Disclaimer: I own nothing and I'm not making any money!
Warnings: Swearing, m/m sexual content, spoilers.
Notes: Movie-verse, set post Avengers but before everything else. Written from Tony's POV. Has some comic-verse references/spoilers. Not beta'd, sorry in advance for typos; there probably are some. Comments/feedback are appreciated!
Inspired by these texts from Texts From Last Night:
(402): You're changing the subject. I can blow something up or I can tell him you love him, but one of the two is bound to happen.
(717): He made me salute his American flag boxers before I took them off.
Life Couldn't be Better
In hindsight, the signs were pretty hard to miss. Everything's a whole lot clearer when you're looking back over your shoulder instead of ahead, like you damn well should be. When did it start? Was it the way Steve smiled at me when he handed me my coffee the other morning, or was it how his hand brushed against mine under the table during that last team meeting? Maybe it started long before that, when we first met. It could be that I saw his criticism and comparing me to my father as a challenge. I do love a good challenge, after all... Almost as much as I love making Steve blush with some kind of inappropriate – Damn it.
It has to stop. How did it get so far?
Scratch that thought – it hasn't gotten anywhere. He doesn't know, and it needs to stay that way. It's just me. Me, sitting alone in my workshop surrounded by chaos, ignoring reality and attempting to work myself literally to death. There may or may not be scotch involved; I really can't remember. But that's the thing with me – I'm the first to rush in and blow shit up without the faintest trace of caution, but when it comes to my emotions playing havoc on me... I hide. It's that simple. I don't deal with it, I don't acknowledge it and I sure as fuck don't want to talk about it. I run away, even though running away translates to getting black-out drunk and doing something reckless 99.9% of the time.
I don't know what I see in him. Steve's nothing but a living reminder that I could never live up to my old's men expectations, but you know what – that's okay. It's fine because I'm better than he ever was, even though a lot of people don't see it that way. I'm giving something back to the world instead of just blowing shit up. Maybe I'm less of a 'hero' because I don't have the military eating out of my hand anymore, or maybe I'm just a monopolizing ass. That doesn't matter. I'm not a hero, and I never was.
That's it right there, probably. The whole hero thing, I mean. Steve's everything I always wanted to be – loved, respected, admired and more than deserving of it, because underneath it all, he's just a really good person. I'm not. I'm a self-centered, reckless asshole with a drinking problem that I'm far too fond of to even consider trying to quit. I don't deserve him, and he deserves so much morethan I could ever give him.
Clearly, I just need a good, hard fuck to get this out of my system. It has been a while since I bothered to get laid. This whole super secret boyband and saving the world thing has really been cutting into my personal time. I guess I'll just head down to the club and -
"Tony?" I blink and turn off the power to the welding torch in my hand. What am I making anyway? It looks like a... I don't even know. Drunks shouldn't be allowed to have power tools, but that's half the fun.
"What, Steve?" I ask, without turning around to see the super soldier standing in the doorway to the workshop. I can't look at him. If I do, my heart will start beating a little faster, and my palms will get a bit sweaty and – No. Just no. I'm not a fucking sixteen-year-old girl getting wet over Twilight. He makes me feel like some kind of lovesick virgin and I can't stand it!
"You've been down here for two days straight." Steve tells me in a flat tone that it's completely impossible to read any emotion from.
"Yeah. And?" I retort, turning the welding torch back on and doing my damnedest to pretend I'm actually working and not, in fact, half-drunk and hiding from him. I suppose it would help if I actually knew what the shit I'm doing. I think it's a circuit board, but it's just a mess.
"I brought you some food. It's on the counter over here. You should really get some rest; you're going to hurt yourself or burn this place to the ground if you keep this up." Steve says in clear exasperation.
"Sure thing, Mom." I grunt in reply. "By the way, if anything blows up down here it will be structurally contained. The walls, floor and ceiling are all blast and heat proof. So that's one less thing to worry about, yeah?" I ramble, silently begging him to leave.
"I'm worried about you, Tony. You aren't yourself lately." I don't have to be able to see him to know that those clear blue eyes are staring holes in me. He's probably got this hurt puppy look on his face, and...
Hello awkward boner. It's been a while. Where the fuck did you come from, exactly?
I'm glad I have my back to him. That's a blessing in itself. I yawn, and put a hand over my mouth to stifle it. My breath reeks of stale scotch, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. I think I might have actually been down here for more than two days, judging by how badly it feels like I need a proper shave. I know Steve's still watching me as I look down at my filthy, calloused hands. My jeans and vintage ACDC shirt are grease-stained beyond salvation, too. Yeah, a shower would be nice – a cold shower.
"I'm fine, Capsicle. You can go." I snap a little more irritably than I want to.
"I'll be in the common room if you need anything." Steve replies with a resigned tone.
"If you say so, Harry Potter." I mutter to myself as he leaves. Common room? He's the only one that calls our lounge/kitchen/meeting room on the floor below the penthouse that. Dejectedly, I glance at the counter where Steve left me a tuna sandwich and a steaming cup of coffee. I get up and snatch the coffee, ignoring the sandwich. I should really go upstairs – these pants are getting a little tight...
Fuck it.
I sit the coffee down on my desk and unbutton my jeans.
"Jarvis, privacy mode." I say to the AI. The clear glass panels blocking the shop off from the rest of the floor go black, and Jarvis confirms that he's disabled the elevator for this floor. Good. I'd really hate for someone to walk in on me jerking off. It wouldn't be the first time (and most likely not the last), but I'm just not in the mood to deal with it. Shame isn't exactly in my vocabulary, regardless.
I try to imagine some busty blonde bent over my penthouse bar counter as I free my throbbing cock and wrap my fingers around it. It's useless. I can only see Steve's muscular form above me, he smiles as he leans down and presses his lips to the tip of my -
"Stark." I groan and lean forward hard enough to smack my head on the metal desk in front of me.
"Do you mind? Jesus fucking Christ." I hiss in disgust as Natasha soundlessly drops out of a ventilation grate and pats dust off her catsuit. At least her sudden appearance effectively destroyed my boner. If that's not a blessing, I don't know what is. I'd want to crawl in a hole and light myself on fire if I came thinking of Steve. Steve deserves better than that. Better than me, I can't stop myself from thinking.
"I've caught you doing worse." She tells me with raised eyebrows as I quickly tuck my assets back into my pants. "This is pathetic though, even for you."
"What is, exactly?" I mumble, trying not to look at the assassin as she silently leans against the desk beside me. I'm kind of terrified to meet her eyes. I swear the woman can read minds, and I'm done for if she knows what's going through mine right now.
"The way you're pining, Stark. Do something about it, please." Natasha snaps.
Well, fuck.
"Fury called earlier about a debriefing; did you-"
"You're changing the subject. I can blow something up or I can tell him you love him, but one of the two is bound to happen." Natasha growls, and grabs my chin, jerking my head up so that our eyes meet. "I mean it, Stark. Tell him, or..." She pulls a pistol out of a hidden holster and aims right for the cabinet she somehow must know is full of highly explosive chemicals.
"Shit, put that away! If you're gonna blow shit up, do it when I'm not in here, all right? Jesus. Fuck. Okay. I'll take care of it. Be reasonable." I chatter like some kind of drunk squirrel stuck hanging off the side of a gutter.
"Don't fuck it up, and don't you dare hurt him." Natasha replies sweetly and saunters out of the lab – this time through the doors like a normal person. I watch her tuck a curl of her bright red hair behind her ear as she steps into the elevator.
"Shower first, and... I can't do this." I mumble to myself, digging my fingers through my hair that's an absolute mess.
I have no idea how long I spent in that shower reflecting on all the ways I'm probably gonna go right ahead and fuck this up, but it's sunset by the time I turn off the water that went cold a while ago. Miserably, I wrap a towel around my waist and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look a bit better since I shaved, but there's something hollow and cold in my eyes. ...It's been there since I made it out of that cave. The self-loathing and doubt, I guess? I'm not a stranger to that. You'd think by now I might be able to move on from it, but my past is always going to be hanging out just around the corner like a clingy one-night stand I can't seem to get rid of.
But this isn't like that. I want it so badly it's just... How am I going to go about this, even? Buying his affections is a dead end – Steve is horrible at accepting gifts; he's modest to a fault. Seducing him is even less of an option. For all I know, he's a virgin and that's actually a pretty good possibility. Then there's the whole gay thing. It was a crime in the time period he grew up in, God only knows how he'll react.
"Jarvis, I need advice. How do I properly ask Captain fucking America on a date?" I ask, kicking open the bathroom door and wandering into my bedroom with a sigh.
"I would suggest not calling him 'Captain fucking America' for starters, Sir." The AI replies. What part of me ever thought it was a good idea to make an AI capable of sarcastic comments? One of these days, he's going to go all terminator on me and I won't even be surprised.
"Perhaps dinner would be a start?"
Dinner. Right. ...Why do I have a feeling that's just going to be a whole lot of sitting across from each other at some fancy restaurant, in the longest awkward silence ever in the history of human romance? Because that's exactly what it'll be like.
"No, bad idea. Any other options, Jarvis?" I reply hastily and reach for a clean shirt that I left on my bed.
"Perhaps Miss Potts could be of assistance?" I cross my arms across my chest and sigh impatiently.
Yeah, Pepper probably could help – but that would mean talking to her. I've sort of been avoiding her. We more or less fell apart after what happened in New York. Romantically, I mean. We're still close; we always will be. We've been through too much shit to be anything other than basically the best of friends. She's like a sister to me – annoying as fuck, but always the first person I run to when I've screwed something up and need help.
It's kind of sad, actually. Our break-up wasn't an epic chick-flick train wreck, it was just a sudden realization we both had at the same moment. We were sitting in a little cafe in Manhattan, when I realized that our relationship was born entirely of convenience. After all things we managed to survive, taking her in hand seemed like the next logical step – the easiest step. So, I just laughed and we both agreed on that, and... That was it. It was over. No tears, no screaming, no pointless begging – just an agreement to never date each other again.
I run my fingers through my still wet hair and consider my options for a moment.
"Jarvis, tell Pepper to meet me at the usual place in fifteen." I tell the AI, and pull on the rest of my clothes.
The 'usual place', ironically, is the little cafe we broke up in. Everyone there knows me (and the rest of the Avengers), so it's a nice place to go hang out without being bothered for autographs and photos every five seconds. Pepper's already there when I walk in the door. She's sitting by herself at a small table with a copy of National Enquirer propped up against the metal napkin holder. Her reddish hair is pulled up in a neat bun, and she's dressed in a smart beige business suit. She takes a sip of coffee and looks up as I slide into the chair opposite her.
The place is mostly empty, at least. There's just a family finishing up their dinner on the other side of the dining room, and a couple of men sitting together at a bistro table outside watching the sun set. I'd be willing to bet money, lots of money, that they're as gay as it gets. ...Not that it's a bad thing, of course.
"You should really be nominated for sainthood." I tell Pepper and wrap my hands around the warm mug of coffee she already ordered for me. "So who are they saying I'm having a torrid affair with this week?" I add, with a glance at a terrible picture of myself on the cover the magazine she's reading.
"Paris Hilton." Pepper replies with an amused smile and tosses the offending thing on the empty chair next to her.
"Well they're not wrong." I say with a snort of amusement. "I'm glad that only lasted for like two days; her lingerie is too damn expensive – even for me."
"True, that was what... Four years ago? Anyway. What did you need, Tony? Is this about the board of directors meeting tomorrow?" Pepper asks.
"Shit, I forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me? And no, it's... I need some advice, Pep. Romance advice." She chokes on a sip of coffee and bursts into laughter. Hearing her laugh is always nice, and when she's like this it's easy to remember why I was so sure I was in love with her. Well, aside from the fact that she's smart, fierce and beautiful. I think it really could have worked for us, in an alternate dimension where what we wanted out of life wasn't so different, anyway.
"Okay, are you joking? Really, all you need to do is ask. Who would say no to you, Tony?" Pepper inquires with a soft smile.
"Someone who's A: probably not gay, and B: hardly tolerates being alone in a room with me for more than five minutes at a time." I tell her, sort of wishing I could just teleport through the floor or something. "I just want to do this right. I don't want to make a mess of it."
"Steve." She says flatly, and it's my turn to choke on my coffee. Was it that obvious? She hasn't even seen me outside of board meetings in at least two months. "Well, that's not going to be easy. And you're going after a guy? I didn't see that one coming." Pepper adds when my reaction more than confirms her theory.
"Any ideas?" I mumble once I compose myself. It's probably because it's a guy that I have no idea what to do here. If he had tits, I'd be in his pants by now. Well, probably. On that note, I've never actually had sex with a guy before. ...That's something else I should probably do a little research on, and by 'research' I mean dig up some decent porn.
Pepper just taps her manicured nails on the clear glass tabletop and stares at me with a vacant expression while she thinks about it.
"I'd say take him to dinner, but you'll both screw that up somehow." She says finally.
"Yeah, I already thought of that and came to same conclusion." I tell her miserably. "Did I tell you Natasha knows? No? Well, she kind of threatened to blow up my workshop if I didn't deal with it."
"That bad, huh?" Pepper says and giggles. She and Natasha get along pretty well; Nat isstill working undercover at Stark Industries as Pepper's part-time private secretary. Not for SHIELD though, just to make sure the board doesn't try to move back into weapons manufacturing. That's not in anyone's best interest, least of all mine or the Avengers'.
"Yeah. So, dinner's a no-go. Any other ideas?" I ask and yawn. I try not think of how many days it's been now that I haven't slept. If Pepper can tell, she doesn't comment. She knows, I'm sure. She's worked for me for too long not to recognize the signs.
"A gift, maybe? Nothing expensive, though. He'll never accept it. It would have to be something thoughtful – something that would mean something to him." Pepper suggests.
We sit in silence for a few moments while I think about it. What I would give him that would mean something? I could build him the most advanced cell phone or tablet in the world, and he wouldn't accept it – let alone know what the hell to do with it. I still have the first prototype of his shield that my dad made collecting dust in the workshop back in Malibu. But that's no good, either. Besides, I might need some of what I'm pretty sure is all the vibranium left in the world for something.
My father is still kind of a sore spot where Steve is concerned, anyway. I'm pretty sure he's still convinced that my father was some kind of fucking saint, and that I'm not half what he was. I wish I could tell him that the old man turned into an alcoholic and a self-righteous asshat. It's really too bad that there's no way to have that conversation without me sounding like a whiny little pussy because I didn't get what I wanted as a kid. In that sense, fate is a bitch. What's wrong with me anyway? Why the hell am I falling for the guy who made me feel inferior before I even knew what 'inferior' means? My dad always wanted me to be like Captain America, and I really tried just so he would be at least a little bit proud of me. It was never enough, but that's okay. It's not who I am, and I have managed to finally let it go.
"Got anything?" Pepper asks, butting in on my self-pity.
"I really have no idea." I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. The sun is long gone, aside from a faint orange glow on the horizon. I'm about to ask Pepper about the board meeting, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. There's a text from Steve. ...When did he learn how to text?
Where are you?, It says, and I'm disgustingly glad it says 'you' and 'are' instead of 'u' and 'r'. Thank God. I hate chat-speak. Hopefully he never learns it.
Having coffee with Pepper. Why?, I text him back and lay the phone on the table.
Okay. Just checking up on you. Natasha was worried about you for some reason., Is the reply, that apparently took him nearly five minutes to type. I didn't notice that I'd been completely ignoring Pepper, until she clears her throat loudly.
"I was just..." I sigh and shake my head. "Nothing, never mind."
"So, why don't you make him something?" Pepper suggests. I was already thinking that, but what? ...And how do I give it to him? Should I just walk up to him be like 'here, I have a present for you!', or should I sneak it into his floor at the tower when he's not around?
"Pepper, I hate to go, but I've got a call to make." I chatter as sudden inspiration strikes. I toss a crumpled twenty on the table to cover the coffee and more or less run for it. I have no idea what Steve would like, but I know someone who might... Even if he's pretty much one of the last people on earth I want to talk to, though it's nothing personal. Okay, maybe it's a little personal – not that it's of my business who Pepper wants to sleep with these days. Still, I'm glad he pulled through after Loki stabbed him.
"Jarvis, call Agent." I tell the AI, once I'm back in my black Corvette and headed back toward the tower.
"Stark?" The familiar voice of Phil Coulson comes over the speakers as I stop for a light near Times Square. "I assume the purpose of this call isn't to inquire as to whether or not I've seen the new season of Supernanny?"
I let out a bark of laughter in spite of myself. I doubt either of us will forget the time he threatened to tase me and watch Supernanny while I drool into the carpet. Granted, I deserved it and I'm lucky he didn't, but that's beside the point. I shake my head in annoyance as some old fart in a white Lincoln cuts me off and proceeds to do twenty miles an hour. Typical.
"Nope. Actually, I need to get Steve a present and I think you might know him better than anyone in this century. Suggestions?" I ask, painfully aware that Phil's probably already deduced the entire situation via the tone of my voice or something.
"Okay. First of all, I don't want to know. Secondly, don't bother – it'll send the wrong message. Just go talk to him, preferably sober. Stark, he's not like some drunk, barely legal girl from a club. Don't hurt him." Phil replies after a long pause.
"I fucking hate you. And I won't." I groan and run a red light, not even realizing it until there's a cop behind me with his lights on.
"The feeling's mutual. Good luck." Coulson replies, voice dripping with somehow expressionless sarcasm as he hangs up on me. The thought crosses my mind to run from the cop for shits and giggles, but it's hardly worth it. I just pull over and dig for the registration.
Almost an hour (and a careless driving ticket later), I arrive at the tower in a shitty mood. Of course that cop turned out to be a chick – a chick that was one of my many one-night stands that I don't remember. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Fuck her. I'll just give the summons to Pepper and let her deal with it. It's not that big of a deal, it's more about the principal of the thing. It was kind of my fault anyway. What? I'm all kinds of distracted. I can't even properly blame Agent Asshole.
I drag myself to the lounge, hoping to grab a quick snack and head down to the workshop until I pass out. Unfortunately, Steve and Natasha are there talking about something interesting in the news. I nonchalantly pretend they don't exist as I walk right past them toward the little kitchenette. I could have Jarvis call something in, but they've already seen me so it's kind of a lost cause. There's not much in the fridge except for left-over Chinese food and a slice of pepperoni pizza. I grab the pizza, throw it on a plate and toss it in the microwave. God only knows how old it is, but I kind of don't care right now. I only had coffee back at the cafe, and I'm suddenly ravenous. ...And avoiding the situation like a hooker with syphilis.
I can't see any way out. I'm going to have to attempt to civilly discuss it with him. Not right now, though. Maybe tomorrow, so I can figure out exactly what to say. Besides, I'd have to find some way to get rid of Natasha.
"Well, I've got to go. Fury wants Clint and I back at the Triskelion for a debriefing about that Hydra raid last week. I don't think we can avoid it anymore. We should be back on Monday." Natasha says to Steve with a slight nod of her head. "Stark, don't forget what we talked about earlier. I expect a full report when I get back." I flinch, but continue to completely ignore her existence.
"All right, I'm sure Tony and I can hold down the fort. We'll call you if anything really big happens, though." Steve replies, and folds up the newspaper they were looking over. "Which means you should get some sleep because it's only the two of us if we get called in." Steve adds to me, glancing over his shoulder. I mutter something noncommittally and nearly burn myself on the pizza. Of course Bruce is still in Calcutta doing volunteer work as a doctor, and Thor's in Fairyland. So it's just the two of us. Well, damn if that's not perfect. ...Or terrifying.
"What's the matter?" Steve asks, when I plop down in the chair across from him at the round glass table in the middle of the room. We usually hold team meetings here, but it's kind of slowly turned into a lounge where we all kind of hang out whenever we're around. We eat meals together here, laugh at Clint getting his ass kicked in video games, and watch TV... Whatever. It's funny how we're turning into this dysfunctional little family instead of a band of misfits. I don't mind, though. For the first time in my life, I actually feel like I'm a part of something that matters. I belong here with them.
"I got pulled over by an ex-girlfriend that's a cop, and got a ticket. The ticket, I deserved – just not the extra points she tacked on because she's a bitch." I grumble and take a bite of the pizza that's slightly cooler than lava now.
"I don't even want to know." Steve says, shaking his head. "Forget I asked."
"Not a problem, because I'm working on forgetting it happened. Might need some Jack Daniels for that, but alcohol and welding equipment don't go too well together." I ramble, trying desperately not to think of how fucking amazing that tight white t-shirt looks on him. The way the fabric snags on his muscles is like a wet dream.
"What did you and Natasha talk about?" Steve asks curiously. I ignore the question for a moment as I read the headline on the front page of the New York Times. I freeze with the slice of pizza halfway to my mouth, and lower it slowly back to the plate. The whole page is taken up with an article full of speculation about my sexual preferences, in light of a five million dollar donation I made last month to the state of New York to be used toward developing support groups, and various resources for LGBT teens and adults.
"My apparent gay crisis." I say, shaking my head. "Now I know why."
"Are you? Gay, I mean?" I nearly choke on the next bite of pizza as I start laughing helplessly at the look on Steve's face. I'm next to positive he's a virgin. He has to be.
"No, not really, but I'll try anything once with someone I trust enough." I answer in what I hope is a nonchalant tone. Damn it, here we go again. He's giving me that look, and all I want to do is dive across the table and ravish the shit out of him. Seriously, I am going to rip that damn t-shirt off and go to town on his -
"Tony?" I blink and smile at him like an idiot.
"Huh? What?"
"I asked if your father ever told you about 'fondue night'." Steve asks with a straight face, but he's obviously holding back laughter – his clear blue eyes are almost watering. Fondue night? What the hell?
"Pretty sure he didn't. He kind of pretended I didn't exist most of the time. But then, I'm not even actually his son so... Hm. What was 'fondue night'? Enlighten me." I say somewhat dejectedly.
"You're not his - ?!"
"No. His son's name is Arno. He was born with a really bad birth defect, and has been on life-support since the day he was born. That couldn't be the face of the Stark empire, so Howard adopted me. I only found out about it a year ago. I'm glad I did, though. Arno is a good guy, and maybe even a bit smarter than I am. ...Not that I admitted that, or anything. We've done some pretty awesome work together, and I made his life support a little more... Mobile." I explain quickly, not really wanting to dwell on that whole mess. "So, 'fondue night'?"
"Thursday nights." Steve says, thankfully not commenting about my life being built on lies heaped upon lies. "Well, homosexuality was something you could literally get arrested for in the forties. So, you didn't just talk about it. Better yet, you didn't do it. Unless you did, and in that case having a girlfriend was a pretty good cover – unless she caught you."
"Shit. Is this going where I think it is?" I groan and hide my face in my hands. "I mean it explains a hell of a lot just... ugh. So that's why he spent years searching for the Tesseract. It was never about the Tesseract."
"Yeah, probably. But, don't get me wrong. I loved Peggy, I really did." Steve says hastily. "But, I loved her more like a big sister – kind of like you and Pepper. She knew about Howard and I. I have no idea how she found out, but she did. She liked us both too much for her own good, I think. So she helped us keep it a secret. By day, she was my girl – unless it was a Thursday night which was the only day Howard and I had any time to spend together." I'm not really sure how to respond to that. I don't want to be a replacement for my not-father of all fucking people.
"So, you're not a virgin then." I observe mostly for my own sake. Steve just laughs and shakes his head.
"No. I'm not." He mutters somewhat indignantly.
"Then why do you get all flustered whenever someone says anything remotely dirty?" I ask, honestly curious.
"Because you didn't just talk about sex back then. What happened behind closed doors stayed there. Carrying on about it like people do now was considered highly indecent and embarrassing." Steve explains dully. I'm kind of disappointed in myself for the fact that the thought never crossed my mind. I mean, that makes a lot of sense. I know most older people get pissy about it, and my father sure had a fit the first time he caught me bragging about boning the hottest girl on campus back at MIT.
"Okay, makes sense." I say and pick at the left-over crust from my pizza. "Well, that makes a couple things easier to deal with since you're apparently not straight or a virgin. And, we don't even have to talk about sex. Well, not really."
"...What?" Steve asks, frowning and goes to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee. He doesn't even ask if I want any, but he automatically comes back with a cup for me in his other hand. I take it from him wordlessly, realizing that for the first time he knows exactly how I like it made.
"I've been avoiding you." I say bluntly.
"I know." Steve retorts with a smirk. "...And I think I know why now."
"I don't deserve you." I tell him, the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Don't be stupid. Maybe you're not perfect, and you can be the most infuriating guy on earth sometimes – but you're a good person. Okay, I've wanted to kill you myself a few times with how reckless you are. I'll admit it. But it's because I worry about you, and you always do what's right in the end. We've all got bad habits. It's what makes us human, but it doesn't have to be what defines us." Steve says encouragingly. If I wanted to crawl in a hole and light myself on fire before, it's nothing compared to how I feel right now. But that's it; it's out there. Now it just has to work itself out somehow and -
...Did he just say I'm a good person? Who the hell says that? I don't think anyone's ever said that about me before. I've been called a lot of things, but a 'good person' isn't one of them. I barely manage to hold back some very un-manly tears and reluctantly look up to meet Steve's eyes.
"I can't be Howard's replacement."
"I don't see how you could be. All he cared about was his work, nothing else mattered. You're not like that, even if you pretend to be. What we had... It didn't last long. Maybe he didn't realize what it meant until after I was out of his reach. But it doesn't matter. You know, the hardest thing about waking up and missing out on seventy years is accepting that nothing that happened then matters. All the people that actually remember the stuff that wasn't in the news – who I really am – are dead. So I just have to... Start over." Steve says sadly, and looks out the window at the city lights below us. Manhattan, as usual, is still bustling well into the night. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing."
"So, how do you feel about 'starting over' with me?" I ask, before I get the chance to think about it and make a mess out of it. "Nobody has to know if you don't want them to." I add, as an afterthought. Steve watches me for a moment and nods slowly.
"On one condition: you will leave your workshop to eat and sleep like a normal human being. Preferably without me bodily dragging you out of there. ...And I'd better get dinner out of this." Steve says with a chuckle.
"Oh honey, you are getting so much more than dinner." I quip and decide that if there is a God, maybe he's not a total asshole. Maybe.
"Dinner first." Steve replies, and gives me a glare that could burn a hole through the wall. "I'm not some lush from the pub."
"I hope you know I'm terrible at actual romance."
"I hope you don't expect me to climb in your bed on the first date. You know me better than that."
And damn it, I do know him better than that. "The thought never crossed my mind." Okay, so it did. A few times - all right lots of times. But you know, I literally can't remember the last time sex meant something to me other than the first couple of times with Pepper. It's worth waiting for. It's not like I'll never get there, it'll just take some effort. It will happen, because fuck if I didn't screw it all to hell yet, it's all going to be fine.
"Good night, Tony. Get some rest. With our luck there'll doombots crawling over the lower east side in the morning." Steve tells me with a wink.
"Come on man, don't even say that." I grumble, but tell Steve goodnight. I contemplate sneaking into the workshop anyway, but he's right. It's just the two of us until Natasha and Clint get back from Washington. Bruce's due back in the morning, but caution is the better part of valor. Besides, it would be a pretty dick move to leave Steve without back-up.
"I told you not say it!" I hiss at Steve over the radio.
"Yeah, I know. You've said that four times already." Steve replies, sounding annoyed. I hear the tell-tale sound of his shield colliding with something metallic as he proceeds to completely ignore me. I can't blame him, really. He's surrounded by doombots in the street below me. He's kicking their asses, of course, but it's just the two of us. I aim a repulsor blast at a couple of the bots behind him, giving him some room to maneuver, but it's not much good. I'm low on power and won't be able to maintain flight for much longer.
"Sir, power levels are at -"
"Shut up, Jarvis. Daddy's working." I mutter, and kick a bot off the roof of an apartment building. It explodes in a shower of debris not far from Steve. This is bad. There's too many of them. We can't hold them off on our own. I guess it wouldn't be so damn irritating if Doctor Douche would at least come up with something more creative than sending wave after wave of the same shitty tech. He got lucky this time, though. We might have to fall back, unless...
"Tony! Was that -?" I hear Steve's voice in my earpiece, and want to cry in joy as none other than the hulk shows up on the scene, scattering doombots like ants. I fly down there and join in properly, frying as many of them as I can with the repulsors before I'm totally out of power. Between the three of us, we manage to get the situation under control quickly, and I take back to the skies. Or we thought we had it under control...
"Tony! Watch out!" Steve shouts, but the warning isn't fast enough and the suit takes a blast from one of the bots that's apparently got some kind of specialized weapons.
"Shit!" I swear and try to steer away from a building, but I end up crashing right through the windows and smack into a reinforced steel door. For a second, I feel completely dazed like I might have blacked out. I've definitely got a couple of broken ribs, or bruised them at least. I'm not sure which looks worse, my suit or the door to a vault belonging to the stock exchange. There's literally an epic dent in the middle of it in the shape of my suit. I groan and try to dislodge myself, but my left gauntlet is crunched right into the metal. I manage to rip it out, with a hiss of pain – and completely ignore Jarvis informing me that wrist is broken. I probably have a concussion too, judging from the ringing in my ears and the way my vision is refusing to focus.
"Tony! What's your status!" Steve barks over the radio, sounding far more worried than he normally would.
"I'm a little banged up, but I'll live. Don't worry, darling." I tell him and head for the elevator. I won't be able to fly with the broken gauntlet, the power's too low anyway. The HUD is damaged in the helmet, too. Damn. That was a nasty hit. What the hell did Doom cook up? It looked almost like the hydra weapons that Schmidt based on the Tesseract.
When I make it back out to the streets, Steve's having a hell of a time trying to dodge the large doombot's blasts and attack at the same time. He tries to deflect a blast with the shield, but the force of it sends him flying. I manage to grab the shield and toss it back to him, as the hulk throws a chunk of debris at the bot. Thankfully, the big guy got in a good hit. There's a a sizable crack in the bot's armor, and I aim a repulsor blast right for the weak spot at the same time Steve throws his shield. They hit at the exact same moment, and the bot finally explodes in a shower of broken parts.
"Son of bitch." I swear, shaking my head.
"No kidding." Steve agrees, collecting his shield and giving me a tired smile. He's pretty banged up, too. It's just a few cuts and bruises though, nothing that won't be gone in a few hours with his accelerated healing rate. "You all right, Tony?"
"Hm. Broken wrist. Probably a concussion. But yeah, I'll be fine." I answer, pull off my helmet, and collapse into the metal bench near the bus stop that Steve was fighting beside. I hear the clicking of a camera, and stick up my right middle finger without looking. Fucking paparazzi. They can all go suck a dick.
"Well, let's get back to the tower. I'm sure Bruce can fix you up." Steve says and holds out his hand to help me up. I don't even think about it when I reach up and take it. I also don't think much about it when Steve leans in and presses a warm kiss against my lips. I just flip off the paparazzi who are going crazy like Christmas came early again, and melt into the kiss. I can't remember the last time a kiss felt this good. It's not like kissing a woman, it's a little rough, demanding and damn it, I want more!
"Back to the tower, let's go." Steve repeats and ruffles my hair affectionately.
"What was that about? You know they were taking pictures, right?" I mumble. I've dealt with the media and all their BS my entire life, but there's no need for Steve to have his reputation wrecked for being my new 'boy toy' or whatever the headline will be on the news channel later.
"I never said I wanted it to be a secret." Steve whispers in my ear, and throws his arm over my shoulders. "Like I said, I don't think starting over's such a bad thing. We don't have to hide it. I think I'm starting to like the 21st century."
"There are still people who don't approve." I say sadly.
"You can't make everyone happy." Steve replies enigmatically.
No, no you can't. He's right about that. ...And I don't want to hide either. I'd rather read nonsense about Steve keeping me as a bondage slave than scandalous BS about Kim Kardashian secretly being pregnant with my kid or something.
A couple hours later, I'm laying in my bed in the penthouse with a headache like none other and an overly concerned super soldier trying to make me eat Bruce's homemade tomato soup. If I hadn't remembered the doom bots, I'd think I got my ass ran over by a loaded dump truck – without a suit. Three bruised ribs, a concussion that's subsided into a dull throbbing pain and a broken wrist. I'm pretty lucky, actually. Watching the security footage from the building I got thrown into wasn't pretty. It's hard to believe the suit was still partially operational after the impact.
"You've got to eat something, Tony." Steve says insistently.
"Not right now. Later, okay? I kind of feel like I have an epic hangover, which means I don't want food. Kneeling in front of the toilet puking my guts out, with bruised ribs, is going to fucking blow." I say miserably.
"All right. I know better than to argue with you." Steve tells me with a frown. "I'll go call Fury and give him the report."
"Wait. ...You can have Bruce do it." I mutter. Maybe it's all the painkillers the doctor in question has given me, but I just can't help myself. "Will you stay with me?"
"If you want." Steve says in a defeated tone. He doesn't say anything else as he kicks off his shoes and snuggles up next to me. I wasn't expecting that, but I'm not complaining. How could I? I just lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. He just took a shower, and smells faintly of some kind of extra manly body wash.
"...Love you." I mumble and fall asleep in seconds – a deep, dreamless sleep where there's not the slightest sign of the usual nightmares of caves and the void of space.
When I wake up sometime later in the afternoon, Bruce is carefully changing the bandages on my wrist. Apparently it's a real mess and he had to pin it together in a couple places in order for the bones to knit properly. Steve is fast asleep next to me, with one of his arms draped across my waist and his face nuzzled into my shoulder. Bruce gives me a sort of questioning glance and his eyes slide to Steve. I just give him a weak smile and a suggestive wink. It may be the most awkward conversation we've ever had, and there wasn't even a single word spoken.
A few moments after Bruce leaves, the door swings open again and Natasha's standing there. She catches sight of Steve draped over me, and smiles before vanishing back outside. I kind of want to make a comment about her being late, seeing as Steve called her in as soon as we heard about the doom bots, but screw it. At least it looks like she won't be blowing up my workshop today. ...Which isn't important because I guess I won't be working much with only one good hand. Fuck. What am I going to do with myself while it heals?
"Sir, there is a call on line three from Director Fury." Jarvis informs me, I can feel Steve tense slightly as he comes awake with a yawn.
"Take a message." Steve tells the AI before I get the chance, and I can't help but snort in amusement. At least he doesn't look at the ceiling anymore – Thor still does.
"Will do, Mr. Rogers." Jarvis replies.
"Hey, I got you in my bed before the first date." I mumble to Steve and yawn loudly – followed by a stream of swearing at the pain in my chest from the sore ribs.
"I still have my clothes on." Steve points out, chuckling.
"Close enough." I quip and whack him with a pillow. We both dissolve into helpless laughter, even if it kind of makes me want to die because fuck it hurts to laugh. Like really hurts. Jesus.
"Pepper was by earlier." Steve tells me, shoving the pillow I whacked him with back under me. "She was pretty angry that you never showed up for a board meeting this morning, but she's willing to let it slide this time – considering circumstances."
I roll my eyes, but can't stop the smile that tugs at my lips. Pepper's a pain in the ass, but she's always been there for me. Besides, let's face it, Stark Industries would have gone under years ago without her keeping it together. I don't know what I would do without her. ...I honestly still have no idea what my social security number is.
About a week later, I decide I've had it with being fawned over by Bruce and Steve. I'm a grown ass man and they both should know by know that I have a disgustingly high tolerance for pain. I don't mind it much, though. Steve pretty much refusing to leave my side is kind of adorable, and he's not smothering me or annoying about it. Either way, I'm tired of hanging out in the penthouse – even if making fun of the news reports about Steve and I has yet to get boring. He's taking the media trying to dissect his sex life pretty well, all things considered. Oddly enough, nothing we've come across so far has even slightly speculated that he was in any kind of homosexual relationship in 1945. Peggy must have been one hell of a good beard.
I'm still not sure if I deserve this, but I'm determined not to fuck it up. Well, I'm going to try not to fuck it up. Things have a habit of blowing up in my face (sometimes literally). All I can do is hope we can work it out when it does. That being said, it's about time Steve gets that dinner date I promised him.
It goes a lot better than I thought it would, but there is one problem – Steve in a tailored suit is some kind of hellish torture. Like seriously. He knows I'm staring, and I'm literally on the verge of drooling. The worst part, is that I know he's doing it on purpose now. Maybe that's best part, actually. ...I can't wait to pull those pants right off of him. You know, I can't even remember anything we talked about, really. But it was just noise. I don't even know what I ate. It's the way he grabs me by the tie and pulls me in for a desperate, heated kiss on the way out the door that I'll remember. Oh God will I remember that kiss. It felt like I was being outright devoured in the sexiest way imaginable.
"You know Steve, if you keep that up I'm going to have a really hard time stopping myself from just ripping your clothes off right here." I tell him smoothly and wrap my arm around his waist – the left one is still in a sling.
"Then I guess we'd better get a room." He whispers in my ear, and all I can think is fuck yes finally! It's happening! It's actually happening! I kind of want to swoon like Coulson did the first time he begged Steve to sign his trading cards, and I nearly do. I'm gonna have to admit, that Steve starting to be comfortable with public displays of affection is awesome. I'm glad he's warming up to the 21st century, it's not that bad. ...Even if I'm still constantly being taken by surprise at how thoroughly not innocent he really is.
"I thought you said not on the first date." I quip and nearly trip on myself when he holds open the passenger side door of my silver Audi. He's driving, since apparently the thought of me driving the way I usually do (like an animal), with only one hand kind of terrifies him. Oddly, I don't mind. I'm kind of used to being chauffeured anyway – just by Happy and not an American icon, but what the hell.
"I guess it's a good thing we didn't bet any money on it." Steve replies tartly as he slides into the black leather driver's seat. We spend most of the ride home in a companionable silence, mostly because I'm sort of afraid to open my mouth and ruin it. One of the worst things about me is that I never know when to shut up. I'd like to think I'm learning. At least Steve has acquired a sort of selective hearing when it comes to dealing with me, and he ignores about sixty percent of what comes out of my mouth. It's for the better, really. I hate to say it, really, but he wouldn't understand most of it. They didn't have half the tech we do now back then. ...Never mind the scope of what I work with.
"So, I don't recall if I've mentioned this or not... But this will be my first time with a guy." I say offhandedly.
"You implied that before, yeah." Steve answers after a few seconds on silence. "Nervous?"
"A little bit, but mostly that I'll fuck it up somehow." I tell him honestly. Damn if that's not the truth, then I don't know what is. The sex isn't what I'm worried about. It takes a lot, and I mean a lot, to intimidate me with anything sexual. But if this falls apart, I don't know what I'll do. I decided after Pepper that I wasn't going to try again, that real, adult relationships just aren't for me. It's pathetic, but I'm really hoping I can prove myself wrong this time. I'm getting too old for bar-hopping and bringing home random girls half my age.
"I won't let you screw it up." Steve assures me with a smirk.
"I hope not." I reply blankly and look out the window with a vacant stare.
There's no one around when we finally make it back to the tower. That can only be a good thing because as soon as I step into the elevator, I'm pinned against the wall with Steve's lips against mine and his knee against my groin. Not that I'd complain about that. Oh hell no, it's glorious. ...Even if there's not a single coherent thought in my mind aside from 'how the hell do I get to the bed if I can't remember how to walk?'.
We don't walk out of the elevator, as much as awkwardly tumble out of it in a tangle of limbs when we reach the penthouse. I don't even know why I'd bother to attempt to gain any kind of dominance in this, Steve is so obviously the top it's not even funny. I don't mind in the slightest. I kind of like not always being control. ...I kinda figured that out the one time Pepper decided to indulge my appetite for kink. I now actively try very hard not to piss her off because she's scary as fuck with a flogger in her hands, but that's beside the point.
"Bed, or couch?" Steve asks, pulling back from a kiss that honestly felt like he was trying to suck my soul out through my mouth.
"Bed." I tell him breathlessly and pull his tie loose as he tosses my suit jacket over his shoulder. I don't know which is more amusing, the fact that Captain America actually considered the couch, or the literal trail of clothing we're leaving behind. I think Steve's jacket and vest might still be in the elevator, and that's fucking hilarious. Still, I should be proud of myself. I'm not entirely sure how I managed to get almost half of his clothes off while barely aware of my surroundings, and with only one hand.
I really am a sex god.
...But damn Steve might be, too.
I honestly don't remember the last time someone was able to reduce me to a hot mess of arousal and mindless need so easily. I can hardly see straight – not that it matters. I let out a soft gasp as strong hands slide under my shirt and trail across my chest, stopping at the edge of the arc reactor. Normally I get antsy when anyone touches it, but I'm not worried about Steve. Where did this level of trust come from exactly? I hardly even trust myself most days.
"You put the power source for your suits in your body?! I thought it was just a thing that you wore." He asks, sounding a little horrified. I open my eyes and look up at him, ignoring the fact that I have zero memory of actually making it to the bed. ...But there it is under me, with a half-naked super soldier in it. Could life be any better right now?
"Cool your tits, I'm not that crazy." I say to Steve and slip his unbuttoned undershirt down off his shoulders. "There's a bunch of shrapnel in my chest that can't be removed. That keeps it from getting into my heart. It keeps me alive. How it got there's a long story, and kind of a mood-killer."
"There's still so much about you that I don't know." Steve replies with a sigh and tosses his shirt aside.
"I think that's mutual. We can have a lovely little heart to heart if you want – later." I mumble, and gasp when he leans down and grinds our hips together. Okay, admittedly I might be a little nervous now. I probably should have known by the bulge in that star spangled spandex that Steve's got quite a package. How is that going to fit in my -
Whatever I was thinking flies out the window when Steve kicks his pants off. I can't help it, I burst out laughing. I mean, I should have seen it coming - but really? American Flag boxers?
"You aren't going to make me salute those, are you?" I ask, cracking up. He glares at me in mock annoyance.
"You don't have to, but you're more than welcome to salute what's in them." That's it, I can't take it. I just give his straining erection a perfect military salute – well, as perfect as it can be while I'm laughing so hard I'm almost in tears.
"Ass." Steve breathes and pulls my pants off with entirely more force than necessary.
"You love me." I retort, sitting up so I can have the privilege of ripping them right the fuck off.
"Yeah, I do." He replies and I give him a tender kiss as I relieve him of his star-spangled skivvies and toss them over the lampshade. And with those out of the way, we're both finally naked. I'm probably making a whole bunch of women really jealous right now, because Steve has got to be the textbook definition of masculinity – all solid muscle, perfect angles and an awesomedick. Seriously. The thing is perfect, huge and kind of intimidating, but fucking perfect.
"There's lube in the top drawer." I mutter, pointing at the bedside table. Because yeah, gonna need that. A lot.
"Top or bottom?" Steve asks, digging through the drawer which is also full of other odds and ends.
"Oh? I kind of doubted there was any way I was coming out on top of this." I say with a chuckle. "Bottom I suppose, in the spirit of trying new things and all."
"I mean the drawer. I don't see it. But that's fine." Steve quips with a mischievous smile. I just roll my eyes, and enjoy the view of that amazing ass. When he finally finds the lube and settles between my legs, I sort of hope Jarvis disabled my usual protocol for not recording this sort of thing because... shit. Porn's got nothing on this.
I arch myself into Steve's touch and make the most embarrassing feral sound deep in my throat when he prods at my entrance. This won't be so bad. It's not like I've never had anything shoved up there, or more than my fair share of Pepper with a strap-on. It's the wet warmth of Steve's tongue trailing along my collar bone, gently nipping the skin here and there that nearly kills me. I moan when he laps at a nipple and slips his finger inside of me. It doesn't take him long to find my prostate, and I more or less turn into non-responsive putty in his hands. Then, his lips are on my cock and I can't help but arch my back and mewl in pleasure like some kind of cat.
"You look good like this, Tony." Steve purrs in my ear, and I pant helplessly for breath as he slides another finger in. Oh God. This is fucking amazing and I don't doubt for a second that I could get off on this alone, but I have to be patient because damn, I want him inside me. Yesterday.
"Please." I beg huskily.
"Please what?" Steve asks coyly.
"Fuck me." I whisper and let my head fall back into the pillows.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." Steve teases and gives me an absolutely shit eating grin.
"I said fuck me, Captain." I whine, trying to buck my hips into him for some kind of friction, but he easily holds me in place with one hand. God I hope that super strength translates into epic stamina.
"That's more like it." Steve says and claims my lips in a rough, hungry kiss as he slides into me with one fluid motion. I gasp into the kiss and wrap my arms around his shoulders as our lips part and he begins to move slowly. "Just relax. It'll feel better." He tells me and I just mumble something incoherent in ecstasy. It's a little uncomfortable at first, but he's freaking huge. Regardless, the slight burn of being stretched quickly transforms into mindless pleasure.
Somewhere in the muddled mess my mind is, I add gay sex right at the top of my mental list of awesome sex things. Or, at least, Gay sex with Steve. Because I don't think I've ever done anything that felt better than this. This is – I can't even describe it. It's like trying to describe an orgasm to a virgin. A constant orgasm. Speaking of which, I'm not going to last long. There's too much pent up frustration, even if it was definitely worth the wait. Jesus Christ was it worth the wait.
It doesn't take long for Steve to notice that I'm completely falling apart in his hands. He grabs ahold of my straining cock and squeezes. I moan and dig my nails into his back. In some sick way, I hope it leaves a mark. It probably won't. If it does, it'll heal before morning, but what the hell ever. I can't take much more, though.
Reality is spinning away from me by the second, and Steve's hand pumping my erection finally sends me over the edge – hard. I'm vaguely aware of myself moaning his name as I come, my whole body shuddering with the force of it. All it takes is a few more measured thrusts, and Steve lets out a loud gasp as he hits his climax, spilling himself deep inside of me. And that is an amazing feeling. It's hard to describe properly, but I feel owned. I'm his – no one else's, and I am so okay with that it's actually terrifying for a moment.
"Tony?" I hear Steve ask. It sounds like he's miles away.
"Mm?"
"Did I break you?" He inquires with concern. I manage to open my eyes, and look up into his blue ones. I give him a sleepy smile and wink.
"I think you might have. But it's a good kind of broken." I tell him, and he shakes his head knowingly. I'm vaguely aware of him settling into the bed beside me, resting his head on my chest, and his hand on the arc reactor. It doesn't take long for us both to fall asleep, still basking in the afterglow.
"It is ten AM, The weather in Manhattan is overcast with a forty percent chance of precipitation. Sir, I would like to remind you that your presence is required at a board of directors meeting in one hour." Jarvis announces as I come awake slowly, and the electronic tinting fades from the windows to let in the morning sunlight. ...Or lack there-of. It's looking like kind of a dreary day. Steve yawns and gives me a sleepy smile. I'm not even sure what to say, really. The whole morning after thing is usually not my cup of tea, but waking up next to him just feels right. It's nice, you know – warm and fuzzy and all that.
...I need a shower. Badly.
"Shower?" I ask pointedly.
"How could I say no?" Steve replies and kisses my forehead gently. Honestly, I don't even want to move from this spot but I know Pepper will have a fit if I don't show up for the board meeting. Damn it all.
The thought crosses my mind that we should should totally have some kind of naughty shower sex or something, but I'm not sure my ass could handle it. Not that there's anything innocent about it. I'll have to admit, there are few things in life better than being in a hot shower, leaned up against -
"From now on, I'm calling you Captain Cock when no one else is around." I say, laughter bubbling up inside of me as Steve strokes my length with slightly calloused fingers covered in soap. He makes some kind of indignant comment that I completely ignore as I just close my eyes and enjoy the moment. ...And what a nice (frighteningly domestic), moment it is.
I barely make it to the meeting on time, and when I do Pepper just gives me this ridiculous wink when I flop into my chair. She knows, of course she does. Why would I even think otherwise. At least she approves of Steve, God help us both if she didn't.
I hardly pay attention to what's going on. I can't stop thinking about last night, and how perfect it all was. Nothing ever goes so well for me, so it's outright mind-blowing. Maybe it's about damn time fate stopped throwing me into a pile of metaphorical dog shit on a regular basis. So yeah, nothing else matters – especially the bitchy looking financial adviser to my left. ...The one that looks kind of a like pigeon, who's drumming her fingers on the glass tabletop and giving me a death-glare. I just smile vacantly at her, and think of that fact that she's just jealous because she doesn't have a hot super soldier to fuck her into the mattress and cook her pancakes in the morning.
Life couldn't be better.
My phone vibrates a few times in my pocket before I notice it. Absently, I dig it out and see a new text from Natasha. Found Steve's clothes in the elevator. How was last night?, It says, with one of those obnoxious little winking emotes.
He made me salute his American flag boxers before I took them off., I reply, barely managing not to laugh hysterically.
Congratulations?, She texts back, and I can almost imagine the look on her face- and Clint's if he's nearby. If she says anything else, I don't know as I shut the phone off and attempt to pay attention. Pepper's got murder in her eyes, and I know better than to keep pissing her off. But it's okay. I think things are going to be pretty different from now on, in a really good way.
Whatever the case, I still stand by my previous statement – I am a sex god. ...Though Steve might be a little more deserving of that title considering his assets and incredible stamina. Damn. Either way, I'm looking forward to seeing where this road goes. I think it might be just what I need. ...And I hope this damn meeting ends soon because I want no part of being late for a very important lunch date with my favorite Capsicle.
Just a note about Arno Stark – Yes, Tony's not Howard Stark's biological son in the comics, even though in the movies it's implied that he is. I kind of have this weird headcannon that maybe that's why Tony and Howard had such a shitty relationship – Like Tony never quite measuring up or something.
Anyhow, thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!