Tony's still there when he wakes up. Steve blinks and checks the clock and wonders if he's dreaming, because it's almost 9 and Tony's still there. He's wrapped around a pillow, back to Steve, and he's no longer snoring but he's breathing heavily enough that it's a sure bet he's still asleep.

Steve scoots a little closer, until he can just feel the warmth of Tony's back against his chest, careful not to wake him.

He likes it like this.

He likes getting to wake up next to him.

This is the first time Tony's been asleep in the morning, the first time Steve's been able to really appreciate what it's like to wake up and know there's someone who cares about him, who trusts him, someone who depends on him, even in the very slightest of ways.

He likes Tony when he's asleep. Because when Tony wakes up, there are only ever three things on his mind: food, or sex, or work, and they're all urgent all of the time. He wishes they could focus on the small things instead, wishes they could spend the morning laying in bed and talking, just talking. Wishes Tony would make some decision about him. Let him know how he feels.

He knows Tony likes having him around, that much is evident, but Tony could substitute anybody for the role that Steve plays in his life, and Steve knows that too.

He wishes he could feel as confident about their relationship as he knows he should. Wishes like hell that he hadn't spent so long waiting for the slightest chance to be with Peggy, because then he would have experience, at least, he would know if it's normal to not know what he is to Tony when Tony's almost everything to him.

He's thought about asking Peggy but he doesn't like to do that, he doesn't like to bring Tony into their relationship any more than he has to. He'd rather they talked about her.

He's thought about asking Theresa, or even any of the kids in his class, but they all seem to look up to him in a way, to think he knows what he's doing, and there's a part of him that doesn't want to shatter that.

And he's just barely gotten comfortable referring to Tony as his girlfriend. He can't imagine having to actually talk about him without letting something slip.

Aside from that, he doesn't really know anyone.

So those are his options and he's taken none of them and it's just him and Tony, Tony who can be sweet and considerate sometimes, who's warm and comfortable and familiar and beautiful sleeping next to him.

It's just Steve feeling inexperienced and uncertain and in love, grasping for some sort of understanding, some sort of certainty.

Tony moans, shifts, and Steve nuzzles against him almost instinctively. He closes his eyes, tries to fall asleep so that he'll get to wake up again, so he can enjoy that moment of confusion, when he opens his eyes and realizes that he's not alone.

Tony wakes up before he can fall asleep. It turns out that he likes Tony a whole lot when he's just waking up, too. He yawns, stretches, slow and sleepy, his fingers finding Steve's. And he smiles, soft, genuine, looks at Steve through half closed eyes, and says, "brunch?"

They go out to an actual restaurant for the first time in what seems like forever. Steve's still a little uneasy about that, about being seen in public with Tony, and Tony, as usual, doesn't seem to care at all. He just talks about how good the bacon is, and how Steve's going to love it, and how they should go out more because there's so many places Steve's never even been.

And Steve lets him go on about that, doesn't complain about how Tony's got one hand on his thigh while he should be using both of them for driving about how he keeps glancing over when his eyes should be on the road, because it's the closest this feels to normal.

He knows nothing's going to last, that they'll go out today and they'll go back to meeting up when Tony's not busy and eating catered meals while watching movies that Tony values too much to interrupt with kissing, and then they'll kiss and they'll have sex, and he'll wake up the next morning and Tony will be gone, and he'll have left a website for him, and that's nice but it doesn't hold a candle to waking up and having Tony next to him, to going out and talking, to just doing nothing at all together because they can.

Steve can tell the place is expensive before he even gets the menu. He flips through it, trying not to fixate on the price, trying to figure out how he can get the most food for the least. Sure, he'll have a job now, but that doesn't mean he should be spending money.

"Order whatever you want," Tony says. "I'm paying."

"I can pay for myself." He shouldn't be spending Tony's money either.

"Well, yeah," Tony says. "But I'm not going to let you. I picked the restaurant, I'll pay."

Steve closes his menu, bites his lip. There's no harm in asking. "Do you think I'm just with you for your money?"

A slow smile spreads across Tony's face. "Are you?"

"No."

"Then why ask?"

He glances around. All of the other tables are consumed in conversation and there's no waiter nearby but that doesn't stop him from lowering his voice anyway. "I don't know."

"Why are we whispering?"

Steve sighs. They're whispering because he was going to say something else, something that he's not comfortable mentioning in public.

"You're gonna have to enunciate better," Tony whispers, hiding behind his menu. "Or did you just fart?"

Steve laughs, unexpected and a little too loud and he claps his hand over his mouth. What the hell. "Have you heard of 'sugar daddies'?"

Tony laughs, tries to turn it into a cough, and then gives up and laughs some more. "Yes. I've heard of them," he says, still laughing, still whispering. "The question is, how did you?"

Steve shrugs. "Kids from that graphic design class."

"And you're asking..."

Steve blushes.

Tony laughs. "Well first of all, I'm not that much older than you."

That's true. That's reassuring. Of course he's wrong. Got some stupid idea in his head.

"I mean, how young are you? 30? 29?"

Steve swallows, doesn't meet his gaze.

"Steve?"

"23. Technically"

"Oh." Tony seems taken aback a bit. "Well, I can see why you might have thought that."

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Tony says, a little too quickly. "Not if you're okay with it."

"I am."

"Okay," Tony says, looking away

Steve wants to say something, but what does he say to that? He could change the subject. He probably shouldn't.

Tony clears his throat and looks off into the distance and straightens his tie.

Steve takes a drink of water, and looks down at his menu, and wishes Tony would say something.

And then a jam packet hits him in the face, and he looks up, and Tony's smirking at him

"Of course I knew how old you are," he says. He grins, flicks a sugar packet at him. "Who do you think I am?"

Steve smiles, shrugs.

Tony gets serious again, leans forward, whispers, which is considerate of him. "You really think I'd pay you for sex?"

Steve blushes. That's not how he'd been thinking about it. "I didn't — think about it, I guess."

Tony rolls his eyes. "God, you're —" he trails off, smiles. "Cute."

Steve glances around to see it anyone can see, feels his ears grow even redder.

"And you still blush, which is great," Tony says, "Never lose that."

He smiles. Wishes they were alone. Wishes he weren't so goddamned concerned about being noticed dating another guy, actually, because he likes it like this, he likes it with a little space, where they can't just fall into bed, where there are little glances and layered smiles.

He wants something in between this and that, something where they're normal, and go on dates and go out to art museums and can hold hands in public or even just hold hands at all because it's not exactly something they can do in public.

But this, this isn't bad.

Even if he has to watch for the waiter so he won't get caught smiling so goofily, even if he has to keep his voice down.

By the time the food comes, he's comfortable, as comfortable as he's ever going to be in public with Tony, imagining that strangers know what they've done, what they did last night.

Tony, of course, is just comfortable. Like always.

And, to hell with it, Tony took his last admission well — why not go for all of it? Maybe the location, the timing, will work in his favor. "I took the job at SHIELD," he says, immediately following it up with a bite of frittata.

Tony looks at him sharply. "When?"

"Yesterday."

"Why?" There's this harsh tone to his voice, this deep disapproval, and Steve swallows.

"Need the money."

"No you don't."

"If I can work, I should."

Tony practically stabs his hash browns. "You can work somewhere else."

"I don't have any non-military skills."

"Then work at McDonalds."

Steve ignores that.

"I thought you didn't agree with their politics."

"I don't."

"Then why the hell are you getting involved?"

He shrugs. "Maybe I'll change things."

Tony snorts. "Good luck with that."

He knows shouldn't push it, but he does. "You consult for them, how's that different?"

"I can see through their bullshit."

"So can I."

Tony shrugs. "You shouldn't have to."

He doesn't push it any further, just shovels down his food like he's starving. If Tony wants to be well behaved, he's not going to stop him.

Tony's only silent for a little bit, and then they talk about innocuous things like world politics and bacon, and Steve can almost convince himself that there's nothing wrong.

But the ride home is markedly less companionable, in the sense that Tony keeps his hands to himself for what's probably the first time since they first slept together. And when they get back he dismisses Steve because he has "things to do."

He's got that thoughtful, distracted look on his face, so it's really not unlikely that he does have things to do. Probably some breakthrough or other in his lab. God knows what he's tinkering with.

"Call me later," Steve says, kissing him goodbye, and Tony promises that he will, and that's good enough.

At 10, Tony hasn't called. And Steve knows it's stupid to worry about that, because Tony forgets to call all of the time. He forgets to be home when he tells Steve to come over, sometimes. He forgets to put clothes on all of the time, but that's probably less about forgetting and more about vanity.

Still, he doesn't usually forget to answer phone calls.

At 11 he calls Jarvis, something he's never done before. The AI answers the phone, and even though he finds it a little unsettling that he's talking to a computer, Steve manages to work out that Tony's home, and awake, Bruce and Pepper are most likely sleeping, and Steve is welcome to come over. Or, as Jarvis puts it, "you should come talk to him, sir."

So he goes, creeping carefully into his lab. He finds Tony hunched over a glass and a decanter. The unsteady arch of his eyebrow when he notices Steve indicates that he's already had too much.

"I didn't invite you."

"Jarvis said I should come over."

Tony makes a face. "Congratulations," he slurs, halfway raising his hands in some sort of sarcastic celebration. "You caught me."

"I know you drink."

Tony shrugs, his shoulders raising sluggish and unequal.

"We need to talk," he says, walking up to the bench, taking a seat next to Tony.

Tony shrugs.

"You were upset, this morning. Talk to me."

Tony shrugs.

"Tony?"

Tony shrugs.

"Come on Tony," Steve says. "This isn't like you. What's wrong?"

Tony just takes another drink.

"At least get mad at me."

"Leave me alone."

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

Tony takes another drink, sloshing a little on his shirt.

"I'm serious," Steve says. "I'll sit here until you talk to me."

Tony sighs, rolls his eyes, and sits up straight. "Okay, fine. I'm not mad at you."

Steve blinks. "You just —"

"What, you've never pretended to be drunk so someone would go away?"

"No."

"Hmm." He looks at his glass, contemplative, pours himself some more. "I didn't invite you over."

"Jarvis said —"

"I don't care what Jarvis said, he's not me. You can't just come in whenever you want."

"Then who is he?"

Tony blinks. "Pardon?"

"Jarvis isn't a person, Tony. He's a computer."

Tony smirks. "Condescending, and wrong. He's an AI. He can and does make his own decisions."

"Well, I'm here now."

"Yeah," Tony says, grimacing. "What a waste of a trip. I'll call you."

"Tony —"

"I mean, seeing how you're already here, we could fuck. That's definitely an option."

"Can you please just be serious for one minute?"

"I'm completely serious. I want to fuck. Don't you?"

"Not when you're drunk."

"Oh, come on, that was an act."

"You've had two glasses since I got here."

"Hmm." Tony looks at the glass, and then back at the decanter. "Then it's definitely time for another."

"You said you'd call."

"I'm sorry. I forgot."

"You were mad at me this morning."

Tony smirks. "Wow, they don't call you a genius for nothing."

Steve sighs. "Why?"

"Why do they call you a genius? They don't, actually." He wrinkles his nose. "It was a joke, you know, I make those sometimes."

"Tony —"

"You're welcome to drink with me, or you're welcome to go home."

"You're not drinking because of me, are you?"

"I'm drinking because I like scotch."

"You have work tomorrow."

Tony smirks. "Wrong again. Told Pepper if I was working Saturday I got Monday off. She didn't actually agree, but she didn't disagree, so..."

Steve sighs, raises his hands in defeat. "Fine. I'm leaving. Tell Jarvis to ask your permission before he invites me over again."

"Will do." He swivels around, hunches over his glass, treating Steve to a great view of his back.

Steve slides his chin over Tony's shoulder so he can kiss him on the cheek. "So nice to see you," he says, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, running a hand over Tony's back, resisting the urge to take his scotch away. That probably wouldn't help. Might.

Tony leans back against him. "I thought you were leaving."

"I am."

"Then go," Tony says, still leaning against him.

"It's just a job," Steve says.

Tony coughs out what sounds like a derisive laugh. "If you really think that then you're pretty fucking naive."

"You going to talk to me now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm tired and I'm wasted."

"Tony —"

"You can stay, if you want."

Steve sighs. "Why am I even here?"

Tony leans forward. "I think we're both interested in the answer to that."

"Okay," Steve says, capping the decanter. "Fine. I'll stay. We'll talk in the morning."

Tony's still there when he wakes up, except this time he's buried under blankets and groans when Steve moves. He crawls over with the blankets still on top of him, and Steve figures he must be hungover.

Tony settles his head on Steve's chest, fingers trailing lazily along his obliques, and Steve tries not to flinch as they tickle him in sensitive places. He threads his hand through Tony's hair, curling the other arm around Tony's back, and closes his eyes.

Tony's hands stop moving, and then his breathing slows, becoming deeper, and rougher, and Steve realizes that he's asleep.

It's adorable, for the first ten minutes, the gentle breeze of Tony's breath on his stomach, the way side of the arc reactor brushes against Steve's side with the rise and fall of Tony's chest. After that it's cute, for another fifteen minutes, at which point Steve realizes he's stuck there until Tony wakes up on his own, because there's no way Steve is going to ruin this.

He falls asleep again, mercifully, and when he wakes up, Tony's back to his usual self, awake, barely squinting in the light, kissing Steve's chest with obvious intent.

"You said we'd talk," Steve says, pushing him off, gently.

"I didn't say when," Tony says, smirking.

"Now."

"You're such a downer, Rogers."

Steve sighs. "We talk, then can have sex."

"Sex then talk?"

"We're talking first."

"Sex, then sex?"

"Tony."

"Fine," Tony says. "Let's talk. I'll talk about how much I love your cock."

He lays back down, sighs. "How fucking amazing it was to have you inside me, stretching me open, how I wasn't even sure I could take it all. Oh god, you felt so good."

He moans, writhes, and Steve watches his body move with a detached amusement that he's trying so hard to keep up. "How much I want you to take me, hard, right now. How fucking good it'll feel, how fucking good I'm gonna make you feel."

He looks at Steve with his pupils dilated, and pretends to look innocent and oblivious. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

In spite of himself, Steve's getting a little aroused. And Tony's definitely not going to stop.

"Tony, you're not helping."

"No," Tony says, rolling over and making a show of rubbing himself through his boxers. "You're not helping."

"Ungh, nghh, oh, unh, fuck, oh, Steve," he moans, theatrical and over the top and still somewhat persuasive.

"We're brushing our teeth first," Steve says, scowling at him, and Tony stops immediately, big smile on his face.

"You're the best," he says, kissing Steve on the cheek, and Steve sighs and follows him into the bathroom.

They do it in the shower, slippery and wet, he pushes Tony up against the wall and makes him cry out in ecstasy, holds him tight.

After that he's not so pushy about talking, not when Tony's content to cuddle. He's okay to wait if it means not robbing himself of the part he likes best.

That was probably Tony's plan. Not that he's complaining.

Still, he's not about to let things blow over.

He waits until they're dressed, eating microwaved leftovers in the kitchen. "What happened last night?"

"You tell me," Tony says. "I was drunk, remember?"

"Hey. I'm serious. Are you going to freak out like this every time I do something you don't like?"

"I wasn't 'freaking out,'" Tony says. "I just wanted a little bit of space, which, by the way, you didn't give me."

"Because you told you would call me."

Tony shrugs. "Fine. We're both at fault."

Steve opens his mouth, the sighs, and waits.

Tony sighs heavily, theatrically, giving in. "Steve, you're not just some kid from Brooklyn anymore, okay? You haven't been in a long time. What you do matters."

"And?"

"And joining Shield, that's — making a statement. About who you are. What side you stand on."

Steve sighs. "Is this about getting The Avengers back together?"

Tony shrugs. "Maybe."

"Don't you think that's a little unnecessary? You've heard what Thor has to say, and there hasn't been any terrestrial threat in a long time."

Tony rolls his eyes. "There were eight months of peace after I made the Iron Man suit, and then bam, revenge plot, guy turns into a hulk, super soldier dragged out of the ocean, Asgardian god appears on earth and his brother tries to murder all of us. We'd be stupid not to prepare for something."

"Maybe, but if we want to prepare then Shield's our best ally."

"You joining them, that's not about preparing."

"You're right. It's not about anything"

"You've told me you didn't trust Shield. That you weren't in their pocket. That you don't agree with them. And now you're joining."

"Because I need a job."

"It's never that simple."

"It is."

Tony shakes his head. "Maybe for you. But, Steve, I need to know that I can trust you, okay? I need to know that. And now —"

"You can still trust me."

"Yeah," Tony says, getting angry. "Yeah, that's great. Real fucking comforting."

"Tony —"

"That's not your call," he says.

"Then what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know. Nothing. I just — damn it Steve, why?"

"I need to work. I can make a difference."

"Fuck that." Tony gets up, paces. "I just — I don't know if I can trust you."

Steve's always too quick to anger, he knows that, but Tony just flipped like a switch and he's pissed about that even without considering the context of what he's talking about. "What do you expect me to do about it? I can't tell you to trust me, I'm not going to stop working because you're paranoid. What do you want from me?"

Tony closes his eyes, clamps them closed, leans over the granite countertop. "I don't know. It's not — I'm just telling you why I didn't call, okay? I need some space, or —"

"Tony," Steve says, lowering his voice, soft, trying to soothing. "I love you —"

"That's another thing," Tony says, cutting him off, nostrils flaring. "I was just gonna let that go because I know, I'm an asshole for saying anything, but would you please stop fucking saying that?"

Steve can't process that for a moment, he just blinks, mouth open, feels like he's been struck. And then he narrows his eyes. "You're right."

"I am?" Tony's surprised, but wary, and that's good because that's the right response.

"Yeah," Steve says, nostrils flaring. "You are an asshole."

Tony laughs, derisive. "Great. Glad we're on the same page."

Steve swallows, like he can keep all of his hurt and frustration down with that simple gesture. "I love you, Tony, and I'm not going to stop saying it just because that makes you uncomfortable. If you just want me to fuck you then you have the wrong guy."

"Do you even know what love is?"

"I think I know a lot better than you do."

Tony smiles, broad, humorless. "Oh, yeah? You love me? You love me but I have to beg you to have sex with me, and I can't even tell my friends we're together. Is that what passed for love in the 1940s? Would you even know?"

"Love isn't about sex," he says, glaring. "Or showing off. But I guess you wouldn't know that. How many women have you slept with anyway?"

Tony smiles. "Oh, okay, so we're having this conversation."

"Yeah," Steve says. "About time we did."

"So are you talking exact count... or what, exactly? Details? Only the women? What about the men?"

He shrugs. He doesn't want to hear about any of it.

"You don't need me for this. Read some tabloids. Ask Jarvis. Draw your own damn conclusions. But what about you? What's your problem?"

"Excuse me?"

"I find it miraculous that you look like that and never got laid."

"I wouldn't just jump into bed with anybody." He shakes his head, laughs a little, like he's laughing at Tony, at all the bad decisions he's ever made. "Sex means something to me."

Tony smirks. "Eternal damnation?"

"No." Probably. Not that he cares anymore.

"Then what is it? What possessed you to have sex with me on the first fucking date, and then act like I'm an asshole for expecting it now?"

Steve would blush, almost does, but the irritation sees him through unscathed. And then he finds that he doesn't have an answer.

"What the hell, Steve? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He swallows, looks him straight in the eye and doesn't give in a bit but the words aren't coming anymore.

"There's something, isn't there?" Tony's still angry, he can see it in his eyes, but there's a bit of curiosity too. "God damn it, Steve."

"I —" Steve swallows, doesn't finish.

"I shouldn't have to beg you," he says, voice calmer, a little reproachful, his usual, contained self. "I shouldn't. If you really don't want to fuck then fine, tell me, and I'll leave you alone. Okay?"

He shakes his head, mouth twitching into this ironic smile. "I fucking love you, and all I fucking want is to know that you know what it means when you say that to me."

Steve's struck again, wordless, looking at him, and he doesn't know what comes over him. He really doesn't. "If I didn't look like this would you have even given me the time of day?"

"You know, I'm getting really sick of your insecurity."

"It's not insecurity," he says, nostrils flaring. "I just don't want to be valued for the wrong reasons."

"News flash, Rogers. Every fucking person you ever meet is gonna judge you by how you look. You know that. I know you know that. So don't fucking dismiss me just because I'm attracted to you."

Steve doesn't say anything.

"Are you even attracted to me? I'm not talking about your dick. I mean, when you look at me, do you ever think 'I want to fuck him'?"

There's obviously a right answer to that. "Yes."

"Really?"

Steve sighs. "Not in those terms."

"Right."

"I like you," he says, because he's afraid to say love. "I look at you and I want to be close to you."

"But you don't want to fuck me."

"Sometimes I do," Steve says, swallowing, because this absolutely the wrong answer. "Sometimes it's not that appealing."

Tony's mouth opens, and then he narrows his eyebrows and then he raises them and then he shrugs. "Well, I've never heard that one before."

"I like having sex with you," he says. "Really. I just don't want to do it all the time."

"Even counting oral as sex, we're averaging like three times a week. That's not 'all the time'."

Steve sighs. "I know. I'm just not in the mood that often."

"Then how often are you in the mood?"

Steve shrugs. A lot, sometimes. Almost always when they were first dating. Very rarely before that. Rarely now. There's no good answer.

"Well," Tony says, an air of finality in his voice. "Now I know why you never got laid."

"I used to want it all the time." he closes his eyes, remembers the cold showers, remembers holding himself back, sneaking glances. And his body responds almost the same now, but his mind isn't as into it as he'd expected to be. He's been telling himself it's because he's grown up, because he's valuing other things more, but looking at Tony's face now he knows for certain that's not it. "Maybe the ice... did something."

Tony raises an eyebrow, condescending. "The ice... did something."

Steve shrugs, bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm not a scientist. I'm just saying I'm different now."

"Different as in you don't want to have sex with me?"

"You're the only person I'd want to do it with."

Tony sighs. "Great. Fucking... great."

"I'll be more into it," Steve says. "I didn't mean to make you unhappy."

"No. Don't do that."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Uh, Actually be into me."

Steve shakes his head. "Forget I said anything."

"Do you want more romance? Is that it?"

Steve's torn between two truthful answers, and the thousand snarky replies that float around his head, refusing to take a useable form. "I don't think that would change anything."

"Let's try it," Tony says. "How do you feel about Paris?"

"What?"

"For dinner."

He knows Tony's just baiting him, setting him up for — well, he doesn't know, but it's something.

"You said you wanted space," he says, instead. "I'll give you some space. Just a few days. Time to think."

Tony's silent a moment, and then he nods. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea."

Steve sits silent for a moment, waiting for that moment when the hostility has turned entirely into weariness. Tony seems to notice, seems to want the same thing, because he doesn't say anything either.

"I'll call you later," Steve says, eventually and he means that. No reason they can't talk.

"I love you," Tony says, begrudging, an offering of peace.

And it's not the greatest of situations, but Steve gets the chance to say something he's been waiting forever to say: "I love you too."