An initial simple mission of recon turned nearly into the destruction of New York part two. Long story short, they were sent to investigate rumours of a giant green lizard terrorizing the alleyways at night, and then they discovered that the lizard actually fucking exists—not only that, there was a nest full of them in the sewers.
Conclusion: do not attempt to roast lizards like newts, no matter how tempting it is.
("I've always wanted to know how they taste like," Tony sniffs in defence as the rest of them glare at him. "Haven't you seen them on discovery channel? On sticks? Except, a street pole would do for them—"
"Tony, no," Steve groans, resisting the urge to palm his face because he really didn't want to smell his own skin, not when it made him dizzy. "I don't care if that's the fastest way to kill them but you ignored direct orders not to burn them and this is what—"
"But the job's done and all's good right?")
The smell of roasted flesh stuck with them for days.
At least, Steve was glad he smelt normal on Friday when he was gearing up to go to Johnny's bike event. For some strange reason Clint and Natasha barged into his room an hour before he planned to leave. The redhead disappeared into his walk in closet and Clint made himself comfortable on the couch at the corner.
"What's going on?" he asked warily, only to earn a smirk from Clint.
"Wear this," Natasha says when she emerges, pressing something she grabbed from his closet.
Steve looks at the outfit she picked out and glances back at his own clothes—plaid shirt and jeans (he still likes plaid). "Isn't this fine?"
"Infinitely better than a year ago," Clint agrees. "But you're twenty something, Cap. Dress like a horny teenager or something."
"I'm already wearing jeans. Isn't that what you—"
"But not skinny jeans. Where're those Tasha bought for you?"
"Found them," Natasha presses another pair on his chest.
"Why—"
"Date clothes," the redhead says simply.
Steve looks at the black fitted button shirt and jeans the assassin had given him to change and sighs. "It's not a date. Why are you two so concerned anyway?"
"Nothing to do," Clint replies honestly, already spreading himself out on Steve's bed. "Since you're going out, Bruce and Stark decided to go do their own thing. And well, Tasha doesn't want to watch What's Your Number with me without you guys."
From the expression on Natasha's face, it was clear that she didn't want to suffer a Barton chick flick alone. There wasn't much point arguing with Natasha so Steve heads to his bathroom to change, and emerges a few minutes later self consciously picking at the hem of his shirt.
"Don't crease it," Natasha chides, and pulls him to the chair in front of his dressing table. "Where's your wax?"
"Wax?"
"Hair wax," Clint puts in helpfully.
"I don't use whatever it is."
"Thought so," Natasha mutters, and takes out a small flat tub from her pocket.
She palms a little of the white sticky substance into her hands and threads through Steve's hair, styling it slightly messy. Steve isn't so sure at the end result but decides not to say anything. The assassins walk him to the elevator after he's found his shoes.
"Curfew at ten, Cap," Clint grins. "Also, no kissing on first date."
"It's not a—"
"Date," Natasha finishes.
Steve sighs. "Where's Tony?"
Clint frowns, slightly confused. "Lab? Most likely?" he trails off, glancing at Natasha who just shrugs.
"Oh," Steve says. "Make sure he eats."
"Sure Mom. Have fun," is the last thing Clint says before the door of the lift slides shut.
The assassins stare at the metal doors for a short silent moment before Clint speaks up.
"Do you think—"
"Yes," Natasha says.
"Oh."
The stadium makes him feel more nostalgic that Steve prepared himself for. He's been to several stadiums back in the forties whenever he could scrape enough money to watch the Dodgers, and the wide expense of infrastructure is nearly overwhelming as he steps into the air conditioned dome. It's almost familiar but different at the same time. It's noisy, with excited chatter and screams all around as he follows the signs to find his seat.
He ends up being shown to an area privately sectioned off right in front after he asks an usher. He can feel curious eyes and whispers trailing upon him as he settles into the seat, but thankfully there were only about seven others in the same area as he was, and none of them approached him.
"HEY! HEYYYYYY CAP!" Johnny all but screams across the dirt field as he comes up running to the stands, and everyone turns to stare. "You made it!" he laughs, grinning wide. "Oh hell, you look fucking sexy," a tongue sticks out to lick his lips. "You won't regret this. I'm about to blow your mind, and that's not the only thing I'm good at," he winks.
"Good luck," Steve says instead.
"Don't need it," Johnny smirks, waving at him as he turns to go. "I'll find you after! Don't run home to Stark!"
Steve is pretty sure he hears cameras clicking but he just sinks into the seat, noting that he'll have to talk about privacy issues with Johnny. For now, he decides to enjoy the competition, feeling the rush in his veins as the stadium dims.
Right after the competition was a mad rush. Johnny did not win but he had executed a triple flip while on fire—and then tried to push for another flip in the second round but unfortunately rocketed past the landing base and crashed into the side barriers. Thankfully the human torch emerged unharmed with the most excited grin on his face and revelled in the attention that was sure to be splashed in the entertainment section. It was not surprising that Johnny had been bombarded with reporters and fans at the end of the event, and Steve would've given up waiting if not for a text pleading him to wait.
When Johnny finally hops back to the stands after the competition, showered and changed, the stadium is nearly empty.
"What do you think?" he cocks a grin, leaning over the barrier as Steve stands up to meet him.
"It was amazing," Steve admits, still feeling light headed from all the excitement.
"Captain America thinks I'm amazing," Johnny whistles, awed and happy. "Total strike."
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Stuntbiking…maybe four years? Can't be too sure," Johnny hums in thought. "Might've tried it before that but Sue kept chewing me out when she found out. She thinks it's dangerous. Bah, of course it's dangerous, that's why I fucking love it."
"You're not hurt, though? From that…crash?"
"Are you worried about me, Cap?" the human torch grins, sly as he spreads out his arms. "You're welcome for a full body check. I don't mind."
Steve rolls his eyes, ignoring the teasing tone. "If you're hurt, we'd better go to a hospital—"
"I'm fine," Johnny dismisses, rubbing his chest. "I flew—I mean, I can fly, and I just landed a little off and bumped into those barrier things. It's fine. Hey," he says suddenly, looking around. "Got your bike?"
"Yeah."
"Sweet. Let's go."
"Go where?"
"Out," Johnny says, grabbing Steve by the arm. "For a drink."
"Can't get drunk," Steve says on reflex, because that's what he always says when Tony shoves anything alcohol at him.
"Four times metabolism, immune cells and stuff, yeah I know," Johnny waves it off dismissively. "I read your file—stole it off Reed, whatever—but that's not the point. I can't get smashed because of the deal and you can't get smashed but we both can get vaguely smashed. Well, I can, at least. So we're going. I know a pub, but I need a ride."
Once at the carpark, Johnny spends at least a minute salivating over his bike before he hops on, and gestures for Steve to sit in front of him. The super soldier trains his eyes in front and tries not to think how awkward it all is as he takes off, especially when Johnny wraps his arms around his waist tight and scoots closer.
("Your abs are like fucking steel."
"…Thanks?")
Since Johnny is not allowed to get drunk he orders beer for them both, and as they sit side by side at the bar counter, Steve tries not to think of the last time he and Bucky did the same.
"I have to teach you," Johnny insists. "You'll love it. Come on. You're like me. You love thrilling stuff, I know it. There's no way you ride that sexy thing and not be."
"I used to throw up on roller coasters," Steve muses, nursing his beer.
"But you said you like it fast."
"That's after I—well, became this," Steve vaguely gestures to himself. "I don't feel sick anymore."
"Exactly," Johnny nods enthusiastically. "Exactly the reason why you should totally try it now. Next week. I rent out the stadium on Friday for practice and I can take you for a spin. What do you say?"
Friday—"I don't mind, but…I can't. "
"Oh yeah. You've got your important thing on Fridays," Johnny's eyebrows furrow in thought. "What's it, really?
"Just," Steve shrugs, trying to avoid answering it, except the other is barely fazed.
"Come on. It's not some sordid love affair with Stark is it? Like Fridays are your bang days—"
"What—what?"
"So, what's on Friday?" Johnny continues, ignoring the confused face. "Whatever it is, I don't judge. Mostly."
"Well…" Steve swallows a mouthful, and tries not to feel foolish. "We…I mean, the Avengers, we kind of have this thing called Movie Night. Each week one of the others picks a movie and we watch it together—it's just…bonding time, I guess."
"Sounds pretty gay," Johnny states.
"It's not often that everyone comes together to hang out," Steve finds himself explaining. "Usually I hang out with them one on one but it's nice to have everyone together. Don't you guys have something like that?"
"The Fantastic Four, you mean?" Johnny repeats with a snort. "Those losers don't even know the meaning of fun. You'd think we'd schedule in some play time together? Pssh." The human torch downs the last of his beer and orders another round. "So, is that a rain check for our next date?"
"It's not a—"
"Date," the other singsongs. "Except I'm not allowed to preposition you for sex. But otherwise, it's a date."
Steve sighs.
"How's Stark?" Johnny asks, but it's so random that Steve startles.
"Hmm? He's—Tony's fine. Why do you ask?"
"Is he still sleeping with his super hot CEO? I know they broke up."
As much as Tony and Pepper behave like nothing's between them changed, they aren't together anymore, not for at least six months now. Tony still hugs her and touches her and showers her with very bit of his sticky affection, and Pepper still scolds him and drags him to meetings and grudgingly accepts his gifts. Pepper still stays over at the tower sometimes—but it's not Tony's bed, and Tony still kisses her—but it's not on the mouth.
"I…I don't think so," Steve answers uncomfortably.
He says this because he's seen a few girls wandering in the kitchen in Tony's oversized shirt in the mornings on occasion, and he's thankful he's never had to see them out as JARVIS helpfully warns him after the first time.
"Come on. You live in the same house as he does. You should know these things. Like how Legolas is so digging the Widow chick."
"What Clint and Natasha do is none of my business—"
"Aha! But you noticed," Johnny grins, triumphant.
"It's hard not to," Steve admits.
Johnny nods. "It's not any harder to see yours."
It's almost a mumble, but Steve's super hearing catches it clearly and he sits up straighter. "W-what do you mean?"
The human torch levels him with a look and opens his mouth, but then closes it a second later. "Nothing."
It's highly uncharacteristic, but Johnny doesn't say more, and Steve doesn't ask again.
"Hey, Cap—Capsicle! Yo, stars n stripes! The star spangled man with a plan!"
Steve startles when Tony clasps him on the shoulder, and he tenses, reigning in his auto reflex before he throws Tony over his shoulder.
"Yeah?" he blinks.
"I've been calling you since I was across the room," Tony says, frowning, shoving himself next to Steve on the couch in the lounge. "You're not going deaf are you? Cause if the serum's losing its effect I can always—"
"No, no," Steve interrupts before the other can ramble into ideas and scientific jargon. "I was just—"
A loud vibration fills the air and Steve looks back down to the phone in his hands.
"Who're you texting?" Tony mumbles, pressing his face right against the supersoldier's neck as he tries to peer at the screen.
The engineer is suddenly aware of the way Steve freezes uncomfortably and swallows, trying to lean away, but the action was deliberately unnoticeably small.
"Sparky?"
"No, it's Johnny," Steve answers, training his eyes hard on the screen.
"Yeah, Sparky all right," Tony mutters with a huff, flopping back to the couch. "You've been texting him a lot. Whatever happened to 'I'm not interested I just want to hang out and not have gay sex'?"
"I'm not," Steve insists. "He just—well, he's going to teach me how to stunt bike. It was really cool, you should've been there. It was amazing."
"As you've said a million times since you've came back," Tony answers with a hint of sulk.
It was obvious that the blonde enjoyed his night out from the way his eyes brightened and glazed when he recounted the date over dinner the next day. It was like all the times Tony had brought the other out to see something that wasn't invented or discovered in the forties, and the child-like wonder and awe on Steve's face was something Tony prided himself in being the only one (with enough money to do stupid things like attempt to move the Dodgers back to Brooklyn until Steve put his firm foot on it and refused) to make that happen.
Stunt biking, huh. Why hadn't he thought of it before?
"So," Steve continues oblivious to Tony's mood. "I told him Fridays are out, and he booked the stadium on Wednesday instead. I hope Director Fury doesn't call me in."
"I'll make sure he does," Tony says, forcing a grin. "Just for you, Steve. I'll even build some robots to take over New York, how about that?"
"Not funny," Steve frowns. "I hate the doombots."
"Baby, my robots will be tons better than those creaky old things," Tony sniffs. "Even Dummy could take down one of those freaks. Victor has insanely bad taste, and none of it has changed for the better. Look at Reed. Whatever does he see in that? Ew."
Steve laughs despite the underlying insult and quirks a smile. "I'm pretty sure it's not a sex thing."
"Did you just say 'sex'?" Tony mocks a gasp. "Not 'fondue'?"
"Tony," Steve rolls his eyes and is unable to stop the flush rising to his neck, because they've been over this at least a hundred times.
"Steve," Tony grins.
"Tony."
"Steebeeeee—"
The supersoldier tries to be stern but the other prods at his cheek playfully, and once in the past when they weren't so close, it was annoying—still is, but Steve learns that it's what Tony Stark does to people he genuinely likes—he sticks to them like an octopus and jabs at them like an elementary school kid.
"You're always no fun, patriot," Tony huffs after Steve ignores him. "Anyway, Wednesday, you said?"
It's only because this particular Wednesday they were supposed to hang out. Tony's been increasingly busy with his campaign of clean energy that has just started into phase two, another prototype that is designed to last for three years instead of the initial one, and sometimes Steve doesn't even see him unless they're called for a mission or on Movie Nights or on Saturday mornings. It's been a while since they last went out and did something together like the old days—when Tony introduced him to nitrogen liquid ice cream, or brought him to various art shops around town.
Abruptly Steve freezes. "Tony—I, no wait, we're supposed to—I'll just tell Johnny that we—"
But it's because Tony's been tracking Steve's google searches that he knows Steve is actually amped for whatever stunt bike tricks the human torch promises to teach him. The dork has even searched about weight sizes and its balance on the bike.
"Actually," Tony plucks the phone out of the blonde's hands before he comes to regret it. "I came to tell you that I'm not free on Wednesday. I have a…a thing. Meeting….thing. Yeah," he shrugs, none too casually and stands up. "Yup. I've gotta get back to the lab before there's a burn hole in the wall, so," he ruffles Steve's hair messily before tossing the phone back to him. "Gotta motor, soldier."
Steve blinks and watches as Tony walks away, disappointed. "Oh. Okay," he says to the empty room, unsure why his heart clenches even tighter than it usually does.
The thing is, Steve knows he's in love with Tony.
He doesn't know when it started. Maybe it was the time when Tony sat with him to listen to Peggy's voice recording. Maybe it was the time when Tony rips half his hot dog and shoves it at him because he was still hungry after finishing his portion. Or maybe it was when he realised he was so alone, and Tony gave him a home.
But he remembers the moment when he thinks—I love him—because it's bitter, bitter, and bitter.
It's when Tony is drunk out of his mind, slumped and broken against his work table with bottles of hard liquor empty and not spilling all around him. Steve finds him like this after he spots Pepper step out of the lift with a strained smile and tear stained eyes, and tells him to check up on Tony with a wavering voice. He doesn't think much of it until dinner time comes, and by then something feels very wrong.
The lab has been initiated a total lock down, and even the override code doesn't work because Tony's changed it. It's only when he's almost ready to go down on his knees to beg JARVIS that the AI reluctantly unlocks the door, and there he finds Tony—wasted and sad and hurt and frustrated—angry and broken and crying.
He ignores the digging of broken glass against his skin when he crouches down next to Tony, and when the other curls his fingers on his shirt so tight that it leaves marks, he doesn't hesitate to wrap Tony in a hug.
I can't do anything right, Tony mutters, Why can't I do anything right?
You do more than right, Steve tells him. You're brilliant, you're amazing, you just don't see it.
And then he thinks, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. Because he's finally understood why standing next to Tony makes his heart clench, why watching Tony smile at anyone else makes his heart hurt, why watching Tony vulnerable and miserable makes him want to rip his own heart out.
He remembers the bitter moment as Tony passes out in his arms, and Tony doesn't remember a thing the next day.
He calls it bitter because he knows he's not good enough for Tony Stark; the brilliant billionaire, genius, philanthropist who leads the way of the 21st century, and that understanding hurts—he can't make Tony better, no matter how desperately he wants to.
So even when Tony ambles into the kitchen the next day, dazed and bleary, Steve wordlessly slides over the cup of coffee he's brewed.
"God, I love you," Tony would hum, eyes closed, downing the drink, and Steve only smiles, bitter.
Over the course of the next few days, Steve doesn't see Tony at all. In fact, he doesn't really see Bruce either, because the scientist has flown to Copenhagen to talk about his findings in gamma radiation—and this is how Tony has changed all of their lives, because Bruce is no longer running, but coping and living. The assassins sometimes spar with him but on Tuesday Natasha gets sent on an undercover mission and Clint is the only one left who hangs out with him.
"Fireboy is really texting you a lot," Clint says over breakfast, when Steve's phone rattles the table with its vibration. "What do you guys talk about?"
"Sorry," Steve sighs, and checks his phone again. "It's just a confirmation for this afternoon."
"Oh, second date, right."
"It's not a—"
"Date," Clint finishes, grinning. "If Stark's moping this bad, it's definitely a date."
"What about Tony?" Steve asks, confused.
"Isn't everything?" Clint counters, and Steve huffs.
"That's my line."
"You gotta have it trademarked. Stark would do it for you."
"And I don't question it," Steve sighs. (Really, he would.)
"I saw Stark bring in someone yesterday night," Clint starts, suddenly lowering his voice. "Or rather I saw them against that window."
"Okay, so?" Steve manages to keep his voice neutral, because that's Tony's business, and it's not the first time.
"It's a dude," the archer says. "Oh god, my eyes."
"Tony did say he likes both men and women," Steve points out, and then frowns curiously. "What were you doing?"
"I was just walking in to get milk from the fridge!" Clint defends. "It's not my fault they were going at it against the bloody window. I hope JARVIS disinfected it, did you, JAR?"
"Germ level is at a minimum of 4.6 percent," JARVIS intones.
"Anyway, you're really calm about this, Cap," the archer observes.
"I don't—I don't judge."
"Of course you don't," Clint sighs. "Whatever. Anyway, thank god, his boy toy left after I walked in on them. Stark was pissed, but who cares?"
"Is that the real reason why Tony didn't take his coffee this morning?" Steve raises an eyebrow at the mug he had set out an hour ago.
"Probably," Clint admits. "I might have said something that rubbed him off, but in my defence, it was mega weird okay?"
"Weird? Like what?"
Clint looks around for a second and then stares at Steve seriously. "Well. Um, the dude, he. Um. Looked like you."
"What—"
"I'm not kidding," Clint presses on, half frantic. "It was fucking strange, okay? I thought it was you and him at first but then the dude was wearing glasses and you don't, so. Well, thinking about it, you're uh, bigger than he was, so if anything you'd probably be on top than the other way round—"
"Clint," Steve interrupts before the conversation can get any more awkward. "I'm sure that's just a coincidence."
"Maybe," Clint concedes. "Still, it was mega fucking weird. It's like Stark banging you. Or Storm. Okay, speaking of which, are you sure you and Storm—"
"No," Steve sighs heavily. "No, we're not."
"Just checking," Clint grins. "Also, if you don't want to be late with your doppelganger date, you should leave now."
Steve checks his watch, and his eyes widen. "Sorry, Clint, could you—" he gestures to the undone dishes, and grabs his coat off the chair.
"No problem, Cap," Clint smiles and calls from behind him, waving him off. "Have fun on your—"
"It's not a date!"
"First things first, Cap," Johnny begins, patting his own motorcycle. "You'll realise that my baby is a little different from yours. The crash cage," he points, "usually one of the first things you fit in to prevent damage to your ride. Hand brake, comes in handy for some stunts, also, a round bar for some. Here, this is my older bike that I keep in case something happens to my precious girl," he pats the vehicle fondly. "Have a ride in it and tell me how she feels."
Johnny doesn't wait and hops onto his own, steering off fast for a round around the circuit once he flips down the visor on his helmet. Steve sits into the said bike's seat, having a moment to get used to the new ride. His own bike fits into him better. As he revs the engine, can he roughly estimate how fast it would go—not as fast as his own, but good enough. Steve smirks just barely and pulls his helmet over, throttles off, following after Johnny who by passed him.
Steve races up beside the other and Johnny throws a challenging smirk, pushing his bike faster. They skid around the circuit until Johnny executes a sharp skid turn, tires smoking at the friction and Steve goes another round to slow down.
"You really do like it fast," Johnny grins approvingly. "You're gonna kill me, blue balls and all."
Steve coughs a laugh. "Back to the lesson, Johnny."
"Of course. First stunt I'm gonna teach you is the wheelie," the human torch starts his engine again, and this time he lifts the front of the bike off the ground, moving in a circle. "They're lots of variations with this one, like the high chair," he flips his legs over the handle bars, "Or the 12 o'clock—woah!"
Johnny pushed the bike far too high and slips off the end with a smack on the ground, and he winces.
"You alright?" Steve hurries over, worried.
"Yeah," Johnny winces, stretching himself out. "It's gonna happen all the time, don't worry about it. I'm more interested in you trying. Come on."
Steve nods and gets back to his bike as Johnny lifts his own.
"Right. Go for a round and get a nice speed, and then, lift. Easy."
"Easier said than done," Steve remarks dryly.
"Just go for it, Cap."
Four hours later and Steve wonders why he's never tried stunt biking before. Johnny is half torn whining about how quickly he learns the stunts and half excited at the fact it's Captain fucking America that is living up to the legend. The adrenaline of getting a stunt right is addictive, and Johnny knows it because he pushes the supersoldier to try more complicated stunts, and the first time that Steve races off the ramp, he remembers the rush of Hydra war.
"One drink," Johnny pleads. "Doesn't have to be alcohol. Coffee. Or tea. I don't care! Come on, you owe me."
"You just want to come up to the tower," Steve points out.
"Yes," the other admits without hesitation. "I wanna see your room."
As much as they've reached a mutual (Steve hopes) understanding that their relationship is strictly platonic, Johnny has no qualms pushing the boundaries. The younger male is always so fascinated by him, and everything that spews out is lewd praise and crows. Steve learns to ignore most of it because Tony acts the same and doesn't mean anything by it.
In the end Johnny slips into the lift together with Steve, grinning wide. "Can I use your shower? I promise not to set it on fire."
Considering that they're both sweat dripping from the day, Steve nods. "Fine. Just, don't go to the other's rooms."
"Hey, super cool AI, bring us to the level with the kitchen," Johnny smiles at the ceiling of the lift. "You promised a drink, and I am actually really thirsty. For real."
Steve sighs, but since he is feeling quite dehydrated despite the bottles he's downed earlier he doesn't say anything. The lifts ascends quickly and Johnny is bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly for the door to open. Except, Steve doesn't quite share his enthusiasm when he sees Tony pressing someone against the wall the moment they arrive.
When Clint first tells him it's a guy, Steve doesn't really think it matters but seeing it now in front of him suddenly makes his throat dry and breath squeezed. Johnny suddenly grabs and pulls him out of the lift, eyes seriously searching into his.
"Cap, don't punch me," he mutters, and then cups Steve's face in his hands and pulls him down, smashing their mouths together.
Steve is shocked enough to make a muffled whimper and grabs uselessly against the wall that he's been pushed back upon, eyes wide. The human torch doesn't relent, tongue pushing deep into the open mouth, hot and wet, body pressed solid against his own. A moment later Johnny pulls back with an obscene smack of the lips, breath nearly as hot as steam.
"How about we take this somewhere more private, Captain?" Johnny says with a teasing tone, but somehow his eyes are sharp and narrowed, pinning Steve in place.
Steve breathes heavily, lips still parted in shock as his eyes dart frantically all over—from Johnny's face to the side wall to the floor and then—to Tony and his partner. Steve doesn't—he doesn't stop Tony from sleeping with other people because it's not any business of his. It's not like he should be restricting Tony's lifestyle unless it's detrimental to his health, and even with habits that are detrimental, Tony can be extremely stubborn if he's unwilling. Therefore Steve hates the fact that his gut immediately plunges sour, curling uncomfortably. It's not that he wants—no.
"Uh, excuse me," Tony sniffs, crossing his arms—and Steve can't help but notice that the other guy's pants are halfway down and underwear straining—nope, don't look. "We were here first."
Something in Johnny tenses, and the fire controller glances over coolly. "Sorry," he says, sounding not sorry at all. "We couldn't help ourselves."
Tony sends Johnny and calculating look, one that Steve doesn't understand. The tension suddenly becomes thick and strained.
"Um," the other guy coughs, hurriedly pulling up his jeans and fumbling with the buckle. "I should—I should go."
"No, don't," Tony catches him by the arm. "I haven't got what I want."
"Yeah, but if people keep coming in then—"
"Hey," Johnny smirks suddenly, turning to the other guy. "Johnny Storm," he sticks out his hand.
"Uh, Skippy," the guy says, taking the hand. "From tech support—I mean, nice to meet you."
"Yeah, hey, listen. Interested in a three-way? You, me and him," Johnny is of course pointing to Steve.
The supersoldier balks—not understanding how this came to this. What makes it so bizarre is that Johnny is grinning like mad man at Skippy, who somehow, somehow—now that Steve is really looking, looks like Johnny. Maybe without the glasses and facial stubble.
And that kind of makes the guy look like, in default, him.
"Clint wasn't kidding," Steve blurts before he knows what he's saying.
"Back off, Storm," Tony sniffs, eyes narrowed. "You've got your wonder boy," his gaze lingers on Steve, hard.
"You bet I do," Johnny presses the side button for the lift doors to open. "We'll be busy. Have a fabulous night," for extra emphasis, he glances over at Tony and smirks, right before the door closes.
"Hey, Cap, you okay?" the human torch suddenly turns, voice soft.
"Huh?" Steve blinks.
"You're a little out of it," the other comments. "But I guess that's natural. Huh. Awesome kiss by the way. You taste really good."
It is then Steve realises that his third kiss is taken by Johnny Storm and he frowns, wiping at his mouth. "Why did you do that? I said I wasn't—I'm not interested, Johnny."
Johnny shrugs and whistles, not wanting to answer.
"I should punch you."
"Please don't."
"I heard you kissed Storm," is the first thing Natasha says to him when she's back from her mission.
"How was the mission?" Steve asks instead, wishing that everyone would just drop it.
"Classified," the redhead replies. "I want to know about Storm."
Steve exhales, pausing in his punches to the punching bag. The chain rattles as it swings, and Steve breathes out slowly, neck sweaty and muscles tight from workout.
"What have you already heard from Clint?" he asks, walking over to where he's placed his bottle of water.
"He says you kissed junior. And that Stark was banging someone with your face," Natasha replies, ever blunt.
"I didn't kiss him," Steve mutters. "He kissed me."
"Why?"
"I don't know," he sighs. "When we walked in on Tony, he just—just did it."
"Repeat that," the redhead suddenly states.
"We walked in on Tony—"
"You walked in on Stark?"
"Kind of?" Steve looks away, embarrassed. "I didn't see anything—I mean, they were just about to go at it against the wall, it's not like I—…anyway, it's not…my business."
Natasha gives him a long silent look, and then walks out of the gym. Steve doesn't like how everyone's actions don't make sense to him anymore. He stands up, and continues his routine.
"On a scale from one to ten, how alike was he?"
"Seven," Tony answers before he realises he does, and then he stills for a moment before he swivels around in his chair. "Natalie," he smiles darkly. "How the fuck did you get in? JARVIS!"
"I believe Agent Romanov entered through the ventilation duct, sir."
Natasha shrugs, leaning against one of the work labs in the lab. Tony waves his hands to turn all his holograms off.
"What do you want?"
"I leave for less than a week, and you manage to screw the only good thing in your life."
"I didn't," Tony mutters, rubbing at his eyes. "That. Or screwed it up, as you mean."
"Why?"
"Why what? You're not making any sense here, triple agent."
"Don't play dumb with me, Stark," Natasha states. "The reason why none of us catch you banging anyone in action is because JARVIS warns you or us when we're in vicinity. And yet, Clint caught you that day—"
"The guy is a freaking ninja, it's not my—"
"—he used the lift, Stark. Also, Steve and Storm. Care to explain?"
Tony averts his eyes. "Technical failure. It happens."
It's clear Natasha doesn't buy his bullshit, because she only presses her lips tighter together. "I hope you know what you're doing," she says finally, and leaves.
"So do I," Tony mutters, swivelling in his chair.
It becomes awkward.
Every time Steve sees Tony he remembers how Tony presses the other guy against the wall—the other guy with his face. He tries not to think about it but it creeps on him anyway. It doesn't help that Clint keeps giving him looks and shifts his eyes at Tony when the other stumbles into the kitchen in the mornings for coffee.
"Busy night, huh, Stark?" Clint says once when Tony kicks his feet up on the table and gulps down coffee from the pot itself.
The archer says this because there are obvious hickeys on Tony's neck, deep and dark against his olive skin. Steve tries really hard not to let his mind wander and pointedly drinks his juice.
"Skippy, wasn't it? I thought he was a bottom."
Tony waves his hands. "That was so two days ago. For the record, it was two days ago. Get on with the programme, Katniss."
"Manwhore," Clint snips in reply.
"At least I'm getting some."
"At least I'm not banging someone with—"
Steve recognises the look in Clint's eye at the taunt and quickly speaks before the archer says something he doesn't want to hear. "Tony, put your feet off the table. We're eating."
Tony lowers the pot enough to look at Steve like he just realises he's there, and Steve swallows inaudibly, a forbidden image suddenly struck right into his mind.
"Oh fuck," Clint stands up abruptly, screeching the chair (like Steve has told him a million times not to), and dumps his empty plate into the sink, cutting whatever thought Steve had.
"Fuck, Tash is going to kill me," Clint mutters, scurrying towards the lifts. "Fuck, fuck fuck—"
His words trail off as he disappears into the lift when it arrives, and Steve awkwardly eyes Tony at the side of his vision. The engineer continues to drink and slump into the chair, and Steve is distracted when his phone vibrates.
Predictably, it's Storm, and this time the younger has been sending him pictures of kittens. God knows why.
"So much for 'not interested', huh," Tony mutters around the pot, voice low, but Steve hears it anyway.
"What do you mean by that?"
Tony jerks, because he obviously forgot that Steve has super hearing, and plasters on an expression that Steve can't describe. "You," he says, shrugging. "And Storm. Honestly thought it was mega fucking weird—still is, by the way, does it feel like playing with yourself, I mean—"
"We're not—"
"—dating, yeah, I know. Just fucking."
Steve stares, and stares some more because he really doesn't know why Tony is saying all these things like he doesn't give a fuck and yet he does and the clench in Steve's gut squeezes harder because it shouldn't matter—it shouldn't matter that Tony is sleeping with someone else and it shouldn't be a big deal that Tony says crude words because he does them quite often, but this time it—
"I didn't sleep with him," Steve says clearly. "I won't. I don't want to."
Tony opens his mouth like he wants to answer but then closes it a second later. "It really would've been mega fucking weird," he says finally, and when he ends the atmosphere feels extremely strained.
It's strange because neither of them should care even if Steve is sleeping with someone else—Tony has his own pick of people, and Steve, well, Steve does what he wants. They do what they want. There's no obligation or strings or anything so why does it feel like they're having this conversation too early with words unspoken but laid out and neither of them are ready for it?
"I gotta deal with…lab stuff," Tony says quickly, pushing himself off the seat. "See you."
"Yeah. See you later," Steve manages to reply.
He exhales deeply when Tony leaves, and closes his eyes.
Stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
For a certified genius Tony does wonder why he does some things that he does, especially like running away from a super soldier.
"Lock the doors, J," he says flippantly when he enters his lab, sprawling himself over the couch in the corner. "Override the override codes. Except for, you know, the over-over-override codes."
A whirring noise prompts him to lift the arm he has thrown over his eyes and he sees Dummy clicking at him.
JARVIS does what he's told, but the automated voices sounds vaguely concerned. "Is everything alright, sir?"
"Shoo, go away," he pats the robotic arm and sends it off whirring softer than before. "You know one of those bad ideas I have?" he asks the ceiling, lights blinding his vision. "It's turning out to be a really bad idea after all."
Tony groans, a whole minute of silence until JARVIS speaks up again.
"Sir, Mr. Jake Wyler is attempting to contact you. Shall I connect him through?"
"…Who the fuck is that?" Tony squints, and JARVIS sends out a hologram of the person's face. "Oh." An unmistakably familiar face grins back at him, but it's different because this guy has black hair while the other—living in the tower, is blonde. "Bad idea, bad idea," Tony mutters to himself. "Fuck it all."
God knows why the fuck he found someone else with Steve's face and fucked him.
God knows why the fuck he even started it in the first place, with that geeky tech support employee that he spotted in the Stark Industries tower a few days back when Pepper pulled him in for a board meeting. It had been amusing at first, and the guy was obviously interested, so why not? And then he'd found this other guy and maybe two was too many, because he couldn't look Steve straight in the face anymore.
Fuck.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
He was doing a perfectly fine job of maintaining their status quo, their usual, and then Johnny Storm crashed in and kissed him, and maybe Tony was irritated at the fact the he had to play pretend while that cocky ignorant young manwhore got to defile the national icon—I mean, how unfair was that, really?
If it was anyone's right it should be his—Steve was his best friend, except he wasn't supposed to want his best friend more than anyone else, and it was just perfect that this said best friend was too good for anyone, including him.
"Sir?"
"Tell him I'm out of the country," Tony says, snapping his eyes shut. "Back whenever. Whatever. Use your imagination, J."
Tony doesn't know when it started.
It was true that he couldn't stand Steve when they first started—I mean, there's no way that this guy was for real. Saves kittens from trees, helps old women cross the road—the first time Tony cracks a taunt about it for taking too long in the supermarket, Steve actually blushed and looked defensive, because the soldier had actually done it. Tony was flat out stunned, and then he laughed, and laughed and laughed so hard at Steve's embarrassed face that Clint offered to knock him out for cognitive recalibration.
It's just, when Tony grew up sneaking through the boxes Howard left in the attic that was never touched, he had stayed hours in there reading all editions of the comics of Captain America, the first superhero. Shadows of a figure that Howard searched relentlessly for all his life, someone who was apparently more important than his own son.
Tony hated Captain America.
There was no way he was ever going to be like that and there was no way Howard would ever love him because he wasn't like that. He had held this petty grudge against a ghost figure right until the news broke that Captain America was indeed alive, just encased in ice for the past seventy years.
Tony's first thought was that Howard would've smiled.
Even if he never did when Tony was around.
It pisses him off more when Steve is exactly like how he always imagined—perfect; and the thing is, if he had been Howard, he would've chose Captain America over himself too.
However, it's ridiculously unfair that Steve is so earnest in everything that he does that Tony finds that even he can't continue to act like a complete dick to the super soldier.
When he watches Steve furiously tear his punching bags apart at 3 am in the mornings or the times when Steve sits out on the platform staring into the sky for hours, Tony sees how Steve is so lost in this time. And he had never felt more guilty.
It started with the small things; like explaining a bit more about his tech when Steve tries to make small talk, grabbing hot dogs after debrief or having a coffee when they stumble upon each other in the kitchen during late nights, and then Tony discovers that Steve is actually really good company because he listens even if Tony is talking bullshit half the time.
Steve seems to trust him more than the rest of the Avengers too, because the soldier had asked Tony to sit with him to listen to Peggy's recording before he crashed into the ice (granted, Tony had found the tape for him), and Steve had sat there biting his lip till it bled and all he said after was a hoarse thank you, and Tony would never forget the look in Steve's eyes that cut him raw and vulnerable.
For once, Tony felt…special.
And then it came to the point wherein he could never say no to any request that Steve came down to his lab for—a suggestion for a motorcycle to buy; which Tony ended up putting together one for him personally, a query about baseball matches; which Tony ended up getting them stall seats even though he has no interest in baseball whatsoever, a recommendation for an art store to get supplies; which somehow lead to an art gallery viewing, and the thing is, Tony hates art.
Maybe it was before Pepper or it might've been after Pepper, when Pepper kissed him for the very last time before she smiled sadly with tear smeared eyes and squeezed his hand, she had said, "You'll be okay, Tony. He's here for you. You'll be okay."
He didn't understand what she had meant and gripped her tighter, unwilling to let go, because he can't live without her, he truly can't—"Pep, I need you, I need you—"
And even though he knew that she still loved him and he still loved her but it wasn't going to be the same, he wondered why—why was it that he couldn't do anything right for once, why couldn't he been a little less fucked up. He had drunk so much that he passed out on the floor, and when he woke up and he realised that it wasn't a dream, he had broken down crying, because nothing has ever gone right for him and nothing will ever go right—
(not when Howard barely spared him a glance ever since he was born, not when he was shipped off for boarding school, not when he graduated MIT at sixteen, not when he fucked people and drank and slept with more and drank, and not when he was responsible for so many deaths in the world with his creations, not when he was drowned in that cave, not when Yinsen sacrificed himself, not when Obie ripped his arc reactor out, not when the only thing keeping him alive had almost killed him, not when he barely sleeps because he doesn't want to wake up screaming anymore, not when Pepper and him don't work out even though he tried; he's never tried so hard for once in his life and it doesn't go right—
not when his life is an entire joke
and he hates it.)
—it hurts, hurts, hurts and it will always keep hurting.
And then Steve had been there, ignoring the shattered glass and upturned bottles. The blonde had carefully cradled him in his arms like he was the most precious thing on earth and Tony still felt like he didn't deserve it, nothing, not one bit, but he doesn't protest when Steve carries him back to his room because Tony is too tired to deal with anything anymore.
He is so done with everything, but then the next morning when Tony wakes up he doesn't feel like he's just been through the worst day of his life. He even manages to drag himself into the kitchen and sees Steve waiting quietly at the table, hot mug of coffee sitting on a coaster for him.
The super soldier doesn't ask any questions.
And then Tony understands, he's here for you.
Tony takes the mug, and when he closes his eyes to gulp it down, he says, "God, I love you," and he means it.
It's only that it hurts some more, just a little bit, because Tony can't do anything right, and that includes falling in love with his best friend.