On their next date – dinner at the Stark mansion, because they can't exactly keep going out – Tony gives him a cell phone.
"I can't accept this," he says.
Tony rolls his eyes. "It's not a present for you, it's a present for me. Think of it like a walkie talkie. I have one, and you don't, which makes mine kinda useless."
"I already have a phone," Steve says, looking at his reflection on the surface of the sleek rectangle.
"Yeah, but not like this," Tony says. "This one lets you send text messages."
"Instead of an answering machine?"
Tony smiles. "Sort of."
"I like hearing your voice."
"Stop making excuses and just say thank you."
"I'm not kidding, Tony." He hears the hard edge to his voice so he tries to tone it down. "I can't let you spend this kind of money on me."
Tony smirks. "You don't even know what that costs."
"I know it's too much."
"I spent two million dollars this week. Trust me, it's not too much."
"What could you have possibly spent two million dollars on?"
Tony shrugs. "Lots of things. Take the damn phone."
He begrudgingly accepts it, planning to use it once – to call whatever phone company Tony got it from and find out how to return it. But then he gets a few text messages, and learns how to send one, and realizes the utility of having so much extra time to come up with things to say.
It turns out he can flirt, actually, when he's not put on the spot. Or, at least, he can answer Tony's messages in a way that is neither bland nor overly hostile, which is really all that he can ask of himself at this point in his life.
On their fifth date, Tony calls to apologize and say he's in Malibu, and he won't be able to make it. He hopes Steve wasn't already on his way over.
"This won't happen again," he says, after telling Pepper to please just give him a minute, it's an important call. "No, actually, it will, probably. Definitely. I'm not very good at remembering things. But I am sorry."
As much as Steve was looking forward to seeing him, the honesty's almost enough to make up for it. And what really makes up for it is when Tony calls him later, when they can actually talk. He turns down Tony's requests to let him fly Steve out, and he quietly defuses Tony's plan to take him to LA another weekend and show him the sights. That's taking the charity way too far. But aside from that it's great, and even though it irks him when Tony tries to spend money on him, it still makes him feel good, that Tony wants to.
He's not sure what Tony's game is. He wants to think that he doesn't have one, because Steve gave him the go ahead and he turned it down, but he still can't imagine what Tony gets out of just talking to him. He's not a good conversationalist, not where Tony's concerned, and even though Tony protested when he was put on the spot, Steve still knows most of his worth comes from his body.
But Steve loves listening to Tony, so he keeps his doubts to himself and he asks a lot of questions. And when Tony interrupts himself to say "hey, it's pretty late, should I let you get to bed?" Steve instinctively says no before realizing that Tony was just looking for a way to end the conversation.
By the time he realizes that, though, it's too late to fix it.
But in the next few weeks they spend what seems like all of Tony's free time together, so Steve assumes he didn't mess things up too badly.
Part of it is because Tony's teaching him how to use a computer. It's slow going, taking up most of Tony's lunch breaks. And Steve is terrible at it, really awful, he can never remember all of the commands, and then it seems like there's always something new that he has to master. It's like learning a whole new language.
And Tony keeps saying that he's doing great, picking it up really fast, but Steve finds it really hard to believe that computers would be so popular if it was impressive to be hopeless at coding after weeks of tutoring from one of the smartest men in the world.
The downside to spending what seems like all of Tony's free time together is that the rest of his free time tends to occur at night.
Steve always heard that the way relationships worked was that eventually the guy would start pressuring the girl to have sex and she would either hold out until they got married or else give in early and risk getting pregnant just because she loved him.
But with him and Tony eventually is right away, and they're both men and neither of them can get pregnant so it's all that Steve can do to slow that race down to a pace that doesn't terrify him out of his mind. He wants it too, he just doesn't know how to give in when it goes against everything he's been taught.
And Tony reassures him that it's fine with one breath and gets frustrated in the next, but it's nothing that Steve hasn't been thinking, himself. They're both fighting Steve's conscience. Tony's just trying a little harder, because Steve's not entirely sure that his conscience is wrong. He's not entirely sure that this is how fast things are supposed to move with someone you're not even going steady with.
"Yeah, no problem," Tony says one night, when Steve calls to say that it's too late to come over, after all. "I'm sure I can manage to get blue balls on my own for once."
There's silence on the line where Steve can't think of anything to say.
"I'm kidding," Tony adds, forcefully, and pauses. "Kind of."
It's not that he means for things to get that way. It's just that Steve finds it hard to be around Tony and not be touching him, and when he's touching him, no matter what they're talking about there's always that moment when he has to kiss him, and it turns out that Tony is terrible at saying no to things that he wants.
"Jesus Christ," Tony says, on a night when they've gotten particularly far, when Steve's so close to capitulating before reality crashes down upon him and makes him stop. "I haven't masturbated this much since middle school."
Steve doesn't masturbate. His frustrations come out in his dreams, dreams that are vivid and detailed and sensual. Dreams where he kisses every part of Tony's body, dreams that he falls into halfway, so that they're already naked, cleverly skipping over his recent inability to make it past the stage where the pants start to come off.
Dreams where Tony ejaculated in Steve's mouth and he swallows it, unwilling to miss a drop, like there's something special about his sperm. Something that leaves him feeling warm and comforted from the inside out, so that even if he wakes up and finds that his sheets could maybe use changing, he just curls up and thinks about him some more. That feeling – it makes him worry that the real thing could never be nearly as good as the things he and Tony do in his sleep.
"So just to clarify," Tony says, over lunch one day, "you're not one of those "no sex until marriage" types, right?"
And Steve thinks that's a strange way to put it, because obviously if he's going out with Tony he's not planning on getting married. But he understands what he's asking. "No."
"Then you gotta give me something to go off of," Tony says, teasing in a way that Steve has learned means he's serious. "I don't mind waiting, but does waiting mean days, or weeks, or months, or years, or what?"
It's a question Steve would love to have the answer to.
He spent years upholding this self-imposed honor code that he didn't have to uphold and now he has nothing to show for it, but it's still so difficult to break.
"Weeks, I guess," he says, trying not to show the irritation in his voice. "I don't know. When it feels right. I'm not trying to make this difficult."
Tony notices anyway. "Calm down. It was just a question."
"It was just an answer."
Tony shrugs. "Okay, forget I said anything."
On the 14th, he agrees to meet Tony at Stark Tower for dinner. But it's later than usual, at a time when Steve has to let himself in by key card, and when he does there's no one in the lobby to avoid.
Tony meets him on the bottom floor, but instead of going outside he immediately turns and leads him back to the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor before he pins Steve against the wall and kisses him.
"I forgot something upstairs," Tony says, a strange little excited smile on his face. "Won't take long."
When they get off it's at Tony's top floor, the one with the Iron Man landing strip. And Steve follows Tony out of the elevator, wondering what he could have possibly been doing out there.
And then he sees it. The landing has been decorated, and there's a candle-lit table, and Steve can only blink and wonder what this means.
"Happy Valentine's day."
Oh. "Oh, Tony, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot –"
Tony rolls his eyes and cuts him off with a kiss. "Don't be so serious and responsible all the time. Just enjoy it."
And he does. The seclusion of Stark Tower gives them all of the privacy that they can't have in public, lets him hold Tony's hand and eat off his plate and stare into his eyes and other things that Steve thought were stupid before he had the chance to do them. It lets them flirt without any sort of fear that someone's going to see. It's great.
Tony's gotten everything they ate on their first date – "I thought about doing our second, since it was kind of our first, but that's something you eat all the time," he explains – and it's like a chance to redo it, to enjoy it properly.
Dinner seems to pass so quickly, and when Steve looks down at his watch and realizes it's been more than two hours, he's shocked.
And he thinks that he should mention how late it's getting, but, well, there's something that he's been wanting to do with Tony for a long time. He's just not sure how to ask.
"Do – do people still dance the way they used to?"
Tony grins. "Not the way they used to, no," he says. "At least, the kids don't. And I have no idea how to swing dance, but I do know a couple of ballroom steps. What'd you have in mind?"
"Oh, I don't know how to dance," Steve admits, self-consciously taking sip of water.
Tony watches him for a second, and then he raises an eyebrow. "Jarvis, we got any good waltzes?"
"We don't have to –"
"My date, my rules. Now, Mr. Rogers, may I have this dance?"
He stands, feeling foolish and oafish and convinced he's going to ruin the night by embarrassing himself. And Tony takes his hand and pulls him close, and then closer. "It's not proper form to have any space between us," he says, and Steve silently thanks whoever came up with dancing for the way that Tony's pressed up right against him.
"Just, do what I do, but backward," Tony says, talking into Steve's ear. "You'll pick it up."
"I'm not so certain that I will."
Tony laughs. "I can go put on some steel toed boots, if you would prefer."
Steve smiles, and he realizes that they've already started swaying to the music. And it's an easier segue than he expected, but trying to actually dance, even with the quick explanation of the steps that Tony gives him, is still harder than he'd expected.
Tony's patient though, and he slows down, walks them through it again, has Jarvis slow the music down so they can try it at a glacial pace. And even though Steve's awful at it, he doesn't mind that so much. Not when there's a strong guiding hand on his shoulder and Tony's breath hot on his ear as he whispers direction.
He tries not to watch his feet too much, tries to look at Tony, but that's not very successful. None of it's very successful. But it feels okay to laugh, it feels great, actually, to fail and then laugh with Tony about it. To support Tony as he collapses, sobbing with laughter, against Steve's chest, and then to try it again.
"I'm so glad you're bad at this," Tony whispers, and Steve's not sure how that seems romantic, but it does. It makes him feel safe in this inexplicable way, to be liked for doing something poorly.
And then Tony gives up and just wraps both arms loosely around his neck, swaying in place. "I call this one the junior prom," he says, smirking. "Not nearly as refined, of course, but much better for... other things."
Steve doesn't have to wonder what those other things are. He looks into Tony's eyes and then he closes his eyes and kisses him, soft and slow, like they're the only two people in the world. And from their vantage point, high above everything, they may as well be.
It feels completely like a fairytale. He's standing hundreds of feet above Manhattan, seventy years in the future, big and strong and physically perfect, kissing a man who he's in love with, as Tony's almost sentient building plays some song about – well, he's not sure what it's about, because most of the lyrics seem to be la, la la la la – but it's futuristic and a little sad and somehow still sweet.
His life seems more perfect than he could ever have imagined it being.
After that he's expecting them to go back to their usual date-time activity, expecting Tony to needle him a little harder because it's a special occasion, to remind him of how long he's been waiting and how much effort he's put in. Let him know that there's a scale, weighing all the things Tony does for him, and now that it's tipped, he's obligated to have sex with him.
He'd do it. He'd do anything, right now, if Tony asked him.
But Tony doesn't ask. Instead, he leads Steve back inside, turns on the fireplace, and the television, and they curl up on the couch and watch Roman Holiday.
And if Tony's intention is to make Steve fall in love with him, it's working. And if Tony's intention is to make Steve sleep with him then that's working too. Because lying there, nestled between Tony and the couch, Tony's back pressed firmly against his chest, he feels more secure than he has in quite a long time. He feels like his life has purpose again, and meaning, and even if that purpose is just to cuddle with Tony forever he's okay with that because at least it makes him feel good for once. And he wonders why he's been so insistent on avoiding something that they clearly both want, just because he thinks he's supposed to.
When the movie's over, and they're still cuddling on the couch, Steve can only think about how perfect it is.
The next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake. "Come on, sleepyhead. I have an actual bed here."
Steve sits up and rubs his eyes. "I should go home," he says, and Tony rolls his eyes.
"It's late, you're tired. I'll sleep on the couch if you want me to."
"No, you don't have to do that."
"Good," Tony says. "I was bluffing."
Steve yawns. "I can sleep on the couch."
"Uh-uh, not happening," Tony says. "Come on. I'm not gonna start anything, if that's what you're afraid of."
Steve blushes. "No, I –"
"I'm just teasing," Tony says, and maybe it's a good thing he cut Steve off, because Steve was about to say that he wouldn't mind that.
And it's true, he wouldn't, but he's so very tired, and maybe he should sleep on it.
As for sleeping here, he's a little worried that he can't trust what his dreams will be like. He doesn't wake up in a cold sweat, not anymore, hasn't for months. That still doesn't mean he won't.
But, well, Tony's asked him to sleep over before – or, at least, mentioned it in passing, or because it was late, or because they'd wound up watching a movie on Tony's bed and neither of them wanted to get up – and Steve's always said no. He shouldn't say no again.
It's a little thing, but he thinks it'll make Tony happy, and he really wants to make Tony happy.
He wakes up feeling comfortable but very disoriented. And he's a little concerned until he realizes that the strange sensation on his head is just Tony's hand, that he's sleeping in Tony's bed and Tony's just absentmindedly stroking Steve's hair as he sits next to him, reading something on his tablet.
Tony looks down at him and smiles, ruffles his hair, and goes back to reading. And Steve buries his head in the pillow so that Tony won't see the painfully and uncontrollably large smile that's spreading across his face.
He's half convinced last night was an amazing dream. And if it's not, well, then the unbelievably strong joy he's feeling is completely reasonable. It's just not something he necessarily wants Tony to see.
Once he's gotten that under control he turns over, stretches and yawns. "What time is it?"
"8:30."
"I should leave," Steve says, running a hand through his hair, wondering why Tony didn't wake him.
Tony raises an eyebrow. "Why, you got somewhere to go?"
"No, but you have work," Steve says, and then reconsiders. "Don't you?"
Tony lifts the tablet. "Got it covered. I don't have a meeting until 11. Was thinking we could have breakfast."
"Oh." Steve smiles, snuggling up against Tony, and yawns. "Okay."
He runs his fingers across Tony's bare stomach, thinking about how easy it would be to slide his fingers lower. He wants to, he really, really wants to, but it's selfish to think that can get in the way of Tony's work.
"So," Steve says, taking the last bite of what Tony had playfully and inexplicably referred to as freedom toast. "Who do I have to thank for all of this?"
Tony chokes on his coffee. "I'm insulted," he says, grinning over the rim of the cup. "I was absolutely at least 25% responsible for planning and execution."
"Pepper?"
"Yes, but you'd better not go date her instead. I am a much better dancer than she is."
Steve smiles, taking a sip of orange juice so that he doesn't have to come up with a response to that.
"Oh," Tony says, placing a hand on Steve's knee. "I almost forgot. I signed you up for a graphic design class."
Steve spits the orange juice back into his cup. "You what?"
"That's, uh, not exactly the response I was looking for."
"You should have asked me first."
Tony rolls his eyes. "That's not how presents work."
"Well –"
"Look, if you don't want to go, you don't have to go. I just thought it would be good for you to have something to do. And hell, who knows, maybe one day you'll get a job out of it."
Steve shrugs. "Okay."
Tony smirks. "See, this is why I pretended to almost forget."
"I'm just –"
"Wildly ungrateful?"
Steve smiles, catching Tony's hand as it begins to travel a little too far up his inner thigh. "Fair enough."
"Well," Tony says, wrinkling his nose, "I guess I have to go get dressed."
Steve doesn't say anything, he just plays with Tony's fingers. He doesn't want this to be over already.
Tony raises an eyebrow. "Unless you have other ideas?"
He does, but – well, he's not going to interrupt Tony's work day. No matter how much he wants to.
So he lets Tony get dressed, and says goodbye to him properly. And as he leaves down the back entrance, the memory of Tony's lips still fresh against his, he wonders how he could ever have thought that everything in his life wasn't perfect.