Halfway through stripping off his muddy Quidditch uniform, Steve notices a box of chocolates lying on his bed.
He stops with his shirt up near his neck, walking over to his bed and pulling his shirt off as he goes. The shirt joins his shoes and socks in the pile in the washing basket, and he absently starts on his hat with one hand as he picks up the chocolates with the other.
The chocolates come from Hogsmede, and, when he flips the card over, he sees they’re addressed to Thor from one of his admirers. Buffy or Duffy or something better suited to a cat than to an actual human girl.
“Thor,” Steve calls. “Someone left a gift for you.”
He expects Thor to come bouncing in immediately, but instead his voice comes from the other side of the bathroom door, seemingly staying where he is. “What is it?”
“A box of chocolates.”
“One of those blonde girls that hang around during Quidditch practice,” Steve says, squinting at the name. It’s almost impossible to decipher, what with the scrawling script on the pink paper. “Buffy?”
“Oh,” says Thor from the bathroom, sounding downtrodden. “Oh, okay.”
Steve assumes he’s disappointed they weren’t a gift from Jane, a Ravenclaw one year down from them. For the past year or so, Thor’s been mooning over her, completely ignoring the hordes of girls that have started trailing after him.
But then, Steve doesn’t blame him. After Steve’s growth spurt in his third year, girls have started paying a lot more attention to him than they used to, and Steve has politely declined any advances that have been made on him. There’s something unappealing about how they bat their eyes at him, how they flip their hair and giggle and pretend not to know things Steve has heard them discuss in length when he passes them in the halls.
Also, he has been having the feeling that girls aren’t really for him. Not that he’s shared this information with anyone but Bucky, who is his muggle friend he writes to during the school year and hangs out with in the summer. Bucky has been supportive, all apart from when Steve had told him he wasn’t attracted to him, and Bucky had gotten angry.
“What the hell’s wrong with me,” he had demanded, hands on his hips. “What, am I not good enough for you or something?”
Steve hadn’t been able to hold in a laugh at that. “You’re- you’re fine, Bucky, it would just feel- incestuous. Any guy or girl would be lucky to have you.”
Bucky had huffed, but then he had shoved Steve in a way that meant it was fine, grumbling something about ‘can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.’
“What are you doing in there,” Steve calls, letting the chocolates drop to the bed.
“Speaking to Loki,” Thor answers, and Steve nods to himself. Loki is Thor’s brother in Durmstrang, and from what Steve has learned over the years, they’re very close despite Loki’s habit of practicing black magic. He and Thor speak via a magic mirror every evening after they’ve finished classes or practice.
Steve’s stomach rumbles, and Steve frowns. He shouldn’t be too hungry, he ate before practice. And yet it rumbles again, and Steve opens his mouth just as Thor yells, “Feel free to have some, I won’t be eating any tonight.”
“Yes,” Thor says, and then Steve hears a hushed, angry voice that he’s come to associate with Loki. He tries not to listen to Thor’s reply, since it’s none of Steve’s business, and instead carefully opens the box of chocolates.
They’re all quite pretty, intricate designs and appealing shapes that make Steve reluctant to eat one and ruin all the work put into making them. But, he consoles himself, what else are chocolates for, and he eats one, chewing and swallowing before he starts to feel something strange come over him.
It’s not a bad feeling. In fact, it’s a great feeling. Steve is tired, dirty and weary from Quidditch practice, but suddenly he feels like he could take on the world. A haze spreads through him, peaking at his head and his toes and forming a steady thrum all along his body.
He stands back, feeling a dopey smile form, and rocks back and forth on his heels just to feel his feet tingle. This is great. Everything is great.
Chocolates are the best thing in the world, and Steve is full of love.
He’s vaguely aware of yelling something at Thor, like, “’M GOING OUT, BYE, LOVE YOU,” and Thor only pausing for a second before yelling, “LOVE YOU TOO,” and Steve’s grin widens as he turns to the door. He walks in a fog for a while, blinking lazily and letting his hands trail over the wall, tables, chairs.
The common room is empty, which isn’t strange for this time, since it’s about half an hour until they have to go to bed, but Steve wishes there were more people. People are nice. He likes people. Especially his friends. He wishes they were here right now so he could hug them and tell them nice things, because he thinks that most of them don’t have a lot of nice things said to them.
Climbing out of the portrait hole, Steve decides he’s going to go find his friends. Yes. He’s going to go find Tony, and then he’s going to go find the others. But Tony first.
He’s on the tail end of this thought when he realizes he’s walked all the way to the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room without noticing. The realization makes him giggle, and he doesn’t stop when the portrait in front of him delivers a riddle.
Steve blinks. “Excuse me?”
The woman repeats the riddle, and Steve’s grin doesn’t fade as he shakes his head.
“Sorry. I don’t understand.”
The woman sighs, and Steve interrupts her before she can deliver the riddle a third time. “Sorry, I’m not in Ravenclaw. I’m in Gryffindor, I have red on me, see?” Steve starts to point at his tie before realizing he’s not wearing it, he took it off when he was changing into his Quidditch uniform. Also, he isn’t wearing a shirt.
He frowns down at his nipples, which are very exposed. No wonder he feels breezy.
“Could you get Tony for me,” he asks, gazing up at the woman in the painting. “Please?”
The woman’s lips purse. She has nice lips. For a girl, anyway. “Tony Stark?”
Steve’s smile stretches. “That’s him!”
“Who do I say is asking for him?”
“Steve Rogers. From Gryffindor.”
“Steve Rogers from Gryffindor, asking for Tony Stark,” the woman relays. “Got it. You owe me, Steve.”
Steve watches the woman walks out of her frame, and waits. And waits. And waits some more. When it’s been… however long, Steve doesn’t really know, but he knows Tony’s not here and that sucks, he starts yelling. He understands it’s not polite, that people must be trying to catch up on their sleep, but he can’t help it. He just wants Tony.
“TOOOOOOOOONY,” he calls, tipping his head back. He raps on the painting, soft so he doesn’t tear anything, and yells again. “TONY. TOOOONY. TONY? TONY!”
He goes on like that for a while, and finally the portrait opens and Tony’s climbing out, saying, “What the hell are you doing, Jesus, it’s nearly lights out-”
It hits Steve like a Quaffle to the face: chocolate isn’t the best thing in the world, Tony is. Tony with his messed up hair and his robes that are immaculate except when he’s working on something or in the woods once a month with Bruce, Tony with his mood swings and his tendency to make Steve want to tear his hair out for a dozen different things.
Perfect, wonderful Tony stops, the door to the common room open, his hand clenching around it. He stares, and Steve sighs happily.
“Hi, Tony. I was looking for you.”
“Yeah,” Tony says after a second, closing the door behind him like an afterthought. “I guessed, since the portrait lady told me you were. And then the yelling. And the partial nudity. Why are you shirtless?”
Steve frowns. Tony sounds bad. Kind of choked. “I… got distracted while I was changing.”
“Did you now,” Tony says, still like he has something caught in his throat. His eyes skitter everywhere, and finally settle on Steve’s bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”
“In my dorm.”
“Why’d you walk out of your dorm only wearing Quidditch pants?”
Steve’s brows furrow. “I wanted to see you. Oh, and the others. But you first. Could you go and get Bruce? I can’t, ‘cause I’m in Gryffindor. What do you think would happen if I tried to go in there?”
“You get shot out,” Tony says. “Clint tried it. Steve, are you drunk?”
“If you’re drunk, I’m offended and hurt you didn’t tell me when you got the booze. I’m the best drinking buddy, everyone says so.”
“I’m not drunk, Tony,” Steve says, and sighs again. He slumps forwards, letting his head drop onto Tony’s shoulder. He nestles his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, rubbing his nose into it, and feels Tony stiffen. Steve doesn’t want Tony to feel uncomfortable, so in an effort to assure Tony it’s okay, he presses further into Tony’s neck, his arms coming up to Tony’s back to rub his palms into Tony’s shoulderblades.
“You smell nice,” Steve mumbles, and Tony lets out a noise close to a startled grunt before stepping back, out of Steve’s arms. If he wanted to, Steve could stop him from doing so, but Steve lets him slip out of his arms anyway.
“Right,” Tony says. His voice is weirdly high and strained. “Okay. So you’re drunk. Maybe high. Some combination of both.”
“Love you,” Steve sighs, smiling a lazy smile that falters when Tony’s eyes widen in something like fear. He frowns, going to nestle into Tony’s neck again, because he’s gone far too long without body contact with Tony and also because he wants the expression on Tony’s face to change. “Tony? You ‘kay?”
It looks like it takes effort for Tony to shape the hurried words, “Yeah, yep, I’m fine, hey, come with me, okay Steve?”
Steve doesn’t think Tony would appreciate it if Steve told him he’d follow Tony anywhere, so he keeps quiet and lets Tony lead him down the hall. They’re turning the corner to Professor Stacker’s office, who teaches Potions, when Steve hears a voice say, “Whoa, hey, what’s with Steve?”
Both Steve and Tony turn, and Steve breaks out into a grin when he sees Clint, his arms stacked high with runes. Steve says, “Clint!” and barrels towards him, wrapping him in a hug that almost jolts the runes out of his hands.
“Ooookay,” Clint says when the hug ends. “I see you’re half naked and wobbling. Are you drunk? Where are your shoes? Where the hell did you get the booze, how the hell did you get it into the castle, and how much do they charge for it?”
“He’s not drunk,” Tony answers. “Doesn’t smell like it, at least. He could be very badly concussed, but I’m betting on magic.”
Clint raises his eyebrows at Steve. “Who’d want to curse Steve? He’s the world’s fiercest teddy bear.”
“That’s Thor,” Steve corrects, wobbling slightly on his feet. Then he remembers, frowning as the memory comes to him through the fog: “I… ate some chocolate that got sent to Thor from one of the blonde girls.”
He sees Clint and Tony exchange a look, which Steve can’t bring himself to be all that worried about. He hums, rocking back and forth on his feet before swaying over towards Tony, who says, “Right, yeah, shit,” very loudly before turning and knocking on Professor Stacker’s door.
It takes a few seconds, but then the door is opening and Professor Stacker is squinting out at the three of them. “It’s lights out,” she croaks. “Go to bed, you lot.”
“Sorry, Miss,” Tony says, “But Steve’s eaten some enchanted chocolates.”
Professor Stacker’s gaze comes to rest on Steve, roaming up and down his shirtless appearance, the bare feet, the slight sway in his stance, the goofy grin. They all watch in silence as Steve plods the remaining steps to Tony and loops his arms around Tony’s neck from behind him and starts nuzzling.
“Okay,” Professor Stacker says as Steve breathes in heavily. “In you come, Steven.”
“Can I stay like this,” Steve says into Tony’s neck, and grins when he feels Tony shiver underneath his lips.
Professor Stacker doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. She nods curtly.
“Y’r blushing,” Steve mumbles, and Tony flushes further even as he says, “No, I’m not.”
Steve says, “Never seen you blush,” and it’s ghosted over the bare skin of Tony’s neck, and Tony bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing something horrible, like moan.
Professor Stacker turns to Clint and says, “I suppose you’re coming, too, Barton?”
Clint takes this like it’s Christmas come early. He dumps the runes on a bench close to him, dusting his hands on his trousers, swatting Steve on the shoulder and saying, “March, Rogers.”
Obediently, Steve walks, and Tony walks with him.
It takes a good two minutes for Professor Stacker to stand up to her full height and announce, “Just as I thought. Love potion.”
“Love potion,” Tony says. “Thank god.”
Steve’s too dazed by Tony’s neck to pay much attention to all of this. He hums, and Tony shivers again with the vibrations. Steve starts rubbing his lips into Tony’s neck, down the length of his collar, and Tony blurts, “How do we reverse it?”
Professor Stacker places one knobbed finger to her chin. “Well, this is quite a powerful love potion for a student to make, Stark. Not your standard love potion, either.”
“Really,” Tony manages, willing down his erection and also his yelp as Steve starts, dear god, sucking on his neck with that stupidly perfect mouth. “How so.”
“I rather think it was supposed to make the person fall in love with whoever he or she- or they- see first, but they mucked it up.”
“Mm,” Tony says, shifting in his seat. Steve is splayed over more than half of the couch, his arms hot and large around Tony’s waist, his torso draped across Tony’s side. His head is angled into Tony’s neck, taking brief intervals from sucking bruises into the skin to bite gentle marks into the spaces around the bruises. Tony has never liked hickies, has always found them too vicious and kind of weird, but Steve is gentle even when he bites. Tony thinks he might be developing a kink. A Steve-biting-his-neck kink to go along with his Steve-half-naked-and-pressing-against-him kink.
God, there is so much bare skin pressed up against Tony. He’s a teenage boy, he shouldn’t have to put up with this torture. He never thought he’d be fighting down erections in Professor Stacker’s office.
“Yes,” Professor Stacker continues. “They took on something far too advanced for their level of skill. They made the effects akin to the taker of the drug to feel as if they’ve had far too much firewhiskey.”
“So Steve’s… really, really drunk,” Clint says slowly from the chair he had moved to from the couch after Steve had started giving Tony the first hickey.
“Essentially,” Professor Stacker nods. “Shouldn’t be too hard with the way they’ve botched it up. I’d say a few modifications of my usual reverse potion and he should be back to normal.”
“Great,” Tony breathes, and the word goes a bit haywire at the end when he feels Steve’s teeth again, the sensation going straight to his dick. “Great,” he repeats, and crosses his legs.
Clint watches him do it, eyebrows raised. Tony looks straight ahead and tries not to concentrate on the soft, blunt pressure on his neck that comes and goes before resuming as a slow suction.
When a glass of something smoking is handed to Steve, he takes it and stares down into the contents, not really concerned.
“Drink,” Professor Stacker tells him, and Steve does, because she’s a Professor and he quite likes her lessons, despite how boring they might be. He supposes it’s the subject and not the teacher.
He drinks, and it tastes like mud, and he grimaces and stops halfway through.
“All of it,” Professor Stacker instructs, and Steve winces, but does.
The fog in his head clears painfully fast and he’s left reeling. He makes a sound, and it must be bad because there’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.
“M’ alright,” Steve rasps, his mouth weirdly dry. He licks his lips, and is about to hand the glass back to the Professor when he freezes. “Oh, god.”
“You were drunk,” Clint says from the chair beside him. “Really, really epically wasted. Totally not your fault.”
Steve all but jolts away from Tony, standing abruptly up off the couch and stammering. “I, I, oh my god, Tony, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Tony says, and oh, god, there are purpling bruises all up and down his neck and Steve is the one who gave them to him. He sucked on Tony’s neck and-
Steve remembers his half-nakedness with a blush that goes all the way down to his bare chest. He has a bizarre urge to cover his nipples, which would be stupid, and he quietly thanks Professor Stacker when she hands him a woollen jumper. He pulls it on hurriedly.
“Sorry,” he says awkwardly, addressing the whole room, and proceeds not to make eye contact with Tony the entire walk back to the entrance to the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
When he reaches his dorm, Thor looks up from his homework and asks him where he was. Then, frowning, asks if he’s okay.
Steve doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes the box of chocolates- all there, except for the one Steve had- and dumps it in the bin.
For the next week, Tony wears his Ravenclaw scarf everywhere. Games, classes, meals. He and Tony are polite to each other, asking the other to pass the potatoes and earning a varying assortment of confused looks.
Steve finally lets Clint tell the group after a Quidditch practice that he messes up due to seeing Tony leave halfway through after catching Steve looking at him as he waited for a bludger to sail past, and the first thing that Natasha does is giggle, much to everyone’s surprise.
“It’s not funny,” Steve says.
“It kind of is,” Natasha and Clint say at the same time, and Steve glares at the both of them.
Bruce, being Bruce, pats him comfortingly on the shoulder. “He’s Tony. I’m sure he’s used to things like this happening.”
“Sure,” Steve deadpans. “I remember when you lounged over him half naked and gave him enough hickies to make him look like a leper.”
“He’ll get over it, is what I’m saying.”
Steve mumbles something in the direction of the grass and pretends he isn’t sulking for the rest of the afternoon.