James's uniform was too small for him, all over, but between the stretch of the material and some emergency patching, they'd managed to make the top half work. He was wearing the pants from his other uniform, though, and if he had to take his gloves off, he'd be exposing a good chunk of forearm. He did fit into the gunbelt, but that didn't make him feel any better.
"Just carry it. You don't have to use it. But everyone knows I carry, so you have to."
He missed the weight of the scale over his shoulders, and he didn't like the metallic gleam that glossed his muscles. He felt like a foil wrapped chocolate, and it gathered too much light for stealth work. As far as he could tell, James had felt that Captain America shouldn't hide in the shadows, so he'd made it a lot harder for him to do so.
"Avoid all the others. Stark's trying to make sure I pass under the radar, but get too high-profile, be seen by too many people, especially with other heroes, and he might not be able to protect me. You. Us."
James really hadn't wanted him to do this, but he'd had to admit that Steve was the only person available who could use the shield effectively. And no one was likely to get close enough to see Steve was a good five inches taller than James.
"And Stark will try to meet up with you. Don't go. He never gives me anything useful, and we can't afford to get found out."
So of course, here he was, breaking into a Stark Industries warehouse because at a tenement fire three days ago, the Sentry had passed him a business card with a date and time scribbled on it.
He couldn't resist the chance to talk to Tony.
There was only one light on in the warehouse. Tony was sitting on a crate, coat folded under him, wearing jeans and a sweater. He was reading a paper. An affectation; Tony got all his news from the internet. From inside his head, these days. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes, but he was flushed rather than pale. Steve circled him a few times out in the shadows, adjusting his mask. There was subtle padding around the nose and cheekbones and brow, altering the shape of his face. His hair, including eyebrows and lashes, was dyed reddish-brown, and he was wearing tinted contact lenses. In dim light, he was unrecognizable even to those who knew him well; it helped that everyone knew Steve Rogers was dead. Tony, though, Tony might know him.
He picked a spot on the edge of the pool of light, where the maze of shelving began, and swung onto one of the lower shelves, letting his boots clang on the metal. Tony turned with no sign of surprise, and Steve wondered if Tony had been watching him through security cameras. He waited as Tony folded his paper, laid it down, got to his feet and sauntered over unhurriedly. Steve didn't smile at him, lowered his head so he was looking at Tony from under his darkened eyelashes. Crouched like this, it would be harder to spot the height difference, but the width of his shoulders might be noticeable. He hunched in a little more.
"You're looking surprisingly healthy. I got worried when you ignored my mail drops, especially after that incident with the tanker."
The incident had almost crippled James; he'd be out of action for at least two months. Too long for Captain America to be missing. Steve pitched his voice low and scratchy. Not much like James, but whispering people sound alike.
"Got the Sentry delivering your mail now?"
"He never asks me questions." Tony's smile was tight. "I still haven't decided if that's a good quality. Like so many things about him."
"So what do you want?" Steve asked, and tensed a little as Tony moved closer, to the edge of the shelf he was crouched on. Tony's nose was level with the star on his chest, and he reached out a hand to touch the gleaming material, fingertips just grazing the slick fabric. Steve felt his thigh muscles twitch, considered jumping away - he knew James didn't like to be touched, but Tony didn't seem to be expecting much reaction.
"Same thing as usual," said Tony, and trailed his fingers down the red and white stripes to squeeze him between the legs.
Steve almost fell off the shelf; he had to grab for the upright and flail violently with his other hand to keep his balance. Fortunately Tony didn't really notice, but he didn't notice because he was unzipping Steve's fly and nuzzling into his groin, mouthing at him through his boxers. For a long, paralyzed moment Steve could only gape at Tony, now pulling Steve's cock out, stroking it to hardness, and it was lucky it was dark because he didn't think to dye that hair - and this was very, very wrong because Tony thought he was James.
He grabbed at Tony's hair as Tony started to suck him, but the yank didn't seem to discourage him any; he let out a muffled moan and did something amazing with his tongue, and God, Tony's mouth felt as good as Steve had ever imagined. It took a Herculean effort to drag Tony off his cock - not that Herc ever bent his strength towards stopping getting laid, and yeah, that train of thought was going nowhere.
Tony looked up at him, dark, dark, eyes, mouth wet and slack, and while Steve was still trying to think of something to say, he turned his face into the red glove slipping out of his hair and muttered "Cap" in a soft, desperate tone.
He thought, dimly, that it would be hard to decide whether he, Tony or James was the most screwed up, and let his hand fall to Tony's shoulder as Tony leaned back in.
Tony's dark head bent over him, Tony's harsh breaths, Tony's clever hands and mouth on him - he was trying desperately not to fuck Tony's mouth because he'd probably fall off the shelf if he did, and really, one Captain America with a broken leg was a misfortune, but two -
Tony looked up at his snorted laugh, wariness in his eyes a sharp contrast to his slick open mouth. He supposed he may have sounded a little hysterical, and laughter isn't exactly what you want to hear in these circumstances anyway. He took advantage of Tony's hesitation to jump down, grabbing Tony and pressing his back up against the shelves. With the light behind him, Steve would just be a dark shape, but he could see Tony's flushed cheeks and swollen lips - Steve kissed him, and Tony grabbed at his shoulders, fingers slipping on the ice-smooth material. He would have got a handhold on the scale, Steve thought, and pushed that thought away to concentrate on getting Tony's lean body as close to him as possible. Tony was unresisting in his arms at first, letting Steve explore his mouth, shivering as Steve's hands slid up under his sweater, but too soon Steve felt his muscles tense, and he pulled away. He put up a hand to catch Steve's face when he leaned in, and Steve twitched away, afraid of dislodging his mask.
"You're not-" and then Tony stopped, eyes narrowing and mouth turning down, and Steve was pretty certain that he couldn't think who to say Steve wasn't.
"Does it matter?" Steve said quietly, letting the rasp of arousal dominate his voice. Tony was looking, listening, now, calculating; but he knew that Steve was dead. He couldn't see him.
"No," Tony muttered, defeat in his tone and the slump of his shoulders, and he lifted his mouth to Steve's, kissing him hard now, one hand sliding up to hold the back of Steve's neck in a grip that was a little too strong.
Tony's other hand on his cock again, and he pushed into it, wanting Tony's mouth there but not willing to give up on kissing him yet. He got Tony's jeans undone, slid his hands inside to grab Tony's bare ass and press their hips together, and Tony made an animal noise and clawed at him, breaking the kiss.
"Cap, fuck me, please - God, I need it-" Tony pulled away from him, pushing his jeans down over his hips as he turned to bend over a crate, presenting his ass to Steve. Steve's hands were shaking as he pulled off a glove and ran his fingers over Tony's pale skin, watched him tremble under the gentle touch. When he dipped his fingers into Tony's cleft he found him slick already. Slick and open, as Steve discovered when he pressed two fingers into Tony and met virtually no resistance.
"You don't have to - I'm ready, please - Cap-" Tony was spreading his legs as wide as he could, pushing back against Steve's fingers. A third finger slid in easily - Steve could picture Tony stretching himself, biting his lip in concentration as he worked his fingers in, and it made him shudder with want.
"Jesus, Tony, when did you do that?" Steve breathed as he leaned in, covered Tony with his body, rested his gloved hand next to Tony's head and watched Tony grab for it and interlace their fingers.
"In the - in the car. Before I came in. I don't like to wait, I don't - I need it now. Please, Cap, please, fuck me." Steve had already pulled out his fingers, was lining up his cock, and when he pushed in Tony let out a near sob of relief, already pushing back with his hips, writhing, frantic. Steve grabbed his hip to hold him still, and had to force himself to loosen his grip; no super-strength here. But he managed to get Tony moving in time with him, his cock sliding in and out as Tony moaned imploringly, arching his back to let him in deeper.
It was good, of course it was good, Tony open and wanting beneath him, reaching back with his free hand to grab Steve's hip and urge him on, trying to get Steve deeper into him. Steve slipped his hand up under the sweater, feeling the hot skin, the flex and strain of his muscles as he pushed back against Steve.
When he came, Tony whimpered, and then started to mutter,
"Please, please, I need -" only to break off with a gasp of relief as Steve's hand found his cock and began to stroke. He writhed for a long moment, pushing back onto Steve's softening cock as Steve tightened his grip, and then came silently, slumping forward and resting his head on the crate. His fingers slowly untangled from Steve's.
He let out a soft gasp as Steve pulled loose of his body's grip, but didn't move as Steve zipped himself up, put the glove he'd dropped back on. Tony's back was still heaving with his breath, his face buried in his folded arms, and there was a trickle of fluid beginning to creep down his inner thigh; Steve felt his face heat as he slipped an arm round Tony's waist, pulling him upright so Steve could pull his jeans up. Tony leaned his head back on Steve's shoulder and let himself be dressed, eyes wide and dazed when Steve glanced at him.
Steve just held him, then, for a little while, feeling the weight and warmth of Tony's body, the smells of sweat and expensive cologne. Perhaps he could smell metal, or perhaps that was his imagination. Tony's hands crept to his wrists, held him lightly. Steve could feel his secret lodged in his throat; he couldn't cough it up, but he couldn't swallow it either.
It seemed like a very short time before Tony pulled free, walked back to his coat. He wasn't walking quite straight. He put his coat on, picked up his paper, short abrupt motions. Then he took an envelope out of his coat pocket.
"I-" he had to stop, clear the roughness from his voice. "I wasn't sure if our mail drops had been compromised. I set up a new one." He didn't look at Steve as he dropped the envelope, didn't look back as he left.
Steve stayed on the edge of the pool of light for a long time, looking at the envelope without really seeing it. He knew he'd take it with him when he went.