It's here. After too many years, it's fucking finally here.
The long awaited sequel to Jazz and Candles in the 21st Century. (Read that first, oh sweet summer children.)
Not beta'd and probs has way too many tense changes without continuation. Grammar is Satan's invention.
Here in lies pining, masturbation, kissing, the avengers being nosy and Natasha getting shit done.
Reviews are hugs from the heart.
Tony registered the pounding headache before he pulled himself upright on the couch he'd collapsed on. Nearby Clint moaned in discomfort as a beam of obnoxious sunlight hit is face and Thor snored on, oblivious and loud, from where he was draped over the leather recliner.
Clutching his head and groaning, then wincing at the pain the sound caused him, Tony stumbled to his workshop and croaked out for coffee as he cast his mind about for swampy facts and details about last night. Eventually after two seconds of painful and fruitless casting (hey, he was smart, but seriously. Details, details; he had JARVIS for that) he gave up.
'JARVIS, what happened last night?"
"Before or after you started drinking, sir?" His AI said crisply, with just the slightest hint of snarky disapproval in his tone.
"Both. Just what happened?"
The coffee machine turned on with a noise that, despite all his countless attempts, Tony could never quite get rid of totally.
"After you went to find Captain Rodgers – you then encountered him in an unlocked bathroom. There was a brief encounter with the Captain, which ended when you left for the kitchen in a state of shock. There you started drinking, I assume, to steady your nerves. When you'd suitably steadied them, Mr Odinson and Mr Barton both joined you and you all engaged in a Lord of The Rings drinking game – presumably because it was on television. Anything a little clearer, Sir?"
"Nothing at all JARVIS, not a fucking thing. Do you have the footage of that encounter with Spangles? Can you run it for me?'
"I would advise against it Sir. My protocols -"
"Override that." Tony snapped out, wincing again as he cast about for Panadol. "Run the tape."
There was the slightest hesitation then, "Certainly Sir", as JARVIS pulled the footage up.
Tony watched with a growing sense of déjà vu as he watched himself stride down the corridor and open the door to the bathroom with a smirk of devious wickedness on his face. A sinking sense of recognition lumped in his stomach when the memories slowly started to resurface as the screen switched to display the bathroom. He got about two seconds to take in the scene again before screen Tony burst into the bathroom. Despite the scene's funny angle due to the camera's position, Tony could still see the emotions that played over both his and Steve's face as the scene unfolded. He could still see the candle light gilding on Steve's skin and the shimmer of water and bubbles running down his body, could clearly see Steve's curving smile, wicked glint of Steve's 'come hither eyes'. The audio was clear enough to hear the silk and honey in his voice - husky with just a hint of challenge. The video was in a high enough quality to clearly show screen Tony's look of mortified shock and hear the strangle of his voice. The video stops immediately after screen Tony has turned tail and run, cutting Steve off mid very, very, fucking throaty laugh.
And ohmygodwhatthefuckjusthappend?
Tony stared at the dark screen with the slightly wild thoughts of 'What the fuck was that and how the fuck had Captain 'so virgin that even Bambi has more experience than him' managed to pull that off?' prancing through his head like an obnoxious pony decked out for a gay pony pride march because damn it! Gay ponies have rights too!
Then he wondered if it was wrong to want to commit that image of Steve standing in the bathroom to memory because it was the most beautiful thing he'd seen. And yes, it deserved the title beautiful, because if naked-and-soapy Steve didn't deserve to go into Tony's spank bank due to his sheer wankability then Tony had lost his libido and/or reason.
And wasn't that a notion.
Tony then blinked at the train of thought that had hit him with the force of Hulks fist.
There was a pause, then, "Fuck!"
Thunder rolled across the bruised storm clouds, but it was a faded boom behind sound muffling glass. A flash of lightning split the sky in two and rain sheeted down the windows in blurry waterfalls. It was storm on an epic scale, but Steve was removed from the wild majesty of it, behind closed doors and curled up in a comfy chair, the obnoxiously warm and soft throw-rug spread over his legs. Distantly, he knew that Thor was somewhere up in the clouds playing with his hammer, but he himself was quite happy to sit in his room, drink tea, sketch and think. His thoughts aren't- happy- exactly, they're slightly too dark to be called that, but they fit the mood. JARVIS is not playing jazz or any sort of music, the only sound in the room is that of the storm, the scratching of pencil on paper, and the sound of tea occasionally being poured from a pot. Steve likes it that way; Jazz is for his baths and for when he wants to get away from everything, the sound of a storm is for when he needs to just be.
His sketchbook rustles as he turns to a fresh page and places his pencil tip to the creamy blank canvas, letting his thoughts stretch out in infinite corridors as he lets his hand move without direction.
While Steve didn't know it, he was not alone in his indulgence of certain habits that he didn't want widely known for the sheer incongruity of them. However, since he wasn't to know that, he kept his baths a relative secret to save both face and pride. It wouldn't do to have Captain America to be seen, or known, to be having extremely girly baths with candles and music. The frozen berries were reasonably normal on their own, as was the jazz and the tea, but it was a whole different story when both of those things were paired with bubble baths and scented candles, so Steve had done his level best to keep that information on 'down low'.
Unfortunately, living in close quarters with the rest of the Avengers meant that he was never going to keep that little piece of information secret for long. More so when Steve considered the incident three weeks ago where Tony had walked in on him and, grabbing for anything to save himself from the ribbing sure to come, Steve had acted a bit out of character, which was putting it mildly. To put it clinically would be to say that he had spread his legs slightly in the water, before sliding out of the bath and offering Tony some blueberries while completely naked. To put it correctly would be to say he'd acted like a whore and blatantly propositioned Tony via the use of frozen berries. It had done the job; Tony had been completely speechless and then turned tail and ran, but things had been a bit weird between them ever since. He didn't quite know what to do about it.
Personally, doing that had been the most hideously embarrassing thing, even more so because he'd done it to one of his team mates, to Howard's son in particular simply because it was, well, Tony. It made it worse in a way he'd not fully worked out yet. If it had been any other, if it had been a stranger walking in on him, it would have been... less bad. Somehow. Maybe.
That little incident had put him off his usual relaxation method for about a week and a half before he realised that his sanity was slipping very quickly out of his grasp. Broken punching bags had been piled up in the back of the gym and by the time he'd realised that he was breaking more bags than usual, they'd reach head height. He'd very quickly gone back to having baths. Candles, tea and bathing products were easier on the pocket than broken bags, and Steve didn't exactly want to be a burden on anyone.
Steve looked down at his sketching pad and frowned deeply. His absent minded attempt at drawing the storm outside his window had, somehow, turned into a sketch out Tony's arc-reactor and the beginnings of a bare chest. He scowled and reached hastily for his eraser, rubbing it out furiously. He'd been attempting to regain his old art skills which had faded a little while he'd been Captain America in the army; there'd been no time to draw during the war. Frustration had been the reaction when he'd picked up a pencil again four weeks after waking from his seventy years of frozen sleep and been less than happy at how the drawing had turned out. He was only just getting his old skill back now.
Brushing away the rubber shavings with a couple of flicks with the side of his hand, he told himself virtuously that his zealous rubbing out had less to do with the subject of his work which had been increasingly appearing in various forms, and more to do with the fact that is was shoddy work. (It wasn't).
Hot tea slid its way down his throat as he took a sip from his tea-cup and set his pencil to paper again, very studiously ignoring the fact the geometric angles he was now drawing were uncannily akin to the shape of the arc reactor and the Iron Man suit.
The next morning progressed like usual- sort of. Steve gets up too early, bashes the bag a bit, then makes breakfast. Thor bounds in first and starts making pop-tarts, Natasha and Clint follow not long after that, and then Bruce is shambling in wearing shirt that says 'Happy and I know it', which is more than a little ironic and probably custody of Tony. Steve is busy flipping his fourth batch of pancakes in the pan (Damn Serum) when Tony shambles in, plonking himself on one of the breakfast bench chairs. Steve had to take a moment when he first heard the name of it, seriously, a bench just for breakfast called a breakfast bench? What happened to just plain of 'bench'? But he's gotten used to it.
It feels like the most natural thing in the world to do; to slide a plate of fresh-out-of-the-pan pancakes drizzled with syrup in front of Tony, replace the wires he was clutching for some reason with a knife and fork and shove a cup of industrial strength coffee in Tony's other hand. Unfortunately it also makes the team, but for Tony who's looking at the pancakes, stare at him.
"What?" Steve said, feeling a little wrong footed in the face of the staring eyes of his team, "Does Tony not like pancakes?" he turned to Tony a little helplessly, looking for some help. "You don't have to eat it, if you don't want to." He offered to the groggily swaying man on the bench.
Tony blinked slowly at the food in front of him, "How did food get- oh, Coffee"
And that was about as much input as Steve got from him, although judging by the way Tony started cramming the pancakes down, Steve was wrong about Tony not liking pancakes.
"Thanks Cap." Tony said when he was slightly more coherent and awake.
Steve shot a small smile at him, "It was no problem." He turned around to take a pancake out of the pan and could hear the scrape of porcelain and the shuffle of footsteps as Tony stuck his plate in the sink and left the room. If he wasn't so pre-occupied with pouring more syrup on his pancakes, he might have asked himself when he'd memorised Tony's footsteps.
Steve continued to smile a fondly as he sat down with what should be his last batch of pancakes for the morning. He was still smiling at he lifted his fork to take the first bite but he froze, fork mid-air, when he caught sight of the look on Natasha's face. "What? Is there something on my face?"
Her face quickly smoothed into an impassive mask. She blinked at him, a measured, cat-like movement, and then slowly shook her head. "Nothing Steve, I was just thinking."
Steve frowned, it hadn't seemed like Natasha's thinking face, not that the assassin really had an anything face. It was like she was wearing a permanent poker face, except for the times that some emotion flashed across her face and showed that she wasn't really a mechanical automaton.
He gave a little shrug to dismiss the matter and took a bite of the fluffy, golden brown pancake speared on his fork, turning his mind to Friday and how low was his stock of candles getting. It was better for him to not think about it, he was a little too busy with wondering about the weird situation between himself and Tony to start worrying about Natasha and the weird looks the team were giving him as well.
Tony's fucking about in his lab (he's trying to create a passive aggressive toaster that burns messages onto your toast when it thinks you're not treating it nicely enough. He's bored, so what?) when Steve struts in. (Okay, so it's not a strut, it's more like a hesitant knock on the door, followed by a very normal walk up to where he's standing and swearing at little metal pieces.- Hey, Tony can talk at bits of metal if he wants to.)
"No, you stupid piece of metal fuckery, you do not get to – Oh! Hey Steve." Tony said, looking up from the metal he was tinkering with, very purposefully not thinking about how very built and how very naked Steve was under those clothes. "What can I do for you? A gasket you've blown somewhere in the tower- not that I do do gaskets, but I do blow things – er, I mean, I blow things up all the time. Uh, yeah. You need something?"
(He sounds awkward. Why does he sound awkward? There should be no awkwardness here. There should still be no awkwardness even if he was thinking about the time he walked in on Steve, because it's totally normal to walk in on your teammate in the bath. The only reason there should be awkwardness was if he was thinking about the however many time's he's wanked to that image. Oh he should definitely not think about that, not only does it make Tony's creeper score hit 'Pedo-Like-Loki' but just thinking about it turns him on and - Oh crap, he's hard. He's so very hard right now.) Tony just has to grin like he wants to make his face hurt and keeps his body close to the work bench, very carefully keeping his hips below the bench top, and very, very, carefully not turning his body much at all, blindly attempting to ignore just how awkward this was.
Steve blinks at him, notices the awkwardness, and decides to make a hasty retreat. "Um nothing. Nothing Bruce or Clint, or Natasha can't help me with." And then he's beating a highly hasty retreat back out of the lab and to safer ground.
Tony watches him as he goes because damn that ass looks good in denim, no seriously, who ever gave Steve jeans has Tony's thanks. He could build them a monument, a monument to Steve Rodgers ass because that is one gorgeous ass right there, he's tap that, he'd tap that so hard. It was even better naked, he knew, Tony had seen it with his own eyes.
And ow, ow, thoughts not helping, hard on hurts. Really horny right now.
Tony decided to follow Steve's obviously sensible thought of getting the hell out of the lab; he needed to find a nice and friendly bathroom to shove a hand down his pants.
Sweet baby Jesus, need to wank, need to wank, need to wank.
He hobbled awkwardly (Jesus, why was everything so awkward these days? Christ.) to do just that.
But if anyone's thinking that Tony's fallen in love with Steve then they're obviously smoking something strange. Steve is an attractive man (read the fucking Adonis of slightly irritating, but only when he's not being sexy or adorable, men who put the 'sex' in 'on a stick'). Tony would have to be crazy to not find him attractive and to not be horny due to said teammate.
Okay, it was weird. But he's not going to tell anyone, and nobody's going to find out. It wasn't like he liked, or, or had feelings for Steve. Nuh uh, no way.
Not even when Steve looked up with that smile that made Tony's arc reactor melt a little in his chest. Or how he passed over pancakes with out even needing Tony to ask. Or that way Steve had of looking so damn hangdog that just made Tony feel like he wanted to wrap Steve in a blanket and build him an entire motorbike just so Tony'd never have to see that expression again.
Build him a motorbike… Oh, hey, that wasn't actually a bad idea.
Quite truthfully, the dance of obliviousness and forceful ignorance would have continued for a long time, punctuated only by a continuous current of sexual tension and a bromance that was more romance than bromance. That is, if the rest of the team hadn't gotten sick of it and decided to take pre-emptive action.
Natasha looked at her teammates with a steady look on her sculpted face. When she spoke, her tone was grave. "This is serious. We need to do something."
Thor nodded in support. "Yes, I agree with you. For the sake of all, we must have a hand in this matter." He frowned into his fist, blue eyes intense with concentration. "But what we must do, I am not quite sure of."
There was a short silence, punctuated by the sounds of Clint tapping an arrowhead onto the table top.
"Don't look at me." Clint said as Natasha glanced at him. "I got nothing. This 'aint my forte. Short of mashing their faces together, I say we lock them both in a room until they work it out. But aside from that, they're so obvious it's fucking ridiculous. "
"So, we lock them in a room, then?" Thor said, brows knitted together with thought. "Through it pains me to say, I do not think that it would work."
"No, it won't." Bruce interrupted, the only person out of the four to have not spoken yet. "We have to do it more subtly. I think they are both incredibly oblivious to the feelings of each other. More to the point, I think that they're oblivious to their own feelings as well. Hence, we have to either get them to seduce each other without realising, something they're both doing quite admirably already, and then get them to realise that they have feelings for each other. Or, if Steve realises that he likes Tony, Steve must seduce Tony. Because I know that there's no way that Tony will make the moves, even if he does realise that he likes Steve.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, impressed. "That's a good plan. I think I can get Steve to realise that he likes Tony easily enough. Steve is much less into self-denial than Tony, which doesn't say much, but still. Also, he's more likely to do something about it once he realises." She nodded to herself, thinking. "It's a good plan Bruce. I think we'll use it."
And thus operation 'Get-Tony-and-Steve-to-get-together-so-they-can-makeout-already' was created.
Unfortunately, their efforts were pretty ineffectual.
Natasha's subtle interrogation of Steve and his 'feels' was far too subtle.
Bruce's attempt at talking to Tony turned into a nightlong science-bro nerd fest, having gotten side tracked by Tony's blue prints for something he found really cool.
Thor gave them both a shot, but his explanations of why they should get together was in the form of an ancient Asguardian epic complete with rhetoric and acted out scenes, which had both Tony and Steve completely bamboozled.
Clint just locked them in a room. That one actually kind of worked because they talked for about three hours, until Steve needed to pee really badly and Tony wanted coffee so Steve busted down the door after Tony had removed the screws.
Eventually they had to hold an emergency meeting because their efforts were so obviously not working.
"We need a different approach." Announced Natasha to the room at large, which contained only Bruce, Thor and Clint. Tony was busied in his lab, and Steve was out on his Friday shopping errands, so aside from J.A.R.V.I.S with whom they had asked not to say anything, the place was empty.
"What we've done so far has been ineffectual." Continued Natasha. " I think we need more information."
Thor nodded in hearty agreement. "Yes. One cannot plan proper strategy without full knowledge of the enemy. Although," he coughed into his fist, "Tony and Steve are not enemies. However, I do believe the same principle applies. I only wish that my brother were here to help. He is most adapt at discovering information, and planning strategy of a most devious and cunning mind." Thor sighed and looked a little forlorn while the rest of them looked at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "I miss him greatly."
"Thor, buddy, you realise you are talking about Loki, yeah?" Said Clint incredulously, "He might be great at finding out information, but he's as crazy as a bag of cats. And you know, tried to take over the world, kill us, kill you, wreak havoc and chaos and destruction, and generally be totally evil and insane."
"Yes, I am aware that my brother has done wrong, but I still miss him. He would've been a great help in this matter."
Clint opened his mouth to argue further, but Natasha caught his eye and shook her head seriously, so he sighed and said, "Alright. Fine. I still think you need a lobotomy. But fine. So we're going into reconnaissance mode of operation, 'get them to mack already'?"
"Yes." Natasha nodded, "do you agree, Bruce?"
Bruce held up his hands in open agreement, "It sounds alright to me, I mean, you're the boss. Does anyone have any ideas of where to start?"
"Yeah actually." Said Clint stirring from his perch on top of the couch's back. "Do we know if they've realised they're attracted to the other, or if they're in the 'we're just good mates' bullshit stage? Further more, has there been significant ratcheting up of sexual tension in the last couple of weeks, what's the catalyst if there even is one?"
"In some of the other realms," Thor said, "It is consider taboo and a great stain on one's honour to lie with another man. Some men, even brave and honourable warriors, have great misgivings about such couplings, even if their culture does not frown upon it. Is there any such thing here? I know that when I first visited earth there was no such a taboo, but I do not know if that has changed."
Natasha nodded at him, "Thor, you raise a valid point. In most areas of the globe, homosexuality is accepted but it wasn't always so. Steve came from one such era. It may raise several complications if he has hang ups about it. I know that Stark himself is a non issue."
"Okay. That all sounds great, so how are we going to find this all out?" Bruce interjected, wringing his hands a little in a nervous movement.
Clint frowned and offered, "I can find out if they've realised their own attraction if Tasha can find out if there's been a catalyst for any ratcheting up of sexual tension."
"I can do that." Natasha nodded.
"I shall find out if Captain Rogers has any taboo or aversion to the laying of men." Thor announced grandly. "Rest assured that it shall be done with more skill than my last attempt at talking."
"Great." Said Bruce, "Perhaps, maybe, I can talk to Tony and perhaps see if I can get any information out of him."
"This is a good plan. We shall collate our data when we've found out all that we can." Natasha declared.
Then, unceremoniously, they all parted and the meeting ended.
Operation "See-If-they-know-they-want-to-mack-to-get-Tony-and-Steve-to-get-together-so-they-can-makeout-already" ("We need shorter mission names" "Hush Bruce") was a go.
Steve frowned to himself as he soaked in his bath, doors very firmly locked this time. The mellow blues jazz hummed from the radio, and he took another sip of tea as he stretched out in the bath. It's larger than 'larger than average' size meant that the full length of him, toes to head, fit comfortably in the tub. It was yet another reminder of how the times had changed, but it was also telling that it was a change he didn't mind and a reminder that didn't sting like once would've.
A frown creased his brow as he sank back into the creamy purple water and allowed his thoughts to wander.
It might have just been his imagination; but he could swear the team had been acting a bit strange lately. Well, stranger than usual for a crime fighting super hero team.
He knew that things around him and Tony were a bit strained. They'd gotten a little better around each other – being locked in a room for three hours will do that to you- but he knew that Tony remembered that little encounter. His fears that Tony would tell everyone about both his baths and the fact that Steve had acted, well, like a Lady of The Night, had been mitigated when days, then weeks had passed. His plan had worked, which was good, but he couldn't help but wish he'd just lived the shame down and not destroyed his pride even further in desperation. The knowledge of it was a running undercurrent between him and the man, it rarely came up, but sometimes their eyes would meet or their fingers would brush accidently and there it would be again, brighter and new again like a fresh shined penny. There had been this tension between him and Tony ever since. And that was the last thing that Steve had ever wanted.
He reached out, poured himself more tea, and let the heat envelop him in a steamy embrace. He was a little hypersensitive the moment, each tactile stimuli enhanced just that little bit. The tea, just this shade of too hot, trapped in his lungs and the stretch of his throat as Steve breathed out to alleviate it sent his nerves shivering. Carelessly wandering thoughts drifted, the movement of Tony's hands bloomed behind his minds eye. Black grease smeared, the tendons worked in beautiful harmony, wrist flexing, forearm tensing in gorgeous symmetry.
Alarmed, Steve quickly tried to switch his thoughts elsewhere, but they took the devils very edge and drifted upwards Tony's arm to his shoulder, running along tendons and casing over his musculature.
His cock stirred in the water. The enfolding heat, the slight movement of water, the taste of tea, dark chocolate in his mouth, the smell in the air, the images in his mind; all sensation was intense and his nerves trembled with it.
Steve had an artist's appreciation of beauty, the faraway appreciation of form that came from classical drawing classes, an appreciation of ancient sculpture and a formative life lived on the edges, but never had his reaction to such visions been so visceral. Now Tony's eyes took centre stage. Deep brown irises a thin ring around pupils blown wide with a myriad of joy, desire, shock. The sweat that trickled down his neck after a work out. His smile and his beauty, the star-point of light that was the reactor in his chest. All these images took up residence in a mind made to torment him.
Steve's cock was now jutting out from the water in an almost obscene manner. It had been so long since he had masturbated.
As always, a twinge of guilt long ago instilled by catholic teaching pinged at him but he didn't goddamn care; desire raged in him like a thirst. He couldn't help himself and the gasp that came from him when he finally put his hand on it was that of pure relief. He caressed the hard length of it, running his thumb over the head before he began to move his hand in ardent strokes and twists. A deep groan, just barely muffled, echoed in the bathroom as he came into his hand.
For a long moment, he floated, bathed in the afterglow.
Then, he closed his eyes tightly and felt guilty. It wasn't right of him. He shouldn't have done that, to think of – to- to- to use- to think about Tony like that. It was wrong. It was one thing to masturbate to pictures of pinups, or to those secret and private fantasies he would never admit to thinking; it was another to do that and think about people he knew, people who he worked with. It wasn't right.
Steve sighed heavily and heaved himself out of his bath, blowing out the candles and wrapping himself in a towel. He didn't want to stay in that water anymore; suddenly he was so, so tired. The usual after-bath loose-limbed feeling was even more prominent tonight. Wether that was due to the extra-curricular activity or something else was uncertain, but Steve didn't want to think about the meaning of the images that had brought him to a shivering completion.
A high grinding noise, loud banging and some fervent swearing was what awaited Steve when he walked into the kitchen the next morning. Bent over the coffee machine, Tony was swearing at it as he swapped out a screwdriver for a pair of pliers from the tool set on the bench next to him.
"Come on, you get out of there, that's right. Come for me." The words spilling from Tony's lips are harshly coaxing, his fingers twisting and tugging are alternately gentle and tough by turns. Steve watches him and licks his suddenly dry lips, he is utterly unnoticed by Tony who is engrossed with the coffee machine. The man makes a harsh cry of triumph as he manages to slip the offending part of the machine out. "That's right, my coffee machine does not interfere with morning coffee. Nuh uh."
He sticks the offending part down on the counter and switches his pliers for a tiny screwdriver, his head bobbing a little the music coming from his earphones; the tinny sounds of rock metal are just audible from where Steve is standing. There is a tiny crooked smile just touching the corners of Tony's lips, and Steve is utterly entranced by it.
"Damn." Says a voice from Steve's shoulder and he jolts slightly. It is Clint and it's clear he's been standing there for a little while. "Look at those hands. They sure can move, can't they Cap'. They are beautiful hands. Fuck yeah."
Though he had been trying to avoid noticing them, Tony's hands now draw Steve's helpless gaze. Deftly twisting wires, his fingers are delicate on the wires and mechanics, small movements and twists of his wrists highlighting tendons and veins. Swimming to the front of his mind, last nights bath plays in full technicolour memory and he swallows thickly.
"Ye-yeah, I suppose so." He just manages to restrain the hot blush that is threatening to overtake his face, but he is sure Clint can read everything. He can practically feel the archer's all too-sharp gaze on him. It is a relief when the man salutes him a goodbye and walks off, tossing a breakfast muffin in the air.
Steve lingers for a moment more, before swiftly turning on his heel and resolving to get breakfast elsewhere. He misses the stilling of Tony's hands as the man looks up and watches him walk away.
Clint swaggered down the corridor, barely restraining a self-satisfied strut. He'd taken a little guess that hands would be something Steve was into, what his artisty-ness. That hunch had totally played off, the look on Steve's face as he watched the movements of Tony's hands was not the look of a man who was into it for purely aesthetic reasons. Plus there was the fact that Cap' had watched Tony for at least a solid minute before Clint had spoken.
Oh yeah. Steve was totally into Tony. There was still Tony to deal with, but 'Operation Matchmaking Recon' was looking better and better. Clint took a bite of his muffin and continued to swan down to 'Tasha's room where he would share his new findings with her.
Clint continued his careful observations of the pair, Tony more so simply by dint of the fact that Clint didn't have a basically concrete admission of the realisation of Stark's man-crush the size of his ego. So they've got sexual tension – so? He and Phil have (had – god, still a sore point) sexual tension, it didn't mean that he wanted to jump Phil's bones. Unless they both almost stated that they wanted to fuck the living daylights out of each other, he wasn't going to just push them together due to some close-felt tension. He was a sniper, he saw better from afar and that meant some close interrogation and lots and lots of observation.
And whoo boy, does he observe. He watches Tony and Steve as they eat breakfast, sees the glances and looks that go almost completely unnoticed by the pair of them, notices their careful interactions, and most importantly, the barely restrained looks of 'I want to do the horizontal pants dance with you'.
It was basically cemented when he watched Tony as he watched Steve generally just look really good in tight pants. What's more was the look on Tony's face when Steve gets back from a run, having been caught in a sudden rain storm. The soft noise of elevator doors opening make both Tony and Clint glance up from where they are. (Clint from the coffee pot he was drinking out of on the couch, Tony from the god-awful looking smoothie he was making.) The tight running clothes are practically plastered to Steve, water runs in tiny dripping rivulets over all of his muscles. Steve shoots them both quick smiles before he's looking in the pantry to see if there were any bagels or muffins left.
Dammn. That's a sight. Clint thought appreciatively, looking over at Tony to see his reaction. Tony's eyes are firmly glued to Captain 'Tight Pants' America's arse and Clint grinned, immediately sensing an opportunity.
Clint sidled up to Tony as the man stared at Steve's dripping wet body. "Damn. Those are some muscles. MMm."
Tony waved a hand, and said too airily light, "Yeah, I suppose so." Even so, his eyes did not stray from Steve's muscles as he reached up a high shelf for the chocolate chip muffins where Clint had taken to hiding them. If it were any other moment, Clint would probably chuck something at Steve, steal the muffins that were rightfully his and then disappear into the air ducts to eat them. However, there are some opportunities that can't be missed, and this right now, is one of them. He slurped from his coffee pot.
"He's practically naked. All dripping wet, and clingy. Look at that ass. That is a fine ass."
And ohh, that is a very gratifying response. Tony maked a choking sound and turns beet red. He stayed where he was for all of five seconds, before dumping the smoothie down on the counter and hastily leaving the room.
Grinning to himself, Clint fist pumps the air. "Fuck Yeah!" He whispered to himself. "Hawkeye strikes again."
Mentally upping his score tally, he bounced over to Cap. This victory deserved muffins.
"CAPTAIN!" He yelled out. "MUFFIN ME!"
Steve jerked around and instinctively threw the muffin he's holding at Clint. Clint jumped and caught it, cackling. "Thanks Cap!"
"Wait! Clint! Can I have my muffin back? CLINT!" Steve's futile shout follows him as he swaggered out the common room and up into a convenient air duct.
"Hawkeye, victorious after his extraction of the truth," Clint narrated to himself, "Takes a bite of his stolen muffin. It tastes like patriotism and chocolate. 'Merica! Fuck Yeah!" He cackles to himself and continues to eat.
Today has been a good day.
Tony escaped down the corridor, hobbling slightly. Damn inconvenient boners, and patriotic super soldiers in tight wet work out gear. Life just wasn't fair. Life just wasn't damn fair. Of course his dick has to react like a bloody pogo stick.
Added to this is the fact that he has a half built motorbike in his garage that he can't finish, because Steve keep's poking his stupid perfect head in just when Tony's about to start work on it, and he wants the motorbike to be a surprise, goddamn it!
Today is not a good day.
~
Eventually though, Natasha took things into her own hands, because men. Also, because if something needs doing, you're better off doing it yourself. Plus Tony and Steve were giving her ulcers with the way they were so stuck on each other. So now it came down to this: the final accumulation of weeks of espionage into the slightly scary feelings of Steve-and-Tony.
There is confirmation that they know they have feelings for the other (not the realisation that those feelings are returned, of course, otherwise she wouldn't be doing this goddamn it) and that's good enough for Natasha. It's far past time that she smooches their faces together because it has already taken waaayy too long.
All it takes is the cooperation of JARVIS, and an opportune moment.
Nat grinned slightly as she snuck up to where Tony was currently tinkering with a beautifully built motorbike.
He doesn't notice as she comes to stand right behind him until she speaks. He jumps, swearing as tools fly out of his hands.
"Nice bike." She says, casually leaning against a shiny car, careless of the fingerprints Tony will have to buff away.
"JESUS!" Tony shrieks, tools clattering everywhere. "Don't you announce yourself!? Ever?"
"Just did." She says, contrary as a cat. "Clint once tried a bell, but it didn't work." Her smile is oh-so-slightly-smug when she says that. Before it gets too out of hand, she brings the conversation back to what she's really there for.
"I think Steve will like it." She says, looking critically at the bike. It is nice, a big black hulk of a beast with a bit of a Harley Davidson feel and just enough vintage throwback touches to make Steve happy without rubbing it in his face.
"How did you know the bike was for Steve?" Tony demands, crossing his arms and glaring so indignantly it would be comical if it wasn't so sad.
"Please Tony." Natasha scoffed. "Everyone except Steve knows you're building him a Motorbike because you're pathetically in love with his face and don't want to admit it."
Tony blinks at her and she has to laugh at the stunned little look on his face. "Yes." She says. "It is that obvious."
"Everyone knows?" He asks.
"Yes. Everyone knows."
Then, because JARVIS is a sneaky fucker, Nat's mobile vibrates softly in her pocket. It is the pre arranged cue that warns her that Steve is on his way because JARVIS has told him that Tony needs help lifting something in the garage.
Because Natasha is Natasha and she knows that the elevator door has just opened quietly and Steve who has just walked in can now hear everything, she raises her voice a little and says, "Why don't you just, oh, ask Steve out for a date rather than make him a motorbike as proof of your eternal love."
Here, Tony would be blustering something and throwing distraction-wrenches so he can run away safely, except that Steve has just stepped forward with a stunned look on his face.
"Tony?" He said, voice shaky with uncertain something.
"Steve!" And Tony is jumping for the second time in a row, which is really not good for his heart. He stutters for a moment and then begins throwing words out of his mouth like a runway horse. "Uh, yeah, I made you a motorbike- uh. Surprise! I was going to give it to you earlier, but it was never really the right time and now you're staring and this is why we can't have nice things Natasha. But, yay! Motorbike!"
The look on Steve's face shuts him up.
"You want to take me out on a date?" Steve says, his voice strained with incredulity.
Natasha watches in avid silence as Tony swallows nervously, dark eyes flicking everywhere for an out that will not come.
"Yes?" Tony squeaked out.
"Oh." Steve said softly.
Silence reigned for a couple of seconds as Tony once again looked about for desperate and graceful escape, stop-start words jumping and sparking for his lips.
Steve stares at him softly before he is moving, gliding forward and taking Tony by the forearms and leaning in. The kiss is short.
It is perfect. Nothing could compare to this moment.
Tony breaks away, looks up at Steve, and says. "Oh."
Then they are leaning into each other again, mouths in a soft and quiet embrace, hands holding onto each other's.
Natasha takes the opportunity to silently make her way to the elevator.
Mission fucking accomplished.
Later, when Tony and Steve lean into their morning presences with yawns and sleepy mumbles, it is a happy product of the other avengers scheming.
Much later, when they go to sleep in the same room, walk with bruised necks and mussed hair, and feed each other popcorn on movie nights, it is simply Steve-and-Tony being Steve-and-Tony.
Much, much, much later, when they walk out of the city hall with gold bands on their fingers, it is marriage and they are happy.
Fin.
And here it ends. There shall be no sequel. Tony and Steve as my otp died long ago, and I dragged this out from the depths of my Stucky infused heart. (Thank you Winter Solider).
Love and Hugs, Humbuggy.