At only 19, Tony Stark had singlehandedly organized the biggest criminal empire in New York. At 21, Steve Rogers was a waste of space struggling to make ends meet doing odd jobs for old ladies who felt sorry for the attractive young lad.
He was currently working as a part-time bartender, hired by an old widow when she decided that selling a share of the bar to another person would make it easier to run her late husband's pride and joy.
They were in top condition today to impress the new owner and reassure them that this bar would make a profit. Steve was politely ignoring the woman sitting at the bar checking out his ass every time he turned around when he came walking in. He stood out and it wasn't hard to tell that he was here to mix pleasure with business.
His shoes looked pretty designer, though Steve wouldn't know for sure himself. His pants were a sleek black that skimmed nicely down his legs. His shirt, a shocking contrast to the bottom half, was an eye catching red, left unbuttoned at the top, showing off the tiny blue necklace that sat just above his chest.
Steve studied the arrogant smile and, as he finally reached his destination in front of him, the covert blackness of his eyes. He had a killer poker face. But he couldn't hide his obvious staring.
Steve could say he was used to being ogled. After puberty took the liberty of punching him square in the face and left him with more muscle than he knew what to do with, men and women alike appreciated it. But that wasn't to say even he wouldn't care if an equally attractive billionaire couldn't keep his eyes off him. That would be nuts.
The young man stopped and sat gracefully on a stool and nodding slightly to a man at his left who stood still behind him.
"What would you like?" Steve asked instinctively.
"Chocolate milk."
They both paused. Steve's eyes widened in pleasant surprise as the young man's jaw clenched slightly.
He did seem kind of young but he was aware that this was a bar, right? Steve chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"Uhh, I mean rum. Straight, no ice." His previous empty smile slid back as he chose to completely ignore his blunder.
'Well that's no fun.' Steve thought.
He leaned in, his elbows resting lazily on the counter and grinned, "ID, please."
"What? You don't need my ID." Calloused fingers tapped impatiently on the table top, irritation breaking the grinning mask.
"Well actually I do. Still illegal for minors to drink so I need verification of your age."
His poker face fell completely then as confusion filled the space.
Steve knew who he was. He also knew he wasn't 21. He had never met the man in person but it was hard to live in the state without hearing stories about the notorious Tony Stark. Seeing him here, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.
"I own the place, I don't need ID. Just give me my drink."
"Ok then." Steve turned and walked into the back room behind the bar to dig through a small crate. Tony flushed a wonderful red when he came back and set the bottle of chocolate milk down in front of him. Maybe he should start working full time.