Title: Let's Repress All of the Things I Should Have Said
Author: keelover/planetofmars
Pairing: Steve/Tony.
Summary: Prompt fill for the avengers_tables over at livejournal: Regret.
Word Count: 555
Universe: 616. Post Civil War (sort of).
Rating: R.
Warnings:None.

Tony has a lot of regrets, and a lot of those regrets revolve around Steve. Most of them revolve around Steve, to be completely honest. Tony lets out a little sigh, Steve's nose buried into the crook of his neck.

For some reason, Tony has him back. Tony had promised himself that if, by some magical reasoning, he got Steve back, that he would do things right. He hasn't, though.

"Tony, stop thinking," Steve commands, and Tony wishes he could. Tony just can't seem to figure out why he can't keep the straight and narrow; why he continues to shoot himself in the foot at every opportunity.

Steve's fingers thread into his hair, his chest pressing against Tony's back, body warm and solid; comforting. Tony didn't always think of Steve this way, not really. Tony always thought of him as the man he found in ice, an allay; his best friend.

Best friends don't hunt one another down. Tony's stomach twists and churns, head against his pillow as Steve trails his lips along Tony's shoulder, and it's a excellent distraction, he admits as the tips of Steve's fingers dance along his tender ribs. Tony can't look at him.

Tony killed him, he knows he did, even if Steve hadn't really been dead. The sun is peaking through the fading darkness of the night, and Tony's lids snap shut as Steve takes him in hand, a strangled groan emitting through dry, cracked lips. He's still not use to Steve being here.

Tony thought he would die without him. Tony did die without Steve, in a sense. Steve's hand moves in a slow rhythm, his hand is large but relatively soft, protected by leather gloves. They still have their hang ups, hitches in the road to overcome.

Steve doesn't trust him as much as he apparently did, but Tony couldn't stop this from happening. Jesus, all he wanted to do when he saw Steve was press his lips against his, and that had been exactly what he had done. Steve's thumb swipes over the head of his cock, and Tony thrusts his hips forward, desperate for release.

Tony started this, whatever this is, and Steve seems content to have it. Tony isn't sure whether or not this is okay, merely kisses Steve with as much force as he is kissed. Steve's teeth tug at Tony's bottom lip as he grows close; closer.

Steve's tongue flattens against his own, and it's completely filthy as Steve's hand grips the base, squeezing gently as he grinds up and between Tony's cheeks. "Stop thinking about it," Steve says again, and Tony whimpers, bucking up against him.

Tony rests his head back upon Steve's shoulder as the other man sucks on his pulse point, a reminder that he's still here. Steve had always been there for him when it counted, Tony thinks as he comes with a loud cry. And as blue eyes open slowly, sluggishly to a empty room at two in the morning, he most regrets not being able to do the same.

"Stop thinking about what, Steve? The fact you're still dead?" he questions, hand rubbing at his eyes as he sits up, determined not to lapse into a crying fit for the third time this week. "Sorry, I just can't do that, old friend."