Tony squirmed, not because he was trying to get away but because he felt like he needed to be on his own two feet for this, for this to feel solid and real and not like some kind of weeks without food or water, infected wound kind of fever dream. He didn't want to think he was making this up, and being of solid footing helped that somehow.
And then his shirt was gone and Tony didn't even miss it because Steve was used to the scars and the way his ribs were just a little more obvious than they'd used to be, because Steve liked him anyway, and that felt important.
"I know," he said, or, at least, he thought he did. It was always such a weird, difficult thing to fully realize, or to believe. He'd spent so much of his life being wholly sure that love wasn't a thing that he got or deserved. But here he was, and he was getting it from a few angles. Steve though -- Steve practically forced it on him, and Tony couldn't help but feel so grateful over the fact that he was lightheaded with it. "I know," he repeated, and would probably have said more but for the fact that Steve was tugging at his hair and all Tony really had room for was a moan before they were kissing again, and this time -- this time there was no apology there, only want.