When Tony gives gifts, Tony gives gifts. He goes all out. Natasha had once mentioned how she'd loved to look at pictures of beaches as a kid and wish she lived where the ocean lapped at her back porch and salt clung to you like a second skin. So Tony, generous to a fault and worth over $6 billion, bought Natasha a small island off the coast of Costa Rica. It's nothing big or fancy, but Natasha still can't speak and she's been staring at the deed for the last hour and a half, Pepper periodically bringing her glasses of eggnog to swallow down. So when he comes waltzing up to Steve, Steve can't help but sigh at his teammate and wait to politely decline whatever extravagant gift he'll be "receiving."
He's speechless. He really is. Because now he knows why Natasha looked the way she did when she saw the pictures in the manila envelope. Or the way Bruce's eyes got all watery when he saw the new hospital with state of the art equipment in a remote village in India. Because Tony doesn't just give wildly inappropriately large gifts; he gives gifts with meaning. So when Steve opens his own manila envelope with photos of students standing in front of the Peggy Carter memorial hall of the new art university strategically placed in his old neighborhood, Steve can't help but accept. It's a low blow, using Peggy that way, but Steve knows he'd never accept it any other way.
So it's no surprise when Steve splutters out a "t-thank you, Tony!" and grips the shorter man in a crushing hug and squeezes. At Tony's awkward grunt, Steve immediately lets go and steps back, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Steve's eyes drift down to the pictures again, and as he's scanning the students, he notices a bronze head poking out above the others. Now he knows why Clint had to leave the room when he opened the little box with house keys in them. For someone who never really had a home, a cozy, three bedroom, three bath two storey in Brooklyn with a neat little yard and a front porch to hang a swing on is more than he could have ever asked for. And for Steve, the bronze statue of Peggy in the front, all soft curves and sharp edges of her Colt, was the thing that pushed him over the edge.
"I-I don't even know how to thank you." It's almost a whisper, a quiet confession. Because it's true. There's nothing in the world that can express how thankful he is to Tony. How much that art school means to him. How much a Peggy Carter memorial hall means to him. How much that stupid bronze statue means to him. Because he did his research; and no one seems to remember Peggy Carter. And just this small token to keep her memory alive means more to him than he can put into words. And Tony just laughs and brushes it off with a wave of his hand.
"Oh, Cap, you know me: always happy to please." He smiles and adds, "But if you'd like, I accept sexual favors as acts of gratitude." It's a joke. Tony knows it's a joke, Steve knows it's a joke, hell; even Thor can tell it's a joke. But that doesn't stop Steve from leaning in and pressing his lips against Tony's. They pull apart quickly – Tony in surprise and Steve in embarrassment – but it doesn't last long. Their lips are back together, Steve's dry and soft and Tony's whiskey flavored. The kiss is chaste, just a fluttering of lips that send sparks up and down Steve's spine. When they pull apart again, Steve looks shyly into Tony's eyes – the warm chocolate brown welcomes him and he leans in for a third kiss. That's when they hear the soft "ahem" from behind Steve. He turns, Tony craning his neck around Steve's hulking frame, and spies Coulson and Pepper, both holding empty eggnog glasses from their inebriated dates. Red-cheeked and eyes cast downward, all four laugh and head back to the party. It isn't until all the guests have left that the real party begins. And Steve finally gets that first dance.