Tony once told Natasha that sleeping with people was like giving them a vaccine for caring about him. She never looked at him the same way again. She was gentler. He appreciated it.
He was just getting home from DC, from another hearing and another set of meetings. He yanked his tie off, shoving it in his pocket, unbuttoning the top three buttons on his silk shirt. It still felt like it was choking him, and he shook off the desire to strip right there in the elevator. It opened on the first residential floor, the main room. He stepped out, and was brought up short by the sight in front of him. Bucky and Steve, necking on the couch.
Bucky was straddling Steve, one metal and one flesh hand cupping his face. Steve's hands were in Bucky's hair, and they moved on each other with the familiarity of men who did this so often that what felt good became as natural as breathing. They were beautiful. Like Ares and Apollo, gold and silver gods. And just two guys who'd been in love since they were kids, who cut their teeth on each other's fists and still came back for more.
Love like that. Tony had killed, many times, for love like that. For that love.
He made no noise as he backed up into the elevator and keyed it to the private entrance to his suite. He didn't stop staring until the doors closed.