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Everything in London was bigger than expected. Or at least, bigger than Steve had expected. Perhaps someone with more worldly experience would have known better.
His mum had always talked fondly of London, like it was some otherworldly magical place. And maybe it was, especially to someone who had only seen small villages and sheep pastures. Mum had only been lucky enough to visit once, as they didn’t often have the money for traveling after his father had died.
Steve had spent his whole first day in the city simply wandering around in awe, taking in the colorfully dressed people, the busy shop windows, and the crowded streets filled with bustling carriages.
But what he loved most of all was the architecture.
Towering cathedrals, buildings as long as the whole block, and facades that were decorated with statues and glittering windows. It was inspirational in a way that the rolling hills of Wales had never been.
Steve wanted to sit down on every street corner, pull out his sketchpad, and draw. He refrained from doing so— since something like that wouldn’t seem proper, and his mum had raised him with manners— but only just barely. The tiny room he was staying in was already covered with drawings of all he had seen.
He wanted to do more than just draw, though. He wanted to paint . It was the whole reason he had come to the city. With her passing, his mum had left him just enough money to pursue what had always been his dream— becoming an artist.
He had talent, he hoped, but he wasn’t famous enough to be earning commissions yet. He needed a patron.
He had been in London for a week when he was lucky enough to be invited to a salon by a fellow artist, and from there to earn an invitation to the annual gala at the British Museum. He figured it would be full of the wealthy and sophisticated of London, and perhaps there he could find someone to take a chance on him. He only had enough money left for five more weeks in the city before he would have to do something drastic.
He put on his best suit (his only suit) and hoped that the poor quality wouldn’t be too detrimental to his chances. He just needed to get someone’s ear long enough to convince them to take a look at his work. He was sure he could find a patron, if only someone would give him a chance.
Perhaps that sounded overeager or arrogant, but Steve thought it was just quiet but sure confidence. His mum had always believed he would be a great artist one day, and he had never known his mum to be wrong about anything.
He couldn’t afford a carriage, so he made his way to the museum on foot. The gas lamps pooled warm yellow on the streets, and the air was cool and crisp. It was a beautiful night, exactly the kind he would love to paint.
The man at the door looked Steve over doubtfully. It just made Steve stand taller. He looked over Steve’s invitation carefully, as if checking for forgeries, and then made a gruff noise and nodded his head for Steve to enter.
Steve made his way inside, and was immediately hit with the aroma of fresh-baked bread. He made his way towards the noise, and saw that the main party was happening in the biggest exhibit room— one featuring new antiquities just unearthed in Egypt. Tables lined the walls, crowded with pastries and little cakes, which explained the scent in the air.
A waiter approached Steve with a tray of drinks, and held it out to him. “Oh. Thank you,” Steve said warmly, as he gratefully took a glass. The waiter said nothing, just looked at Steve coolly and then walked away.
Steve was grateful for the glass, as it gave him something to hold onto. He might be out of his element, but he was determined to forge ahead anyway. The unknown had never scared him before.
He took a few sips of his drink, and hummed in approval. The wine was probably the most expensive thing he had ever tasted. He started edging his way along the outskirts of the crowd, looking for a good opening, someone to introduce himself to.
A significant portion of the crowd was dancing, and Steve regretted that he had never had the opportunity to learn. His mum knew a little and had taught him the basics, but he could hardly keep up with the practiced gentry swirling around the dance floor.
Still, he could admire the bright colors, the beautiful gowns and sleek suits. It was worthy of a painting, really, and he wished he could set up an easel in the corner and capture it. He would certainly feel more comfortable in that pursuit, rather than in trying to mingle with such distinguished guests. Lord Anthony Stark himself was rumored to be here, one of the wealthiest and most powerful nobles in the country.
Lord Stark was known for his wild inventions, his brilliance only equaled by his wealth. He had been known to frequent some of the more fashionable salons, discoursing intelligently with some of the best intellectuals of the century. To say Steve was slightly in awe was an understatement, and he hoped only to be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of him someday, perhaps hear him speak.
Steve wasn’t sure what he looked like, though, so even if Lord Stark ended up showing to the gala, it wouldn’t much matter. Perhaps Steve would’ve run into someone by then who could point him out.
Steve paused at the table of pastries and desserts, his stomach giving an ungentlemanly grumble. He stacked a few desserts and one tea sandwich (for good measure) onto a plate. He turned, scanning the museum display room-turned-ballroom for a place to stand and eat while he watched the dancers.
“I know, I don’t understand why they don’t have chairs at these things, either,” said a voice at his elbow. “No one wants to stand and eat.”
Steve turned towards the voice, and sucked in a quiet intake of breath, as he laid eyes on one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. He was wearing a light grey tux that was tailored perfectly, fitting him just shy of too-tight, allowing his physique to be shown off. His hair was artfully styled, and his eyes were bright and dancing as he gazed at Steve, as if there was some joke that only he knew.
“If they put chairs out, people wouldn’t mingle as much,” Steve pointed out, although he couldn’t help matching the man’s smile. It was infectious, and left his heart thumping slightly faster.
“And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? It’s for charity, ostensibly, but it’s really just a chance for people to rub shoulders with the people they spend all their time being envious of.”
Steve didn’t know if he quite agreed with that. Was that what he was doing here, with an invitation bought for him by a friend? It felt different, at least to him, that he was seeking a purpose . Patronage had long been the way of the arts, and Steve could do nothing without it. He would be forced to move back to Wales and tend sheep.
“My name is Tony, by the way.” He held out a hand, and Steve set his glass down on the table in order to shake it. Tony had a firm grip, but not overly so, his hand warm in Steve’s own. Steve could feel the callouses on it. This was a man who was used to doing work with his hands. Perhaps they had more in common then Steve had first realized; perhaps he was even here for a similar reason as Steve.
“Steve,” he responded with a broad smile, giving Tony’s hand a slight squeeze.
Perhaps it was only in his mind, but it seemed like Tony held onto his hand for just a moment longer than etiquette allowed. Steve could still feel the warmth of Tony’s skin as they finally let go, the ghost of a sensation dancing across the back of his hand and making it tingle.
“Pleasure,” Tony replied, as if it really was.
Tony nodded his head to the little plate of food Steve had assembled. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. Everything here is delicious, you need to try it.” Tony stepped closer into his space, picking up one of the puff pastries and holding it up to Steve’s lips. “Here. Start with this one.”
Steve felt the tips of his ears warm and his heart flutter. He glanced around them nervously, but nobody was paying attention to how close Tony was standing, to the intimate gesture of offering food. Steve opened his mouth, and Tony popped the bite-sized pastry in, his thumb brushing against Steve’s lower lip as he pulled his hand back. Steve’s whole face went warm and scarlet, but a smile danced on his lips as he chewed. “That was certainly delicious,” he murmured, once done. “The pastry was good, too.”
Tony laughed at that, delighted and genuine, his face lighting up and eyes sparkling. “Come on.” He put a gentle hand on Steve’s arm to lead him. “I know a quieter place, somewhere you can sit. No one wants to eat standing.”
Part of Steve knew he should stay in the main room, try to mingle more and make some connections, but the rest of him just wanted to follow Tony, wherever that might lead. For the first time since his mum died, Steve felt hopeful.
Tony led them down a short hallway to a room that was emptier of people but rather full of ancient pottery displayed in various glass cases. The room must have been on the outer edge of the building, though, as it had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows leading out onto a balcony. Thick red drapes hung over the windows, pulled back enough to reveal the night sky full of stars.
“Makes me feel like home, seeing all the stars,” Steve commented. One of his favorite things had been to sit out on the porch at night, watching the stars and tracing their patterns in his sketchbook.
“Where’s home?” Tony asked, leading them toward the plush, upholstered bench that stood against one wall.
“Little town no one’s ever heard of, Tintern. We had a farm near there. Nothing big or fancy, but it was ours.” A wistful smile came over his face as he thought of all the happy days he had spent there. It was hard work, but it had been meaningful, too. His mum had filled everything she did with love.
“What happened?” Tony asked in a softer voice, and Steve was surprised by the depth of sincerity.
Steve shrugged. “Mum died. I guess there was nothing holding me to the place after that. It had always been her dream for me to make it to the city, try to make something of myself. She left everything to me, along with a promise that I’d sell it all and go on an adventure.”
“And are you? On an adventure?” Tony was smiling at him, the corners of his eyes crinkled, but it felt more playful than teasing.
“I think I just might be.” Steve met Tony’s gaze, and they both held it for a long moment, until Steve cleared his throat and looked away.
What was he even doing? He had certainly had an interest in men before, felt that romantic stirring for them that he was supposed to feel for women. But he had never wanted so badly to act on it before.
In truth, he didn’t know how to act on it. He had never done anything with anyone, not so much as a handhold or a chaste kiss. He certainly didn’t know how to assess if Tony was having the same feelings as him, if Tony also wanted things that society said he shouldn’t have.
“Where are you from?” Steve asked, instead of the question he most wanted an answer to. Perhaps a change of subject was in order, to move his own thoughts in a different direction.
“This great and prosperous city we’re in now,” Tony replied, spreading his arms wide. Something about his tone didn’t sound genuine, though. “I was born and raised in London. It’s home, as much as any place can be.”
“I just moved here. Doesn’t feel like much of anything but noise and traffic, to me,” Steve admitted with a shrug.
“Give it time. The city has a way of creeping into your bones, stealing your heart.”
Steve decidedly did not think about all the ways his heart felt stolen in this moment. To give his mouth something to do other than lean forward and kiss Tony, he turned to his little plate of hors d’oeuvre. The miniature tart he popped in his mouth exploded with sweetness on his tongue, and he couldn’t help but make a soft noise of pleasure.
When he glanced up again, Tony was looking at him with dark, unreadable eyes.
Tony cleared his throat, adjusting his cravat as he glanced away.
“What are you doing in the city?” Tony asked. “Adventuring does not pay the bills, unfortunately.”
Steve frowned. “No, it doesn’t. That’s why I’m here tonight, actually. I’m looking for a patron. I’m an artist.” He puffed out his chest a little as he said so, still self-conscious about actually identifying as an artist, especially since he didn’t consider himself to have made any real art yet.
But Tony neither laughed in his face nor treated him with contempt. Instead, he gave Steve a warm smile, eyes alight with interest. “I am sure you are most talented. And equally sure that I would enjoy seeing your work some day.”
Steve scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck, before pulling it away and reminding himself to sit properly. “I am sure I’d love to show you.” His voice came out lower than he had expected, and he felt his cheeks warm with the unintentionally suggestive nature.
Tony’s eyes darkened as he gave Steve a long, studying gaze. “What did you think of the dancers in there?”
Steve’s head spun with the abrupt change in conversation. “They were most elegant. Far more elegant than I could ever be.”
“Oh? Not much of a dancer?” Tony asked, with a raised eyebrow and a teasing twinkle in his eye.
“Sheep don’t make very good partners,” Steve teased back.
Tony laughed aloud at that, the sound genuine and warm, tickling down Steve’s spine like a caress. “And what of me? Do I seem like a suitable partner?”
Steve’s tongue felt thick in his mouth, too big to eloquently express all the thoughts and desires flickering through his mind. Surely Tony did not mean to suggest what Steve thought, what he hoped for. “I— I am sure you are a very elegant partner.”
“How could you know? You have never seen me dance; I have been putting off partners all night.”
This felt like a very dangerous line of questioning, and the way Tony was looking at him only made it more so. Steve felt exposed, like all his thoughts and feelings must be laid bare on his face.
“What do you do?” he asked quickly, although he softened the abruptness of the change of subject with a smile. “When you are not avoiding dancing, that is.”
Tony appeared to falter for a moment, something in his eyes shuttering closed, but then that brilliant smile was back on his face. “Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that. Inventing, mostly, when I can find the time.”
Steve’s eyebrows raised at that. He had never known anyone who was an inventor. “You must be brilliant,” Steve said, with such warmth and genuineness that some of Tony’s warmth crept back into his face.
“I often say so,” he replied, with a soft laugh.
“What do you invent?”
Tony was quiet for a moment, just looking Steve over. “Fantastical things. Things most would say are only able to be achieved in imagination. I want to be able to see the stars, to fly.”
It was an intoxicating idea, although an impossible one. Steve smiled at the thought of soaring through the air like a bird, able to take in the whole city below. “It would be amazing to paint that view.”
“Come. You should the stars here, and the view is not so inconsequential a thing either.” Tony stood, offering Steve his arm.
With a smile, Steve took it, slipping his hand gently through Tony’s arm. Today was a day for being brave, for taking invitations as they were offered.
Tony led him to the large windows, which upon closer inspection Steve realized that one set was French doors. Tony used his free hand to open it, ushering Steve out onto the balcony.
The cool night air felt good against his flushed cheeks, and Steve marveled at the view of the city streets spread out below them. They were only a few stories up, but it was still enough to give them the advantage of perspective.
But more than the city, Steve wanted to look at the stars. He stepped closer to the edge of the balcony, arm still in Tony’s, and tipped his head up. The night was clear, more stars than he could count glittering above them. “Beautiful,” Steve breathed.
“Yes. You are,” Tony replied, voice low.
Steve felt his cheeks heat with a blush, something warm twisting in his gut.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Tony added with a soft laugh. “I hope you don’t find my attentions... unacceptable?”
Steve took a breath, unable to keep the grin off his face as he turned to Tony. “They are most welcome.”
Tony’s grin echoed his own, his eyes glittering like the stars above them. It was breathtaking, and Steve felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to paint him.
“I love how you look at me,” Tony murmured. He gave his head a little shake, as if clearing something away. He pulled his arm away from Steve’s, and for a moment Steve felt bereft.
But then Tony offered him his hand. “May I have this dance? I still must prove to you that I am an excellent partner.”
“I’m terrible. I don’t know how,” Steve blurted, despite how desperately he wanted to take Tony’s hand and get swept up in the music with him.
Tony gave him a warm smile, still holding out his hand. “I’ll lead you. You won’t have to do anything but hold onto me and follow.”
Steve took his hand, feeling a rush of electricity along his fingers at the brush of skin against skin. “It would be an honor to dance with you.”
Tony squeezed his fingers lightly, and led him back across the balcony into the exhibit room. The music was faint but audible, strains of it carrying down the halls as the orchestra started up another song. Tony pulled Steve close and Steve let him, settling into the touch of a hand on his waist, while Tony’s other hand still held his.
Tony waited a moment to catch the beat of the rhythm, and then began gently leading Steve across the floor. The steps were simple, and Steve had a feeling Tony was simplifying them even further for him. But he was able to keep up without too much tripping over his feet.
The same could not be said for his heart, however, which seemed to be tripping beats and adding extras, as if it was simply impossible to keep a steady rhythm while standing this close to Tony. Steve could smell the scent of his cologne, see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the softness of his lips.
(Amazing art by super talented Jacob, of https://jacobbyart.tumblr.com/ !!)
The song ended, and the orchestra started up another, much slower this time. Steve made as if to pull away; that was the polite thing to do, was it not? But Tony just held him closer, his hand sliding around from his waist to press against his lower back. Their hips were almost touching. Steve sucked in a breath.
Tony gazed at him, smile warm and eyes dark. “Well? How would you rate my skill as a dancing partner?”
“Quite excellent,” Steve replied. They were barely dancing anymore, just swaying back and forth as Tony held him close. It felt like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.
“Mmm. And how would you rate my mouth? Considering you’ve been staring at it the whole time.”
Steve felt the tips of his ears burn pink. “I— I did not mean to, it was—”
But before he could continue, Tony surged forward, pressing his lips to Steve’s. It was so soft and gentle, a caress against his own.
Tony pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, “Would you still like to apologize?” Steve could hear the teasing smirk in Tony’s voice.
“I might. You should most certainly kiss me again to prevent it from happening,” Steve replied, utterly straight-faced.
Tony laughed warmly at that, but he complied, pressing himself firmly against Steve as he deepened the kiss.
Steve wasn’t sure how long they stood there kissing, hands roaming each other’s bodies, soft noises escaping their throats. He was certain that several songs had gone by. Breaking off, he gasped for air, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. He was pleased to see that Tony looked equally wrecked. “Well, I suppose this is better luck than finding a patron,” Steve said with a laugh.
Tony quirked a smile at him, eyes sparkling like he was in on some private joke. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ve found that, too.”
Steve frowned, thinking back over the night. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone but Tony. “No. You see, you were the first person I talked to.”
Tony just continued with that maddening grin. “Yes. The first person you talked to was Lord Anthony Stark.” He stepped back from Steve for a moment, bowing with an elaborate flourish. “At your service.”
Steve closed his mouth after a moment, realizing he had been gaping like a fish. “ You’re Lord Stark.”
Tony nodded, before coming forward again to wrap his arms around Steve, spinning them together once and then holding him close. “So you see… patronage is not something you need to worry yourself with any longer. If you’d like.”
For once, Tony looked slightly unsure of himself. Steve grinned, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Oh, I think I would like that very much. On one condition.”
“Yes?” Tony raised an eyebrow at him.
“You have to let me paint you.”
“In any and every position that you want,” Tony replied with a grin so dirty it made heat flood Steve’s cheeks.
“Then it is a deal.”
Whatever response Tony might have been about to give was cut off by Steve leaning in for another kiss, much less chaste this time. They pressed together as the music swirled around them, and Steve thought that perhaps he really had found an adventure after all.