Steve was furious.
Or rather from where he stood three meters away it was more like 95% likelihood that Steve was furious and another 5% that he was constipated. Tony could feel cold sweat literally beading on the back of his neck under the look Steve was fixing on him. His brain automatically hit "Rewind!" and he sifted through memories of recent events where he'd ostentatiously offended the man.
Oh plenty, sure, but Steve didn't know of any, so nothing counted.
"I am not expecting you this evening," Tony greeted cordially. He gestured for his guest to the wooden chair before him. Steve stood icily by the entrance, a hand still planted on the knob holding the door ajar. Somehow the stone silence was deadlier than any verbal outburst Tony had ever had to endure the past semester. Dread brewed slowly in the small space around them. "All right, at least come in, and close that door."
As Steve inched closer, Tony observed that his jaws were taut. Not a shred of humour lining his face. That was most troubling. If this were any other normal day, that if someone else from the department were to walk in here wearing that look, Tony would've at least seen it coming.
"You were at the stripper club. What for?"
Oh, that. Fuck.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me!"
Steve's left hand moved in such a speed that escaped Tony's ordinary human perception that all he saw was a flash, and in that split second he braced himself for the impact. He deserved that, he truly did, but a small part of him was defiantly screaming "Steve's bluffing!" Yet it didn't hurt, not one bit, for right before him lay a small, rectangular piece of something that Steve had just thrown over onto his very messy table.
He blinked once, and very slowly he recognised the scratched and faded staff card with his mugshot and "Dr Anthony Stark" plastered boldly on the front. His heart almost stopped.
"Ah, I've been looking for it since morning." Tony had no idea that fucking card was missing. He always had it attached to his hip by an elastic string. Never really took it off from his work attire. In fact, he'd barely enough presence of mind to transfer it from one pants to another before he piled everything else into the washing machine. Apart from that, the card was as good as never having existed. "Need that to access my lab." Not really. "Must've dropped it at the canteen or something. Or the library? Is that where you –"
"Matt found this in the cupboard where he and you were hiding in that night. Ring a bell?"
"Who's Matt?" Tony blurted, the first display of honesty this evening. Steve didn't seem amused, if anything, he gained on Tony and slammed a fist on the table. A tall stack of exam manuscripts toppled readily to the floor.
"The man you paid for a good fuck. That Matt. Remember him?"
Oh, so that was his name. But it still didn't prove Tony's attendance in the establishment. Loopholes in the accusations – find 'em, use 'em.
"No, Steve. Calm down. You're upset, I understand. Kind of. I don't know who Matt is –"
But Steve was already fishing for his cell phone, which he tapped with such force Tony wouldn't be surprised if he pierced through the screen with his index finger. Then just as wordlessly, he half-slammed the device onto the table right next to the stupid staff card. Something was moving on the darkened screen and Tony realised there was a video playing.
He only needed to spare it three seconds before he returned it to Steve, face down.
Son of a bitch, that Matt.
"Matt's MO: always have the first customer under a camera."
CCTVs. Clever. A must-have in premises like that.
"'Cause we're such wholesome men."
"He told me why you were there. I come with questions." Steve's face hovered dangerously close to the scientist. Every man had a dark side, sure, but to Tony, this man he once thought a down-to-earth-apple-pie kind of guy pulling this kind of stunt, this was simply unthinkable. Steve's next words dripped with venom. "If I don't like your answers, I promise you I'll utilise whatever means within my reach to put you out of your current position in this university."
He hammered that message home good.
"Are you threatening me?"
Every man had a dark side, sure. And everyone had a button to push, a threshold to exceed. Tony wasn't going to allow himself be cornered and trampled on, not on his turf.
"You threatened Bucky first."
"Are you out of your mind? I don't know Bucky –"
A painful grip came around Tony's elbow where Steve had seized him.
"I know something is wrong when he –"
The door suddenly swung open behind them to admit a bespectacled young lady. She was reading from a clipboard and didn't seem to notice the show that was going on and said chirpily, "Boss, I need your signature –" until she finally tore her dewy eyes from the papers and saw a stranger manhandling Tony. Nobody said anything, but Tony was quite certain she was only two heartbeats away from screaming so quickly, he shushed her down and said, "It's all right. We're fine."
Steve released his hold on the scientist and promptly cast his eyes downwards. This was just the interlude they needed. Maybe Steve would see the error in judgement, because seriously, storming into someone else's work place and spewing all these hate words, what was up with that? Tony looked pointedly at Steve. His expression remained largely inscrutable and Tony desperately hoped the soldier would leave but he made it clear that he wasn't done yet, standing rooted where he was. Tony cleared his throat.
"OK, maybe I can sign those papers tomorrow? Go home, rest, you've done a good job today."
Her eyes capered from Steve to her boss, not quite sure what to make of the incident. Tony was looking very flustered, uncannily so but she didn't argue. She nodded, and pulled the door to a close behind her.
Now that silence was restored, Tony began to hear the deep, calming breaths Steve was taking in.
"Look, I get you want to clarify things between us. I'm fine with that. Just not here, OK? My students and staff don't need to see this."
He was practically bouncing on his feet as he fluttered from one end of his office to another, picking up folders and stray pieces of papers. Steve awkwardly made to bend down and collect the papers strewn about his feet. Papers that were all over the place because he couldn't keep his damn temper in check by the way.
"Leave them. I'll pick 'em up tomorrow."
Tony strode over to the door and held it open.
"Lets' go somewhere private. Then we'll talk. Where d'you want to go?"
Anger flashed fleetingly behind blue irises and he marched out of the door. As he passed Tony, he said, "My place."
The car ride was decidedly uncomfortable. Steve was driving, Tony strapped to the seat next to him. He didn't dare ask where they were going, as in, where in Boston they were heading, assuming of course that Steve wasn't taking them across the border, because "my place" can mean practically anywhere. When the car turned to Kent Street, Tony groaned inwardly. The circumstance did not escape Steve as well because when they drove past the strip club his grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point his knuckles turned white.
They spent the next fifteen minutes stewing in their respective emotional, mental crap that it was starting to get unsettling. When Tony suggested them to take the talk elsewhere, he imagined two grown-up men talking things calmly over dinner. He didn't think it would work out into an actual kidnap.
"It's really late now," Tony found himself mumbling under his breath. He wasn't sure if Steve heard it. He didn't take his eyes off the road but Tony noted the ever so slight shift in his posture. The ignorance game was really getting stale. "I'm hungry," he tried again, louder this time. "Wanna grab some dinner on the way?"
When the silence pressed on for two full minutes, Tony decided that it was a no. That wasn't going to bode well for him especially since the all too familiar sensation of toothpicks scratching the wall of his stomach was getting too persistent to ignore. If he couldn't get in food to quell the misery then lucky him, he'd brought back ups. Lately he'd developed a habit of carrying his antacids on his person and now seemed like the best time to deploy them. But as soon as he reached for his pocket, Steve relinquished his vice grip on the wheel and clasped around Tony's wrist. For the second time this evening Tony thought his heart almost stopped.
"Fuck! Let me go!"
"Don't try anything funny with me."
"What the – it's just my meds, OK?"
Very deliberately, with Steve's large hand still closed around his wrist, Tony dipped into his pocket to fish out a small ziplock bag. There was half a dozen of white, roundish tablets in it.
"See, just some stupid antacids, no biggie."
Steve released the scientist and let Tony pop two into his mouth. He seemed perfectly content with dry-swallowing them and… that was about the most exciting thing that'd happened during the trip. When the car at long last turned into a suburban neighbourhood, Tony heaved a sigh of relief. That was enough tension to last him a month.
Steve's apartment was sterile in both appearance and function. The sitting room had a loveseat and a straight-laced side table under the window. No TV, but that was what the desktop at the other end of the room was for. Two bookcases stood flushed against the wall and the only thing worth a second look was the collection of half-finished paintings littering the centre of the space. The aisle had a wet portrait of someone who looked very much like Bucky. The few others were pencil sketches of still arts – vases, trees, see-saws in the playground…
"You're actually good with this stuff. Arts."
Tony settled himself gracelessly in the loveseat before Steve had invited him to. He pressed his knuckles into his temples. What wouldn't he give for a glass of water and warm blankets? He'd be out like a light before Steve could say "homosexual".
"You've been to the club, haven't you? Twice."
This time Tony groaned audibly. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyeballs until white stars burst forth in his inky vision. Steve had video evidence against him doing M18 stuff with what's-his-face-Matt, so he knew he couldn't deny this one.
"I don't keep my count, but yes, I've been there."
"On both occasions, you asked for Bucky. Why?"
"Believe me, don't believe me, but I honestly don't know this Bucky you keep mentioning. I was there for a good night's fun."
Of course he'd be royally screwed if Steve pulled out an audio recording from his phone. Thankfully he didn't call out this bluff, but Tony could still see doubt lingering in the way Steve was scrutinising him.
"Steve, it's cute and all, the way you… care for this guy, Bucky. I get it, you love him, but kidnapping me, all these third degree, it's a bit too much, isn't it? I mean, yeah, I dropped my card there, but Matt might've picked it up from the dance floor, the bar, even the toilet."
"In my line of work, suspicious behaviours and innocence don't often come hand in hand."
"Yeah. But this is different, right? Men on men. And don't give me the this-is-2016-nobody-cares lecture, because you and I know the second this gets out, people aren't gonna look at me the same again." Tony let his head rest against the back of his seat. He exhaled slowly, inwardly congratulating himself for wriggling free out of this one. "I teach, Steve. In a school. I work around kids." He regarded Steve meaningfully, "So now you know what skeleton I hide in my closet. And you're not to repeat it to another soul."
Steve raised his head to look at Tony, to really look at him and for the first time that evening he didn't feel like he was bait dangling precariously on a hook. There was a touch of regret to the set of blue eyes, and maybe even a dash of confusion? Steve gapped as the cogs and gears clicked into place and suddenly, he said, "God, this is so fucked up. You're right. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Matt's a bit of an ass, I can't believe how I let my emotions get the better of me."
"It's fine, it's all fine," Tony waved a hand dismissively. He was officially off the hook. "You're human, not a cold robot."
"It's hard to keep him safe sometimes," Steve deep voice seemed to reverberate in the night. "If anything happens to him, it's on me. All of it."
The prickles – now full-blown slashes in Tony's stomach were gaining in intensity. He pressed a shaky hand into his upper abdomen and shuddered. It'd never hurt this much before. He cracked an eye open and through the layer of tears he spotted Steve's back against him by the open window. Tony curled into himself and listed to his left, his body leaning heavily against the arm rest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. And pain was all he was aware of, not how rueful Steve had just become as he tried to make it up for his behaviour, or the gentle waft of night breeze when Steve turned around as Tony failed to acknowledge the apology, or the thumping footsteps as he rushed to kneel by the loveseat. He braced Tony's trembling form by the biceps and asked what was hurting, but Tony could only groan and hold on to frayed ends of consciousness as he clenched a fist around his stomach.
Eventually everything numbed away and he could inhale, feel his lungs expand to their fullest glory. But it wasn't Steve's artsy living room he was in anymore. The wall was glaringly white, the loveseat was suddenly a bed now, and instead of the whiff of turpentine there was bleach.
"Tony? How are you feeling?"
The grey, hulking figure to his right stilled into focus as Tony squinted at it. He could almost make out Steve's features through the haze and boy was he glad that he didn't sound so pissed anymore.
"Hospital?" Tony croaked, and was taken aback with how unused his throat felt.
"Yes. That was a horrific case of gastric ulcer. You passed out at my place and I drove you right to A & E. Is it still hurting?"
Did the docs put him on painkillers? Like, all the array available? Because he could barely wriggle his toe without putting conscious effort into it. Hell everything else felt stiff. Was it meant to feel this way?
"I've taken the liberty of informing your HOD about this," Steve said, and upon seeing the look of horror that'd struck Tony, he explained, "Don't worry, Smith and I go way back, he even says you can take the week off."
"Smith's not the problem here," Tony interjected heatedly. "How long have I been out? What's the day?"
"It's Tuesday."
Tony turned abruptly to the lone window of his ward and earned a dull flare under his diaphragm. He didn't care. He stared long and hard at the darkened panes, realised that the sun was almost setting.
The day had ended. The NIH grant submission dateline had expired some hours ago at noon. And he'd missed it.
"Tony?"
He'd missed it.
"Do you need the doctor?"
And the pain was raring in his stomach again. He sighed, and closed an intubated hand over it. He didn't fight off Steve as he pushed him back into the pillow with absurd ease.
"Just take it easy these few days, all right? It's the stress, excessive intake of coffee and irregular meals that's screwing up your system. Take some time off to heal."
One door closes, the other opens right? So what if he'd lost a chance at the NIH grant. There'd got to be something else that he could do. Something else that came in the form of Steve Rogers and his brown envelope and a shot at getting funded by the military itself. He didn't forget that, he tried to, but if back then he couldn't bring himself to accept Steve's generosity, when push turned to shove, he just had to do what he had to do to.
"The dateline for that call for grant from the military is in what, another week?"
"A week half, actually, but you need to rest. You got a freaking hole in your stomach –"
"I need to go back to work."
"You need to rest."
"I have to work, Steve! If I can't leave, then I'll just work here. I'll have someone bring my laptop over."
"Nothing is more important than the state of your health. Can't this all wait until –"
"There's no more time for me!"
Tony grimaced at the exertion. His fingers curled around the hem of his blanket and he tried dulling the aches with deep breaths. It kind of worked, and Steve looked almost apologetic again. He went on as calmly as he could, "My performance appraisal for the term is coming up. I've lost the NIH grant. Our coffer is running dry. We won't have enough to bring us into next year. So you must understand, Steve. I need to work. Now give me my phone."
Steve grudgingly handed over the Blackberry and watched the scientist tap furiously on the keypad.
"I've been thinking about this for a while," Steve began in between the flurry of typing, "There's a project that I need to oversee in Kuala Lumpur and the team I'm put in contact with has a lab in UM."
Tony's fingers slowed to a complete stop, his ears peaking in alert.
"UM, as in University of Malaya?" he repeated.
"So I take it you heard the rumours."
"Yeah, if you can wear Robocop, you'll make headlines too."
There's something about flying that human beings just can't get enough of. Maybe it is exactly because they can't, not meant to, hence the craving for what-ifs. The sky high enthusiasm for anything that could leap of the ground and remain afloat afforded any flying garbage some sort of publicity over the last decade. But for someone like Tony who'd always had an invested interest in all things that fly, he'd been keeping both eyes peeled for even a semi-functional prototype. He of course would've built the damn thing himself despite not being an expert in aerodynamics (yet), but this Assistant Professorship thing was hogging too much of his time.
The team in UM was one of the many racers doing the arduous let's-fly lap. What set them apart was, instead of another hovering skateboard or a compact-one-seater helicopter, it was a flying suit of armour. Just picturing how it'd look set his inner engineer into a giggling fit. Tony remembered choking over a carrot smoothie when he read the report. It was just a prototype, a miniaturised one at that, probably the length of his forearm. But it was still a piece of engineering miracle, and he admired the ingenuity of successfully getting it off the ground.
"It's an interesting concept, I'll give it to them. But it'll take a lot of juice to power mini-Robocop. Pre-existing battery tech just isn't advanced enough."
"And that's where I hope you can come in, Tony."
Clearly the repulsor tech would be their Eureka. Nigh unlimited power. And he'd already figured out how to whittle it down in size to be able to mount it on the suit itself – the disappointment of not being able to apply the idea for the NIH grant still stung. But the point was, the brainwork had already been sought out. There was a chance he could realise this.
"When's your flight?"
In his eagerness, he straightened up too abruptly that the flare came back with a vengeance. He winced visibly and Steve faltered, as if remembering that there was an ill man in their midst. He shook his head sadly.
"Maybe another time? You need to focus on getting better."
"Don't give me that bullshit. You know I got to do this."
Steve looked torn.
"You've given me the opportunity of a lifetime. Don't take it back. Not now."
And Steve relented. "I'll get you a ticket. In the meantime, you're gonna stay your ass in the hospital and get well, as much as you can anyway, and if I think you're not faring any better I'm hauling you back to A & E. Agree?"
"Yes, Sir…"
Steve started for the door, but he deliberated where he stood, his hand still on the stainless steel knob. When he spoke next, his eyes were glued to the tiled floor as if he couldn't find the strength to even look at the other man.
"Tony, I want to apologise for what I did to you yesterday. That was –"
"It was a misunderstanding. You did what you have to. It freaked me out, but I'm not holding it against you, so no more chick flick moments."
The boyish smile returned to Steve. "OK."
The paperwork following the discharge procedure was not as irksome as Tony thought to be, so as he stood there, still sore with most of his weight balanced on his right foot, he filled in his third form and signed his name with a flourish. His mood had improved over the past couple of nights despite not having any visitors save for the postdoc bearing his laptop and Steve. His two days in the hospital followed a steady regimen of work, breakfast, work, lunch, work, Steve dropping by for a visit, dinner and sleep. In fact Steve was right beside him now, totting a luggage of toiletries and fresh change of clothes. They were all Steve's; Tony didn't have the common sense of asking the postdoc to fetch basic necessities along with the laptop, and if the scientist thought having an employee digging around his underwear drawer was crossing lines, why wouldn't he ring up a brother, or a cousin, or a close friend, or the boyfriend (maybe?).
So Steve had to spare Tony some of his own wardrobe. Tony appreciated that. He hadn't gotten the chance to say thank you though, between the nth forms and the limping to Steve's car and the recollection that Tony's own sedan was still stashed somewhere on campus. They made a detour halfway through to go back for it but Tony was already fading, his skin pallid and his breathing in hitches at times. Steve suggested the painkillers, but Tony looked at the tablets in disdain. Steve did another U-turn and made for Tony's home. The car would just have to wait for another day.
"Oh God…" Tony sighed gratefully once his sore self settled into his couch. Home fucking home at last. "Make yourself at home, Steve." The luggage hit the floor with a soft thud as Steve meandered through the kitchen, searching for a glass of water. And if he could be so bold, Steve thought to himself as he held a relatively clean glass under the tap, the place was a mess. Highlight and underline that. There was a certain staleness to the air that hung upon them, like a home that hadn't been lived in often enough. He knew Tony had taken to sleeping in the office recently but this general feel of abandonment didn't look temporary.
There were only two sets of cutleries in the cabinet, one well-used mug left to dry over the counter and a fridge stocked with half-a-dozen beer cans and frozen pizzas.
It seemed to Steve that Dr Anthony Stark was a full-fledged bachelor, one who didn't seem capable of living sensibly at all.
"Hey," Steve nudged the almost dozing scientist in the shoulder. "Drink up."
Tony just realised he was parched. He downed everything in one continuous gulp and pushed the empty glass back to Steve as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaned back into the couch again and decided he wasn't going to move another inch for the next eight hours.
"All right, let's get you into the shower, a fresh change of clothes and you can sleep until dinner. I'll make you some chicken porridge, if I can find some grains of rice around here…"
"Nah, it's fine. You've done a lot for me past couple of days, Steve. Too much, in fact. Bet you can't wait to get rid of me now."
"I can't just leave you here."
"Sure you can." The narrowest sliver of brown irises peeked from under heavy-lashed lids. "I can take it from here, really. I owe you one this time."
"I really can't leave you on your own right now. You can barely stand straight."
"Nonsense."
"OK. Take that glass to the sink yourself, then."
Tony whined impetuously at that, but otherwise remained stationary in his seat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered eventually, his eyes slipping to a shut again. "I really do appreciate your help, Steve." For a stranger, Steve had been really good to him. Hell he didn't think Mom and Dad both could compare to what Steve had done for him in the past two weeks. "I'm just… so tired…"
The couch sagged next to him where Steve took his seat. "Your body is healing. Let it. You probably pushed it past its limit while working on that NIH grant."
"Heh, and it's all for nothing."
"You still have another proposal to write up. And you can't do that if you refuse to give yourself a chance at getting better."
"Fine," Tony sighed, his head lolling to his side. "Can I skip the bath, 'cause I really just want to pass out right now."
Tony counted five seconds before he sensed Steve getting up and disappearing to some corner of his house. As hard as he strained his ears he couldn't hear the other man's footsteps anymore. Creepy, in a way, but soon Steve came back to him and somehow he'd found himself a basin with hot water and a good morning towel.
When the damp thing touched Tony's neck, he'd literally jumped in his seat. He almost upended the basin of water if not for Steve's quick reflexes, pulling everything out of his flailing arms before any of them made contact.
"Fuck, what the hell was that?"
"You reek."
"In my own house! I live alone, nobody's gonna complain."
"You're filthy. You're not going to bed like this."
"I totally am. Now go away. Go be nice to someone else."
The legs of a stool, metal on wood, scrapped against the floor as Steve pulled one over and parked it right before Tony. He promptly sat on it and settled the basin of water on his laps.
"You know, it's OK to accept help from other people once in a while."
Oddly enough, just by not moving for a couple of seconds was enough to lull him completely into oblivion. He felt heavier, wearier than he'd ever been, and his eyes slowly drooped to his cheeks. Even when he felt something tugging at his collar, he let it. The first button was popped. Then the second. Until his dress shirt came apart and cool air skated across his bare chest that he slowly cracked an eye open.
Steve tensed as Tony watch him work. He meant well of course, and it didn't come across as freakish at all, at first, but from the way Tony was glowering and holding his breath, Steve had to stop. He held his hands up. To his dismay, the scientist visibly flinched at the gesture and almost shrunk into the couch, willing the foam to swallow him whole. Tony remembered Matt and his stupid I-mean-no-harm hands; it didn't mean fucking anything because he went ahead and did whatever he wanted anyway.
"I'm sorry, Tony. I don't mean to be… weird, if that's what you're thinking. It's just a sponge bath. Just trying to help you feel better."
"Is this normal to you people?"
A muscle in Steve's jaw twitch. Tony had enough decency to look mortified at the slip of the tongue.
"You talk as if you haven't come to terms with who you really are."
"That's bull. I know exactly who I am."
Steve returned to attending to the scientist and this time, he kept still. He wrung the towel and dabbed it on the slightly flushed skin, starting gently from the small area under the ears. Where he wiped at the juncture of Tony's neck and shoulders he felt knots, and he smoothed them away, kneading at the tensed flesh with nimble fingers. Tony relaxed into the massage, and he sighed contently at the sensation, the bickering minutes before forgotten.
"This feels good," he commented sleepily, "but still max on weird."
"Back in the Army, it's little things like this that makes sick camps bearable." He brought the towel back to the basin before wringing it dry again. "Every soldier has a story to tell. Mine is from one of the Afghanistan tours. Took a bullet to the back." He resumed his strokes along the length of Tony's right arm, shoulders to elbow, and to the tip of his fingers. "The first three days was bad. Couldn't eat, couldn't move. The nights felt never-ending, but my friends were what kept me going." Steve rinsed the towel and when it returned to Tony's body, he swiped it down the expanse of the chest. He studied the tattoo with mild interest, subconsciously tracing along the perimeter of the circle motive with a triangle within it. There was a stray thread poking from the corner of the cloth and as Steve continued his ministration, it brushed repeatedly across a nipple. That jolted Tony a bit, and he was so close to scratching that damn itch until Steve closed the wad of towel over the stiffened nubs that he winced.
"These… behaviours that occur as weird to civilians, to us, they're a form of comfort."
"Steve, I don't mean it like that."
He hung the towel on the rim of the basin and motioned for Tony to give up the shirt completely. His back now free from obstruction, Steve turned his care to it, working from the shoulders again towards the base of Tony's spine. As the water evaporated off his skin and along with it the heat, he decided that this time, just this one time, he'd allowed himself this comfort.
They didn't speak again for the longest of time, but this felt almost companionable. To Tony, it was just him and this pair of deft hands, working their ways meticulously, removing grime from his body. There was an unmistakable touch of something soldiery to it, precise and firm wherever it travelled. It was enthralling to a fault that when Steve wordlessly motioned for Tony to surrender his pants too, the scientist obliged. Now covered in nothing but the boxers (brand new, not borrowed from Steve) he leaned back into the couch. The warm towel landed on his thigh. The careful massage made another comeback at the tender region, and Tony in his stupor, absent-mindedly spread his legs further, allowing Steve easier access. He took the opportunity and Tony recognised changes to the movements. The strokes were slow and deliberate, teasing even, as he rubbed circles over the same area and just when the fabric started to feel too harsh Steve hopped to the other thigh, repeating what he was doing until Tony felt a pressure right in the middle of his crotch.
When Steve halted, Tony looked at the other man and saw him gawking at somewhere navel-level. He followed the stare and realised he had a fucking tent in his boxers. Tony yelped, half-jumping from the couch and pulled the discarded shirt into his lap.
"God, Steve, I'm so sorry. This isn't what it looks like – totally unintentional –"
To his amusement, Steve burst out laughing, neither rude nor offensive, just God honest I-find-this-amusing-too funny. "Don't worry about it."
Tony commended the amount of tact Steve had; he got up and gathered the basin and the towel and even hauled the luggage bag to Tony's feet so he could get some fresh change of clothes from it. Then he went upstairs again to the bathroom, allowing them both some minutes of privacy as Tony fished for a random T-shirt and sweatpants.
And thanks to that one stupid, defiant show of testosterone surge the rest of the evening spiralled downwards. Their conversations were back to awkward and Tony couldn't even maintain eye contact longer than a glance. He politely declined invitations to tea and dinner while strongly suggested that he needed more rest. Steve conceded, understood that he'd overstayed his welcome. When the back of his car disappeared around the corner, Steve a mere silhouette against the sunset, Tony slumped against the door frame and banged the side of his head repeatedly against the door frame.
He was still hard in his baggy pants. This evening had been so fucking confusing.