That night, Tony sits nestled between Steve's thighs, Steve's chest warm and massive at his back. Steve has cooked meat over the fire, roasted in the flames, and he's feeding the softest pieces to Tony with his fingers. Tony snaps softly at his hand with little pretending growls, because it makes Steve chuckle.
Steve's quiet laughter vibrates against Tony's back, and Tony leans back and turns his head so he can grin brightly up at him. 'Gnap!' he says again, 'gnap, gnap!' like a wolf pup, and this time Steve lets his fingers be caught.
And – oh. This is – this is different. Tony's eyes widen, laughter falling away, because Steve's fingertip is between his lips, and Steve's thumb runs along Tony's jaw, stroking, and Steve is looking down at him with his soft eyes. 'Little Tony pup,' he murmurs.
Steve wriggles his fingertip gently inside Tony's mouth, brushing against Tony's lips, and Tony shivers all over. Steve is watching his face intently, and Tony's face is going hot, hot, hot, like he has a fire burning inside of him. He breathes in quickly, and then Steve's leaning down to press their foreheads together.
His hand is splayed warmly across Tony's shoulder, and his thumb starts moving in slow soothing circles over Tony's skin. 'Shh,' Steve says in a soft voice, and Tony is suddenly overcome by how wonderful Steve is, how kind and strong and – and gentle, the way he touches Tony and never harms him, even though he's so much bigger and Tony's hurt and useless and not good for anything. He loves Steve, and he feels like he has to hide his face because of – everything, so he ducks his head down into the warm pillow of Steve's chest and wraps his arms around him as far as they'll go, hugging him fiercely.
Steve makes a small surprised sound, which turns into a quiet rumble in his chest. Tony can feel it all the way through him, and then Steve wraps his arms around Tony's smaller body and it feels like he's surrounded by Steve's warmth and scent on all sides.
Drowsiness washes over him in the sudden way it's had since he's been sick; Steve is holding him so close and he feels so safe. Tony snuggles into him, making happy, sleepy sounds, and Steve nuzzles his hair. He loves Steve.
'Knife?' Tony asks Steve. He's sitting cross-legged in a patch of warm sunshine, basking like lizards do; Steve looks up from the flint he's chipping at. There's two piles in front of him, one of waste chips, too small to be used, and the other of good, large, sharp ones, that Steve can use for hunting and skinning and preparing food. Tony reaches forward and points questioningly at the good pile, turning his palm up in a beseeching gesture.
Steve smiles at him, reaching out to smooth a curl of hair away from Tony's eyes. 'Here,' he says agreeably, and picks up the best piece, putting it in Tony's hand. Tony brightens; Steve's hand is still lingering in his hair and he turns his face a little, leaning into it, before Steve goes back to his work.
Tony's very busy, then, because he finally has something to do, and at last he's not feeling drowsy all the time. He crawls over to the pile in the corner, where Steve throws the scraps of his skins and bits of wood, and starts sorting through them, humming happily. He needs just the right kind.
Once he looks up, and catches Steve watching him with amusement, and that's not good, no! Steve mustn't laugh at him, and Steve mustn't see what he's making. Tony play-growls at him, and Steve chuckles; Tony flaps his hand at him, stay away.
His hands are still a little unsteady, but he goes slowly, carefully, and manages well enough. Split wooden sticks, to hold the blunt end of the flint; and then three long strips of skin, threaded across and over each other to make a stronger braided strap. Tony fastens the strap tightly around the wooden sticks and the base of the flint, winding it around and through itself so it makes a solid padded grip.
When it's finished, the shadows are growing long and cool, and Tony's hands are red and sore from pulling and coaxing the skin, but he feels warm inside, satisfied with his work. He carves a small pattern into the solid packed earth of the cave floor; the grip makes the knife steady and sure in his hand. It's a beautiful tool, now, something useful and strong that Tony has made better and more sure, and he hopes and hopes that it will be a worthy gift for Steve, who has given Tony so much.
Steve ducks back in through the entrance with an armful of branches and a rush of cool air, and Tony grins up at him, eager. 'Steve!' he says, 'Steve, look – ' and he wriggles over towards Steve.
Steve lays the branches down in a neat pile and lowers himself onto the ground with a satisfied sigh, smiling at Tony and reaching out towards him with his hand. Tony shivers happily, crawling into the warm crook of Steve's arm; Steve draws him in close to his side, rubbing his cheek against Tony's head.
'Look,' Tony says proudly, holding the knife out towards Steve. 'For you,' he explains, touching Steve's chest gently with his finger. He watches Steve's face hopefully.
Steve turns the knife over in his hands, running his finger over the handle and then closing his hand around the grip, testing the feel of it. Tony holds his breath, because he wants very, very badly for Steve to accept his gift, for Steve to smile at him, and – and touch Tony's face, and gather Tony up in his arms and hold him and stroke his hair. He likes it a lot when Steve does those things.
And Steve looks back at Tony's face, and Tony breathes in fast, because Steve's face, his face is so – soft, wondering, and Tony thinks, pretty. He doesn't think he has ever seen anything as pretty as Steve's face. It's prettier than the dying sun, prettier than the fire-sparks, prettier than a new flower.
'You made it,' Steve says softly. 'For me.' He's still looking at Tony, and there's a smile starting behind his eyes, bright and tender, spreading across his face. He puts the knife carefully on the skins, and then reaches his hand up to slip over the back of Tony's neck, cupping it. He draws their heads together until their foreheads touch, and Tony closes his eyes, basking in the closeness. He feels very warm, very aware of the places where Steve's skin is touching his; of Steve's arm around his body, the way Steve's hand is low on his waist.
Steve draws back just a little, then, looking down with a furrow between his brows, and Tony follows his gaze. Steve is looking at Tony's hands, taking them gently in his own and turning them over to look at the reddened palms. 'Poor hands,' he says softly.
'Not sore!' Tony tells him quickly, and smiles shyly up at Steve. Steve crinkles his eyes, and then his hands are smoothing up Tony's arms, slow and sure, moving up to his forearms and cupping them, stroking back and forth.
Steve's hands always feel good, Tony thinks dreamily. He's still very warm, but he feels safe and good and happy, and it would be nice if Steve could touch him more, all over his body. Maybe Steve would like to be touched too, that would be nice. Tony would like to stroke Steve's chest – and his arms! He likes Steve's arms very much, and it would be nice to run his hands over them.
He brings his hands up shyly, and places them on Steve's chest. It's very warm and smooth, and it feels so strong under his hands that it makes him shiver, but in a good way that Tony doesn't quite understand. Steve is breathing faster, and he's looking at Tony in that soft wondering way he has sometimes. Tony looks up at him through his lashes, questioning, and Steve smiles at him (so pretty, Tony thinks) and brings both of his hands to rest warmly on Tony's back, holding him steady as he gently explores Steve's chest with his fingers.
He touches Steve's chest like that for some time, and after a while Steve begins to smooth his big hands up and down Tony's back, then round to his stomach, his chest, thumbing his nipples a little. That feels so good that Tony arches his back and whimpers, and Steve's face is flushed pink and his eyes are big and blue and he's looking at Tony as though he can't quite believe it.
Tony likes it very, very much. He likes the way Steve's hands feel and the way Steve looks at him and the way his whole body feels warm and ready and trembly, as though he wants to press up against Steve and feel Steve's skin against his own, everywhere. 'Yes,' he whispers, 'yes, yes, Steve, yes,' so that Steve knows how good it feels; and Steve says 'Tony, Tony,' in a voice that cracks in the middle.
Steve scoops him up and carries him over to the place where they sleep, setting him gently down on the skins and laying beside him, pressing his face against Tony's neck and breathing shudderingly for a moment. Tony wriggles closer to him, fitting himself eagerly to the shape of Steve's body, trembling and excited and waiting; Steve's heart is slamming hard and fast against him.
And soon – soon Steve is looking back at him with his lips parted, panting a little, and he shifts a little against Tony. It's like Tony's body flares like a new flame, bright and shining and lovely, so that he bucks and lets out a sharp eager little cry, and then another – ah-ah-ah, like that. Steve's eyes are big and bright, watching Tony's face, and he touches them both and everything is warmth and Steve's touch and the wonderful way it feels as Tony writhes into Steve's hands.
'Tony,' Steve whispers again, against his cheek; and then his mouth is suckling Tony's skin, damp and warm on his cheek, his throat, his chin; they're mating bites, and Tony yelps and shudders and presses into them. And then Steve's mouth is at Tony's own, and he draws Tony's lip between his own and bites, very gently.
It's so unexpected and it feels so good that all the heat and sensation spins together and wraps into a sharp shining thread, stretching his body taut for an instant. And then he slips over the edge, shuddering and panting and clutching Steve's chest, and Steve makes a surprised grunt and climaxes after him.
Everything is deliciously warm and hazy and content, after that. Steve brushes Tony's hair away from his face and cradles him gently; he's laughing softly, happily, and Tony smiles dreamily up at his face. 'Steve,' he murmurs, and Steve gives his cheek an affectionate lick, nudging Tony's face with his nose. Tony nuzzles back.
Mate, he thinks, mate.
