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In the sun

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It’s warm.  It’s the first thing Steve registers as he wakes up.  It’s warm, and comfortable, and he’s lying pillowed on what feels like … clouds.  Clouds of softness.  Did that make any sense?  And it’s warm.  He opens his eyes, and even though he always wakes up fast, it seems to be slow, slow and dizzying, as he realizes that he’s lying in a bed, and he feels so warm because there’s someone else lying right next to him, tucked into his chest.  Facial hair scratches against his neck, against his shoulder, and a long, muscular arm is thrown, loose, over his side.  He can feel warm, damp breath caught against the hollow of his throat.  The gray light of the morning is barely present, and the room is still dark.

It’s Tony, slumped against him.  He’s lying in Tony’s bed, covered in Tony’s blankets.  The digital clock in the headboard reads five am, so he didn’t oversleep, it’s just—

Tony.  It’s really him.  It all really happened.  He didn’t imagine it alone in his own bed last night, or something else horribly embarrassing like that.

Tony has Steve’s t-shirt on.  His ankle is hooked over Steve’s, leg tangled between his.  He’s breathing soft and even, and his fingers are just brushing Steve’s back with their knuckles.  He’s pressed in tight against Steve’s chest.  His body makes Steve’s skin tingle all over with its nearness; wherever it touches him he feels extra warm.

Steve carefully disentangles one hand from the blankets and brings it up to brush it lightly through Tony’s dark, disordered hair, a real mess now and ink black in the darkness of the room, like a darker patch of night sucking in light.  Tony blows out a breath and his body melts, somehow, against Steve’s at the touch, relaxing as Steve strokes his fingers through his hair, like even asleep there’s still tension in his body but it’s all easing out of him now, just flowing away.  He can’t help it, he leans down, presses a gentle kiss to the top of Tony’s head, just above where his forehead is pressed in against Steve’s shoulder.  He doesn’t want to wake him, but it’s hard to resist.  Tony’s breathing so easy and soft tucked into Steve’s arms like that, like he feels at home there.  It’s … it’s incredible.

They … last night.  The touch of Tony’s mouth, soft and wet and dazzling like a million colors, the heavy warmth of him sprawled in Steve’s lap as he gasped and panted like he could hardly breathe and gripped tight to his shoulders like he never wanted to let go, the smoothness and warmth of his skin as Steve slid his hands under his shirt, up and down over his shoulders, his back.  How they couldn’t stop kissing, it felt like, even for a few seconds, even as Tony’s hands grew fumbling with exhaustion, his mouth slipping and sliding over Steve’s, and Steve felt the aches in his own body more and more keenly, even though he wasn’t exactly tired, and finally they just gave up, because they were so exhausted and fell into bed together, Steve putting his own shirt on Tony after he’d made his a mess running his hands all over him like that.

The last thing Tony had said, half mumbled, before he went to sleep, after apologizing about four times for being too exhausted to have sex, even though really, Steve’s fine with not having sex right after they’d finally gotten around to saying I love you, barely conscious, lashes heavy and eyes nearly shut, “don’t hate me in the morning.”  Steve hadn’t been quite sure if he was entirely joking or not, and he didn’t really like that.

He thinks about it, getting up, going for his regular run.  He knows he will, most days, even if he spends the night in Tony’s bed.

But Tony’s body is so warm, pressed up against his like that, and he was so exhausted last night.  Steve doesn’t want to wake him.

He smiles a little and decides that this morning, at least, he’ll watch the sun come up through Tony’s heavily tinted blackout windows.  They can have coffee together and talk about things.  Get a few things sorted out.

Steve feels so warm like this, like he’s already standing in the sun.  He’s in no hurry to leave.