Touch starved Steve imprints on Tony and uses sparring as an outlet for physical touch- however, Tony gets annoyed and avoids his sparring invites until Steve breaks down on Tony. Cue the cuddles
(quick note: Steve has sort of clingy behavior which isn't totally reciprocated?? Tony knows how to stand up for himself though it's a mild annoyance at most)


"Spar?" Steve grunted, almost as soon as he caught sight of Tony in the doorway. Silently, he exhaled. He'd wanted a moment to get back in shape on the elliptical, but Natasha had confided to him over a late night cup of coffee that she was worried. About Steve.

He always seemed to be lurking in the gym, no matter what, when Tony walked in. It... grated on him, sure, that someone he barely liked was so clingy, but Steve didn't have anyone to cling to except for the Avengers, and they weren't as steady as Tony. They were gone, flighty, dealing with their own shit. "Sure," Tony sighed, walking off to wrap his hands.

Steve followed him, hovering somewhere at his back. "Did you say this morning that you were joining Pepper on a business trip?" he asked. Demanded, really. Tony nodded mutely, flexing his hands beneath the wraps. "You can't do that. We have Avengers business here."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Tony asked, turning on him. Steve frowned, big brows knitting together. Tony was sick of him constantly there, latching on like a baby to its mother's breast.

"I'm planning a surprise team training." The frustrating part about these exchanges was that Steve, while being fairly good at lying, never made himself believable enough. "In Pennsylvania," he added.

"Fine, Cap," Tony said coldly. "Have at me." Steve frowned at him, leaning closer.

"You don't have to spar with me," he mumbled. "I can do it fine with the punching bag." The thing about that was that for Steve, it wouldn't be fucking fine. He was repressed but he wasn't subtle, with his angry, flexing hands and wide, sad eyes beneath hair that always seemed too perfect and molded to be real.

Yeah. Tony sort of wanted to fuck him up. "Get in the ring," he growled, slamming Steve's shoulder with his and getting into his stance. Sparring didn't have rules. Biting and blood had their place in the ring, usually welling in some cut Steve inflicted on Tony. That was usually when he tapped out, getting out of the room. He was having his own gym built so he didn't have to deal with Steve cutting in on his time, but it was slow going since the project needed to be kept under wraps.

"You ready, Stark?" Steve growled. Tony braced himself. Steve always hit first.

And hit he did. They started with fists. Tony had better form, Steve had better reflexes. It was the same every fucking time. Tony would sweep Steve's legs out from under him. Check. He'd punch down and Steve would catch him and flip him, pushing him into the ground. Always the same.

Always ending with Tony on the ground. "Tapping out," he wheezed from under Steve's weight.

"Good game." Steve offered him a hand, which he ignored. He brushed past him into the showers, and again, Steve trailed behind him. Jesus, could he not take a hint?

"Good game," Tony called behind him, off hand, snatching a towel from the rack and gingerly stepping over the wet one on the floor. Who had been in here earlier? It was just Steve and Tony in the Tower. All he needed was a quick rinse, maybe some body wash, and he could be in and out. He used luxury shower stalls, private and like individual oases. It always got pleasantly steamy and the water always felt so good, pounding away at his sore back.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve again. Tony ignored him, hoping he'd put it down to the water pounding away around them. "Tony?" Too loud to ignore, this time.

"What?' he bit out, scrubbing viciously at his back. Did he not know the basics of communal bathroom etiquette?

"How about this time again tomorrow?" he asked. Tony closed his eyes. A pre-planned sparring time was not what he wanted whatsoever.

"Maybe." His voice was gritted and absolutely done, but Steve wouldn't take a fucking hint, would he?

"What, you too scared? I'm going easy on you, old man." It would have been a good challenge had his voice not cracked a little at the end. Tony shook his head. Maybe he shouldn't have opened up his Tower to these losers. They were the lamest people he'd ever met.

"No, I'm a busy man. Sorry, Rogers. If I want to spar, I'll contact you." And with that, he stalked out of the shower stall, right past Steve's crestfallen face and gorgeous, naked body. "How about I call you?"

It wasn't a question. If Steve wouldn't leave him alone, Tony would literally make his own gym.


After the dreaded attempt to set up a weekly- or, shudder, daily- sparring date, Tony was forced to speed up his process and involve Iron Man to set up his own gym. He avoided the communal one at all costs, knowing Steve would only leave him alone if the other Avengers were there, so no one else witnessed his frankly embarrassing attempts to make friends with Tony, like he was a little nerd and Tony was the popular kid. Jesus. Was something else wrong with him? Other than the social awkwardness. Tony didn't mind helping a friend out, but he'd never actually made friends with Rogers. Maybe they were acquaintances, but they were certainly not close in the least. It was all Steve and his fumbling attempts at fitting in.

"What time is the team movie night?" he asked, knowing Natasha was the one who planned it.

"Nine. Mondays. We're watching Hugo," she said casually, flipping her omelette.

Tony nodded. That was the one with the machines set in 30s Paris, wasn't it? Looked like there was something for everyone, he thought sarcastically. "Cool beans. See you then." He popped off a salute.

Steve fucking followed him to his lab. "Needed something, Cap?" he asked, a strained smile on his face.

"I needed to talk to you about the gym." Great, he was trying to confront Tony about something or other.

"Yes?" he replied, pointedly looking away from the pathetic picture Steve made. He heard Steve's breath falter behind him.

"I'm worried you aren't getting enough practice. You're the least trained human on the team, and-"

"I actually would think Hulk is, considering that all he does is smash," Tony hummed. "I'm a fan, though, maybe we all need less training. Smashing things is good for the soul." He finally looked back up at Steve. His face was set, stony. His jaw looked like it was screwed on too tight.

"I'm just saying-" Tony looked him in the eyes. For a war hero, Steve was easily intimidated. Almost laughable, really. "I- that, um, that I could help train you?" His voice hovered on the last word.

Tony turned back to his work, deceptively casual. "What about that training in Pennsylvania?" he asked, smirking a little. All the air seemed to leave the room.

"I'll, I'll go. Sorry for wasting your time." Tony shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. Steve was a waste of his time, of his perfectly good resources. For Thor's sake, all he did was lie, insist on sparring, and act awkward. His gym would be finished by the end of the week, and he could probably get at least two weeks of peaceful, Steve-free workout time and, since the only time Steve interacted him was to spar with him, he'd get two weeks of Steve-free time altogether.

Movie nights, he could certainly survive, cuddling with Bruce on the couch and ignoring Cap sitting perched on one of the dining room chairs at the back of the room.


Damn, Tony was hungry. He yawned, back cracking as he checked the time. A little after midnight, perfect time for a snack. Hopefully the Tower's favorite super-soldier would be out and Tony could get his ice cream in peace for once. He'd finally cracked it. If he didn't go in the gym and stuck to the communal kitchen, Steve wouldn't ask him to spar, just watch Tony from the table, gaze sickeningly longing. He hummed a Disney song while the decaf brewed, pawing through the cabinets for something filling but not fattening.

Tony simply could not get any peace. In pajamas, laser focused on Tony, Steve appeared in the elevator. Tony's teeth gritted as he walked through the elevator doors. He looked like he had only just woken up, and Tony wasn't the type to accuse someone of stalking, but this was getting ridiculous. They faced off. Steve was hunched, broken down. He looked almost sick, if the peak of human perfection could get sick. "What?" Tony asked, annoyed with him. "Did I kick your puppy or something?"

"You haven't been sparring lately," Steve accused. He shouldered his way into the kitchen. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Nice one. I just haven't been seeking it out, thanks."

"But you're never in the gym," Steve said, eyes narrowed. He was glowering towards Tony, a mere shadow in the slips of moonlight coming through the windows.

"I have my own gym, and I have to avoid sparring with fucking super-soldiers at all hours of the day. How'd you do it, huh? Ask Jarvis to notify you when I was going down. For the record, that's creepy as fuck."

Steve snarled, sweat glistening on his forehead. He was wearing Avengers pajamas, the cheap ones they sold at Walmart. Tony had gotten them all silk Avengers pjs, there was no reason for him to be wearing the ugly, polyester nightmares. "If you hadn't noticed, you're my regular sparring partner, it's what we do!"

"Spar with Natasha, or something, I don't care!"

"No," Steve cried, legitimate tears in his eyes. "I- I need you. Please, Tony I need you, I'll do anything. I'll let you win and hit me a bunch, I'll do all your cleaning, Tony, please," he begged, honest to God falling to his knees, shaking, swaying, with a few sobs.

"Get up, what the fuck are you doing?" Tony snapped, frowning at him. Steve stumbled to his feet. He did look sick. Maybe he had a fever, and that was why he was acting so weird.

"Please," Steve whispered again. Tony pointed to a chair, dialing his personal doctor on his cell.

"Hello, yes? May I speak to Doctor Finn?"

"He's not in," the secretary replied, bored to death.

"Excuse me, do you know who I-"

"I don't care who you are. Sir." She hung up. Tony was going to get a headache from this.

Steve shivered on the dining chair, swaying from side to side. Tony stared at him without the danger of getting caught. He was pretty sure that even if he looked up, Steve was so out of it that he wouldn't really register Tony. He looked bad.

If Tony was being honest with himself, Steve had looked bad for a long while. Sick, agitated, obsessive behavior. Tears rolled down his face as he shook, looking small in the little chair. Hesitantly, Tony approached him. His thermometer could have been anywhere, so he just put his hand on Steve's forehead. It was a small thing. The most sparing contact they'd ever exchanged, but Steve...

He leaned into it, nuzzling Tony's hand like he was a dog. No fever, but he was sweaty and shaky. Was it psychosomatic, maybe? The feeling you got when you faced up against the biggest fears in your head and you had run a marathon, all at once. "Please," Steve mumbled. "Please." Tony sat down on the edge of another chair, trying to remove his hand, but Steve clutched onto it, wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrist.

"Cap..." He trailed off.

Steve looked up, bloodshot, glassy eyes set deep behind purple bags. "Sorry, I just-" Tony swallowed around a lump in his throat. Maybe all that sparring had been more than just Steve being overly friendly, or- annoying. Maybe it had been a cry for help.

"No, sweetheart, it's okay. I need to check you out, follow me." Just because Tony was leading Captain America to his bedroom did not mean, under any circumstances, that he was going to bag him. Pepper wouldn't believe it even if she saw it.

"What're we doin'?" Steve asked, sitting on the bed. He looked small, really, all hunched over and sick. Tony smoothed a hand down his hair, and Steve really shivered, arched his neck up.

"You look pretty sick, Steve. You sleep it off in here. It okay if I join you?" he asked carefully. He'd be just fine in the guest bedroom, but if it was a poison, Tony would feel safer close by.

He'd expected vehement refusal, grudging acceptance, maybe, but instead, Steve broke down in tears. "Not s'posed to," he whispered into the pillow. "I'm sorry, Tony. I shouldn't be- be goin' around, trying to cry about dumb shit like this, I'm sorry I kept making you spar with me." He paused, and then, in a wet, gasping whisper. "It just felt so good."

He looked naked, spread out on the bed with no blankets and his Avengers pajamas. "Do you want a hug?"

Steve met his eyes, bone tired. "It's only been seventy years, I can go a few more. Not like I'm going to die from an absence of affection," he said bitterly, like he was finally coming back to himself. He swung out of bed, stumbling on large feet. "Excuse me," he muttered.

Tony stood in front of him, eyebrows raised. "You're really going to try that? Get back on the bed, Steve." Tony felt bad, wanted to apologize. He'd pretty much taken responsibility for all of the Avengers outright, and he'd supplied whatever emotional support that they needed, but neglected Steve. Maybe it was Daddy Issues. Maybe it was his naive crush as a kid, snapping back into place the moment he laid eyes on a living legend. Maybe he was just a bastard that didn't care. Whatever it was, Tony could have taken any of his little signs and he'd chosen his own bullheaded arrogance instead. Steve rolled over onto his side, tense.

All the sick need from earlier had fled, and he looked just as miserable as he always did again. Did Steve even smile at all anymore?

"So what was the sparring? A healthy outlet for touch or something?" Tony asked, climbing in after him. "This is okay, right, these cuddles? We can move back out to the couch if you want."

"No! Stay," Steve whispered, curling into Tony's front. He burrowed his head into Tony's neck, flung his arms around his waist, latched on like an octopus.

"I'm staying," Tony told him. "I'm staying." The shades closed, so that all he could feel was the hat of Steve's body knotted together with his own. All he needed to feel was the stillness of the room, taming the nervous energy Steve was always radiating- there was a reason for that, there was always a reason- and Tony's doubts.

Steve needed someone in his corner, because Bucky Barnes was dead, Peggy Carter was gone, and the rest of the world had fallen away from him.