Tony orders chinese takeout for lunch, and Steve makes him hide in the bathroom as he answers the door because he refuses to start a rumor about Tony Stark hanging out at his apartment.

He's a little concerned that Tony will get bored. There's not much to do at his apartment, after all. But that winds up being unfounded. Aside from a few, companionable lulls, they don't run out of things to talk about.

He loves the way Tony argues. About things that aren't important, and sometimes things that are. How he acts completely dismissive, like he isn't listening to a word Steve's saying, like he's the only one with an opinion. But then he'll make it clear that he is listening, a little word or a glance and Steve melts.

This is what Steve hated about him at first, when they first met. Before he knew Tony. Because Tony's the kind of person he loves or hates, and when he met him he was thinking of him as that, as a type of person, and now he knows him and everything, even the frustration he feels, all of that comes back to loving him.

He loves Tony when Tony's being the cocky asshole. He's been won over by the bravado and charm and snark. But he only loves that because of the moments when it falters, when Tony gets caught off guard. Particularly if it's because of something he just said.

That's when Tony looks at Steve like there's something special about emhim/em, about the person he is even without his perfect body.

And that's unfair, probably, because when Steve looks at Tony he sees brown eyes and soft lips, the swell of his chest and the curve of his biceps, his hips, his thighs. He couldn't separate the physical from the intellectual. But that's who Tony is, that's who Tony always has been, the body he was born with. It's different.

He loves Tony's fingers, the way they look when they're curled into a fist against his cheek, supporting his face as he gazes at Steve with a private smile that makes him feel at once special and uncomfortable, even as he knows he's smiling back in the exact same way.

He loves the curve of Tony's back, and the hair visible on his legs when they're crossed on his bed. If anyone had asked him, if there was anyone who might think to ask him, he'd say that's what surprised him the most. About being in a relationship. How physical it is.

His still emotions seem so inextricably intertwined with his senses. Loving Tony feels and smells and looks like something to him. The memory of Tony's weight against his chest, of Tony's fingers along his sides.

And when he thinks about happiness it's this, the two of them together on his bed, soft and comfortable and relaxed. And maybe kissing, maybe getting to feel Tony's legs or his hips or his chest, maybe his lips against Tony's shoulder, maybe licking his bicep. Is it strange how much he likes the likes the feeling of Tony's skin against his tongue?

He thinks about sex. That's the next logical step. Focuses his thoughts on his crotch, thinks about getting hard and being driven by that need and he feels a slight distaste and nothing more. Thinks about having Tony spread out underneath him, or Tony on top of him, thinks about having free access to whatever he wants and it just seems like… too much effort. Like eating ice cream on a full stomach.

And he feels a little like he would after that, a little bit bloated and heavy, a little bit unattractive and none of that feels like wanting to have sex.

But he knows he can want it, because he did want it just this morning, wanted it bad and that's a good sign, right? Maybe that's the problem. Maybe it just hasn't been long enough. Maybe Tony's too impatient. Maybe it's not a real problem.

Well, not that bad. But he wanted it, at least.

No, it is a problem. It's his problem. This is his dream. Someone who isn't just begrudgingly willing to have sex with him, someone who actually actively wants to suck him off and wants his cock, someone who seems like he might actually really love him, if not in spite of the serum then at least not entirely because of it.

And he can't even –

"Okay," Tony says. "At least pretend to be listening."

"I was listening." It's instinctive, a little white lie and he racks his brains for what Tony was just saying. Something about clean energy.

Tony grins. "It's adorable when you lie."

"I wasn't lying," Steve says, caught up in the self-chastisement and the instinctive embarrassment of being read so easily, trying to switch into something lighthearted and fun, something Tony wants, but failing. Settling on a halfhearted "I can prove it."

"That's cute. Really. You should do it more often. We could incorporate it into our sex life. You could tell me what a small dick I have."

Steve rolls his eyes, and then he catches himself and decides to frown. "You lost me there."

"What?"

"I'm confused."

Tony frowns. "About what?"

"Well, you said you want me to lie to you."

"Not all the time," Tony says, looking at him like he's terribly dense. "Just for fun sometimes."

"I got that," Steve says. "I'm just... not sure why you want me to say your penis is small."

"Because –" Tony frowns. "Well it's not as funny if you have to explain it…"

"I mean, I thought you wanted me to emlie/em," Steve says, feeling just a little too self-satisfied, grinning so big he feels like his mouth is trying to escape from his face, automatically ducking his head to try and hide it.

"Ha," Tony says, a loud, indignant exclamation that makes Steve laugh. And then Tony picks up a pillow and hits him with it, and that makes him laugh even harder.

Tony punctuates each little impact with another sarcastic "ha" as Steve curls up into a ball of laughter and feigned defenses. And just as he's feeling particularly safe from the fluffy onslaught, Tony's wet lips press against the sensitive spot on the side of his neck and he cringes at how it tickles and tingles.

Tony kisses him again, less wet, more serious, and Steve closes his eyes and smiles, leaning to the side so his neck's completely open to whatever Tony wants to do with it.

Tony gets up instead. "Gotta pee," he says, and then smirks. "With my tiny dick."

Steve grins, watching him walk away. Listens to the stream, because there's nothing to distract him from the sound. It's a small apartment. Hard to be apart. He likes this private closeness even more than he expected.

Tony saunters back from the bathroom, hips moving deliberately from side to side and Steve is struck by just how sexy he can be, just walking. And then Tony swings a leg over him, straddles his waist, and then –

Starts patting his hands on Steve's chest, like he's playing the drums. "You should get out more," he says. "Let's do something fun."

Steve pretends not to be thrown by this, smiles like he knew Tony was just being playful all along. "Like what?"

Tony bites his lip, hands still striking the dull percussion through Steve's chest, like he's bored. Is he bored? That's not good. "How do you feel about paraskiing?"

"Depends what it is."

Tony smiles. "It's like skiing, but you jump out of a helicopter onto the snow."

Snow and falling. Two of his not-favorite-things. Bad memories. He bites his lip. Doesn't let himself go down that path.

"Okay, how about drag racing?"

"Where do we do that?"

"I know a place. And you can just say no, you don't have to make a face."

"I wasn't making a face." He's not making a face. He's trying to forget.

"You were," Tony insists. "I will grant that it was cute, but it was still a face."

"What else do you expect to see on the front of my head?"

Tony grins. "Okay, smart ass. How about a club?"

"What kind of club?"

"Right, good point, you would hate that."

"I just asked –"

Tony presses a finger against his lip. "Shh. Don't even worry about it. I just had the perfect idea."

"Which is?"

"A secret."

"I'm not agreeing to a secret."

Tony frowns. "You are absolutely no fun."

Steve gives him a disapproving look, hoping there's no hint of truth behind that joke. Distracted by his petty need to be liked.

"Okay," Tony says, breaking into a smile. "You're fun. And because you're fun, you're going to agree to come to California with me tonight without knowing what we're going to do there."

"Tonight?"

"After the New York thing. We'll sleep on the plane, spend tomorrow there, come back Sunday night, and I'll have you to work just like a good little boy."

Steve hesitates.

"I promise, it is nothing I wouldn't do with a 12 year old."

"Wouldn't, or shouldn't?"

"Why, Steven, I'm scandalized," Tony says, affecting what sounds like a southern accent, throwing his hand over his heart before breaking into a deep laugh, leaning back against Steve's bent knees.

"Okay," he says, shaking his head, smiling. "Let's go."

"To California."

Steve nods. "To California. What are we doing there?"

"A surprise," Tony says. "You'll have fun. Trust me."

"I do trust you," Steve says, running his thumb across Tony's fingers. "I trust you to tell me what we're doing."

A slow smile spreads across Tony's face, as though that statement gets more amusing as he thinks about it. "That's some pretty limited trust."

Steve smiles.

"Also misplaced," Tony adds, smirking. "I'm not gonna tell."

"I guess I don't trust you, then," Steve says, a lazy smile on his lips. This is fun.

Tony caresses his jaw, up the side of his cheek, and then slides his hands over Steve's lips, pinches his nose.

Steve raises an eyebrow, a silent question because there are hands between his vocal cords and the air.

Tony lets go. "You do trust me."

Steve grins. "I could overpower you," he clarifies.

"Okay, then tell me your most embarrassing secret."

"That I'm shaking up with you," Steve says.

Tony pouts. "I am emnot/em embarrassing," he says.

Steve smiles, trying to keep it light but that's not exactly what it is. "That's not what I meant."

"So you do trust me."

"Kinda have to," Steve says, fighting off the grin.

"Wow," Tony says. "That's not very romantic. I knew it. You're just using me for my body."

Steve smiles. "emAnd/em I love you."

"And that," Tony says, leaning over him so his lips are just inches from Steve's, biting his lip. "But mostly my body,"

Steve grins. "Mostly," he agrees, before kissing him.

It's a little while before he remembers that he invited Tony along without checking with Theresa, and that's when he remembers she is going to be there, and that's when he realizes exactly how it's going to look if he shows up with an extra person, an extra male person, and then he feels a little bit queasy.

"I didn't ask if it was okay for you to come with me today," he says, pausing, giving Tony a chance to say he'll stay home, even though he knows that's not coming.

"So ask," Tony says. He's laying on the bed, tossing his phone into the air and catching it like it's a flat, rectangular baseball. Steve's sitting on the floor next to him.

"Isn't it a little rude to –"

"You're not trying to get out of this, are you?"

Yes. Obviously. "No."

"Then text her."

"Isn't it a little rude to –"

"Text her."

"I should call."

"What, and interrupt her day? Send a text."

"What if she doesn't see it?"

Tony rolls onto his stomach. "Sweetheart, of the two of us, who owns a company that makes phones?"

Steve sighs. "I still think it's rude."

He gets up, finds his phone. He hasn't missed any calls. Or texts. But then, the only person who would call or text is with him.

He settles back down on the floor, very aware of Tony leaning behind him. Types 'Do you mind if I bring Tony?'

Watches it send.

'Tony Stark,' he adds, for clarity.

"I'm proud of you," Tony mumbles, chin resting on his shoulder, and Steve shouldn't appreciate that because there's nothing to be proud of here, but he does anyway.

Steve insists that if Tony is going, he's going in disguise. And Tony agrees, shaving his goatee as Steve looks on, making a crack about how he didn't think they'd invented five blade razors in the forties. Steve ignores that and kisses him in between the angle of his jaw and the residual shaving cream on his ear.

Tony digs through his clothes until he finds one of the shirts that fits Steve like a sausage casing. It's still loose on him.

"Where are those jeans I bought you?"

"Which ones?"

"Uh, I dunno, they're jeans? They make your butt look fantastic."

"I don't look at my own butt."

"Hmm," Tony says, frowning, one hand creeping down Steve's back. "Well, you're really missing out, then."

Steve smiles, looks down, pushes Tony's hand away before it hits his butt, and then thinks better and interlaces their fingers instead. "We could always go get something from your place."

"Uhh, obviously the entire point of being incognito would be ruined if I was in my own clothes."

"Obviously," Steve says.

"And, maybe I want to get into your pants," Tony says, seductive, and then almost immediately followed by a condescending explanation. "That's a slang phrase that means have sex in this millennium, I forget that you –"

"I know what it means," Steve says, smiles, swats at Tony's shoulder but barely makes contact.

"You see, kids these days just keep making up new phrases, and I know it's hard for you senior citizens –"

"I emknow/em what it /means."

"Or," Tony says, pressing up against him. "We could stay here and I could emfiguratively/em get into your pants."

Steve smiles against his face, against his lips, runs his hands over the curve of Tony's ass and maybe it's mean to play with him this way, but it's fun. "Jeans."

"Yeah," Tony says, smirks, leaning hard against Steve's thigh so Steve can feel that he's half hard already. "Okay. Whatever."

A pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a baseball cap later and Tony stands before him looking… pretty much the same.

"I really don't think this is going to work," Steve says.

Tony frowns. "Why not?"

"You –" Steve pauses, wonders how Tony is looking in the mirror and not seeing this – "Don't look any different."

"Not to you, I don't," Tony says, and then wrinkles his nose. "Well, maybe not for anyone. But no one's gonna recognize me."

Steve frowns.

"I've been doing this for years. I've got the whole public persona. I show up often enough. People see sunglasses and goatee and they think Iron Man. You make yourself easy to find, no one's gonna go looking."

He's still not convinced.

Tony shrugs. "We can pick up some Ray-Bans. I'll punch the lenses out and it'll look like those hipster glasses everyone wears."

"Maybe you shouldn't –"

"Uh. Uh-uh-uh," Tony says. "Nope. You committed. No backing out now. I look fine. No one is going to recognize me."

"Okay."

"Hey," Tony says, pushing Steve's cheeks upward gently with his thumbs. "Happy. Smile. We're gonna go have fun."

Steve lets himself smile, and Tony kisses him, and maybe this emwillem/ be fun.

"Oh," Tony says, and then he's cutting across the room to his jacket, where he pulls out what looks like a flask.

He catches Steve's eye as he turns around and shrugs. "Never know what the scotch situation is going to be like."

They meet Theresa at a pizza place where, as Tony predicted, the 'scotch situation' is lacking.

She turns red when she sees them walking up, mumbles her way through introductions. As soon as Tony steps away to get a better look at the menu she leans over and hisses in Steve's ear. "I thought you were joking."

Steve takes a break from frowning at the word 'arugula' to frown at her. "About what?"

"Tony Stark," she whispers, so quiet he can barely hear her over the din of the crowd.

"Why would I joke about that?"

"Because I – the other day –" she waves her hands in the air. "Forget about it. I mean, holy shit. Tony Stark. Is here. Wow."

"Not so loud," Steve whispers. "He's incognito."

She folds her arms over her chest and nods. "Okay. Yeah. Sure."

There's a few seconds of silence, and then – "Wait. He's incognito? Shouldn't that involve a disguise?"

Steve laughs. "He thinks he's wearing one."

He watches Tony and it strikes him that there is something so unexpectedly gratifying about being here with him, about talking about him, with someone else, and knowing that Tony is his, even if no one else does.

Maybe only because no one else does.

"So," Tony says. "What do you want to do with your life?"

He's holding his slice in one hand, leaning backward. "Shit," he adds, as the grease runs down his wrist. Looks particularly seductive licking it up.

Theresa giggles. "I'm a nurse," she says.

"And that tells me absolutely nothing about what you want to do," Tony says, with a bit of an arrogant smile.

"I want to be a nurse," she says.

"Okay, fine," he says. "If you had to pick something else."

Theresa frowns, cocks her head, bites her lip. "I think I'd write historical fiction."

Tony grins. "Well, that's perfect," he says. "emSteve/em is historical fiction."

Steve is not sure how that's an insult but is very sure that it is one, and Theresa laughs.

"How do you figure?" She asks.

"Well,' Tony says. "Historical, obviously. And," he says, gesturing at Steve's body, "fiction."

"I'm not fictional."

"Science fiction, maybe," Theresa says.

Tony nods. "Yes," he says. "Thank you. Historical science fiction."

"No," Steve says, a quick shake of his head. "He's the one flying around in a tin can. emThat's/em science fiction."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Tin can?"

"Gold titanium alloy," Steve amends, grinning, catching his eye for just a second too long and then looking away like he's been burned. Wondering if Theresa noticed. Wondering if it's even possible for him to look at Tony without giving away his feelings.

This whole time Tony's foot has been against Steve's, and now Tony moves it up his calf and he has to fight off the blush.

"How about you?" Theresa asks.

The question isn't clearly directed at either of them, so Tony's the one who answers it. "What would I be doing? Exactly what I'm doing. The real question is Steve, what do you want to do with your life?"

What would he want to do with his life?

"What I've been doing," he says.

Tony shakes his head. "Pretend that's not an option."

"Illustrate comic books." It's the easy answer. It's been on the tip of his tongue for years.

He's just not sure it's true anymore.

Not sure there's anything he's good for, anything he'd want to be doing, if he's not Captain America. Before that, sure. But now, he's had a bit of that life and he doesn't want to give it up.

He's not Captain America. Not anymore.

But, if he were. He wouldn't want to not be.

It takes him too long to realize they're not as focused on this question as he is. That they've moved on, started talking comic books, and he just puts his straw in his mouth so he doesn't have to talk.

What does he want to do with his life? What's the point of his life, anyway?

Tony's foot brushes against his again, once, twice, too clearly to be a mistake and he looks up in time to catch a wink, so fast it could be his imagination.

He remembers the feeling of Tony's tongue pressing up against him and his hips tilt of their own accord, like he's trying to press himself against Tony's face. Can almost feel the scratch of his beard. It would be even better with stubble.

He exhales a little too sharply, willing that thought away. They're in public. They're surrounded by strangers. He doesn't need an erection right now.

If those strangers knew they were dating, would they know what it meant? Would they look at Steve and picture Tony's tongue against his asshole? Would they see them and know, right away, that Steve likes the idea of having a cock inside of him? And not just in his mouth?

They would have to know.

Maybe that's what bothers him too.

They walk around, aimlessly, or at least as aimlessly as Tony's allowing it to look as he takes the lead.

The city looks so different like this at night, lit up and busy, and by different he means all the same. All foreign. He'd spent so many walks trying to get ahold of his hometown again, and it still feels like he's being led through here for the first time.

Theresa asks him what's changed and even though he's definitely been here often enough before, he can barely orient himself enough to figure out where. His home disappeared – no, changed – overnight and he hasn't even bothered to adjust to it.

But there's still something undeniably fun about doing this with Tony, of getting to show Theresa around and share their two very different experiences of the same places. Maybe he can get used to this. If it's Tony's world.

If any of Tony's outrageous stories have any element of truth to them.

"Let's walk through Central Park."

Theresa frowns. "Is it safe at night?"

"We're with Captain America," Tony says. "Everything is safe."

Steve isn't sure if that's a dig at him. He could protect them from anything out here. He hopes he doesn't have to, but he could.

Out of a habit he's almost forgotten, but which feels right as soon as it comes on, he scans the surroundings, keeps an eye out for dangerous movement. He's sure they're safe. He's safe, at least. Nothing can hurt him. He can't even die. He doesn't need to be aware of his surroundings. Nothing that could try to hurt him poses more of a threat than the thought of living forever does.

He jumps as Tony's hand brushes against his, snatching his arm away immediately. Then Tony reaches for it again. And as he does that he realizes that Tony's holding Theresa's hand on the other side. He glances around even though he knows no one is looking at them and then he takes Tony's hand, and Tony swings their arms back and forth in an exaggerated motion, like they're schoolkids, and Steve smiles. Leave it to Tony to find the perfect way to touch without looking inappropriate.

By the end of the walk he is in a good mood, a great one. This is where he should be. A friend. A boyfriend. Nature. The inkling that something could still be a threat to his life. These are the things that sustain him now.

Theresa lives outside of the city, so he doesn't need to explain why he's leaving with Tony and she's leaving alone. Tony takes the lead on that one anyway, hailing her a cab like a perfect gentleman. Turning on his charm.

It's odd how nice it is to watch Tony flirt with someone else, safe in the understanding that Tony is still his. It's like being flirted with himself, only safer. God, he loves how easily Tony connects with people. Loves watching him like this.

"Let me know if you write anything worth publishing," Tony says. "I know a person who knows a person who probably knows a person, so –"

Theresa smiles. "I'll keep it in mind."

Steve waves as her cab takes off, and then Tony has his hand. People could be watching. But he doesn't protest.

"Now you and I have a date," Tony says, as his car pulls up. And Steve bites back the objections, the concerns that it is irresponsible to just take off in the middle of the weekend, and follows Tony into the car.