WHO: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark WHEN: the morning after Tony's party? WHERE: Avengers house. WHAT: Tony brings Steve coffee and Steve drops a hint that his drunken behavior wasn't random. WARNINGS: low STATUS: gdoc, finished!
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Tony was one of those infuriating kinds of people who could wake up on the other side of a bender looking relatively no worse for the wear. And his alcohol consumption the night before had been nowhere near that drastic. Coupled with the fact that he had hydrated and downed one of his chlorophyllic pick-me-up concoctions while admiring the gift Leo had made for him and trying to recall enough of Julia’s magic to make sense of the scotch rocks from Eliot, Tony was feeling quite upbeat the next morning. After witnessing the hilarity of a drunken Steve Rogers, he wondered if the same could be said for the supersoldier.
Which was why Tony had let himself into the Avengers Compound and was standing outside Steve's door with two coffees and an invitation to breakfast.
Steve’s body had metabolized the alcohol in his system quick enough that Steve was only drunk for a good fifteen minutes. Even when it was strong, strong enough for elves, it didn’t stay in his system long. All the food he consumed during the night probably helped with that.
So when he heard a knock at his door, he thought it was going to be Sam, mocking him. He felt no hangover but had overslept. He crawled out of bed and swung the door open with a crooked little grin, “Sam, I don’t want to hea-- oh. Tony.” Rogers’ ears went red and suddenly looked very warm. He was still in pajamas, a HAPPY VETERANS DAY 2014 shirt and jogging pants.
The greeting was abrupt, but earned Steve a curious smile from Tony. He narrowed his eyes some in a sort of inspection of the other man, as if he could tell just by looks whether or not he was experiencing a Middle Earth-level hangover. Signs pointed toward no. How disappointing. Damn supersoldier serum.Still, Tony noted that the perpetually early-riser was still in his pajamas, so that had to count for something.
“Steve,” he nodded, raising his hand that was holding the carrying tray of coffee, the one intended for Steve on the side closest to him. “Coffee?”
Steve pushed the door to his room open, unsure if he should invite Tony in. Would that be inappropriate? Because Steve was remembering inappropriate. He gingerly picked up the coffee from the tray and took a step back. “Do you want to come in? There’s places to sit…” There was in fact, one chair in his room and it was incredibly uncomfortable-- made you sit straight up. His bed was low to the ground and there were a few unhung paintings leaning against the wall. His dresser had neatly piled DVD cases and a small flat screen tv perched there. “Thanks for the coffee… if I just pretend I don’t remember anything will you go easy on me?” He took a drink, “Did you remember how I liked my coffee or was this a guess?”
Tony had been expecting to find the other man groomed. Potentially miserable, but awake and groomed all the same. He hesitated slightly before crossing the threshold, but once inside, was totally nonchalant about the way he glanced around the room. He could not help but glance more carefully at the stack of DVDs and judge accordingly. “So, how are we feeling this morning?” His voice had a sort of song-song quality to it. “A little self-conscious?”
The coffee order was definitely a guess. Tony was notoriously bad at remembering the specifics when it came to interpersonal relationships. Like that time he brought Pepper strawberries as a form of apology, when it is the one thing she’s allergic to. There was a correlation between the two, but Tony’s frenetic mind could not keep track of the specifics. It’s the thought that counts anyway, right? He could not tell by Steve’s expression whether or not he had guessed correctly, so he gave a vague sort of smile accompanied by a shrug that could have been a yes or a no. He took his own half-drunk coffee out and set the cardboard carrier on top of Steve’s dresser.
Steve sat on the low mattress, stretching his legs out in front of him. He sort of slumped in his spot, his perfect posture interrupted by a sleepy feeling. “Nothing I regret,” he said right back. Steve had always had sort of a reluctant crush on Tony, a small one, and when he got attention from the other man, it got worse. He had forgotten about it since Team Cap and Team Stark became a thing, but was remembering the more time he spent around Tony. He was just so charismatic. He was a delight to watch.
The coffee tasted fine, he never had it the same way every time. He only asked because he was hoping Tony would say he remembered. Small things to praise.
Steve’s answer, while not surprising, was still slightly shocking in its implications. Tony had never known Steve to back down. It was one of the things he admired about him and also why they butt heads so often -- Tony was the same way. When they both agreed about something, it worked in their favor. When they didn’t, well…
Still, the effects of the Elvish wine had certainly brought out a side of Steve that Tony had not witnessed before. Apparently, lowered inhibitions only served to heighten his tactile tendencies and loosened his lips. Tony licked his at the memory of how close he had come to kissing the other man. Steve had all but asked for it, yet Tony had resisted. If the wine had made Steve touchy-feely, it had very nearly clouded Tony’s mind enough to block out that ever persistent ‘use caution’ warning that went off in his head whenever he got comfortable around Steve. Acting on some complicated, slightly twisted feelings of admiration and jealousy he’d harbored since childhood coupled with the tension of an attraction to the man he never actually expected to act upon would have done neither of them any good. To say nothing of recent events or Tony’s lingering trust issues.
“Well, that’s new,” Tony replied conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather instead of whatever it was that was dictating Steve’s actions the night before.
Steve continued to keep it at a casual level and shrugged his shoulders and taking a sip of coffee. “What can I say, Tony, I’m not a liar.” He knew he should be somewhat ashamed of himself for getting so close to Tony, but another part of him was sick of holding himself back. He stopped holding himself back once, and told Bucky he loved him. That didn’t work out the best. He held himself back with Quentin, ending their relationship. So maybe honesty was the best policy, as he was brought up to believe.
“It’s not new,” he said, shaking his head and looking down at how the material of his pants made little lint pills.
Tony remained standing. If he sat, he would stay, and that was not how this was supposed to go. Neither was this conversation, for that matter. In his mind, they supposed to laugh about the night before, agree it was a great party, then go out and grab some breakfast. Nothing washes away a night like a good breakfast. Except here they were, threatening to get serious in their conversation, no matter how casually spoken. Tony was not a 'share your feelings’ kind of man. He took a drink from his coffee -- a triple espresso with enough milk and sugar to pose a health risk -- and tried to pretend that he didn't want to abort his breakfast mission.
He thought about questioning the liar bit. It would have provided a subject change, but Tony was very much trying to get past the insecurities brought on by the whole Siberia incident. “I see,” was the only reply he could come up with, and with the way he was looking down at Steve through his lightly-tinted glasses, he looked a bit like Sigmund Freud. Christ, he might need a therapy session after this.
Finally, he added, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here.” An unusual display of unconfidence.
Steve rested his elbows on his knees, and lowered his head. Was there a smidgen of a headache there? The caffeine was already surging through his system anyway, it wouldn’t matter soon.
He looked up from his safe spot, resting his chin on his arm, and looked at Tony. “I never know what to say. People think I do, but I don’t. I pull those speeches out of my ass.” Steve leaned forward and propelled himself enough to stand. “You want me to scramble you some eggs? It’s all I got, shell head.”
“Talking out of your ass in a way that convinces people you know what you're talking about is a skill that takes years to master. You must be a natural.” Tony wasn't sure if this meant they were breezing past the whole questionably admitted, apparently not new, and unregretted something of Steve’s. But he smiled at the 'shell head’ nickname and cocked his head to the side.
“Actually, I came here intending we go out for breakfast, but…” He gestured toward Steve in a general sort of way, as if it completed his sentence. Not that he was, himself, dressed much better. Looking more casual than normal, he was wearing jeans and the t-shirt Rhodey had given him for his birthday. But the confidence with which he wore his clothes somehow made them seem much more sophisticated than they were.
Steve only dropped it because Tony seemed uncomfortable. He didn’t want a repeat of Bucky. He was close to both of them, and almost lost Bucky. He just got Tony back, he didn’t want to lose him. “I’m a natural.”
Steve smiled crookedly and looked down at himself. “We can go out to breakfast like this. They’re just jogging pants.” He always tried to look presentable, but he was also letting himself be human now. He thought maybe he deserved it. Who cares if someone sees Captain America in jogging pants at the waffle house? He wasn’t even Captain America anymore. “I won’t wear flip flops, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Tony was uncomfortable, that was true, but there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. By now, that thing had transformed and was in the guise of a giant elephant in the room, one that Tony knew they should probably address sooner rather than later.
But at this particular moment, he was looking incredulously at Steve for suggesting that his pajamas were suitable for going out to breakfast. “Oh yes, it’s your bare feet that I take issue with,” he quipped. He honestly didn't care. Much. But of course he couldn't resist an opportunity to give the other man grief. It felt as natural as breathing.
“Alright, Captain Sweatpants. Shoe yourself, and then we roll.”
Steve paused, just before Tony spoke. There was something off about the other man and Steve wasn’t sure what it was-- no, he knew exactly what it was, he just didn’t want to admit to it. He made Tony uncomfortable by saying he didn’t regret getting handsy the night before. No-- that genie couldn’t be put back.
“Captain Sweatpants, okay.” Steve walked over to his dresser and pulled out some socks and took his sweet time pulling on some sneakers. They were the kind of shoes middle aged dads wore to walk around the mall. He picked his coffee back up from the nightstand and went to the door. “Are you paying? Is this a date?” Steve cracked a wide smile.
Tony watched Steve pull on his shoes, the furrow in his brow only deepening as he noted the horrendous footwear Steve had chosen. Shoes were a sort of hobby of Tony’s, and he made a show of looking visibly affronted by Steve’s heinous sneakers. “Dressed like that? Absolutely not.” He grinned back.
Okay, see? They could joke about this. It didn’t have to be weird. And honestly, it was nice to be joking around with the guy again. Last night with everybody there, it had felt like old times. Even just a month ago, he wasn’t sure it could ever feel that way again. Apparently there was some good to come out of this place.
“Let me tell you what,” Tony began, following Steve to the door. “You get breakfast, and I’ll spring for a new pair of shoes. Because you’re absolutely killing me with those, Steve.”
Steve took the stairs quickly and headed out the front door. Before he hit the exit, he turned to Tony-- “You’re not buying me new shoes. Unless it’s a sugar daddy situation. Yes, I know what those are, I have the internet too.”
See? They could joke.
He headed out to the driveway, the garage being already full. His motorcycle was sitting with a tarp over it. Bucky replaced the brake pads on it, but Steve didn’t have anywhere to be lately. He stood at the passenger’s side of Tony’s car and threw his hands up, “If we’re joking about it, it’s okay, right?” He cracked like an egg.
Tony threw Steve a sympathetic look. “I really hope you remember what I showed you about clearing your browser history.” He shook his head as he walked past him and out the door. “Also, despite appearances, you’re the one who's got the years on me, old man.”
Tony had driven the Telsa Roadster over. He had been making a point of taking all of the cars out and about, reveling in the fact that he could, as they were no longer decadent pollution at the bottom of the Pacific. He paused on the driver’s side of the door and considered Steve’s question. He still didn’t know how he felt about there being more to Steve’s actions last night than just a hilarious side effect of the Elf wine. But there didn’t seem to be any urgency to figuring it out right that moment. So he looked back at Steve over the roof of his car and said, “Yeah. It’s okay.”
Steve nodded, keeping silent for a few moments before finally speaking up, “Good.”
Tony opened the door and started to get inside before pausing to add, “But those shoes are not.”