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Marvel Bang Fic: Part Two - 99 problems (and the dice ain't one)
Part One
Tony likes the little socially exclusionary bubble he's created and is a little uncomfortable that it's being breached so thoroughly and with such little regard for his thoughts on the matter.
Basically, Darcy, Jane and Thor are in his living room with Clint, Bruce and Steve having the regular Wednesday night Thai food.
Tony takes himself and a bot he's been working on up to the warehouse roof. He's trying to program it to hunt down stray dice before Tony steps on them in the mornings. A D4 is not a fun thing to have embedded in your instep before you've even had your first coffee of the morning.
It's an hour before the door that leads out onto the roof from inside creaks open again and Tony looks up, small flashlight wedged into his cheek and bot bits scattered all around him to see Steve approach. "Your food's getting cold," Steve says, hunkering down, balancing on his toes. Steve's a lot more graceful than he used to be, probably got more control of his body with muscle definition. Tony feels a strange pang for the Steve that knocked over stuff he wasn't even near.
"That's what microwaves are for," Tony says around the flashlight.
"Darcy's protecting your peanut noodles from Thor because she knows you don't like other people touching your food."
"She's a keeper, that one," Tony huffs, drops the flashlight into his palm and picks up a small screwdriver.
"Is this... are you okay with the others being here?" Steve asks after a silence that stretches a little too long.
"Clint and Bruce are allowed to have friends over."
Steve's expression does something funny at that. "I want... they should be your friends too. Not that I'm trying to force them on you or anything. If you don't like-"
"They're fine," Tony says and they are is the thing. Thor's like a golden retriever, impossible to dislike and the girls are much smarter and funnier than their propensity to devolve into giggles would allude to. Tony can do without Bucky but he doesn't seem to be a part of the core group, or maybe just someone Steve's getting to know a little slower because...
Because.
Tony could pretend he doesn't know why he's having a problem accepting the others, but he does. He feels like he's only just gotten Steve back, only to lose him all over again in tiny increments the more people Steve adds to his life. Tony knows it's ridiculous but it feels like the portion of Steve left over for him is becoming smaller and smaller.
Tony doesn't like the careful concern that's on Steve's face so he does the only thing he can think of to change it. "Let's have a party."
"What?" It has the desired effect, Steve gapes in surprise.
"We haven't had a decent shindig since it was cool to say shindig."
Steve still looks a little thrown, but seems to decide to just go along with Tony's enthusiasm because it's apparently better than his standoffishness. "Hootenanny got removed from the dictionary this year."
"That's a crime."
"Cassette player as well."
Tony snorts. "What am I going to play all those super mix tapes you made me on if the humble cassette player no longer exists?"
"You don't still have those," Steve scoffs, his eyes widening when Tony just ducks his face. "Oh my god, you do."
"Shut up, it's a reminder of a simpler time," Tony says, is very glad that it's too dark for Steve to see him blushing. "What else got taken out?" It's a feeble attempt to change the subject but Steve allows it, perhaps not wanting to upset the fragile peace that has sprung up between them.
"Millenium bug," Steve says, after a thoughtful pause. "I guess we really had no use for that even in the year two thousand."
"I'm thinking costume party," Tony says, circling back to the original point.
"Superhero theme?"
"Naturally."
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le_prince_lutin
"I'm sensing a little tension in the room," Clint says, entering the communal living space and his gaze darting between Tony and Phil.
"Tony got distracted when he was making party arrangements and decided he needed to sign me up on an internet dating site," Phil supplies.
Clint makes an interesting choking noise as he drops into the recliner chair near Phil's. "Why?" he manages to get out when it sounds like he's done inhaling the soda he was sipping through the wrong pipe.
"It's an attempt to turn Phil's frown upside down."
"He doesn't want your help with that," Clint says incredulously.
"Besides, I'm sleeping with Clint," Phil interjects without even looking up from his Monster Manual.
Tony thinks this is one of Phil's funny, funny jokes, but then he looks at Clint, who's gone a bright, tomato red and sunk down in his chair and... "What?"
"Clint didn't want to tell anyone because he's embarrassed."
"I'm not embarrassed, babe," Clint immediately splutters, tone one that suggests they've had this argument before numerous times.
"You call Phil babe?" Tony wheezes, caught on that small detail because if he looks at the bigger picture here, something fundamental in his brain might break.
"I've tried to get him to stop." Phil's lip tugs up at the corner and Tony knows, to the bottom of his soul that he doesn't want to hear what Phil is going to say next. "He mostly uses the endearment mid-coitus so I've developed an unfortunate Pavlovian response to it."
"Can you stop scarring me for life?" Tony whines, gets up and tries to beat a hasty retreat out of the room. He's stopped by Steve, literally. Time was, anyone running into Steve would've knocked the poor kid flat, maybe broken a few of his bones. Now, Tony just rebounds and lands on his own ass on the floor.
Steve just looks at him for a second before he rolls his eyes and offers Tony a hand up. "What are you doing?"
"Clint and Phil are sleeping together," Tony says and doesn't get the shock and horror he was expecting. Instead Steve just keeps looking at him, mild as ever. When he obviously realizes he's not giving Tony the response he's looking for he spreads his hands.
"So?"
"That means Phil, has sex," Tony presses, wondering why he's the only one who knows how wrong that is.
"Frequently," Phil pipes up from the other room and Clint lets out a groan of mortification.
"There's something to be said for opposites attracting." Steve crosses his arms. He's looking a little peeved which Tony doesn't really understand.
"There's opposite and then there's different species."
"They're both just guys, Tony."
"No, Phil's an android."
"I can hear you, y'know," Phil calls.
"That's because you're an android!" Tony yells back at him. "With super android hearing!"
"You're being a little dramatic."
"You're being a little... here. Why are you here all the time?"
"I can leave-"
"Did I ask you to leave? I was just asking a question," Tony grumbles and Steve's looking at him with that careful confusion again. It's an expression he's getting a lot of use out of lately.
"Why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at you."
"I don't think you've ever stopped being mad at me. You just have periods of hiding it better," Steve says, rubbing at the back of his head. "I took an internship. What else was I supposed to do?"
When Tony doesn't answer him, Steve throws up his hands and stalks away. It’s only after the sound of the warehouse's entrance door slamming shut has stopped echoing and Tony is really sure Steve's left that he answers that particularly loaded question.
"You were supposed to stay."
--
"You're Tony Stark."
Tony looks up at Natasha who's just entered Bean Man, struggling with an umbrella and the vicious wind that's trying to steal it back out the door. "Are we playing the State The Obvious game because I really suck at it," Tony says, scooting over the counter so he can yank Natasha all the way through the door before the wind can throw napkins and paper everywhere.
Natasha dumps the umbrella in the stand by the door then pushes hair out of her face. "No, I mean, I knew you were a Tony Stark but I didn't know you were the Tony Stark."
"Ta da?"
"I got your facebook party invite."
"Ah yes, personally delivered to three hundred of my closest social media friends."
"Okay, the first thing that weirds me out is that your Facebook is full of baby goat and sloth videos."
"Oh, that's Sinbad."
"Sinbad?"
"I outsourced my Facebook to someone with a pirate name in London."
"You outsourced your Facebook?"
"Yep, my twitter too. I'm a busy guy."
"You and Clint played Worms: Armageddon for six hours last night," Natasha says incredulously.
"See? Very busy."
"Don't you own a company?"
"Ugh," Tony grunts, crosses back to the counter with Natasha in his wake, shrugging out of her coat. "There are shareholders and a board of directors and meetings. We have an arrangement. I invent something revolutionary every six months and they leave me the hell alone unless there's something that needs my signature."
"I love that you say that like it's normal," Natasha says. "You just invent something revolutionary every six months, huh?"
"You say that like it's a hard thing," Tony counters, smirking.
"You invited three hundred people to this party you're having."
"Technically Sinbad did, but yes."
"Isn't that a little large?"
"It's no big deal. The warehouse is huge, we have three floors we never use that can be party central, it's catered and I've hired security."
"You've hired Thor and Bucky," Natasha says, narrowing her eyes.
"They're bouncers. Why wouldn't I?"
"They're Steve's friends. You should be inviting them to the party, not making them work it."
"They could have said no."
"Bucky has student loans and Thor's saving for an apartment with Jane. Of course they weren't going to say no. I'm surprised you didn't ask Darcy to waitress."
"She's not..." Tony bites at his lip, cuts off what he was going to say but Natasha's expression is shrewd. Turns out, he doesn't need to just worry about the people he's known for years calling him on his behaviour.
"Competing for Steve's attention with you?" Natasha guesses, lets out an aha of triumph when Tony scowls and looks away.
"I think I might have to get Sinbad to revise our friendship status."
"Tony, I'm sure at the very least Bruce has told you to just get off your ass and tell Steve how you feel."
"I feel nothing, zippo, nada. I have no idea what you're talking about."
--
Okay, yes, the party is a little big. Tony tends to go overboard with this kind of stuff, mostly because he's a believer in go large or get out of the kitchen or whatever the hell that phrase is.
There's two floors of party filled with people that he really doesn't know and then a floor reserved for the select few he does. He meanders around the larger party for about an hour, greeting people, getting photos and trying not to be appalled at the sheer number of Catwomen and Batmen in attendance, damn Nolan's oily hide anyway, then makes his way to the quieter party where he plans to drink to excess and then fall asleep while playing old school Mario Kart on a projector screen with Clint and Bruce.
Steve stalks toward Tony as soon as he spots him enter the restricted party, is actually a little aggressive about it which means Tony backs up a few steps, sloshes whiskey over his knuckles. "Um, hi? Where's your shield?"
Steve is dressed as Captain America, down to his cute red fuck-me boots. What's fascinating is that Steve doesn't need the fake padding most of the super hero costumes come with. He fills out every nook and cranny of material stretched to bursting quite nicely himself. Tony takes the opportunity to ogle openly on the pretense of checking out the costume. The way Steve's nostrils flare, he might not be fooled.
"Thor confiscated it to make paella. Apparently it's the perfect size," Steve says, then narrows his eyes and leans in just enough to make Tony back up another step, confused and lustful which is basically normal for him whenever Steve is around these days. "Just what are you supposed to be?" Steve's looking a little thrown and angry and something else Tony can't identify.
"Isn't it obvious?" Tony asks, strikes a pose. He's wearing one of the three criminally expensive designer suits he owns for those rare occasions when he has to attend shareholder meetings for Stark Industries. He's also got red-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose and Darcy helped his hair strike the perfect balance between stylish and disheveled.
When Steve just glowers at him some more, Tony relents. "Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. Duh." He grins and sets his whiskey aside, flips his tie over his shoulder to get at the buttons of his shirt. "That's not the best part."
"Isn't Superman a little cliche for you?" Steve asks.
"Of course it is, which is why I went in a different direction." Tony parts his shirt enough that Steve, when he leans a little closer, can see the Wonder Woman bustier Tony has on under his clothing. Tony smirks and Steve swallows hard and goes an interestingly hot color.
"Have you got on the whole outfit under there?" Steve sounds a little strangled which makes Tony frown.
"Well, no. Unlike some people," Tony says, looks pointedly at Steve's boot-clad feet. "I couldn't source go-go boots that fit me on such short notice. I have the lasso of truth tucked against my inseam though. Want to see?"
Tony's appalled at himself as soon as he says it, especially when Steve's mouth drops open and his eyes go wide. He doesn't know what possessed him to just hit on Steve so casually, without thought like that. He wants to immediately take it back because awkward but before he can, Steve kind of swings an arm behind himself.
"I have to go...um... rescue my shield," he says. He's backing up fast, kind of shaking his head like he can erase Tony's blunder from the air. "If Thor burns it I lose my deposit."
Steve turns and beats a hasty retreat through the smaller press of people on this floor and Tony's so thrown by the whole thing that he doesn't even take the opportunity to check out Steve's ass in the figure-hugging suit.
Art bymakowe_pola
Tony stumbles in the direction of the corner where Bruce and Clint have set up various gaming systems, but reroutes when he spots Natasha, Jane and Darcy on a cluster of bean bag chairs that he had no idea he even owned and thinks Bruce might be responsible for. There's not a pair of cat ears among them, bless them. "I'm an idiot," he announces when their small circle shuffles around so that he has space to drop into.
Jane immediately cranes her neck, looking around the room. "What did you do to Steve?"
"Ugh, why does everyone know?" Tony grumbles.
"Steve doesn't," Darcy supplies, not very helpfully.
"Nah, he knows," Tony groans. "He just ran away from me like his ass was on fire." Tony swallows the remainder of the scotch he had in hand, spots Bucky and fights his way out of the bean bag chair. "I might as well go and give my blessing to the guy he actually is attracted to, be the better man," he says, ignoring the girls calling out from behind him as he makes his way across the room.
Tony is not drunk enough for this, but figures he might as well get it over with. He catches up with Bucky who isn't in costume, just a pair of black jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, bouncer du jour all the way. Bucky spots Tony out of the corner of his eye, turns when Tony gets closer. "Oh hey," he says, smiling and it's really unfair how he and Steve got similar old timey good looks. They're going to be ridiculously, sickeningly attractive together. "Just checking this floor for illegals. People have found out you're having a smaller, separate party and keep trying to sneak down here."
"It's not really a party unless there's a VIP area people are dying to get into," Tony says.
"Anything you need?"
"No, I just..." Tony belatedly wishes he had another drink in his hand. "I just wanted to give you the break his heart and I'll hurt you talk," Tony says, kind of looks Bucky up and down and adds, "Y'know economically, because I'm pretty you can kick my ass, loathe as I am to admit it."
Bucky blinks, confused. "Who's heart?"
Tony frowns. "Steve. Look, he's a one-fella guy so if you're playing around on him-"
"Woah, hang on. You've got the wrong end of the stick, pal," Bucky says, holding up his hands. "I mean, I have a girlfriend."
"As well as Steve?" Tony asks, feeling furious.
"No! Just... just the girlfriend. Steve's a great guy but we're friends."
"Oh, that's..." Tony feels a little, no, strike that, a lot foolish. "Um, forget I said anything."
"Hey," Bucky calls when Tony turns away. He spins back, giving Bucky an expectant look. "Look Stark, I'm pretty sure I need to give you the break his heart spiel. Just think about it." Bucky gives him a very meaningful stare before he retreats.
--
Tony retreats to the roof, sick of himself and frankly, everyone else in the world. The roof is an absolute no-go zone so Tony's a little pissed to see that someone is already up there until he catches a star on a broad chest.
"Steve?"
"Hey," Steve says. He's tossing something small across the roof and then there's a whirring noise. Tony can only see when he gets closer that Steve is playing fetch with Tony's dice-retrieval bot. Steve has one of Clint's cheap, plastic dice containers and is tossing the dice inside for the bot one by one. Every time he throws, the bot scampers away, uses a small claw to scoop the dice into a bucket on its back and zips back.
It's rudimentary but it does the trick.
"There's two different parties, you know. If you got bored with one you could have gone to the other one."
"I prefer it up here," Steve says. He hunkers down to retrieve the dice out of the bot’s bucket and feeds them back into the plastic tube, then resumes tossing them.
"You wanted us to do more social stuff remember? I think this classifies."
"This is a little over the top."
"I can't win with you."
"Not everything's a competition."
"Would you just tell me what it is I'm supposed to do then, exactly?" Tony demands, flinging his hands out.
"Maybe just try not treating me like crap," Steve says, tosses a handful of dice a little too hard and some of them go bouncing over the edge of the roof. The bot zips after them, bumps against the safety rail and then turns in place, frustrated.
"How am I doing that exactly?"
"What you did downstairs. That was really shitty, for one," Steve snaps.
"I'm sorry if me hitting on you is so offensive!" Tony yells, incensed.
"It's not fair when you don't mean it!" Steve barks back, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Tony blinks, because what? "Just throwing it in my face like that. I never thought you would do that, it was a really-"
"Wait, I think we're getting our wires crossed here," Tony says, holding hands up, then making a T for time out with them. Steve's still breathing hard like he's just waiting for his turn to shout and not really listening to what Tony's saying. Tony takes a deliberate step backwards, because they've been advancing on each other while arguing, neither realizing it. He waits Steve out, because he knows if he's the next one to talk, they'll just end up screaming again.
He waits for Steve to work it through, rewind their argument and play it back, maybe even back further, all the stupid little things Tony did over the years, how hurt and pissed he was that Steve left, how he never really got angry at anyone because he didn't care enough but Steve could drive him crazy in next to no time at all.
Tony can practically see the wheels turning in Steve's head, leaves him to puzzle it out because Tony knows that Steve has to come to this on his own, he won't believe Tony if he just says it.
"Wait... you..." Steve's hands come up, scrub through his hair that's been left standing in weird spikes by his costume’s cowl. "You meant it?"
"Of course I meant it," Tony says on an exhalation. "I've always meant it."
"But flirting is like a reflex with you. It's like someone tapping your knee with one of those little hammers."
"You've seen me flirt, Steve. You can't tell me that what I do with you is the same."
"I don't know what you do with me."
"That's because you've never seen me really try, from the outside anyway."
Steve's gaze is level, searching Tony's face like he's looking for the lie, the facial tic that will tell him that it's all just some elaborate joke.
Tony realizes, with the benefit of hindsight, that Steve never actually knew about his epic crush. He was completely unaware that Tony's feelings of platonic friendship had abruptly and apparently permanently jumped the tracks into helpless infatuation a long time ago. Tony balked at telling Steve every time someone brought it up because he'd always thought that Steve was good at politely pretending that it all didn't exist for the benefit of Tony's pride, that he didn't need to be told because he already knew.
Turns out, maybe Tony isn't the only dense one.
"How long have you wanted...?" Tony flails his hands, can't really bring himself to articulate yet, just in case there's still a chance that he's wrong, that Steve isn't saying what he thinks he's saying.
"I dunno," Steve says, ducks his face, scuffs his feet. "When did we meet?"
"We were twelve," Tony says, not really getting what Steve is saying for a few precious seconds, before he does. "Wait, from then?"
"There were three guys, pushed me over in the street on the way back to my Nana's. I remember it clearly because it was only a few weeks after my parents were in the car accident. I never thought I'd be able to be happy, ever again. I couldn't even imagine it. So these guys push me down, kick me and I think yes, this is my life, this is misery-"
"Jesus," Tony chokes out, appalled.
"You just ran up, screaming like a lunatic. Those guys were running before they even realized that you weren't much bigger than me, that there was only one of you." Steve chuckles at the memory, eyes bright. "You picked me up, marched me back to your place. You made Jarvis get us ice cream."
"You were laughing at me. All afternoon you were laughing."
"I just kept picturing it, seeing you running at those bullies with your hands waving and your eyes bugging. I couldn't stop and I thought maybe, just maybe if there was someone like you in the world, maybe I could be happy again, or at least I could try."
Tony feels like Steve has just punched him in the heart, like he's just reached in and squeezed. There's a cloud passing over Steve's features, the hesitant hopefulness dimming and Tony's not sure why until Steve says, "So, how about you? Just since I got back right?"
Steve doesn't say, because I look different now but he might as well have. This time Tony feels punched in the gut, that Steve would have it so wrong. Tony reaches out, grips Steve's hand and tugs. "Come with me."
"If I want to live," Steve quotes back at him, automatic and Tony huffs a laugh.
"If you want to stop being a delusional dumbass and want to see the depths of my patheticness."
"There are depths?"
"It's pretty much an abyss of pathetic at this point," Tony says, tugging Steve towards the door that leads from the roof down into the warehouse.
--
"Tony."
His name is said on an exasperated sigh, because Tony tugged Steve all the way to his rooms, ignoring the catcalls and enthusiastic thumbs up from their so-called friends on the way. Tony just waves a dismissive hand at where Steve is hovering, uncertain in his doorway. The steady thumping of the music from the public party matches Tony's rabbit-quick heart as he drops to his knees and then digs under his bed.
"What are you-?"
"Patience, grasshopper," Tony says, muffled because he's now halfway under his bed. He has a California King and what he's looking for is pushed all the way up against the wall so Tony has to shift stacks of miscellaneous cables and spare computer parts just to get to it. His fingers finally hook on a familiar box and he tugs, unearthing it and himself with an Aha.
Steve's shifted a little way inside the room, fingers running over a stack of science journals heaped by Tony's desk. "What's this?" Steve asks, when Tony hands over the box, a completely nondescript thing, about the size of a shoe box.
"Why do people ask that when they could see for themselves?" Tony says, rolling up to his feet and then dropping his butt on the corner of his bed while Steve lowers himself into Tony's desk chair, holding the box on upturned palms like he's almost scared of it. "It's nothing bad, I swear. Embarrassing but not bad."
Steve hesitates for another minute before he looks like he steels himself and opens the box. He's dead silent while he cards carefully through the contents, not looking at Tony until he's done. He closes the lid and sets the box aside carefully, folds his hands in his lap and takes a shaky-sounding breath.
"You have a Steve box."
Tony nods. "I have a Steve box."
"It's..." Steve picks the box back up, flips it open again. "How long have you had a Steve box?" he asks, this time taking items out and setting them on Tony's desk reverentially. Tony can see ticket stubs, scraps of paper Tony knows hold some of Steve's discarded drawings, the mixtape. It's just random detritus from their lives, a collection of odd little keepsakes that Tony couldn't bring himself to part with, even though after Steve left he'd tugged the box out with the express purpose of doing just that.
Every time he'd just put it back, further and further under his bed.
"Sixteen I guess?" Tony says, can't really bring himself to tell Steve that he knows the very first piece, the exact date. Buried under everything else is a program for a terrible student production of Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window that they'd been forced into attending because it was Clint's first leading role. Tony remembers it vividly because it was the day after he'd had the first impulse to kiss Steve, had become super-aware of Steve in that way so being jammed together in the cramped and hot school auditorium, watching Clint be hilariously bad was a special kind of torture.
Steve finds the program, of course he does. Picks it up and holds it tweezed between careful fingers for a long time. "Wow, I remember this. Clint did that horrible James Stewart impression through the whole play."
Tony chuckles dutifully. He honestly can't remember the play at all, so distracted by the warm press of Steve against him for two hours that night. He only vaguely recalls downing copious amounts of tepid soda and Steve fanning his face and both their sweaty necks with the very same program that Tony had then secreted away, feeling a little bit like a creeper.
"Y'know, it's really stupid, but I almost kissed you that night."
Tony blinks hard. "W-what?"
"You were sweaty, gross and your eyes got dark underneath like they do when you're tired and I still thought you were the hottest thing I'd ever seen in my life. I didn't know how people who looked like you existed in the real world. I still don't."
"Look who's talking."
"Right, now-"
"Then too, Steve. I'm talking about then. You had these huge blue eyes and this mouth, god-"
"Tony," Steve groans, pushes off the desk chair and Tony gets with the program, fast, lets Steve push him back onto the bed and crawl after him.
When Steve was away, Tony got very used to fast and messy sex and he tries to go that way until Steve makes a frustrated noise and flattens Tony to the bed with his body, pausing proceedings. “Tony, I’m not going anywhere,” he huffs.
“I didn’t think you were, not in the next twenty minutes or so anyway,” Tony says. He kind of likes being blanketed by the entirety of Steve’s body, could probably get worryingly addicted to it if given half a chance.
“What I’m saying is, we have plenty of time. I’m not here just for hand jobs and a slap on the ass.”
Tony doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s usually racing to the finish line by now, while simultaneously plotting the best way to get the guy out of his room right after. He’s a little thrown because he doesn’t want Steve to leave, possibly ever again and that’s a lot to process.
He’s attempting to take control because the lack of control scares him to death and he gets the feeling that Steve knows all of this.
“I know,” Tony finally huffs and manages to make himself relax, which seems to be what Steve was waiting for, his whole body to surrender because Steve goes back to sucking on his neck. “Okay, yes please,” Tony manages to get out on a long exhale.
“Well, I must admit I’m a little disappointed,” Steve says when he backs off enough to get Tony’s pants open.
“What?” Tony splutters. “I’ll have you know I’m above average!”
Steve is biting down on a laugh, the bastard. “No, it’s... not that. I was just... y’know, hoping that the Wonder Woman costume did go all the way down.”
Tony’s mouth unhinges. “Um, we could revisit that later,” he says and Steve’s eyes gleam before he curls back down into Tony’s body.
Art byle_prince_lutin
“We’re not having sex against Phil’s door.”
Steve had been with the program up until he realised what Tony had pressed him up against on the way to the kitchen the next morning. Tony doesn’t stop trying to push Steve’s shirt out of the way.
“Why not? It’ll make me happy and Phil crazy. Practically two of my favorite things.”
“Practically?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, we have a new contender after last night,” Tony admits, grins into the kiss Steve lets him get away with until-
“I can hear you!” Phil yells from behind his closed door.
“That’s the point!” Tony sing-songs back. “Y’know, if you signed a lease one of the clauses could be that I can’t make sweet love against anything of yours.”
Phil’s door yanks open and Tony has to grab Steve’s forearms so he doesn’t fall straight backwards into Phil’s room. Instead of Phil on the other side of the door, it’s Clint wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a scowl.
Tony catches sight of Phil, sprawled naked and decadent across his bed and that’s enough for him.
“Oh my god, you win this round of coitus chicken!” he yells, beating a hasty retreat. He hears Steve making apologetic noises to Clint but he’s too busy in the kitchen looking for bleach to drown his eyes with to make out what Steve’s saying.
His friends are the worst.
Tony likes the little socially exclusionary bubble he's created and is a little uncomfortable that it's being breached so thoroughly and with such little regard for his thoughts on the matter.
Basically, Darcy, Jane and Thor are in his living room with Clint, Bruce and Steve having the regular Wednesday night Thai food.
Tony takes himself and a bot he's been working on up to the warehouse roof. He's trying to program it to hunt down stray dice before Tony steps on them in the mornings. A D4 is not a fun thing to have embedded in your instep before you've even had your first coffee of the morning.
It's an hour before the door that leads out onto the roof from inside creaks open again and Tony looks up, small flashlight wedged into his cheek and bot bits scattered all around him to see Steve approach. "Your food's getting cold," Steve says, hunkering down, balancing on his toes. Steve's a lot more graceful than he used to be, probably got more control of his body with muscle definition. Tony feels a strange pang for the Steve that knocked over stuff he wasn't even near.
"That's what microwaves are for," Tony says around the flashlight.
"Darcy's protecting your peanut noodles from Thor because she knows you don't like other people touching your food."
"She's a keeper, that one," Tony huffs, drops the flashlight into his palm and picks up a small screwdriver.
"Is this... are you okay with the others being here?" Steve asks after a silence that stretches a little too long.
"Clint and Bruce are allowed to have friends over."
Steve's expression does something funny at that. "I want... they should be your friends too. Not that I'm trying to force them on you or anything. If you don't like-"
"They're fine," Tony says and they are is the thing. Thor's like a golden retriever, impossible to dislike and the girls are much smarter and funnier than their propensity to devolve into giggles would allude to. Tony can do without Bucky but he doesn't seem to be a part of the core group, or maybe just someone Steve's getting to know a little slower because...
Because.
Tony could pretend he doesn't know why he's having a problem accepting the others, but he does. He feels like he's only just gotten Steve back, only to lose him all over again in tiny increments the more people Steve adds to his life. Tony knows it's ridiculous but it feels like the portion of Steve left over for him is becoming smaller and smaller.
Tony doesn't like the careful concern that's on Steve's face so he does the only thing he can think of to change it. "Let's have a party."
"What?" It has the desired effect, Steve gapes in surprise.
"We haven't had a decent shindig since it was cool to say shindig."
Steve still looks a little thrown, but seems to decide to just go along with Tony's enthusiasm because it's apparently better than his standoffishness. "Hootenanny got removed from the dictionary this year."
"That's a crime."
"Cassette player as well."
Tony snorts. "What am I going to play all those super mix tapes you made me on if the humble cassette player no longer exists?"
"You don't still have those," Steve scoffs, his eyes widening when Tony just ducks his face. "Oh my god, you do."
"Shut up, it's a reminder of a simpler time," Tony says, is very glad that it's too dark for Steve to see him blushing. "What else got taken out?" It's a feeble attempt to change the subject but Steve allows it, perhaps not wanting to upset the fragile peace that has sprung up between them.
"Millenium bug," Steve says, after a thoughtful pause. "I guess we really had no use for that even in the year two thousand."
"I'm thinking costume party," Tony says, circling back to the original point.
"Superhero theme?"
"Naturally."
Art by
le_prince_lutin"I'm sensing a little tension in the room," Clint says, entering the communal living space and his gaze darting between Tony and Phil.
"Tony got distracted when he was making party arrangements and decided he needed to sign me up on an internet dating site," Phil supplies.
Clint makes an interesting choking noise as he drops into the recliner chair near Phil's. "Why?" he manages to get out when it sounds like he's done inhaling the soda he was sipping through the wrong pipe.
"It's an attempt to turn Phil's frown upside down."
"He doesn't want your help with that," Clint says incredulously.
"Besides, I'm sleeping with Clint," Phil interjects without even looking up from his Monster Manual.
Tony thinks this is one of Phil's funny, funny jokes, but then he looks at Clint, who's gone a bright, tomato red and sunk down in his chair and... "What?"
"Clint didn't want to tell anyone because he's embarrassed."
"I'm not embarrassed, babe," Clint immediately splutters, tone one that suggests they've had this argument before numerous times.
"You call Phil babe?" Tony wheezes, caught on that small detail because if he looks at the bigger picture here, something fundamental in his brain might break.
"I've tried to get him to stop." Phil's lip tugs up at the corner and Tony knows, to the bottom of his soul that he doesn't want to hear what Phil is going to say next. "He mostly uses the endearment mid-coitus so I've developed an unfortunate Pavlovian response to it."
"Can you stop scarring me for life?" Tony whines, gets up and tries to beat a hasty retreat out of the room. He's stopped by Steve, literally. Time was, anyone running into Steve would've knocked the poor kid flat, maybe broken a few of his bones. Now, Tony just rebounds and lands on his own ass on the floor.
Steve just looks at him for a second before he rolls his eyes and offers Tony a hand up. "What are you doing?"
"Clint and Phil are sleeping together," Tony says and doesn't get the shock and horror he was expecting. Instead Steve just keeps looking at him, mild as ever. When he obviously realizes he's not giving Tony the response he's looking for he spreads his hands.
"So?"
"That means Phil, has sex," Tony presses, wondering why he's the only one who knows how wrong that is.
"Frequently," Phil pipes up from the other room and Clint lets out a groan of mortification.
"There's something to be said for opposites attracting." Steve crosses his arms. He's looking a little peeved which Tony doesn't really understand.
"There's opposite and then there's different species."
"They're both just guys, Tony."
"No, Phil's an android."
"I can hear you, y'know," Phil calls.
"That's because you're an android!" Tony yells back at him. "With super android hearing!"
"You're being a little dramatic."
"You're being a little... here. Why are you here all the time?"
"I can leave-"
"Did I ask you to leave? I was just asking a question," Tony grumbles and Steve's looking at him with that careful confusion again. It's an expression he's getting a lot of use out of lately.
"Why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at you."
"I don't think you've ever stopped being mad at me. You just have periods of hiding it better," Steve says, rubbing at the back of his head. "I took an internship. What else was I supposed to do?"
When Tony doesn't answer him, Steve throws up his hands and stalks away. It’s only after the sound of the warehouse's entrance door slamming shut has stopped echoing and Tony is really sure Steve's left that he answers that particularly loaded question.
"You were supposed to stay."
"You're Tony Stark."
Tony looks up at Natasha who's just entered Bean Man, struggling with an umbrella and the vicious wind that's trying to steal it back out the door. "Are we playing the State The Obvious game because I really suck at it," Tony says, scooting over the counter so he can yank Natasha all the way through the door before the wind can throw napkins and paper everywhere.
Natasha dumps the umbrella in the stand by the door then pushes hair out of her face. "No, I mean, I knew you were a Tony Stark but I didn't know you were the Tony Stark."
"Ta da?"
"I got your facebook party invite."
"Ah yes, personally delivered to three hundred of my closest social media friends."
"Okay, the first thing that weirds me out is that your Facebook is full of baby goat and sloth videos."
"Oh, that's Sinbad."
"Sinbad?"
"I outsourced my Facebook to someone with a pirate name in London."
"You outsourced your Facebook?"
"Yep, my twitter too. I'm a busy guy."
"You and Clint played Worms: Armageddon for six hours last night," Natasha says incredulously.
"See? Very busy."
"Don't you own a company?"
"Ugh," Tony grunts, crosses back to the counter with Natasha in his wake, shrugging out of her coat. "There are shareholders and a board of directors and meetings. We have an arrangement. I invent something revolutionary every six months and they leave me the hell alone unless there's something that needs my signature."
"I love that you say that like it's normal," Natasha says. "You just invent something revolutionary every six months, huh?"
"You say that like it's a hard thing," Tony counters, smirking.
"You invited three hundred people to this party you're having."
"Technically Sinbad did, but yes."
"Isn't that a little large?"
"It's no big deal. The warehouse is huge, we have three floors we never use that can be party central, it's catered and I've hired security."
"You've hired Thor and Bucky," Natasha says, narrowing her eyes.
"They're bouncers. Why wouldn't I?"
"They're Steve's friends. You should be inviting them to the party, not making them work it."
"They could have said no."
"Bucky has student loans and Thor's saving for an apartment with Jane. Of course they weren't going to say no. I'm surprised you didn't ask Darcy to waitress."
"She's not..." Tony bites at his lip, cuts off what he was going to say but Natasha's expression is shrewd. Turns out, he doesn't need to just worry about the people he's known for years calling him on his behaviour.
"Competing for Steve's attention with you?" Natasha guesses, lets out an aha of triumph when Tony scowls and looks away.
"I think I might have to get Sinbad to revise our friendship status."
"Tony, I'm sure at the very least Bruce has told you to just get off your ass and tell Steve how you feel."
"I feel nothing, zippo, nada. I have no idea what you're talking about."
Okay, yes, the party is a little big. Tony tends to go overboard with this kind of stuff, mostly because he's a believer in go large or get out of the kitchen or whatever the hell that phrase is.
There's two floors of party filled with people that he really doesn't know and then a floor reserved for the select few he does. He meanders around the larger party for about an hour, greeting people, getting photos and trying not to be appalled at the sheer number of Catwomen and Batmen in attendance, damn Nolan's oily hide anyway, then makes his way to the quieter party where he plans to drink to excess and then fall asleep while playing old school Mario Kart on a projector screen with Clint and Bruce.
Steve stalks toward Tony as soon as he spots him enter the restricted party, is actually a little aggressive about it which means Tony backs up a few steps, sloshes whiskey over his knuckles. "Um, hi? Where's your shield?"
Steve is dressed as Captain America, down to his cute red fuck-me boots. What's fascinating is that Steve doesn't need the fake padding most of the super hero costumes come with. He fills out every nook and cranny of material stretched to bursting quite nicely himself. Tony takes the opportunity to ogle openly on the pretense of checking out the costume. The way Steve's nostrils flare, he might not be fooled.
"Thor confiscated it to make paella. Apparently it's the perfect size," Steve says, then narrows his eyes and leans in just enough to make Tony back up another step, confused and lustful which is basically normal for him whenever Steve is around these days. "Just what are you supposed to be?" Steve's looking a little thrown and angry and something else Tony can't identify.
"Isn't it obvious?" Tony asks, strikes a pose. He's wearing one of the three criminally expensive designer suits he owns for those rare occasions when he has to attend shareholder meetings for Stark Industries. He's also got red-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose and Darcy helped his hair strike the perfect balance between stylish and disheveled.
When Steve just glowers at him some more, Tony relents. "Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. Duh." He grins and sets his whiskey aside, flips his tie over his shoulder to get at the buttons of his shirt. "That's not the best part."
"Isn't Superman a little cliche for you?" Steve asks.
"Of course it is, which is why I went in a different direction." Tony parts his shirt enough that Steve, when he leans a little closer, can see the Wonder Woman bustier Tony has on under his clothing. Tony smirks and Steve swallows hard and goes an interestingly hot color.
"Have you got on the whole outfit under there?" Steve sounds a little strangled which makes Tony frown.
"Well, no. Unlike some people," Tony says, looks pointedly at Steve's boot-clad feet. "I couldn't source go-go boots that fit me on such short notice. I have the lasso of truth tucked against my inseam though. Want to see?"
Tony's appalled at himself as soon as he says it, especially when Steve's mouth drops open and his eyes go wide. He doesn't know what possessed him to just hit on Steve so casually, without thought like that. He wants to immediately take it back because awkward but before he can, Steve kind of swings an arm behind himself.
"I have to go...um... rescue my shield," he says. He's backing up fast, kind of shaking his head like he can erase Tony's blunder from the air. "If Thor burns it I lose my deposit."
Steve turns and beats a hasty retreat through the smaller press of people on this floor and Tony's so thrown by the whole thing that he doesn't even take the opportunity to check out Steve's ass in the figure-hugging suit.
Art by
makowe_polaTony stumbles in the direction of the corner where Bruce and Clint have set up various gaming systems, but reroutes when he spots Natasha, Jane and Darcy on a cluster of bean bag chairs that he had no idea he even owned and thinks Bruce might be responsible for. There's not a pair of cat ears among them, bless them. "I'm an idiot," he announces when their small circle shuffles around so that he has space to drop into.
Jane immediately cranes her neck, looking around the room. "What did you do to Steve?"
"Ugh, why does everyone know?" Tony grumbles.
"Steve doesn't," Darcy supplies, not very helpfully.
"Nah, he knows," Tony groans. "He just ran away from me like his ass was on fire." Tony swallows the remainder of the scotch he had in hand, spots Bucky and fights his way out of the bean bag chair. "I might as well go and give my blessing to the guy he actually is attracted to, be the better man," he says, ignoring the girls calling out from behind him as he makes his way across the room.
Tony is not drunk enough for this, but figures he might as well get it over with. He catches up with Bucky who isn't in costume, just a pair of black jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, bouncer du jour all the way. Bucky spots Tony out of the corner of his eye, turns when Tony gets closer. "Oh hey," he says, smiling and it's really unfair how he and Steve got similar old timey good looks. They're going to be ridiculously, sickeningly attractive together. "Just checking this floor for illegals. People have found out you're having a smaller, separate party and keep trying to sneak down here."
"It's not really a party unless there's a VIP area people are dying to get into," Tony says.
"Anything you need?"
"No, I just..." Tony belatedly wishes he had another drink in his hand. "I just wanted to give you the break his heart and I'll hurt you talk," Tony says, kind of looks Bucky up and down and adds, "Y'know economically, because I'm pretty you can kick my ass, loathe as I am to admit it."
Bucky blinks, confused. "Who's heart?"
Tony frowns. "Steve. Look, he's a one-fella guy so if you're playing around on him-"
"Woah, hang on. You've got the wrong end of the stick, pal," Bucky says, holding up his hands. "I mean, I have a girlfriend."
"As well as Steve?" Tony asks, feeling furious.
"No! Just... just the girlfriend. Steve's a great guy but we're friends."
"Oh, that's..." Tony feels a little, no, strike that, a lot foolish. "Um, forget I said anything."
"Hey," Bucky calls when Tony turns away. He spins back, giving Bucky an expectant look. "Look Stark, I'm pretty sure I need to give you the break his heart spiel. Just think about it." Bucky gives him a very meaningful stare before he retreats.
Tony retreats to the roof, sick of himself and frankly, everyone else in the world. The roof is an absolute no-go zone so Tony's a little pissed to see that someone is already up there until he catches a star on a broad chest.
"Steve?"
"Hey," Steve says. He's tossing something small across the roof and then there's a whirring noise. Tony can only see when he gets closer that Steve is playing fetch with Tony's dice-retrieval bot. Steve has one of Clint's cheap, plastic dice containers and is tossing the dice inside for the bot one by one. Every time he throws, the bot scampers away, uses a small claw to scoop the dice into a bucket on its back and zips back.
It's rudimentary but it does the trick.
"There's two different parties, you know. If you got bored with one you could have gone to the other one."
"I prefer it up here," Steve says. He hunkers down to retrieve the dice out of the bot’s bucket and feeds them back into the plastic tube, then resumes tossing them.
"You wanted us to do more social stuff remember? I think this classifies."
"This is a little over the top."
"I can't win with you."
"Not everything's a competition."
"Would you just tell me what it is I'm supposed to do then, exactly?" Tony demands, flinging his hands out.
"Maybe just try not treating me like crap," Steve says, tosses a handful of dice a little too hard and some of them go bouncing over the edge of the roof. The bot zips after them, bumps against the safety rail and then turns in place, frustrated.
"How am I doing that exactly?"
"What you did downstairs. That was really shitty, for one," Steve snaps.
"I'm sorry if me hitting on you is so offensive!" Tony yells, incensed.
"It's not fair when you don't mean it!" Steve barks back, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Tony blinks, because what? "Just throwing it in my face like that. I never thought you would do that, it was a really-"
"Wait, I think we're getting our wires crossed here," Tony says, holding hands up, then making a T for time out with them. Steve's still breathing hard like he's just waiting for his turn to shout and not really listening to what Tony's saying. Tony takes a deliberate step backwards, because they've been advancing on each other while arguing, neither realizing it. He waits Steve out, because he knows if he's the next one to talk, they'll just end up screaming again.
He waits for Steve to work it through, rewind their argument and play it back, maybe even back further, all the stupid little things Tony did over the years, how hurt and pissed he was that Steve left, how he never really got angry at anyone because he didn't care enough but Steve could drive him crazy in next to no time at all.
Tony can practically see the wheels turning in Steve's head, leaves him to puzzle it out because Tony knows that Steve has to come to this on his own, he won't believe Tony if he just says it.
"Wait... you..." Steve's hands come up, scrub through his hair that's been left standing in weird spikes by his costume’s cowl. "You meant it?"
"Of course I meant it," Tony says on an exhalation. "I've always meant it."
"But flirting is like a reflex with you. It's like someone tapping your knee with one of those little hammers."
"You've seen me flirt, Steve. You can't tell me that what I do with you is the same."
"I don't know what you do with me."
"That's because you've never seen me really try, from the outside anyway."
Steve's gaze is level, searching Tony's face like he's looking for the lie, the facial tic that will tell him that it's all just some elaborate joke.
Tony realizes, with the benefit of hindsight, that Steve never actually knew about his epic crush. He was completely unaware that Tony's feelings of platonic friendship had abruptly and apparently permanently jumped the tracks into helpless infatuation a long time ago. Tony balked at telling Steve every time someone brought it up because he'd always thought that Steve was good at politely pretending that it all didn't exist for the benefit of Tony's pride, that he didn't need to be told because he already knew.
Turns out, maybe Tony isn't the only dense one.
"How long have you wanted...?" Tony flails his hands, can't really bring himself to articulate yet, just in case there's still a chance that he's wrong, that Steve isn't saying what he thinks he's saying.
"I dunno," Steve says, ducks his face, scuffs his feet. "When did we meet?"
"We were twelve," Tony says, not really getting what Steve is saying for a few precious seconds, before he does. "Wait, from then?"
"There were three guys, pushed me over in the street on the way back to my Nana's. I remember it clearly because it was only a few weeks after my parents were in the car accident. I never thought I'd be able to be happy, ever again. I couldn't even imagine it. So these guys push me down, kick me and I think yes, this is my life, this is misery-"
"Jesus," Tony chokes out, appalled.
"You just ran up, screaming like a lunatic. Those guys were running before they even realized that you weren't much bigger than me, that there was only one of you." Steve chuckles at the memory, eyes bright. "You picked me up, marched me back to your place. You made Jarvis get us ice cream."
"You were laughing at me. All afternoon you were laughing."
"I just kept picturing it, seeing you running at those bullies with your hands waving and your eyes bugging. I couldn't stop and I thought maybe, just maybe if there was someone like you in the world, maybe I could be happy again, or at least I could try."
Tony feels like Steve has just punched him in the heart, like he's just reached in and squeezed. There's a cloud passing over Steve's features, the hesitant hopefulness dimming and Tony's not sure why until Steve says, "So, how about you? Just since I got back right?"
Steve doesn't say, because I look different now but he might as well have. This time Tony feels punched in the gut, that Steve would have it so wrong. Tony reaches out, grips Steve's hand and tugs. "Come with me."
"If I want to live," Steve quotes back at him, automatic and Tony huffs a laugh.
"If you want to stop being a delusional dumbass and want to see the depths of my patheticness."
"There are depths?"
"It's pretty much an abyss of pathetic at this point," Tony says, tugging Steve towards the door that leads from the roof down into the warehouse.
"Tony."
His name is said on an exasperated sigh, because Tony tugged Steve all the way to his rooms, ignoring the catcalls and enthusiastic thumbs up from their so-called friends on the way. Tony just waves a dismissive hand at where Steve is hovering, uncertain in his doorway. The steady thumping of the music from the public party matches Tony's rabbit-quick heart as he drops to his knees and then digs under his bed.
"What are you-?"
"Patience, grasshopper," Tony says, muffled because he's now halfway under his bed. He has a California King and what he's looking for is pushed all the way up against the wall so Tony has to shift stacks of miscellaneous cables and spare computer parts just to get to it. His fingers finally hook on a familiar box and he tugs, unearthing it and himself with an Aha.
Steve's shifted a little way inside the room, fingers running over a stack of science journals heaped by Tony's desk. "What's this?" Steve asks, when Tony hands over the box, a completely nondescript thing, about the size of a shoe box.
"Why do people ask that when they could see for themselves?" Tony says, rolling up to his feet and then dropping his butt on the corner of his bed while Steve lowers himself into Tony's desk chair, holding the box on upturned palms like he's almost scared of it. "It's nothing bad, I swear. Embarrassing but not bad."
Steve hesitates for another minute before he looks like he steels himself and opens the box. He's dead silent while he cards carefully through the contents, not looking at Tony until he's done. He closes the lid and sets the box aside carefully, folds his hands in his lap and takes a shaky-sounding breath.
"You have a Steve box."
Tony nods. "I have a Steve box."
"It's..." Steve picks the box back up, flips it open again. "How long have you had a Steve box?" he asks, this time taking items out and setting them on Tony's desk reverentially. Tony can see ticket stubs, scraps of paper Tony knows hold some of Steve's discarded drawings, the mixtape. It's just random detritus from their lives, a collection of odd little keepsakes that Tony couldn't bring himself to part with, even though after Steve left he'd tugged the box out with the express purpose of doing just that.
Every time he'd just put it back, further and further under his bed.
"Sixteen I guess?" Tony says, can't really bring himself to tell Steve that he knows the very first piece, the exact date. Buried under everything else is a program for a terrible student production of Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window that they'd been forced into attending because it was Clint's first leading role. Tony remembers it vividly because it was the day after he'd had the first impulse to kiss Steve, had become super-aware of Steve in that way so being jammed together in the cramped and hot school auditorium, watching Clint be hilariously bad was a special kind of torture.
Steve finds the program, of course he does. Picks it up and holds it tweezed between careful fingers for a long time. "Wow, I remember this. Clint did that horrible James Stewart impression through the whole play."
Tony chuckles dutifully. He honestly can't remember the play at all, so distracted by the warm press of Steve against him for two hours that night. He only vaguely recalls downing copious amounts of tepid soda and Steve fanning his face and both their sweaty necks with the very same program that Tony had then secreted away, feeling a little bit like a creeper.
"Y'know, it's really stupid, but I almost kissed you that night."
Tony blinks hard. "W-what?"
"You were sweaty, gross and your eyes got dark underneath like they do when you're tired and I still thought you were the hottest thing I'd ever seen in my life. I didn't know how people who looked like you existed in the real world. I still don't."
"Look who's talking."
"Right, now-"
"Then too, Steve. I'm talking about then. You had these huge blue eyes and this mouth, god-"
"Tony," Steve groans, pushes off the desk chair and Tony gets with the program, fast, lets Steve push him back onto the bed and crawl after him.
When Steve was away, Tony got very used to fast and messy sex and he tries to go that way until Steve makes a frustrated noise and flattens Tony to the bed with his body, pausing proceedings. “Tony, I’m not going anywhere,” he huffs.
“I didn’t think you were, not in the next twenty minutes or so anyway,” Tony says. He kind of likes being blanketed by the entirety of Steve’s body, could probably get worryingly addicted to it if given half a chance.
“What I’m saying is, we have plenty of time. I’m not here just for hand jobs and a slap on the ass.”
Tony doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s usually racing to the finish line by now, while simultaneously plotting the best way to get the guy out of his room right after. He’s a little thrown because he doesn’t want Steve to leave, possibly ever again and that’s a lot to process.
He’s attempting to take control because the lack of control scares him to death and he gets the feeling that Steve knows all of this.
“I know,” Tony finally huffs and manages to make himself relax, which seems to be what Steve was waiting for, his whole body to surrender because Steve goes back to sucking on his neck. “Okay, yes please,” Tony manages to get out on a long exhale.
“Well, I must admit I’m a little disappointed,” Steve says when he backs off enough to get Tony’s pants open.
“What?” Tony splutters. “I’ll have you know I’m above average!”
Steve is biting down on a laugh, the bastard. “No, it’s... not that. I was just... y’know, hoping that the Wonder Woman costume did go all the way down.”
Tony’s mouth unhinges. “Um, we could revisit that later,” he says and Steve’s eyes gleam before he curls back down into Tony’s body.
Art by
le_prince_lutin“We’re not having sex against Phil’s door.”
Steve had been with the program up until he realised what Tony had pressed him up against on the way to the kitchen the next morning. Tony doesn’t stop trying to push Steve’s shirt out of the way.
“Why not? It’ll make me happy and Phil crazy. Practically two of my favorite things.”
“Practically?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, we have a new contender after last night,” Tony admits, grins into the kiss Steve lets him get away with until-
“I can hear you!” Phil yells from behind his closed door.
“That’s the point!” Tony sing-songs back. “Y’know, if you signed a lease one of the clauses could be that I can’t make sweet love against anything of yours.”
Phil’s door yanks open and Tony has to grab Steve’s forearms so he doesn’t fall straight backwards into Phil’s room. Instead of Phil on the other side of the door, it’s Clint wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a scowl.
Tony catches sight of Phil, sprawled naked and decadent across his bed and that’s enough for him.
“Oh my god, you win this round of coitus chicken!” he yells, beating a hasty retreat. He hears Steve making apologetic noises to Clint but he’s too busy in the kitchen looking for bleach to drown his eyes with to make out what Steve’s saying.
His friends are the worst.
wheeee!!
ETA: I can't leave out how fantastic the art is. I like how whimsical they appear, they fit the story so well!
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