"I- no," he says, stammers. "I'm not."

He doesn't want to lie. "Not anymore."

"Oh." She seems surprised, which isn't the reaction he's expecting from someone who just practically declared his secret identity.

"How did you know?"

Theresa pauses before answering, as though his discomfort is rubbing off on her. "I googled you."

"You what?"

She bites her lip. "I'm sorry, it's just that I was curious, and, well, we learned about Captain America in social studies, and Peggy said she was there, when it happened, and you look so –" she claps a hand over her mouth as though she can't stop talking any other way. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Steve sits heavily on the bed. "Thank you."

He should be happy. He hates having a secret identity. He should be glad that someone else knows. But he's not. All he can feel is the crushing expectations. He'd be okay with her knowing, if Captain America didn't stand for anything, if it didn't stand for someone he used to be but really isn't anymore.

Theresa stands with one hand on the foot of the bed, not looking at him. He wishes she would leave. He wants to be alone. But he can't bring himself to push her away.

She studies him for a moment. "Was she – did you know her back then?"

He's still just comprehending the question when she corrects herself. "I mean, obviously you knew her, but were you –"

"I loved her."

There's this silence that stretches on forever, but Steve's detached from it, he's just floating above it, a little bit light headed.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." She stands up and places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine," he says. It's not.

She leaves, apologizing again, entreating him that if he ever needs to talk she'll listen. And he sits there for a bit, and then he gets up, and walks out of the room, and then he walks down the hallway, and out of the building, and comes so close to breaking the speed limit on his way back to the city.

The next day he almost cancels on Tony, because he doesn't feel like going out. He feels like staying in and heating up some hot chocolate on the stove and then trying to go to bed early even though he's not tired.

He doesn't really care if that blows his last chance with Tony.

The only reason he ends up going is that he never gets around to calling. It's rude to give such short notice.

When he steps into the car he's surprised to see Tony looking unusually pedestrian, wearing jeans and an oversized jersey.

"You... shaved."

"Strong powers of deduction there, cap," Tony says, winking.

"Why?"

"Trying to fly under the radar. I've got a very distinct look, so most people –" he nods toward the mini bar, "feel free to grab a drink – most people won't recognize me without it."

Steve politely declines, feeling a little overdressed in his button up and khakis.

"I'd have done it last time we went out but it only really works in crowds. Only sometimes. Still worth a try. We have ginger ale, or water, if you don't want anything alcoholic."

Steve agrees, if only for something to do with his hands. Tony finds something else to do with his hands.

"Tony," he hisses. "Happy is right there."

"Can't see or hear anything," Tony says, unbuttoning the top button of Steve's shirt. "Besides, he's very discreet."

He wrinkles his nose. "Okay, he's kind of discreet. But people who are very discreet are also very boring."

"Tony," Steve says, a hint of warning in his voice, as Tony's slides a hand beneath his shirt, gently massaging his chest.

"I'm sorry," Tony says, not being sorry in the slightest. "I just can't keep my hands off of you. You have a very nice body, did you know that? I mean, if I were you, I'd just spend all day in front of the mirror looking at it."

Steve's jaw clenches, his stomach sinking. He didn't want this to happen. He should have known it would.

"Everything special about me came out of a bottle," he says, vision fixed straight ahead, nostrils flaring. "That is what you said, right?"

And for once, Tony Stark misses an opportunity to speak.

"If you just want me for my body, fine," Steve says, because he can't reject him. He can't do it. He needs him. He wants him. He wants Tony to care about him and look at him like he's the only person in the world. But he'll settle. He'll settle for anything and it kills him to know that he will. "But then let's cut the crap, okay?"

"Well, I don't just want you for your body, so, uh, how about we go back to the part where we were having fun." His hand's still on Steve's chest, his tone is light, and it all just makes him want to cry.

Tony's silent for a while, until it becomes clear to both of them that Steve isn't going to respond. Then he extricates his hand, a rush of cold air taking its place above Steve's heart.

"Look," Tony says, taking one of Steve's hands in both of his, talking down to him just a little, "we both said a lot of things on that helicarrier that we didn't mean, right?"

Steve nods, the last dregs of anger dissipating entirely into despondency. Because whether or not Tony meant it doesn't make it any less true.

"I like you because you're confident and capable and not afraid to stand up for what you think is right, not because you have perfect pecs."

He shouldn't believe him. Not with everything he's heard about Tony Stark. But he wants to.

"I'm sorry," he says, wondering how to explain himself without sounding ridiculously insecure. "I overreacted."

Tony shrugs. "Don't apologize. I know I have a reputation. But I swear, I'm really not that guy."

So Steve nods, pretending that it's Tony who was the problem, because it's so much easier than admitting how he feels about himself.

"Are we good?"

"Yeah."

The stadium is huge, swarming with people, and where Steve used to be perfectly fine around people now he feels a little overwhelmed. But it makes him feel less like the center of his world, and he likes that.

Tony describes the seats as terrible, but they're not. They are small, though, so that when they sit down Tony's leg is pressed against his. And he moves over a bit to give Tony more room, but Tony just spreads his legs wider. He'd should be annoyed, and he has no idea why Tony needs all of that room, but there's still something he really likes about that proximity.

And he watches out of the corner of his eye as Tony takes a big bite of his hot dog, watches his lips close around it, and he remembers Tony, naked, saying "I can suck you off."

He's glad for the cold air, and the game, and the thousands of shouting fans for taking his mind off of that. He shouldn't be thinking about sex. He should be thinking about getting to know him, and connecting with him, and not the gentle curve of his hips or the way their lips feel together.

"Oh," Tony says, turning to face him, and Steve almost spills his beer thinking that Tony's caught him staring. And then Tony pulls a hat out from under his arm. "I also got you this."

Steve's not sure what to say. He doesn't want to accept the hat and let Tony think he can just buy Steve things, not after they fought over the bill at the diner. But he's already complained about the beer and he wants even more for Tony not to think he's ungrateful, so he thanks him and puts it on.

"Red white and blue," Tony says, gesturing at it. "Kinda fitting, huh?"

Steve musters a small smile and nods.

He tries to get into the game, but it's hard. He doesn't know the rules, and he's a little too distracted by Tony's presence. He keeps wanting to steal glances at him, make sure he's enjoying himself.

Of course, the second he does, arena erupts into jeers.

"What happened?"

"Icing," Tony says, like that's an explanation. And then, realizing Steve doesn't really know anything about the game, he begins narrating it.

That helps, a lot. He's still distracted by Tony, but the game takes more and more of his attention, until Steve finds himself at the edge of his seat, completely enraptured, swearing when the other team scores.

Tony looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "'Dang it?' That's cute."

At some point Tony's hand finds its way to Steve's knee. And he pretends not to notice, but in reality it's all he can focus on. Part of him is worried that someone's going to notice, but mostly he doesn't care about that. Mostly he just likes the way it feels. He likes the way it makes him feel. To know that Tony Stark wants him back, it makes him bold enough to do something he never thought he'd do in public.

The noise of the crowd dulls to a slight buzzing in his ears as he creeps his hand closer, careful not to look, heart pounding with a sort of anxiety that he's never felt before, not when they gave the serum, not when he was fighting Nazis, not even when he's been kissed. It's not like that now. He's not being passive, and he's not fulfilling a duty. He's taking what he wants, and he knows that what he wants is ridiculously unimportant and even dangerous, if anyone sees them. And the consequences, of all of this, are so much worse than anything he's done before. He's been beat into a pulp and he's been broken and he's been lonely but Tony could crush him if he wanted to.

He's trusting him not to.

He places his hand over Tony's, pausing to let him pull away, to realize that he's not okay with it, but he doesn't. He turns his hand over, threading his fingers through Steve's. He shifts so that there's a gap between them, and they slip their hands into it, dangling them where no one can see.

In the gap between the second and third periods, Steve finally asks the question that's been bothering him all night.

"What does it mean to 'google' someone?"

Tony gives him a strange look. "Uh, it's when you search for them on google. Why, you wanna find out about my past? Because that won't be fun for either of us."

"No," Steve says. "Of course not. What you want to tell me is your choice. I was just curious. What is Google?"

"It's a search engine."

"Search engine?"

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "Have you ever used a computer?"

It's pretty obvious that he expects the answer to be yes.

"Only to read files."

"Oh." Tony looks like he's on the verge of some cutting remark or another, but he stops himself. "Well."

And he explains what all of those things mean, which just leads Steve to more questions, until Tony says, "Know what? I'll just show you."

"What about the game?"

Tony laughs, and squeezes Steve's hand. "I meant after."

"Oh," Steve says. "Okay."

On the ride home from the game, Tony behaves himself, grabbing a drink and making cheap small talk which eventually trails off, leaving them in silence.

"I didn't know you followed hockey," Steve says, figuring that he can get Tony to fill the silence talking about it.

"I don't," Tony says. "I learned the rules yesterday so I could impress you."

Steve grins. "I don't think you're supposed to admit to that."

"What, and not get credit for all of the hard work I put in? That doesn't sound like me." He winks, raising his drink to Steve and then taking a sip. "What's your favorite sport?"

"Baseball."

Tony nods knowingly, arching one eyebrow. "America's pastime, right."

Steve shrugs, offering up a small smile. It's not like he has a monopoly on all things American.

"I'll have to take you to a game when the season starts," Tony says. "I have great seats, you'll love 'em."

Steve nods. He tries not to think anything of the fact that Tony's basically asked him to do something months from now. He probably didn't even consider it, that it implies they'll still have a reason to see each other. Steve's probably overthinking it.

And while he's preoccupied with that, Tony cups his cheek with one hand, gently turning him until they're looking right at one another. "Am I allowed to tell you how beautiful your eyes are?"

Steve's mind flashes with things to say, jokes to make, ranging from 'no' to an insult on Tony's smooth talking skills, but Tony's not waiting for an answer. Tony's already closed the distance between them, lips pressing against his.

There's a knock at the door and Steve jerks away, bumping Tony's nose with his chin, so that he swears under his breath while Steve wipes his mouth and tries to look normal.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, mortified, and Tony shrugs it off, wrinkling his nose once before opening the door himself.

"You don't have to knock every time I have another person in here," he says, in completely unfounded indignation. "I don't know what I'm paying you for if I have to open my own doors all the time."

Happy grins. "You're paying me for the pain and suffering associated with the last three times." He nods at Steve. "No offense, Captain."

"None taken," Steve says, not sure what, exactly, he's supposed to be offended by.

He follows Tony into the mansion, into a ground floor office containing what Tony explains is the guest computer, and he takes a seat at the chair as Tony assures him that it's very easy to use, even a child can do it, even a cat, probably.

"I'm not stupid," Steve says. He knows Tony's just joking, but that doesn't make it any less upsetting, being treated like an inferior person just because he's not from the same era.

"Uh, so anyway, it runs on some sort of electricity," Tony says, winking, and then he launches into some complicated explanation of parts that Steve catches half of.

He shows Steve Google, and then he runs through some other websites, and then he seems to get a bit impatient and places his hand over Steve's, rests his chin on Steve's shoulder, and takes over. And even though he explains everything as he goes, Steve's only focused on the light flex of Tony's muscles on his arm as he clicks things, on the soft caress of Tony's breath on his ear.

He shouldn't be distracted. He should he able to ignore those things, and he could, because if anything he has too much willpower, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want this to be the only part of his life that he has control over. He wants to let go. He wants to feel like he's falling, and know that Tony's there to catch him.

He wants Tony to let him do all of those things that he won't let himself do. He wants to have sex with him. Tonight. He wants to ignore all of the consequences and all of the expectations, and he wants to do what he wants, for once. He won't make it happen, he knows he's not ready to do that, but he's not going to stop it if it does.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Tony's voice is soft and teasing, and then his tongue slides along Steve's ear.

He freezes up a little, trying not to react even as the slight touch has this ripple effect, a tingling that spreads across his face.

"Red's a good color on you, Cap," Tony says, with a smirk that Steve can feel, and his cheeks grow even hotter.

He wishes Tony wouldn't call him that. Not now.

"How about," Tony says, kissing him on the neck, making Steve breathe out hints of syllables that he doesn't remember forming. "I teach you a little something else now, hmm?"

Somehow they find their way the three feet to the couch, bodies pressed so insistently together that it's frightening, for Steve, to want someone so badly and so physically and so quickly.

Tony slides a hand under Steve's shirt so he just takes it off, shivering as Tony's hands explore his sides, moaning as Tony's lips brush along the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. It feels so good, and he can do this, he can give in to this, to what Tony wants. He can do that.

"Tell me what you want," Tony whispers. "I won't do anything if you don't say it's okay"

He doesn't want that responsibility. He wants Tony to drag him into the underworld of broken morality, to make him give in to his crooked desires. And what he really doesn't want is what happens: his hand brushes against Tony's crotch, and it makes his conscience kick in. He can't be doing this. Not so quickly. Not like this.

"I should go," Steve says, pulling away, trying not to look at the tent in Tony's pants, trying to ignore the pressure in his own. He stands up, grabs his shirt, backs a step away from the couch. He should never have let things get so far.

"Already? Really?" Tony's frowning at him, breathing heavily, like he's trying to decide between confusion and anger, like Steve's just stolen his favorite toy. "Come on, we haven't even done anything. We can stop whenever you're not comfortable."

"It's late," he says, swallowing. It is. It's very late. But Steve barely sleeps anyway.

"So let's go to bed," Tony says, biting the corner of his lip and, looking at Steve with those eyes, warm and deliberately innocent. And he stands up, takes the step to reach Steve's side, arm sliding around his waist, body coming to rest against his, lips sucking on the corner of his jaw before whispering in his ear, "I need you."

It's hyperbole. It's hyperbole because Tony wants to have sex, that's what Steve keeps repeating to himself as he gently removes Tony's hand from his back pocket and extricates himself from his grasp, trying to ignore the way Tony's lips slide along his clavicle because it's not fair, for Tony to have this sort of effect on him. Tony doesn't actually need him, but Steve might. Steve might really need Tony and he can't let himself blow it just because Tony wants to have sex with him. He doesn't care what Peggy said, he knows that you don't get respect by giving in too early.

"I said I have to go."

"A minute ago you were just as into this as I was." Tony folds his arms across his chest, looking just a little bit like the person Steve fought with on the helicarrier. "You can't just change your mind when things are getting good."

"I can, and I did, and I'd appreciate it if you would stop trying to persuade me otherwise," Steve says, folding his own arms across his too-naked chest. He knows it's perfect and impressive and doesn't undermine his authority at all, but he wonders if he'll ever be able to get past the way that years of being the skinny, sickly one have made him uncomfortable not being clothed. He still feels that same pressing need to assert himself, to make sure that

"If I'm going to have sex with you then first I need to know that you respect me," he says, feeling his eyes narrow, hearing that hard edge in his voice. "And it's hard to think you do if you won't respect my decisions."

Tony looks a bit stricken, and any sort of self righteousness that Steve had been feeling evaporates. "Wow," Tony says, stepping away like he's been struck. "Okay, well, way to blow things out of proportion."

Steve doesn't say anything.

"Okay, well, if that's how you feel," Tony says, laughing a humorless laugh. "If that's how Captain America feels, then, sure."

Steve nods, not wanting to make things worse by saying the wrong thing, but still completely opposed to capitulating. He pulls his shirt on, pretending not to watch Tony, who seems to be pretending not to care.

Just when he's decided the silence has stretched on too long, Tony turns to offer him a thin smile. "Happy's off, but I can drive you home."

"I'll walk."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Even ignoring how cold it is, that'll take like two hours."

"Hour and a half. A lot less if I take the subway." He can sense Tony readying himself for a fight, so he softens. "Look, I had a great time tonight. I'm just not ready for things to move so quickly."

Tony thinks it over, which Steve knows is just for show because there's no way Tony has ever thought that slowly in his life. But what Tony finally decides on is a begrudging smile. "I did too. I'm just not used to things moving so slowly."

They let that hang in the air, let things cool off a bit, Tony's slacks still advertising his arousal.

"So," Steve says, feeling bold. "Do I get a good night kiss?"

Tony laughs, but it's a real laugh this time. "You're a fucking tease, Rogers," he says, smile playing on his lips.

"That's not a no." Steve catches Tony's hand in his, his other hand sliding into Tony's hair, and he kisses him, a kiss that's decidedly, forcefully chaste except for the way that he's practically wrapped around him.

He wants to get cocky on him, to tease him a bit, with his fingers or his tongue, and then pull away, lean back one last time to whisper in his ear "I'm worth it."

He wants to, but he's not sure. He's not at all sure that he is. He used to be, maybe, but now –

"You okay there, Cap? The kiss wasn't that bad. And look, I'm keeping my hands to myself." He holds them up to prove it. "And it's killing me, it really is."

Steve smiles a small perfunctory smile. "I'm tired," he says, which is a true statement. And he's been trying so hard not to be too assertive about things Tony would find trivial, but he can't let it go anymore. "And, would you mind not calling me that? I'm not a Captain anymore."

Tony raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "Alright, popsicle."