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cap_ironman2009-12-29 05:35 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2009-12-29 05:35 pm
Happy holidays, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellyr_in_ink!
Title: Underneath Train Tracks
Author:rustyredux
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony
Word Count: 1,502
Beta: None...whoops.
Universe: 616
Summary: “Steve indulges sometimes, in the belief that maybe, maybe he just needs the right moment.” Steve reflects on some things on a walk with Tony after fleeing a party.
A/N: The requester asked for Steve realizing he's in love with Tony who's oblivious to the whole situation, but I think Steve came out the more oblivious one in the situation. Hope you still enjoy! And Happy Holidays!
Steve hates functions like these because no matter how familiar you are with people here, there is still that overshadowing air of self-consciousness choking the room. Always have to be careful where you put your drink, how you’re holding your posture, checking that no one breaks down one of the walls. Things like that.
Steve sighs, but Tony. Tony’s always comfortable - or at least looks it, and that eases never fails to impress Steve, captivate him completely.
Which is all the more reason he’s mildly shocked to see Tony shamefully flee this so-called Christmas get together – and none too slyly at that.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Steve inquires as he casually grabs Tony’s sleeve, successfully stopping him. Tony has the dignity to refrain from squawking as he’s jerked back from the door.
“I was trying to make a tactful exit.” He replies ruefully, rubbing the creases from his cuff.
“Escape? With Pepper glaring at you from halfway across the room?” Steve chuckles into his glass as Tony paled a little.
“She can’t possibly be bothered with me - look she’s engaged with at least a handful of soon-to-be clients.” There was quite a crowd around Pepper, all under the guise of social interest.
“Shouldn’t you be the one being bothered with prospective new clients?”
“Me? Oh no. That would ruin the mystique of Tony Stark.”
Steve snorts. “I didn’t know you had that.”
“Oh but I do, Steve.” Tony lowers his voice a little, letting his eyebrow arch ridiculously as he leans in dangerously closer. Steve forces himself to take a small step back. “Why else would the tabloids, times, and playgirl snoop around for a story so often?”
Steve wishes he had a better response to most of Tony’s statements besides shaking his head. Tony strategically peers over Steve’s shoulder, ever so carefully shadowing himself with Steve’s body. “Besides,” he continues. “Pepper will forgive me if I leave fashionably early.”
In mounds paperwork no doubt. Steve grunts noncommittally. Tony gets a mad glint in his eye. “And she wouldn’t get mad if she saw you escorting me out.
“And why is that?” Steve takes a cautionary glance around the room as if to feign disinterest; Johnny’s moved on to Emma - that can’t possibly end well.
“Because no one can get mad at Captain America, Steve.” Tony has dropped his teasing tone and his smile lingers a little softer. Steve barks out a laugh, because he wishes that was true. Tony retracts, “Okay, plenty of villains can - but not Pepper.” It’s still just as sincere, and Steve can’t help but be a little touched.
He takes another look around. Peter’s in the corner trying to look like he’s doing something rather than socializing by fixing his camera. Bless Sue, she did try to have holiday get togethers but really they were just glorified science conventions – which can’t be helped she did have to get Reed to agree to hosting.
“I could go for a walk.” Steve concedes finally. He’s not too sure if he’s been had when Tony’s grin widens.
“But we have to come back.” He firmly establishes. “It would be rude to leave without proper goodbyes.” It’s a weak justification, but it holds.
Tony nods enthusiastically; all but dragging Steve out waving to people with mumbled greetings and Steve can swear he sees Pepper vindictively grab her planner – most likely scheduling Tony’s coffin fitting.
In the distance, trickling along the alleyways and down along the streets drift gossamer tones of muted Christmas tunes, as Steve and Tony walked impeccably dressed amidst the timid snowfall.
“You couldn’t have possibly wanted to stay there,” Tony obviously needs to clear his conscience. “Let me guess,” Tony puffs the night air crystallizing his breath as he tugs on his facial hair thoughtfully. “You probably wanted to call it in an early night watch that old copy of Holiday Inn you have on VHS. Most likely cuddled with that ragged knit blanket Mary Jane gave you last year.”
Tony really did know him all too well. “Am I really that easy to read?”
“Well, I do have your entire M.O. stored up here.” Tony accentuates the sentiment by knocking on his head.
Steve’s about to retort about how he’s not that much of a creature of habit when the sound of train whistle approaching disrupts the conversation; its wheels clattering familiarly on an overhead railway nearby.
There's something comforting about the sound of train tracks for Steve. And as senseless as that may sound perhaps it’s because trains remain one of the few inventions that have remained relatively untouched by time. Other things, they change so fast, constantly upgrading. He's lucky if he can find a working turntable in most houses or a wired phone. And it’s not that Steve minds, but there's a certain warmth that rises within him when he walks under the massive steel beams as the weight of a train roars down upon them.
When he was younger, he would rush off, as fast as his body would allow, and he would crouch down and close his eyes and just listen and feel.
And Steve can't really help himself - just rushes off again, right under the track above the road. "Steve, what the - HEY! Wait!" He hears Tony shouting, but doesn't stop; he can hear clipped patter of footsteps right behind him on every sharp turn like he knew there'd be.
He pushes himself up against the brick wall, listens to the iron wheels scream. He laughs as Tony catches his breath with his arm braced against a beam. “What the hell Cap?!” Tony pants before Steve shushes him with a motion.
He watches Tony peer up, his eyes intent though his body is relaxed, hand in his pockets and leaning back. If Steve looks close enough in the flickering illuminated light, he likes to believe he can see Tony's mind at work – his eyes analyzing how strong the tracks are, how many years the beams have rotted here – and various ways of probably making the thing immensely more efficient. And maybe he’s just trying to figure out what Steve’s getting at.
Tony stops suddenly then and grin deviously, "What is it?" He’s caught Steve blatantly staring.
“Nothing.” Steve chokes out over the lump in his throat and the knot in his stomach. That unbearable, wretchedly familiar sensation in his chest. “I just always liked the sound of trains.”
Tony hums thoughtfully for a moment, getting lost in the rhythmic turn of the wheels.
“See,” Steve tells him, “there are still some things you don’t know about Steve Rogers.” A lot of things. Like how Steve can't help but feel faintly sick with himself, because he believes to some degree he has tainted something precious with this emotion he can’t stifle welling up within him.
Or how he stays up late, alone in the dark, with the only company a ceaseless ticking clock when Tony’s out. Or how he frets before finally succumbing to physically dragging Tony out of his workshop because living like Edison on periodic naps in life does not constitute sleep. Or how he thrives on every moment they joke, bicker and banter off one another. Or that each time Tony falls in a fight his heart nearly stops and arguably every companionable brush against him is laced with another motive. How scared he is that this is never gonna go away.
Tony doesn’t know a lot of things, because Steve’s been deplorably in love with him - as long as he can remember knowing him.
And Tony...Tony will remain completely oblivious.
A stalactite above them drips, hitting Tony’s temple as he makes a disgusted face before Steve reaches to impulsively wipe it away.
Steve indulges sometimes, in the belief that maybe, maybe he just needs the right moment. Like it would appear perfectly for them. And he could be honest, or at least ease the weight in his chest and tell Tony everything.
Steve’s thumb rubs over Tony’s brow to his cheek, lingering just a moment as Tony’s smile falters. Steve knows he’s not a coward; he just knows it takes awhile for him to adjust to change.
The beams quiet then, the last of the freight train pulling away along with Steve’s hand. “We should head back in.”
Tony blinks, clearing his throat. “Yeah...yeah we probably should.”
That was months ago, though feels like decades now. Steve remembers it, when things get bad. After he’s been isolated, exiled - betrayed. And while others are bickering about whether living this underground existence is right, what to do next - he’ll go and sit under the train tracks when his resolve is at its weakest and listen to the old steel beams quiver and think of long gone frigid nights and thinks of missed moments and wonder if it’s all worth it.
And even in the muggy New York summer night, he finds the answer chills him to the bone.
Author:
rustyreduxRating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony
Word Count: 1,502
Beta: None...whoops.
Universe: 616
Summary: “Steve indulges sometimes, in the belief that maybe, maybe he just needs the right moment.” Steve reflects on some things on a walk with Tony after fleeing a party.
A/N: The requester asked for Steve realizing he's in love with Tony who's oblivious to the whole situation, but I think Steve came out the more oblivious one in the situation. Hope you still enjoy! And Happy Holidays!
Steve hates functions like these because no matter how familiar you are with people here, there is still that overshadowing air of self-consciousness choking the room. Always have to be careful where you put your drink, how you’re holding your posture, checking that no one breaks down one of the walls. Things like that.
Steve sighs, but Tony. Tony’s always comfortable - or at least looks it, and that eases never fails to impress Steve, captivate him completely.
Which is all the more reason he’s mildly shocked to see Tony shamefully flee this so-called Christmas get together – and none too slyly at that.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Steve inquires as he casually grabs Tony’s sleeve, successfully stopping him. Tony has the dignity to refrain from squawking as he’s jerked back from the door.
“I was trying to make a tactful exit.” He replies ruefully, rubbing the creases from his cuff.
“Escape? With Pepper glaring at you from halfway across the room?” Steve chuckles into his glass as Tony paled a little.
“She can’t possibly be bothered with me - look she’s engaged with at least a handful of soon-to-be clients.” There was quite a crowd around Pepper, all under the guise of social interest.
“Shouldn’t you be the one being bothered with prospective new clients?”
“Me? Oh no. That would ruin the mystique of Tony Stark.”
Steve snorts. “I didn’t know you had that.”
“Oh but I do, Steve.” Tony lowers his voice a little, letting his eyebrow arch ridiculously as he leans in dangerously closer. Steve forces himself to take a small step back. “Why else would the tabloids, times, and playgirl snoop around for a story so often?”
Steve wishes he had a better response to most of Tony’s statements besides shaking his head. Tony strategically peers over Steve’s shoulder, ever so carefully shadowing himself with Steve’s body. “Besides,” he continues. “Pepper will forgive me if I leave fashionably early.”
In mounds paperwork no doubt. Steve grunts noncommittally. Tony gets a mad glint in his eye. “And she wouldn’t get mad if she saw you escorting me out.
“And why is that?” Steve takes a cautionary glance around the room as if to feign disinterest; Johnny’s moved on to Emma - that can’t possibly end well.
“Because no one can get mad at Captain America, Steve.” Tony has dropped his teasing tone and his smile lingers a little softer. Steve barks out a laugh, because he wishes that was true. Tony retracts, “Okay, plenty of villains can - but not Pepper.” It’s still just as sincere, and Steve can’t help but be a little touched.
He takes another look around. Peter’s in the corner trying to look like he’s doing something rather than socializing by fixing his camera. Bless Sue, she did try to have holiday get togethers but really they were just glorified science conventions – which can’t be helped she did have to get Reed to agree to hosting.
“I could go for a walk.” Steve concedes finally. He’s not too sure if he’s been had when Tony’s grin widens.
“But we have to come back.” He firmly establishes. “It would be rude to leave without proper goodbyes.” It’s a weak justification, but it holds.
Tony nods enthusiastically; all but dragging Steve out waving to people with mumbled greetings and Steve can swear he sees Pepper vindictively grab her planner – most likely scheduling Tony’s coffin fitting.
In the distance, trickling along the alleyways and down along the streets drift gossamer tones of muted Christmas tunes, as Steve and Tony walked impeccably dressed amidst the timid snowfall.
“You couldn’t have possibly wanted to stay there,” Tony obviously needs to clear his conscience. “Let me guess,” Tony puffs the night air crystallizing his breath as he tugs on his facial hair thoughtfully. “You probably wanted to call it in an early night watch that old copy of Holiday Inn you have on VHS. Most likely cuddled with that ragged knit blanket Mary Jane gave you last year.”
Tony really did know him all too well. “Am I really that easy to read?”
“Well, I do have your entire M.O. stored up here.” Tony accentuates the sentiment by knocking on his head.
Steve’s about to retort about how he’s not that much of a creature of habit when the sound of train whistle approaching disrupts the conversation; its wheels clattering familiarly on an overhead railway nearby.
There's something comforting about the sound of train tracks for Steve. And as senseless as that may sound perhaps it’s because trains remain one of the few inventions that have remained relatively untouched by time. Other things, they change so fast, constantly upgrading. He's lucky if he can find a working turntable in most houses or a wired phone. And it’s not that Steve minds, but there's a certain warmth that rises within him when he walks under the massive steel beams as the weight of a train roars down upon them.
When he was younger, he would rush off, as fast as his body would allow, and he would crouch down and close his eyes and just listen and feel.
And Steve can't really help himself - just rushes off again, right under the track above the road. "Steve, what the - HEY! Wait!" He hears Tony shouting, but doesn't stop; he can hear clipped patter of footsteps right behind him on every sharp turn like he knew there'd be.
He pushes himself up against the brick wall, listens to the iron wheels scream. He laughs as Tony catches his breath with his arm braced against a beam. “What the hell Cap?!” Tony pants before Steve shushes him with a motion.
He watches Tony peer up, his eyes intent though his body is relaxed, hand in his pockets and leaning back. If Steve looks close enough in the flickering illuminated light, he likes to believe he can see Tony's mind at work – his eyes analyzing how strong the tracks are, how many years the beams have rotted here – and various ways of probably making the thing immensely more efficient. And maybe he’s just trying to figure out what Steve’s getting at.
Tony stops suddenly then and grin deviously, "What is it?" He’s caught Steve blatantly staring.
“Nothing.” Steve chokes out over the lump in his throat and the knot in his stomach. That unbearable, wretchedly familiar sensation in his chest. “I just always liked the sound of trains.”
Tony hums thoughtfully for a moment, getting lost in the rhythmic turn of the wheels.
“See,” Steve tells him, “there are still some things you don’t know about Steve Rogers.” A lot of things. Like how Steve can't help but feel faintly sick with himself, because he believes to some degree he has tainted something precious with this emotion he can’t stifle welling up within him.
Or how he stays up late, alone in the dark, with the only company a ceaseless ticking clock when Tony’s out. Or how he frets before finally succumbing to physically dragging Tony out of his workshop because living like Edison on periodic naps in life does not constitute sleep. Or how he thrives on every moment they joke, bicker and banter off one another. Or that each time Tony falls in a fight his heart nearly stops and arguably every companionable brush against him is laced with another motive. How scared he is that this is never gonna go away.
Tony doesn’t know a lot of things, because Steve’s been deplorably in love with him - as long as he can remember knowing him.
And Tony...Tony will remain completely oblivious.
A stalactite above them drips, hitting Tony’s temple as he makes a disgusted face before Steve reaches to impulsively wipe it away.
Steve indulges sometimes, in the belief that maybe, maybe he just needs the right moment. Like it would appear perfectly for them. And he could be honest, or at least ease the weight in his chest and tell Tony everything.
Steve’s thumb rubs over Tony’s brow to his cheek, lingering just a moment as Tony’s smile falters. Steve knows he’s not a coward; he just knows it takes awhile for him to adjust to change.
The beams quiet then, the last of the freight train pulling away along with Steve’s hand. “We should head back in.”
Tony blinks, clearing his throat. “Yeah...yeah we probably should.”
That was months ago, though feels like decades now. Steve remembers it, when things get bad. After he’s been isolated, exiled - betrayed. And while others are bickering about whether living this underground existence is right, what to do next - he’ll go and sit under the train tracks when his resolve is at its weakest and listen to the old steel beams quiver and think of long gone frigid nights and thinks of missed moments and wonder if it’s all worth it.
And even in the muggy New York summer night, he finds the answer chills him to the bone.
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