Pretty sure the Pope doesn't canonize machines. Which, if you ask me, is sheer prejudice.
[God, Tony loves the way Steve blushes. He wonders if it'll stop from prolonged exposure to him - he hopes not, but on the other hand, it does mean prolonged exposure to Steve, which seems like a pretty decent trade-off. Of course, he might die of heart failure before that happens, too. But maybe in twenty years, Tony'll be old and grey(er) and Steve will still look like he's thirty and he won't bat an eyelash at Tony's lecherous old man behavior.
It's a fucking pipe dream, but it sounds nice. Tony makes a face at the soggy cereal remnants in the bottom of the bowl and turns back to the coffee.]
Starting to think I should've had you irish this u- [A sudden terrible realization hits Tony, and he just grins.]
[ Steve's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. He might accept that answer from anyone else, but nobody else has Tony Stark's brain. ] That is not the reassuring answer you seem to think it is.
Just eat your pop-tarts and I'll fill you in later.
[Tony tries to lean in to nudge Steve's shoulder with his own - physical contact is a bit limited right now - but loses his balance and nearly falls off the counter. He is amazingly graceful.]
[ The only casualty of Tony's imbalance turns out to be Steve's Pop-Tart, which falls to the floor as Steve throws both arms out to keep Tony in place. After the frantic moment has passed, he somehow ends up with both palms planted on Tony's thighs. If he's breathing a little heavier and his heart is thumping loudly against his chest, it's the earlier excitement to blame, surely. Nothing to see here. ]
I know it's a big ask, but can we at least try to avoid injuries?
Everything you feel, I feel. Maybe I'm just looking out for myself.
[ Given Steve's history with self-preservation, that argument isn't likely to convince anyone. Still, it's better than admitting that Tony's brush with death left Steve feeling overprotective. ]
You know, we're considered leaders around here. Is motorboating in communal spaces the kind of behavior you want to model?
[ With Steve pressing his face to the top of Tony's head, Tony can probably feel the stupid grin on Steve's face. ]
[Yeah, that argument's going to last till the first time Steve jumps out of a plane. Which, by the way, Tony is not looking forward to experiencing. At least when he does it, he has a full suit of armor and no intention of hitting the ground.]
You're considered a leader. I'm the guy who signs the checks, and I think everyone knows that I'm not a role model.
[Except for Peter, who doesn't even live here. Which is good, because he'd die of mortification if he saw old people having sex.]
[ Steve simply rolls his eyes and gives that little shake of his head that means he can't believe Tony is being so ridiculous. ] You don't get to call me that after taking my virginity. Those are just the rules.
I think that being a hundred-year-old virgin actually proves my point. And don't say 'I didn't have the opportunity', because buddy, there was absolutely fucking happening on that warfront.
-god, now I'm thinking about my dad, why do you do this?
Your dad, may God rest his soul, wasn't exactly picky. I always wanted to wait for the right person.
[ Oh. Oh no. Steve just managed to call Howard Stark a slut and suggest that Tony was the right person all in one go. Neither of which are necessarily false, but both were things he was probably better off keeping to himself. Possibly forever. ]
[Look, Tony knows his dad was a slut, just like he knows that he's a slut. His objection is to thinking about his dad fucking his way through Europe, not about the number of people he seduced, and great, now he's wondering his dad and Steve, this is absolutely the worst thing ever.]
Yeah, and you ended up with me. [Tony just snorts.] Great job.
[ Now Steve is just getting heated. He can't stop Tony from putting himself down, but he won't let Tony use his own admission to do it. ] Yeah, I did do a great job, you dick. I did exactly what I set out to do. You think this is, what, me giving up?
I think that your brain got trapped in a feedback loop of arousal and you took the best way out. It's fine, we obviously both needed it, probably you more than me. And it was-
[Amazing, his brain supplies, but Tony can't just come out and say that.]
Really fucking good. So, you know, a very solid virginity losing experience, A+, well done.
[Tony is suddenly acutely aware that he's in the middle of an emotional minefield, and there's no way out short of blowing himself up. Metaphorically.]
Steve's brain zeroes in on those few choice words and suddenly his overwhelming emotion is anger. That's just as well, because underneath that is a gut-wrenching level of disappointment that he can't possibly hope to process this close to Tony.
He needs his thoughts and feelings to be his alone again. ]
Right. Well, I'm glad we both got what we needed. [ He spits out, not sounding very glad at all. ] You should really get Strange on the line before we get trapped in another loop.
[On one hand, this is probably for the best, because Tony doesn't need Steve to imprint on him like a duckling or something when there are better people Steve could be spending his time on now that he's cleared the hurdle of sexual intimacy.
On the other hand, it makes Tony feel exactly like he did after Steve walked away from him in Siberia, after he walked away from Steve when he returned to Earth, and it's a shitty feeling that he'd never wanted to experience again, except that it was always kind of a certainty with them.
The anger is something Tony could tell is Steve's even without knowing it. He's too tired to be angry about falling into the same pattern again, the same old trap. This time, he's just sad - but it's a sadness that carves through his body like a knife, that hits him with the precision blow of vibranium to his ribs.]
Yeah. I'll do that.
[Tony can't bring himself to look at Steve, so he just brings the mug of lukewarm coffee up to his face and drinks instead.]
[ Sadness threatens to drown him like an arctic wave. It doesn't occur to Steve that a fair fraction of it could belong to Tony: he's convinced that Tony doesn't care that deeply, and the way he doesn't even bother to look at Steve reinforces that belief. ]
Great. [ That's as much as he manages to say through clenched teeth. He drops down to pick up his fallen Pop-Tart and tosses it forcefully into the trash, letting the cabinet door slam shut behind him. He needs to get himself under control, he knows that. Unfortunately, when he makes it back to his room, the first thing that greets him is his unmade bed, a mocking reminder of everything he had and already lost.
He heads for the bathroom, hoping some cold water on his face might calm him down. He's not angry at Tony, he's angry with himself. But it's himself who looks back at him from the mirror, and in his anger, Steve forgets the consequences until after his fist breaks through his reflection. ]
[After Steve leaves, it takes Tony roughly thirty seconds to find a bottle of scotch in the kitchen, and he ignores the pain in his hand long enough to get the cap off. Steve can't just let him be sad in peace, he has to put up with all of his goddamn anger, too - and Tony does even stupider things than usual when he's angry. The better option is to drink till he can't see straight.
He's on his second or third pull straight from the bottle when pain spiderwebs across his knuckles, and it's only sheer fucking luck that Tony doesn't fumble and drop the bottle on the tile.]
You fucking idiot, [Tony snarls under his breath. He clutches the bottle in his scarred hands and stalks to Steve's room, taking another swallow of liquid courage before he barges in.]
Here's an idea, could we maybe keep the physical pain to a minimum? I mean, both of us, I'm obviously at fault here, too, and- did you punch a mirror? Fuck, Steve.
[Yeah, Tony knows Steve will heal in about five minutes, but that doesn't keep him from radiating concern when he sees the situation in the bathroom.
I forgot. [ Steve says in a strained voice. For just a moment, he managed to forget the great cosmic joke that the two of them have become, and this is what he did.
Blood spatters against the tile as it drips from Steve's sliced knuckles. Broken shards of glass are pooled behind the faucet. On closer inspection, it appears he might have punched through the wall behind the mirror too.
None of it bothers him as much as Tony standing in the doorway looking— and feeling— so concerned. Right now he'd give anything to be alone with his own emotions, ugly as they are. Anything not to have to feel Tony caring so strongly. Caring so much that if Steve didn't know any better, he'd let himself be fooled again into thinking that just maybe there's something there.
But he does know better. Jesus, Rogers, give it up. Even for him, this level of hanging on is pathetic. ]
It'll heal. [ He says it more for his own benefit than anything. If he can manage to stop picking at the wound in his heart, maybe that will callus over too. ]
[Well, at least the first aid kit is still out from earlier. Tony just sighs and closes the lid of the toilet to sit on it, propping the bottle between his thighs as he grabs the small box.]
All right, get a wet washcloth and then get down where I can reach you. You think there are any glass splinters in there? I can't get them out with both hands fucked up.
[At least the booze is starting to make things softer around the edges, but damn, he really didn't need the ghost of Steve's pain in a hand that's only had the edge taken off by pain reliever.]
[ It's a toss up of dread and frustration as Steve watches Tony settle into his seat, very clearly not intending to go anywhere. He considers asking Tony to leave him alone, but then he'd be setting a precedent for refusing first aid care, and Tony would be the first to take advantage.
At least his anger seems to be ebbing away, replaced by a soft, floating sort of feeling that seemingly came from nowhere. His movements feel slow— like his body is a few seconds behind his brain, or perhaps the other way around— as he retrieves the washcloth and takes a seat on the cold tile in front of Tony. ]
What? [ He asks belatedly, having somehow forgotten what Tony had asked him. ]
[With a surprisingly gentle touch, Tony picks up Steve's hand and starts wiping the blood off. He starts with the drips that run down his wrist and arm, working his way up to Steve's hand.]
Glass splinters in the cuts. I'm inclined to think the blood probably washed any small ones out, but if you have any larger ones that your skin heals over, it's gonna be a shitty time later. Well, maybe not as shitty for someone like you, but I'm not gonna enjoy it. God, I hope you didn't break any bones punching through the fucking wall.
[I'm not worth that kind of pain, he almost says, but doesn't.]
I punched through drywall, not stone. Nothing's broken. [ Spoken like a man who has been known to run through walls on occasion. He has also broken enough bones to recognize the pain of a fracture, and this ain't that. In fact, the pain has started to dull much faster than Steve expected. He is grateful for that, mostly because Tony has to share in the consequences of Steve's thoughtless actions. ]
I'm sorry. [ For whatever reason, the words come easier than they would have just minutes before. As his anger fades, so does some of his stubbornness, and he can see clearly enough to know that he owes Tony an apology. He'll think it's for the pain in his hand, and Steve will let him believe that, because he can't fathom explaining that he regrets getting angry with Tony for not feeling the way Steve wishes he did. That's neither right nor fair. ]
Yeah, yeah, your bones are made of vibranium, I get it.
[Tony waves it off like it's no big deal - and it isn't, really. If Steve says his bones aren't broken, then he believes him. He sets down the washcloth to take another drink, then gets out the gauze and the rubbing alcohol.]
This is gonna sting.
[Hey, just because Steve doesn't get infections (probably) doesn't mean Tony isn't going to observe proper wound care. He handles this like a professional, although his experience is - shockingly - mostly from treating himself. He sucks a breath in and braces himself as he starts cleaning Steve's wounds, glad that the edge of the sting is filled by the alcohol.]
Ohhhh shit.
[Maybe not enough of it. Ow, that hurts like a motherfucker.]
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[God, Tony loves the way Steve blushes. He wonders if it'll stop from prolonged exposure to him - he hopes not, but on the other hand, it does mean prolonged exposure to Steve, which seems like a pretty decent trade-off. Of course, he might die of heart failure before that happens, too. But maybe in twenty years, Tony'll be old and grey(er) and Steve will still look like he's thirty and he won't bat an eyelash at Tony's lecherous old man behavior.
It's a fucking pipe dream, but it sounds nice. Tony makes a face at the soggy cereal remnants in the bottom of the bowl and turns back to the coffee.]
Starting to think I should've had you irish this u- [A sudden terrible realization hits Tony, and he just grins.]
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[Tony's airy tone of voice is enough to indicate that he is 100% up to something, and that Steve should definitely be concerned.]
Just thinking, that's all.
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[Or to literally anyone else who knows Tony.]
Just eat your pop-tarts and I'll fill you in later.
[Tony tries to lean in to nudge Steve's shoulder with his own - physical contact is a bit limited right now - but loses his balance and nearly falls off the counter. He is amazingly graceful.]
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I know it's a big ask, but can we at least try to avoid injuries?
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[Alas, poor Pop-Tart. It's a good thing the pantry is well-stocked.
Tony's just going to rest his forehead against Steve's chest for a moment, though. Just because it's warm and solid and there.]
If you didn't have a shirt on I could motorboat you.
[Wow, imagine what it must be like to be someone with a filter. Not Tony Stark.]
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[ Given Steve's history with self-preservation, that argument isn't likely to convince anyone. Still, it's better than admitting that Tony's brush with death left Steve feeling overprotective. ]
You know, we're considered leaders around here. Is motorboating in communal spaces the kind of behavior you want to model?
[ With Steve pressing his face to the top of Tony's head, Tony can probably feel the stupid grin on Steve's face. ]
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You're considered a leader. I'm the guy who signs the checks, and I think everyone knows that I'm not a role model.
[Except for Peter, who doesn't even live here. Which is good, because he'd die of mortification if he saw old people having sex.]
You're just a prude.
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-god, now I'm thinking about my dad, why do you do this?
[Auuughhhh no make it stop please]
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[ Oh. Oh no. Steve just managed to call Howard Stark a slut and suggest that Tony was the right person all in one go. Neither of which are necessarily false, but both were things he was probably better off keeping to himself. Possibly forever. ]
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Yeah, and you ended up with me. [Tony just snorts.] Great job.
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[Amazing, his brain supplies, but Tony can't just come out and say that.]
Really fucking good. So, you know, a very solid virginity losing experience, A+, well done.
[Tony is suddenly acutely aware that he's in the middle of an emotional minefield, and there's no way out short of blowing himself up. Metaphorically.]
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You more than me.
Steve's brain zeroes in on those few choice words and suddenly his overwhelming emotion is anger. That's just as well, because underneath that is a gut-wrenching level of disappointment that he can't possibly hope to process this close to Tony.
He needs his thoughts and feelings to be his alone again. ]
Right. Well, I'm glad we both got what we needed. [ He spits out, not sounding very glad at all. ] You should really get Strange on the line before we get trapped in another loop.
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On the other hand, it makes Tony feel exactly like he did after Steve walked away from him in Siberia, after he walked away from Steve when he returned to Earth, and it's a shitty feeling that he'd never wanted to experience again, except that it was always kind of a certainty with them.
The anger is something Tony could tell is Steve's even without knowing it. He's too tired to be angry about falling into the same pattern again, the same old trap. This time, he's just sad - but it's a sadness that carves through his body like a knife, that hits him with the precision blow of vibranium to his ribs.]
Yeah. I'll do that.
[Tony can't bring himself to look at Steve, so he just brings the mug of lukewarm coffee up to his face and drinks instead.]
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Great. [ That's as much as he manages to say through clenched teeth. He drops down to pick up his fallen Pop-Tart and tosses it forcefully into the trash, letting the cabinet door slam shut behind him. He needs to get himself under control, he knows that. Unfortunately, when he makes it back to his room, the first thing that greets him is his unmade bed, a mocking reminder of everything he had and already lost.
He heads for the bathroom, hoping some cold water on his face might calm him down. He's not angry at Tony, he's angry with himself. But it's himself who looks back at him from the mirror, and in his anger, Steve forgets the consequences until after his fist breaks through his reflection. ]
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He's on his second or third pull straight from the bottle when pain spiderwebs across his knuckles, and it's only sheer fucking luck that Tony doesn't fumble and drop the bottle on the tile.]
You fucking idiot, [Tony snarls under his breath. He clutches the bottle in his scarred hands and stalks to Steve's room, taking another swallow of liquid courage before he barges in.]
Here's an idea, could we maybe keep the physical pain to a minimum? I mean, both of us, I'm obviously at fault here, too, and- did you punch a mirror? Fuck, Steve.
[Yeah, Tony knows Steve will heal in about five minutes, but that doesn't keep him from radiating concern when he sees the situation in the bathroom.
Hold that thought, he's taking another drink.]
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Blood spatters against the tile as it drips from Steve's sliced knuckles. Broken shards of glass are pooled behind the faucet. On closer inspection, it appears he might have punched through the wall behind the mirror too.
None of it bothers him as much as Tony standing in the doorway looking— and feeling— so concerned. Right now he'd give anything to be alone with his own emotions, ugly as they are. Anything not to have to feel Tony caring so strongly. Caring so much that if Steve didn't know any better, he'd let himself be fooled again into thinking that just maybe there's something there.
But he does know better. Jesus, Rogers, give it up. Even for him, this level of hanging on is pathetic. ]
It'll heal. [ He says it more for his own benefit than anything. If he can manage to stop picking at the wound in his heart, maybe that will callus over too. ]
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All right, get a wet washcloth and then get down where I can reach you. You think there are any glass splinters in there? I can't get them out with both hands fucked up.
[At least the booze is starting to make things softer around the edges, but damn, he really didn't need the ghost of Steve's pain in a hand that's only had the edge taken off by pain reliever.]
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At least his anger seems to be ebbing away, replaced by a soft, floating sort of feeling that seemingly came from nowhere. His movements feel slow— like his body is a few seconds behind his brain, or perhaps the other way around— as he retrieves the washcloth and takes a seat on the cold tile in front of Tony. ]
What? [ He asks belatedly, having somehow forgotten what Tony had asked him. ]
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Glass splinters in the cuts. I'm inclined to think the blood probably washed any small ones out, but if you have any larger ones that your skin heals over, it's gonna be a shitty time later. Well, maybe not as shitty for someone like you, but I'm not gonna enjoy it. God, I hope you didn't break any bones punching through the fucking wall.
[I'm not worth that kind of pain, he almost says, but doesn't.]
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I'm sorry. [ For whatever reason, the words come easier than they would have just minutes before. As his anger fades, so does some of his stubbornness, and he can see clearly enough to know that he owes Tony an apology. He'll think it's for the pain in his hand, and Steve will let him believe that, because he can't fathom explaining that he regrets getting angry with Tony for not feeling the way Steve wishes he did. That's neither right nor fair. ]
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[Tony waves it off like it's no big deal - and it isn't, really. If Steve says his bones aren't broken, then he believes him. He sets down the washcloth to take another drink, then gets out the gauze and the rubbing alcohol.]
This is gonna sting.
[Hey, just because Steve doesn't get infections (probably) doesn't mean Tony isn't going to observe proper wound care. He handles this like a professional, although his experience is - shockingly - mostly from treating himself. He sucks a breath in and braces himself as he starts cleaning Steve's wounds, glad that the edge of the sting is filled by the alcohol.]
Ohhhh shit.
[Maybe not enough of it. Ow, that hurts like a motherfucker.]
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