising in panic. “Steve - “
“I’m here, Tony.” Steve turns off the burner and kneels beside his friend. He clasps Tony’s hands, his strong, scarred, callused hands, between his own. “Not going anywhere.”
“Good,” murmurs Tony. He doesn’t move, not even a twitch as his muscles unclench, and Steve waits until his breath has smoothed out into deep, true sleep before gently detaching his hands and easing himself onto the sofa.
They’re probably dancing downstairs by now, eating and drinking and laughing and flirting, whooping it up and enjoying themselves, and he’s missing it all. A tiny part of him wonders if Natasha will forgive him for wasting her lessons, but he puts the thought aside for later. There’ll be other nights for dancing. Right now he’s exactly where he needs to be.
“Get some sleep, Shellhead,” he says, and settles back on cushions that are actually wide enough and deep enough to be comfortable. “I’ll be here in the morning.”
Under African Skies
It's a warm tropical night in May the first time Tony realizes that Steve has become more than a friend.
SHIELD needs more vibranium – something about a holding cell on a plane – and since the only way to get more without melting down Steve's shield is to visit Wakanda, it's off to Wakanda the Avengers go, hey-ho! King T'Challa, whom Tony knew from scientific and technical conferences long before he took over from his father, was delighted to see his old friend again, and even more delighted to meet Steve.
“My father would be proud of your work with this,” he'd said in his deep, cultured voice as he hefted the shield, and Tony was pretty sure he hadn't imagined the pleased little flush that spread over Steve's face at the praise.
That had set the tone for the rest of the visit, and now, on the last night, he's standing in the palace gardens, a glass of Cristal in his hand, tie loosened, dinner jacket slung over his shoulder as he admires the equatorial sky and basks in the knowledge that the ol' Tony Stark charm still works. The Wakandans have agreed to a limited partnership with SHIELD to trade vibranium for yet more technology (not that the place isn't already an East African version of Eureka as it is), King T'Challa has scheduled a trip to the Triskelion during his state visit to Washington in June, and Steve has spent most of the last two days closeted with thrilled Wakandan metallurgists putting the most famous piece of their chief export through its paces.
“Nice job, Stark,” Nick Fury had murmured after T'Challa had signed the paperwork, and drifted over to the buffet to load up on more local delicacies before Tony could so much as blink. "Really nice."
The stars here are familiar, and they aren't. Wakanda is near enough to the equator that both the Northern and Southern constellations are visible, and Wakandan science has reduced the amount of ambient light pollution from the palace to the point that the sky is thick with tiny glowing dots. Tony's never seen so many stars outside of a planetarium, not even on the cold, cold nights in Westford when he huddled over the eyepiece of MIT's telescope and wrote down what he saw.
It's breathtaking, and he's half-convinced that yes, that actually is the Seventh Sister of the Pleiades when he realizes he's not alone.
"Hello?"
"Tony? Hey. Didn't know you were here." Steve, in tropical white formalwear instead of his usual Class A's or mess dress, all but glows in the darkness as he walks deliberately across the grass. His tie is still a neat little bow despite the warm air, and the jacket a truly fabulous tailor altered to accommodate his ridiculous shoulders is neither creased nor stained. "Just came out to get a little air."
"Same here." Tony waves expansively as the other man slowly drifts up to stand beside him. "Some view, eh?"
"You can say that again." Steve's lips part as he drinks in the sight of what really does look like billions and billions of stars. "Wow."
"Never been to Africa before?"
Steve shakes his head. "Closest I ever got was the Cyclades rooting out some Hydra partisans, and that's not very close. Your dad wanted to take me to meet King T'Chaka in Cairo in the spring of '45, but then we got the word about Zola's train and - "
He swallows. "Well. You know what happened."
There's nothing to say, so for once Tony keeps his mouth shut. A bird, loud and tropical and way too close to those weird exotica remixes for comfort, screams what is probably a mating call, and there's a delicate trill in response.
"Tony? You all right?"
Tony frowns, as much because his right hand has somehow lost the champagne and ended up on Steve's upper bicep as because he's been jolted out of a brown study. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
He removes his hand, and why does his palm tingle at the loss of the warmth that Steve seems to throw off like a live coal? "What about you? Isn't this time of year some sort of anniversary for you? Last year you were on a solo mission but - "
"Give the genius a cigar. It was V-E Day last week, yeah." Steve looks more thoughtful than anything else. "Maybe I should be in the dumps, but you know? I missed the first one so it's not like this brings up memories or something."
"You missed the first - damn." Tony could kick himself for forgetting that Steve had gone into the ice in April, not May, so had missed the end of the war he'd fought so hard to win. "Goddamn, and here I was trying to make everyone watch Inglourious Basterds when you asked for Citizen Kane - "
Steve, God or Einstein or Thor bless him, ducks his head and bursts out laughing. "Tony, Tony, it's all right. It's fine. Being with the team - being with my friends - that helped more than you can know."
He turns the full force of that beautiful, perfect smile on Tony, and if he didn't know better Tony would swear that the arc reactor stopped working for a beat or two. The Milky Way shines about his head like the aura from one of the mourning pictures of Captain America and FDR that had been so popular when word had gotten out that the greatest American hero had been lost.
"Really?" Tony quickly wets his lips, and oh how he wishes it were Steve's tongue and not his own. "It's a lousy movie anyway, all that blood and - "
“Tony, seriously,” says Steve, and he's so calm, his voice so even, that Tony doesn't dare reply. "Believe me, I've seen a worse. A lot worse."
Another bird, or is a giant mutated gecko this time, calls to its mate. Steve shifts in place, and Tony can breathe again.
"Say." Someone has to break the silence, so Tony does. "You busy next week? I've got tickets for the Jazzfest tribute to Thelonius Monk at Lincoln Center Thursday night. We're talking primo seats thanks to Stark Industries being a corporate sponsor, so I can treat you and the lucky lady of your choice, God willing and Dr. Doom stays in Latveria."
"Jazzfest? Huh," says Steve. "That sounds like fun. I'll see if Natasha's busy and - "
"Natasha? What, you can't get a girl who isn’t an Avenger to go out with you?" Tony exclaims, and if there's the merest tinge of relief underlying the mock horror that Captain America can't get a date, Steve doesn't seem to notice. "Oh no, no no no. We can't let that happen. I'll call a few girls in my address book - "
"What?" Steve furrows his brow. "Tony, no, you don't need - "
" - and fix you up, it's time you started circulating anyway - "
"Tony, wait!" Steve holds up both hands, palms out, fingers splayed wide. "That's a swell offer, but I haven't exactly been lonely on the weekends. I only said Natasha because she likes good jazz and she's scheduled to be in town."
Tony can’t help gaping, just a little. “But – I thought you hadn't - “
Steve rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond. “Just because I haven't brought anyone back to the Tower doesn't mean I've been livin' in a cave the last six months or so.”
"You - you've been dating?" Tony says, and the last time he'd felt this stupid was when his glorious attempt to steal the Ibis at the Harvard Lampoon his junior year at college had ended with him hanging upside down next to the 254th Smoot Mark. "That did not come out the way I meant it to, I'm sorry, I - "
"It's all right," says Steve again, visibly fighting down a chuckle. "I kept it quiet, didn’t want the press attention. Sharon said she didn't care, she’s been on TV enough that it doesn't matter, but Joey's still covert so giving the paparazzi a crack at him was a lousy idea.”
“Joey?” Him? Tony has to struggle not to make a fool of himself for the second time in five seconds. “As in short for Joseph? Not Josephine?”
“Yeah. Joey’s a man,” says Steve, and it's not Tony's imagination that his lips (beautiful, soft, fuller than he'd expected from the old newsreels, stop he’s your teammate) tighten. “You got a problem with that? Cause from what I understand you used to step out with the occasional guy even if it never was all that serious.”
“You understood right. I did, and that includes at least two male models and the lead singer for the Longfellow Bridge Hardcore Revue.” Tony cocks his head, and cancel what he thought a minute ago, because right now Tony feels about as smart as the average amphioxus since he's pretty sure he'd actually met this Joey guy a couple of times on the Helicarrier. “I was just surprised since I didn't know you played for both teams, so to speak.”
Steve visibly relaxes. "First time I kissed someone it was another guy, back in high school - and no, it wasn't Bucky, he was chasin' skirts almost as soon as his voice broke."
He looks past Tony at a time only he remembers. "Course I couldn't do anything about it back then. It was illegal and I had enough problems without ending up on a list of perverts somewhere.
"Then I met Peggy and I didn't look at anyone else. She was exactly what I wanted, so why mess it up dating someone else? I was gonna ask her out after the war, but that didn't happen.” He shrugs, and Tony wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight even through Steve is taller, broader, and probably hasn’t been the Little Spoon since dear ol’ Dad blasted him with enough radiation to kill a herd of goats.
“Like I said, I haven't found anyone special yet, but this time I don't have to worry about being – what's the word?”
“Outed,” says Tony, and it's no coincidence that he moves closer to Steve, takes a deep breath and leans close enough to smell the clean, bracing aftershave Steve slaps on for formal occasions. “DADT being repealed must have surprised you.”
“Yeah.” Steve turns, and there's a spark in his eyes that Tony's never seen before. Even in the dark it’s clear he’s flushed scarlet, thank you whatever genetic combination made the man so fair-skinned. "You could put it that way. I never had to sign off on a blue ticket, but – “
He doesn’t flinch when Tony comes close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. “It was a relief not having to hide, wasn't it.”
“You could put it that say,” murmurs Steve. He cocks his head, parts those beautiful lips the way he does whenever he’s calculating a tactical plan. It’s Tony’s turn to flush. “Not havin’ to hide who I was, what - who I wanted – “
Their faces are inches from each other. Tony’s starting to close his eyes and position his head for what will be the sweetest kiss of his life when someone coughs behind him.
“Captain Rogers? Mr. Stark?”
Steve sucks in a breath, and suddenly he’s Captain America, noble and stalwart and manly and pure of heart and hand and deed, not a man out of time who’d come within an inch of kissing his best friend. Tony steps out of the way as he addresses the palace servitor who’d arrived without warning.
“Yes. Is there trouble?” he says, and of course Steve would automatically be on alert, even here in the heart of the most technologically advanced, safest place on the continent.
“All is well,” says the man, and Steve no longer looks like a jungle cat poised to strike. “However, my royal master informs me that the entertainment is to be begin momentarily and requests your presence at his table.”
Steve smiles, at least his face does even though his eyes have gone a bit flat. “Looks like we’re on, Shellhead.”
“Yeah, it does,” says Tony. He slips into his jacket and adjusts his tie, and if he’s mentally damning the poor schmuck of a servant for preventing Steve from ripping the thing off with those beautiful white teeth, well, if there’s one thing Tony Stark knows it’s how to party in public whether he likes it or not. “Let’s do it.”
“Yeah.” Steve is too well disciplined to let anything show but enthusiasm for whatever T’Challa has arranged for their pleasure. “Let’s.”
The Region of the Summer Stars
It's a hot August night when Steve finally gets up his nerve and kisses Tony.
AIM had established an underground lab in a tiny town somewhere near Ames, Iowa, something about "advanced biotechnical research" that turned out to be yet another attempt to recreate Dr. Erskine's experiments. The resulting mess had leveled half the town's business district and put a dozen of SHIELD's best into the hospital, and that was before the Avengers had been rousted at oh-dark-thirty to salvage what was left of Pilsburg and Strike Team Alpha-Beta.
And then they'd discovered that AIM's version of a super soldier was something called MODOK, and the less said about the next eighteen hours, the better.
Thank God even a Mobile Organism Designed Only for Killing couldn't take on the Hulk and Thor and Iron Man all at once. It - he? - was now in an Asgardian-proof cell en route to the Raft, weapons neutralized, all systems except life support disengaged. The rest of the lab's personnel had either thrown themselves on SHIELD's mercy the instant the Helicarrier had shown up or were in another transport headed for a prison designed for ordinary humans until they could be arraigned. The town fathers of Pilsburg had all but wept when told that they wouldn't have to worry about AIM anymore, Fury had said something about "good job" that had sounded mostly sincere, and a special division of FEMA had arrived to clean up the mess left by a typical super-battle.
"Cap? You ready?" says Clint. He sports a bandage on one powerful bicep - no surprise - and is watching protectively as Natasha, walking stiffly but not limping, mounts the gangplank into the cargo bay of the medical transport. "Doctors want a look-see. You took a couple of bad hits."
"Not necessary. You know me, I'll be fine," says Steve. He yanks off his gloves and shoves them through his belt, pushes back his cowl enough for his sniper to see that the cuts on his hands and his left cheekbone have already mostly healed. "Get the casualties to the nearest trauma center first, then send someone back for me."
"You sure?" Clint scratches his head. "Getting thrown into a building by a big giant head looked pretty painful."
"That?" Steve slings the shield onto his back and snorts. "Remind me to tell you about the time in '44 the Red Skull tried to drop a bridge onto my head. That hurt. This was - "
"Lots of booms and screams and malproportioned weirdos waving their surprisingly useless arms and legs around," says a voice that makes Steve's heart skip, every single time. "Seriously, Hawkguy - "
"Hawkeye, Jesus, were you born on frickin' Long Island?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, and as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Cap has a point." Tony, visor back, grinning like the loon he is, lands beside Steve and claps an arm around his shoulders. "From an engineering standpoint, MODOK should be called CRAPO. I mean, seriously, a head and a float chair? That's AIM's secret weapon? You have got to be kidding me."
Clint frowns. "MODOK being kinda stupid looking didn’t stop him from nearly turning Cap into an oil slick. We've got room - "
Steve gestures to the pilot, who gives him a thumbs up and starts the liftoff sequence for the transport. Clint yelps and dances backwards as the cargo door begins to shut. "Like I said, I'm fine. That changes, Iron Man'll give me a lift."
"I sure will!" Tony says, waving cheerily as the transport rises into the air. He waits until it's clear of the smoking ruins of the Baker Building to speak. "So, how are you really? I know your strength is as the strength of ten, but MODOK turning you into the Human Frisbee looked pretty painful."
"Wasn't much fun." Steve hadn't been lying about the bridge being worse, but hurtling through plate glass and brick while a giant head shrieked incoherently about blood hadn't been much fun. He glances about, sees the medics and the forensic team doing their job, and lets Tony support his weight. "You?"
"Better than you, Winghead." Tony's eyes narrow. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
Steve wants nothing more than to agree - he's hungry, and tired, and what doesn't hurt itches like crazy as skin and flesh and bone repair themselves - but he has his responsibilities. "Not yet. There's still work to be done."
"Which people who are fresh, rested, and didn't spend the last day or so fighting evil mad scientists are actually doing." Tony wraps an arm about his waist, sticks a boot under his foot, and flips the visor into place. "No arguments this time. You're taking a break before everyone and his Aunt Matilda get to see Captain America fall flat on his star-spangled face."
And just like that they're streaking up, up, up, straight into the dark, hot night. Steve holds on, exhilarated despite his battle wounds by the rush of the air past his face, by the strength of the metal-clad arm holding him tight, by the ease with which Iron Man carries the weight of an adult man. He slumps against Tony, close enough that he’d be able to feel the man's heart (damaged but unstoppable, he was a soldier whether he admitted it or not) beat against his chest if the armor weren’t in the way. As it is he can smell the expensive shampoo Tony uses whenever he's in New York, hear the soft puffs of breath through the helmet’s interface, breathe the same thinning air -
They level out high above the ruins of Pilsburg, high enough to see the transport's running lights as it flies toward the blaze that is the nearest city. Steve's heart is fluttering the way it hasn't in almost five years for him, two or three lifetimes for the rest of the world. "This is your idea of a break?"
"Fresh air'll do us good," says Tony. The visor flips back, and he waggles his eyebrows fast enough that Steve expects him to whip out a cigar and claim he's Captain Spaulding. "Pepper keeps telling me I need to slow down and smell the flowers, and since AIM trashed the Pilsburg Garden Club's botanical gardens, a few minutes stargazing will have to do."
It's so good to hear Tony mention Pepper without bitterness or tears, to know that they've rebuilt their friendship despite her blossoming relationship with Happy Hogan. Steve pushes his cowl back onto his shoulders with his free hand. They might be a couple thousand feet up, but he knows Tony won't let him fall.
"Nothing wrong with good country air," he says. The lights of Des Moines and Omaha and Ames are far enough below not to destroy the beauty of the Great Square of Pegasus, the pale ribbon of the Milky Way. There's no moon tonight.
A streak of white whips through the air. "Perseids?"
Tony arches a brow. "Give the super soldier an A+. You've been studying?"
"Some. Can't see many stars in the city, but you never know when it'll come in handy." Steve points up at the Pole Star, traces a line from it to the lopsided W of the next group of stars. "Little Dipper, Cassiopeia - "
Tony's free hand comes up, connects the W of Andromeda's mother to the boxy shape of her father.
"- Cepheus, Draco the Dragon not the ferret - "
Steve chuckles at the reference to Harry Potter, takes up the list as Iron Man pivots slowly in midair so it's easier for them to point up at the next constellation.
" - Big Dipper - "
Tony grins, bright and beautiful and so full of life. "What, you don't call it the Drinking Gourd? Wasn't that the old name?"
Steve grins back, and is it his imagination that something more than friendship flares in those brilliant eyes? "I’m not that old, Tony. Not even close."
"Could fool me sometimes." The whisper is almost lost in the flowing night air. "The stuff you call music - “
“Hey, you're the one with the Lincoln Center tickets,” Steve replies, and why had it taken him so long to figure out why Tony had brought Clint when he'd given his spare ticket to Natasha?
“ - that crummy little apartment in Flatbush - “
“Where I haven't lived in almost a year.“ And what a relief it had been to move out of something only made his transition to the twentieth-first century harder. “You do know SHIELD dumped me there, don't you? I was from Red Hook so why they put me in Greenpoint I have no idea.”
“ - those awful plaid things you called 'shirts' - "
"Didn't choose those either. Why do you think I gave 'em to Goodwill during the clothing drive last December?”
“ - all sort of give the impression that you're a little, ah, backward, but.” Tony stops. They're so high up his skin is almost as pale as Steve's from the cold. “You really aren't, are you.”
"Maybe at first, but not anymore,” Steve murmurs, and oh no, he's not imagining the tiny shiver that runs through his friend as he lays his palm against the other man's cheek. "I'm learning fast."
Tony's lips part. He swallows, closes his eyes as Steve's fingertips trace the line of his cheek, the arch of his brow, the fullness of his lower lip.
"Is that so," he says, breath ragged as if he can't quite allow himself to believe what he's hearing and feeling and saying.
"Try me," says Steve, and guides Tony's mouth onto his own.
It's gentle, their first kiss, gentle and tentative and almost chaste. Steve isn't an expert, even now, but he knows enough to interpret the sound Tony makes as more more please yes more. He grasps the armor with his left hand and pulls Tony toward him, and just like that they're face to face, bodies pressed close, flesh on metal, kissing and grinding and moaning each other's names into the splendid sky.
It lasts an hour, a minute, it's tender and fierce, quiet and needy, and by the time Steve has to pull back enough to give Tony a chance to breathe, his lower lip throbs where Tony nipped and sucked and licked. "Tony. Oh God. That was - "
" - amazing," says his best friend, the man who'd given him a home, a place, a shoulder to lean on, the first proof that the future birthed soldiers as brave as any he'd known. "How long have you - "
Steve rests his forehead against Tony's, breathes deep of sweat and dirt and expensive cologne. "Long enough. Does it matter? Finally got up the courage to do it, that's all that counts."
Tony rubs his cheek against Steve's. The stubble scratches but the beard is soft. "You sure did."
He raises his head, kisses Steve again and doesn't stop until Steve is clutching at the armor hard enough to warp the metal slightly. "What - what now? Dinners out? Long walks on the beach? Dropping me off in time for curfew?"
"A hotel with a hot shower, room service, and a king size bed," says Steve, and oh how he wishes Tony could feel how hard he is through the gleaming alloy that is his pride and joy. He swipes his tongue along Tony's cheekbone, stopping only when the helmet gets in the way. "You okay with that?"
Tony shudders, laughs, scrapes his teeth over the tiny birthmarks on Steve's throat and along his jaw. "Captain Rogers, are you trying to seduce me? Because if you are - "
Another meteor blazes across the sky, and another, and another. Steve doesn't try to repress a groan at how good the bites feel, how much he wants it, wants Tony. "What - what makes you think that?"
" - everything you've done in the last five minutes, do you think I'm an idiot, and the answer is hell to the yes." Tony pulls away, slams the visor into place and snaps out a command to JARVIS that sends them hurtling toward civilization. "Hotel, food, shower, bed - "
"All of it?" Steve has to shut his eyes this time, they're going so fast (and was that his left gauntlet yanking free in the wind?), but he doesn't care, he doesn't, not when he thinks of what they'll be doing as soon as they're alone.
"Count on it," says Tony as they spiral downwards out of the darkness into the light.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I love that this fic is set in MCU but seems to take its main thrust from 616 (Shellhead! Winghead!). You've really managed to evoke that 616 bond between the two of them that gives the ship credence for me in a way that their brief interactions in MCU hasn't yet.
Steve crying over Peggy was heartbreaking of course and then Tony's party…I've been that friend more than a few times, when you're having a good time at a party for once and you notice one of your friends is missing and then there's lots of drunk crying and it should kind of suck but it doesn't really because there's nothing more important than being there for this person in that moment they need it most.
The story is touching without being overly so and I love the little bits of humor sprinkled in between (the line about Clint and the wannabe Katnisses made me laugh out loud like a weirdo and also, Private Rogers, geez Tony).
I also really enjoyed all the little details you've scattered in here, like Cap pulling a Kleenex out of his belt pouch (which made me laugh when I was basically crying), the mating birdcalls when they're about to kiss, the Smoot Marks, they all just do a really great job at helping make this a wonderfully rich story.
I was trying to guess which prompt you'd gone with when I first started the story and then when I figured it out, I was blown away how you took such a simple prompt and made it so much richer than I'd imagined and the ending image is everything I could have asked for. Except, oh man, I know I said I didn't care for it to be explicit but holy shit are you making me regret that.
TL;DR You made me feel a lot of feelings in the best way. Thank you so much, mystery author!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject