“Don’t trip, Stark, wouldn’t want to get sued for damaging America's favorite billionaire,” Steve tells him as Tony struggles out of the remains of his suit.
“Nation mourns Captain America’s bank account,” Tony returns, his breath heavy and gasping but his tone as sarcastic as ever. His ribs are bruised, at the very least, but he refuses to give Steve the satisfaction of admitting the flaw in his plan. Not that Tony considers it much of a flaw when it means he's the only one to possibly get seriously injured.
“I’m taking you to the hospital, Iron Man,” Steve huffs as he drags Tony to his feet.
“I’ll be fine,” Tony says stubbornly. “Get your star-spangled ass back down there and-- save a baby or whatever it is you do.”
Steve shakes his head, but as Tony maintains his façade of being alright, acquiesces. “Get help, alright?”
“I’m calling Happy for a pickup, don’t worry about me--not that your worry doesn’t mean the world to me.” He mock swoons, hand over his heart. Steve is turning to run off when he shouts, “And thank your sniper friend for me!”
He doesn’t quite miss the hesitation there before Steve is sprinting off.
Tony hisses in pain and slumps to the ground, but he calls Happy and crawls over to meet the car when it gets as close to the rubble as is safe.
Tony is so busy surreptitiously checking out Steve that it takes Natasha appearing straight in his line of sight--out of fucking nowhere--to snap him out of it. And maybe cause him to stumble just a step backwards.
“What?” he asks, nonchalant as he pops a freeze-dried blueberry into his mouth.
She rolls her eyes and says nothing and Tony considers it a small victory. Besides, he has every defense on his side, even if they mostly consist of: Have you seen Steve’s ass?
It’s nearly impossible to look away. He’s certain of it.
(Natasha doesn’t tell him she’s seen Steve do the same. She hasn’t decided how she feels about that yet.)
Steve gives Tony a solid nod of approval after a particularly trying day and Tony doesn’t read into it--it’s Steve--but there might be a warm feeling in him that doesn’t go away until long after he’s actually fallen asleep that night.
It’s stupid and Tony tells himself that it’s just that he did good in the world. Tony Stark is awesome, he tries to project. The approval of others doesn’t matter.
Really, he doesn’t mind Steve disapproving of so much that he does, but having just that smidgen, perhaps, of approval does wonders for that part of him he pretends doesn’t exist.
Tony very nearly slips in the shower when JARVIS tells him Steve is in his penthouse.
“What? Why?” he asks, knowing that if it’s some sort of Avengers-related emergency, JARVIS will likely inform him of it--so long as JARVIS knows, which, really, what doesn’t JARVIS know? So he soaps up his hair rather slowly, methodically, as he awaits a response.
“Captain Rogers appears to be here concerning a personal matter, sir,” the AI informs him smoothly after what feels like far too long to wait for an answer, what with all the possibilities floating through Tony’s head.
Tony screws up his eyebrows as he tilts his head back under the spray of the shower. “Oh?”
JARVIS makes a sound like a heaved sigh. “There’s no use playing coy with me, sir. Captain Rogers has refused to inform me of the details.”
Tony lets out his own long sigh as he finishes up, soaping up and rinsing himself off thoroughly as if no one is waiting on him. If Steve won’t tell JARVIS, it can’t be too urgent, but it also means Tony will afford himself the time to get as ready as he feels is necessary.
He doesn’t exactly drag his feet, but it's a near thing.
When he finally emerges in jeans and a t-shirt--hey, he had to choose the perfect t-shirt, okay--it’s to find Steve staring at the few pictures he has around.
It creeps him out, just a bit, and he snorts as he leans in beside him (no way in hell could Tony lean over him, not without a suit) to see which one exactly Steve has taken an interest in.
It’s literally the only picture of him as a kid, his parents with him there on the beach. Tony only remembers it in fragments--sand, running, the salty taste of the ocean as he waded in, the sting of his hands and knees when he had fallen on the grit of sand and rock. His father had smelled like beer and his mother of sunscreen.
He hasn’t thought about it in a long time. He’s pretty sure he tried to throw out that photo, but he guesses Pepper wouldn’t do it.
He snatches the picture from Steve’s hand and lays it face down on the side table, the memory cutting a bit too deep into one of the few moments of bittersweet happiness he’d had with his parents.
“What’d you need, Cap?” Tony asks, as obnoxiously as possible--as if that alone will drive away any sentiment either of them may be feeling. “Or did you just come to see me?” He leers, for emphasis, but Steve just shakes his head, smiling.
“The latter, actually,” Steve says and it takes Tony a moment to process, losing his cool and his composure for a fraction of a second before he readjusts.
“Oh, really?” he says, smirking. He starts to pour himself a drink and ignores the way his hands shake ever-so-slightly as he does. “Didn’t know you swung that way, Rogers.”
“It’s Steve,” Cap says, clearing his throat and ignoring the rest of Tony’s sentence. “I don’t really know how people do these things now. Or even how they did them back then.” He turns his head with a self-deprecating smile and Tony feels more than a little off-balance.
Tony nods, as if he understands. “Okay. Well, what is it, Steve?” The name feels foreign on his tongue, strangely intimate now that he's been given express permission.
“I was just wondering if you’d like to go out sometime,” Steve finally settles on.
Tony is pretty certain he’s suffering from something that’s making him delusional and all he croaks out is, “What?”
Steve smiles, and it’s all warm and genuine and just slightly amused. “I’m asking you on a date, Tony.”
“Oh,” Tony says faintly. He downs his whiskey and pours himself another glass. “And who exactly put you up to this?”
“No one,” Steve replies earnestly, then grimaces. “Well, Natasha--” He sees Tony’s face and immediately puts up his hands in supplication. “Not-- not in the way you think.”
Tony is already cursing Natasha in every way he knows how. She may be fast and strong and smart and-- Okay. Tony doesn’t really know how he can get back at her now, but he’ll think of something. He is a genius, after all. He just knows she knew about his crush on Steve and decided to mess with him. Getting his hopes up only to--
Tony’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his own name, the concern etched in Steve’s features. “Mhm.”
“I--” Steve looks nervous. Tony isn’t sure how he feels about that. Had Steve not realized he was in on some sort of cruel joke? Is he simply confused? Does he feel bad about it? Of course he does, somewhere in the giant of a man is a tiny little Boy Scout who just wants to help old ladies with their groceries. It’s endearing and Tony hates it. “Tony, can you stop?”
“Stop what?” Tony asks distractedly.
Steve lets out a long sigh. “Stop thinking. Just...let me explain, alright?”
Tony nods, his fingers restlessly tapping the sides of his glass as he sinks down onto the sofa. He’s somewhat surprised when Steve sits down beside him--leaving only a little bit of space and leaning towards Tony with those gentle blue eyes of his that Tony could fucking drown himself in, especially in this particular moment.
“Tony…” What could possibly be so hard for Steve to say? It’s gotta be mean, Tony thinks. “I’m asking you out because I like you. Not because of some bet or-- or anything else. I sorta... I thought maybe you liked me, too. I mean, Nat said you did, but--” Steve is unnerved by Tony’s silence, but he perseveres. “So, will you?” He coughs. “Go out with me, I mean?”
Tony sucks in a cautious breath. “Okay,” he says and when Steve shoots him that big, Captain America grin, Tony finds his own expression struggling to imitate it.
“Friday night?” Steve asks, then adds quickly, “Or, if you’re busy then--”
“Friday’s fine,” Tony says, trying to force himself back into his usual mode of cocky obnoxiousness but finding his attempt wanting. “Pick me up at 7?” he asks, a lascivious wink added to keep it from becoming too serious.
Steve laughs at him and Tony thinks that might be easier to deal with. “I’ll be here,” Cap assures. He gives Tony a respectful nod as he leads himself out.
Tony is hallucinating, he thinks, but JARVIS informs him that he isn’t in a way that Tony feels an AI should not speak to its creator.
Tony spends the next three days trying to avoid a minor existential crisis through distraction. Distraction just happens include annoying Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy. It’s incidental, he swears. Rhodey is, perhaps, lucky enough to be the kind of busy that has him out of town and only able to answer the occasional call. He mostly just tells Tony to calm down, but his annoyance seems to be mostly for show and he promises to visit soon.
A feeling occasionally creeps up on Tony and it feels akin to a midlife crisis, but he represses it. He makes Pepper buy him three new suits even after she explains that she’s not exactly his personal assistant anymore and that she actually has a company to run.
After much pouting and pestering, however, she goes anyway and Tony is not-so-secretly pleased with this outcome.
“Why the new suits, Tony?” she asks as she waits for him to try them on. They’re all perfectly his size, of course, but he wants her to help him choose whichever looks best--for what, he didn’t say.
Tony emerges from the other room and Pepper immediately starts buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and straightening (and tying) the silk tie he's got looped loosely about his neck. “I have,” he begins, inhaling sharply as Pepper slides the knot up to his throat, “a date.” He loosens the tie again and Pepper gives him a look.
“Tony, you don’t date,” she says, as if she’s been trained to. Enough time as Tony’s assistant does that to you and he sincerely hopes she pays herself every penny she deserves.
Tony raises a challenging eyebrow, his smirk covering his nerves. “I’m making an exception.”
Pepper rolls her eyes. “Who is she, Tony?”
This is why Tony hadn’t told her before--not the assumption that it’s a woman, but just the questions. He doesn’t really know how to answer this question without it being followed by a dozen more. And the answers to those hypothetical questions are ones he simply isn’t ready to come to terms with. He exhales harshly through his nose and checks his reflection, turning around to check his own ass out in this particular suit. It passes muster, he thinks, and his eyes flicker to Pepper’s in the mirror. “I can’t, Pep--” Her jaw tenses. “Pepper, I’m sorry.”
This gives her pause. “It’s not someone I disapprove of,” she decides slowly. “Oh god, Tony. That means… Please, whoever it is, be good.”
He scoffs at her but at the glare he receives, he turns contrite instead. “I’ll try, Pep.”
They stand there, communicating silently for a moment, before Pepper finally sighs. “I like the suit, but I’m unsure about this tie. Go get the red one--it looks good on you.”
“Thank you,” he says sincerely, and goes to retrieve the item in question.
“Captain Rogers is here for you, sir,” JARVIS informs him just as he’s ushering Pepper into the elevator.
Tony winces and Pepper’s face is so full of shock and concern all he manages to get out in his panic is “I’ll explain later” before the doors are closing and she’s on her way down.
Adjusting his tie, Tony wonders if he’s overdressed, but he’s feeling like it may be too late now. “What’s Steve wearing?” he asks JARVIS.
“You’re not overdressed, sir,” JARVIS says and Tony breathes a sigh of relief.
“Alright,” he murmurs, getting into the elevator. “Time to prove my patriotism.” He smiles to himself and thinks he hears JARVIS sigh.
When Tony exits to find Steve waiting for him, similarly attired, he feels a simultaneous rush of relief and anxiety. Tony has been with models, movie stars, politicians, but…Captain America? Childhood hero and symbol of a nation, for all intents and purposes, not to mention the fact that he’s hot as the sun? Yeah. Okay. Tony has reason to be nervous. He puts on his winningest smile--he can do this--and steps towards the gorgeous man before him. “Steve,” he says, and it feels weird again.
Steve smiles and, shit, that should be illegal. “You look great,” he says, but there’s a teasing edge to it, as if he knows how long Tony spent thinking about how he should look tonight.
“Not bad yourself,” he returns, rather lamely, but Steve seems charmed enough by it--amused, at the very least.
Steve scratches the back of his neck and Tony has to swallow and remind himself he isn’t dreaming. “Ready?” Steve asks, and it’s far too shy.
“You know me, Cap. I’m ready for anything.” He raises an eyebrow and Steve rolls his eyes so maybe this is approaching normal.
He doesn’t expect Steve to have Happy waiting outside for them and to be taken to a mystery location, but he rolls with it.
“Didn’t think this was your thing,” Tony says, rather pointedly, as he glances around the dark restaurant. It’s upscale and someone else’s outfit might’ve even cost more than his own, which is saying something. It’s the kind of place Tony feels perfectly at ease at--he has money and they don’t question him, even if he does get the occasional side-eye. Of course, Tony is also comfortable in a McDonald’s, but he knows the suit is considerably more appropriate here. In fact, this is probably the sort of restaurant he’d have taken Steve to.
“It’s not,” Steve replies easily and Tony mentally curses Happy.
Even if going out with Steve has done nothing else, it’s certainly gotten him a good start on a hit list. He chuckles anyhow and eyes the menu.
“I was actually going to take you up to the roof of my apartment building,” Steve says and Tony looks up to see the faint pink dusting his cheeks, even in this lighting.
This has Tony interested, however. “Oh? What made you change your mind?” He takes a slow sip of his water for show.
Steve turns his head, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “You know what, don’t worry about it.” His eyes sparkle with the implications that Tony will just have to assume.
Tony swallows. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?” he says, eyeing Steve as the other man toys with his menu. “Come on, Rogers. Keeping secrets from me already? I’m hurt.” He pouts and Steve laughs. His pout can’t stand up to that and he finds himself smiling and, oddly enough, really starting to relax.
Dinner goes surprisingly well, the barbs exchanged equalling out in a manner Tony finds refreshing. He doesn’t often get that and after a couple of glasses of wine, every barb and comment is thinly veiled--and perhaps blatant--innuendo that Cap, with his water, still volleys back with the same zeal. Tony probably would’ve told him he loved him if it hadn’t been so uncomfortably close to the truth.
When the check comes, Steve raises an eyebrow at Tony, who scoffs, but all in good humor.
“Where to, Captain Rogers?” Happy asks and Tony has the wherewithal to feel slightly offended.
Steve shrugs, his smile faltering ever-so-slightly to take on an inquisitive edge. “My place?” he suggests.
Tony’s eyes widen, but he smirks. “Aye-aye, Captain,” he agrees, his eyes tracking the movement of Cap’s tongue as it drags across his bottom lip.
Happy is rolling up the partition before Tony has even realized what he’s about to do. He scoots over the seat and takes the lapel of Steve’s blazer in hand, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He inhales deeply, eyes falling closed, and his face is still a hair’s breadth from Cap’s.
Steve’s hand is warm on Tony’s neck where it meets his jaw and he just breathes for a second before he’s the one pressing his lips to Tony’s. It’s just that simple, chaste connection…until it’s not.
Happy has to shout to get their attention when he pulls up outside of Steve’s apartment building. The walk up is tense, but they’re barely through the door before they’re on each other.
The hard length of Steve’s cock is impossible to ignore as it presses against the inside of Tony’s hip, shifting so it rubs against Tony’s own erection in maddening friction through their clothes.
Steve gasps and pulls Tony’s hips in, pulls their bodies closer together.
“On a first date?” Tony says, scoffing, but his breath is coming hard and he’s struggling out of his suit jacket.
Steve smiles and kisses him again. “What can I say? I know what I want.” He kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie, unbuttoning his shirt only enough to yank it over his head.
Tony takes in the sight of Steve’s abs with the awe he feels they deserve. He stops undressing to place his hand over his heart and say, solemnly, “God bless America.”
Steve laughs and it’s a beautiful sound. Tony is struck dumb long enough to be swept up into another round of making out, his hands overwhelmed by the expanse of skin and muscle now so readily available to them. Steve lifts him and Tony swears he sees fireworks, but it could just be lightheadedness at being so far above the ground.
He makes a little gasp of surprise and Steve is immediately placing him back on the floor, where he stumbles on his own feet, and murmuring an apology. “No, no,” Tony finds himself saying. “It’s fine, yeah, it’s great, I just-- mmph.” Steve’s mouth is on his and he’s up again, wrapping his legs securely around Steve’s waist as the other man escorts him to his bedroom.
The removal of the rest of their clothes is messy--bordering on dangerous--and then Tony is crawling onto the bed towards Steve and they’re both down to nothing.
“How do you want to do this?” Steve asks, biting his lip as Tony moves to straddle him. Steve’s hand acts as if of its own accord, reaching up to skim over the scar tissue where the arc reactor used to be, just over Tony’s heart.
Tony chuckles and looks down at Steve’s face, then to his cock. “That thing needs to be in me.”
Steve is flushed and his breath seems to catch, but he half-smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tony says, running his finger over the length. He wraps his hand around it and gives it a little squeeze, groaning at the thought of getting fucked by Captain America and his America-sized cock.
Steve tries to reach out, but gives up after a quick stretch. “Top drawer,” he tells Tony and the other man knows what that means.
Reluctantly, Tony moves half-off of Steve to search, his leg still thrown over him as if Steve might otherwise get up. The bottle of lube he pulls out has been opened, but not much has been used. Tony wants to ask, but he figures there are more important things to concentrate on at this particular moment.
Steve hesitates just a little and it’s way too cute how embarrassed he looks. Tony takes pity on him. “I got it,” he reassures, slicking his own fingers. He works himself open and the look on Steve’s face is just as good as the twitch of Steve’s cock against his inner thigh.
“Do you need-- Is that enough?” Steve asks as Tony removes his fingers and starts slicking Steve’s cock.
Tony shrugs, a devious smile on his lips that Steve tries to return, although his concern bleeds through. “Trust me, I’ve done with less.”
Steve stills Tony’s wrist and looks at him--really looks. “Tony…” he starts and Tony leans down to kiss him, his hands settle onto Tony’s hips.
“Shhh,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s lips. He reaches down to guide Steve’s cock into him, hissing at the stretch. He slowly works himself down and Steve gasps, but it turns choked when Tony slides all the way down.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut and Tony rolls his hips, adjusting to the feel of him. “God,” Steve whispers and Tony is inordinately pleased with himself.
He leans down to kiss Steve again as if he can’t help it and begins to move, rising up only to slide back down.
“Can I--” Steve breathes. “I mean, if you don’t mind--?” He makes a gesture Tony doesn’t quite follow but Tony nods anyway. Steve braces Tony’s back and then he’s flipping them over.
Tony would be embarrassed of the startled noise he made if not for the overly smug expression it puts on Steve’s face. “Whoa,” he manages, grinning. It’s the second time Steve has manhandled him tonight and Tony finds that he doesn’t particularly mind. In fact, he’s growing to like it--a lot.
“Alright?” Steve asks, but his grin hasn’t faded in the slightest. At Tony’s nod, he takes the lead, angling his hips better for their new position before he starts up in a slow rhythm.
Steve is looking into his eyes, watching the details of his expression for signs of discomfort, for signs of pleasure, and it’s almost too intimate until Tony mentally tells himself he’s being fucked by Captain America instead of his friend Steve. It adds enough distance to the situation that he lets himself make eye contact even as he groans. “Oh,” he breathes. “Oh. There, yes. Harder.”
Mouth open, Steve complies, picking up his pace as well as he fucks Tony in earnest and is rewarded by increasing frequency and volume to Tony’s cries. He thinks, rather inappropriately, of his unfortunate neighbors for a split second, but then Tony is reaching between them and Steve looks down to see him stroking his own cock in time with Steve’s thrusts.
“Fuck, Steve, I’m gonna--” He groans loudly as Steve slams into him so hard he’ll probably be feeling it for days and that thought only makes it better.
Steve’s breath catches as he feels Tony tightening around him, at the blissed out look on his face, and his hips stutter as Tony says his name, falling over the edge bare seconds after Tony.
Tony blinks up at him, Steve’s arms having somehow positioned themselves around Tony’s shoulders, clutching him, and the only sound is their breathing until Tony huffs out a laugh. “Fuck,” he mutters, as if he’s in shock.
Smiling at the man beneath him, Steve allows himself a sigh of relief. “Alright?” he asks, again. He’s only half-teasing.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Tony squirms a little, then pushes himself up to kiss Steve.
“Good,” Steve says with false bravado and Tony chuckles. He slowly extricates himself from Tony and heads to the bathroom for a washcloth.
After they’ve cleaned themselves up some, Tony sits on the edge of the bed. “I guess I should be calling Happy.” He leans down to start gathering his wrinkled clothes.
“Or…you could stay,” Steve suggests, biting his lip.
Tony turns to look at him a wry smile on his face. “I could…” he says slowly, testing the waters.
Steve rolls his eyes and pats the spot next to him. “Stay.”
Tony pretends to hesitate but Steve’s expression says perfectly that he sees right through that bullshit. Tony isn’t sure why now is the time his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest, but he’s cautious as he climbs into Captain America’s bed.
“You know,” Tony says, settling in against Steve’s chest, “my father always thought you were very wholesome.” He makes as if to look at Steve, but the angle makes it too difficult.
“Hmm,” Steve says, humming. He trails his fingers down Tony’s side, over his bare hip. “I’d rather not talk about Howard right now, Tony.”
“Good point.” Tony closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. The room smells like sex and Steve and Tony finds it to be an odd combination of soothing and exciting.
Steve’s arm moves to wrap around him, holding him almost possessively, and Tony isn’t necessarily that much of a cuddler--and he certainly doesn’t belong to anyone--but he can’t bring himself to argue just now. Steve’s nose is pressed against the back of his neck and instead of feeling annoyed at being breathed on, he feels rather…comforted.
“Goodnight, Tony,” Steve says softly, and any reply that comes catches in Tony’s throat.
He falls asleep without another word.
Tony wakes up alone in Steve’s bed, the bleary memory of Steve kissing him on the forehead following a moment later. It’s bright, but the curtains are closed over the windows--for his sake, he’s certain, as Steve seems like the kind of guy that prefers his room flooded with sunlight as if that’s his alarm. Tony also suspects Steve rises before the sun, however. It could go either way, so the man is still a little bit of a mystery to him.
He stretches with a groan and listens to the popping sounds his body makes with a certain amount of satisfaction. He’s sore, of course, but in the best way. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table and deciding it is far too early to make any actual decisions for his day yet, Tony takes a moment to just look around the room.
There’s nothing extravagant, of course, and Tony is amused to see the shield sitting between a dresser and the door, but there are still things in the room, just those little signs of its inhabitant that make it feel like a home and not a hotel. (Tony has stayed in a lot of hotels, and they can be great, especially when one doesn’t particularly wish to see their partner of the night…oh, ever again. But Steve’s room… Tony wouldn’t mind waking up here again, if Steve’s willing to give him another shot.)
Tony notes what he sees: an old watch, dog tags, a novelty mug he’s sure Sam or Natasha got him, a sketchbook with a pencil resting inside (Tony will investigate this later), as well as a dozen other things that make this place feel like Steve. He shoves his face into one of the pillows and inhales. If he could bottle that scent, he would. In fact, he probably could if he took the time to, but that might make it too tempting to market, and Tony kind of wants it all to himself.
He hears the door open and the sound of sure footsteps, then a moment later the shower turns on.
Having some sense of decency left in him, Tony slips his boxers on before he meanders out of Steve’s bedroom. He stops outside the bathroom for a moment and listens, thinking of how desperately he could probably use a shower himself, but uncertain if they’re at the point where it wouldn’t be immensely weird to join Steve in there.
He opts for finding coffee instead. Coffee is, after all, the most important meal of the day, never mind it being a beverage.
Steve’s coffee pot is on and full, still remarkably fresh if Steve is already back from his run. Tony smiles to himself as he pours himself a cup, taking in the rich smell of the brew. He nearly drops it, however--and does scald his hand--when he takes in the sight of Steve in nothing but a towel, appearing as if from Tony's dreams.
Tony swallows and raises his cup in greeting. “Morning,” he says, hoping that wheezing sound in his voice isn’t too noticeable.
“Good morning, Tony,” Steve says and Tony wonders if somehow that smile has become even more brilliant overnight. “You found the coffee--knew you would. I’ll just be a second.”
He leaves and Tony wanders around until he finds his jacket, digging through the pockets one-handed--he refuses to put down his coffee--until he finds his phone. He has about a dozen text messages from Pepper, the most recent being: Oh my god, Tony. Are you still with him?! It seems more composed than any text message should be, but he can hear her tone anyway and he smirks at his phone. He still decides to let her suffer through not knowing a little bit longer.
He’s sitting at the table, going through emails, when Steve returns again. Steve’s hand gives his shoulder a squeeze as he heads to the coffeemaker. Then, Steve sits down across from him with his own cup and it’s so domestic Tony feels like he’s in some sort of bizarre alternate universe.
Tony isn’t certain what to say in this situation, what to do. His throat works, but all he manages is, “Decent coffee.” He surreptitiously glances at Steve, who seems to be watching him.
“I told you I liked you, Tony,” Steve says, and for one horrible second all Tony can hear is the word but. Instead, Steve reaches across the table and holds Tony’s hand as best he can despite the phone in his way. “I meant it.”
It’s so genuine Tony could just about die. He shrugs and plays it off. “I like you, too.”
Steve smiles. “Good.”
Tony takes a sip of his coffee, staring purposefully at his phone. “And you’ve got a great dick.”
Steve chokes. “Tony,” he chastises, and he’s bright red.
It’s totally and completely worth it.