“I got stuff, Steven. That’s why I’m not going. You have fun though.”
Steve quirks an eyebrow, clearly not believing Tony’s excuse, or scheme, or whatever it would turn into this time. “You sure that’s really why you’re not going tonight, or is it that you just don’t want to go? ‘Cause if it’s the latter, I won’t be upset with you.”
Tony shrugs a shoulder helplessly. “I do actually have stuff to do, I just—that’s not the only reason why I’m not going. You know, people and stuff. Don’t like it.”
“Tony, you deal with people all the time. Pretty sure you’re the most charming fella I know. Why don’t you want to go? It’ll be fun!” Steve whines.
Tony huffs, “You’re a stubborn prick.”
“Tell me about it,” Steve snorts, blowing a bubble with his gum. “Wanna tell me why you ain’t goin’ now?”
Tony opens and closes his mouth, unsure of how to formulate his next words, uncertain as to whether or not he’d tell Steve the truth. After all, he was a little embarrassed. However, Steve was also his best friend.
He sighs. “I’m not goin’ because I have never been before, and don’t plan on starting now. I’d look like a fool.”
“So you’re tellin’ me,” Steve smacks his gum, shooting Tony what had to be his most unimpressed look yet, “that you ain’t never been to a sock hop before?”
Tony shakes his head. “Never.”
After a moment, Steve’s lips curl upwards into a grin. “Well then, Tony. I’ma show you the best night of your life.”
Tony rolls his eyes, both fond and exasperated. “I’m sure you will, Steve. What, with your asthma. I hear those things are quite energetic.”
“I manage,” Steve says, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I’ll show you a good time, I promise.”
Tony slumps his shoulders in defeat. Once Steve had his mind set on a task, it was nearly impossible getting him to back down. Tony’s sure he’s only ever managed to stop Steve once, maybe twice. “Alright, fine. I’ll go. Doesn’t mean it’ll be fun, though.”
“You are terribly pessimistic. Look, you don’t even hafta dance, ‘kay?” Steve reasons. He holds out a hand. “Sound like a deal? You make an appearance, but you don’t have to get on the dance floor. Just have to take your shoes off.”
Tony takes his hand, giving a firm shake to seal the compromise. “Deal. There’s no gettin’ Steve Rogers to give up, is there?”
“Got that right. No way in hell,” Steve agrees.
Tony’s first thought upon entering the wood-floor gymnasium was that it was, well... chaotic. At least, chaotic with a purpose. The dance put up an incredible illusion of organization, if Tony said so himself.
And what Tony had heard about sock hops being energetic and fast-paced had been right on the nose. Everyone currently dancing was constantly moving their feet in complicated yet simple ways. Tony had no clue how Steve managed to not have an asthma attack whilst moving to a song—which currently happened to be Jailhouse Rock. Tony might honestly be afraid for the blond’s lungs.
“I’m pretty sure I just saw someone flip,” Tony stage whispers to Steve, his tone a mix of awe and horror.
Steve laughs. “Don’t worry, Tony. You don’t gotta learn that off the bat. Just an easy jive or jitterbug, y’know?”
“I don’t know what either of those mean.”
“C’mon, I’ll show ya,” Steve grabs Tony’s hand and attempts to tug him towards the dancefloor, but Tony’s feet stay planted, refusing to budge.
“You said I didn’t have to dance.”
Steve pouts, dropping his arm. “Okay, yeah, fine. Yes, I said you didn’t have to dance. But can’t you live a little?”
Tony shakes his head, standing his ground. Alright, so perhaps Steve wasn’t the only bullheaded one in this friendship. “I’m not dancing.”
“You are insufferable. Such a square. I’ll go find Peggy, then. Maybe I can convince you to join us.”
“I highly doubt you will,” Tony grunts, and Steve is off like a shot. He blends seamlessly into the crowd, and for a few minutes Tony is unable to spot him.
But then he sees them.
Steve and Peggy work around each other with that fancy footwork, huge smiles on their faces. Dance moves that Tony isn’t quite sure are dance moves are performed, and soon enough he’s lost, mesmerized by their quick movements. Admittedly enough—as much as Tony would hate to say it—it looked fun. Exciting. And by the looks of it, Steve was managing his breathing just fine.
When Steve sidled right back next to him, Tony almost hadn’t noticed.
“—so, whaddya say?”
Steve delivers a soft punch to Tony’s shoulder. “You heard me. I convinced you, didn’t I?”
“I—“ Tony looks to his shoeless feet, a small grin toying his lips. “Yeah. You did. Teach me how to dance, would ya?”
“’Course,” Steve promises, offering out a hand this time. Tony takes it gladly and graciously, letting himself be lead out into the crowd.
“Didn’t know you to be so quick on your feet, Rogers,” Tony breathlessly tells Steve the moment they step outside, shoes in hand.
Steve slips his tennis shoes back on his feet, using Tony as support. “Didn’t know you were such a quick learner. You’re a natural!”
“I wouldn’t say that I’m a natural,” Tony objects, but Steve waves him off.
“Nonsense,” Steve teases. He stands up straight, shoes on feet, ready to take his turn as support as Tony puts his own shoes back on.
“I’m just surprised,” Tony says, “that you haven’t been a braggart yet. Ashamedly, I’d have to say I had a ton of fun.”
“I’m not bragging ‘cause I knew you would enjoy yourself. We always have fun together,” Steve states matter-of-factly, shrugging. He says it with ease and confidence, and Tony can’t help but melt a little at that. Unfortunately for him, he was just a bit in love with his best friend.
There’s a moment of silence between them when Tony is finished with his shoes. Tony thinks, for a split-second, Steve leans forward. Probably his imagination.
“Hey, what do you say we go get some milkshakes? The night’s still young,” Tony proposes.
Steve tilts his head in that curious way he does when he has a question that dies on his lips. A beat, then, “Sure. I’d love that.”
“You remember? I called you a real rare case.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you thought a prep had to be rich. You just gotta be social and look rich. The key is the off-brand clothing and never invitin’ anyone over. ‘Cept the good ones, of course.”
“That make me a good one?” Tony winks.
“Nah,” Steve shakes his head, though his smile as he brings his straw to his mouth tells Tony otherwise. “You’re the worst of the worst.”
Tony blows a raspberry. “No winning here, is there?”
“Nope,” Steve chirps. He then checks his watch, smile dimming to a frown. “I gotta get home before Ma begins pestering the neighbourhood. I’ll see you later?”
“Mm hm,” Tony nods, watching as Steve slides out from the booth, abandoning the dregs of his milkshake and (un)intentionally leaving the bill to Tony.
However, it takes no hesitance for Tony to make the decision to run after Steve, dropping a dollar on the table. “Wait, Steve!” he calls.
Tony catches his friend’s wrist at the diner doors. Steve looks to him, expression silently prompting him to explain.
“Let me at least walk you home,” Tony shoots him a toothy grin.
“I—alright,” Steve sounds skeptical, but goes along nonetheless.
About ten minutes into their quiet but comfortable walk, Steve asks, “So what brought this about, Tony? Your house is across town and you’ve never been one to walk me, or anyone for that matter, home.”
“Thought you might like the company?” Tony tries, but Steve isn’t anywhere close to buying in. Tony sighs.
“If I’m being honest, Steve,” Tony begins sheepishly, “I... I really like spending time with you, okay? You’re a riot, a real great fella. Steve—I like you. Like, a lot. Too much, probably. And tonight, despite my reluctance, I had a really good time because of you. You were right, Steve. We always have fun together. I thought I, we could—mmph!”
Tony is cut off by Steve pulling him into a rather hot, passionate kiss. The latter’s tongue is quick to begin exploring the entrance of Tony’s mouth in wait for an invitation. Tony lets him in, of course, cock twitching in interest. And judging by the growing hardness Tony felt when grinding their hips together, Steve was, well... interested as well. Tony is contented by the quiet, stilted moan he elicits from Steve, but it’s quick to be drowned out by the sound of Tony’s own soft cry as Steve slips a hand below his waistband. Their breathing intermingles, teeth clashing on occasion until finally, Tony pulls away.
“Steve,” Tony pants, “as much as I’d love to do this now, I don’t think we should do this here.” Quite frankly, Tony is just glad it’s dark outside, and that the closest lamppost is several yards away.
Steve’s breath is warm on Tony’s neck. “You’re probably right.”
Laboured breaths are all that penetrate the silence that follows, other than Tony’s whine of complaint when Steve retracts his hand from the very nice position it was in, instead settling it on Tony’s hip.
“You’re right,” Steve repeats, nodding. He drags a thumb over Tony’s jaw, hungry gaze flicking from Tony’s lips to his eyes. “So where to?”