Tony had always despised the quiet of his house. With his parents away on business more often than they were home and the recent death of his housekeeper, Jarvis, Tony was, most days, the sole inhabitant of the Stark mansion. It was, well, lonely to say the least—the house too open and too big not to be filled with life.

But when Saturday morning rolled around and Steve arrived at his door with a pizza and a good-morning kiss, Tony had never been more grateful in his life to live in an empty home.

Not only did Tony's lack of parents or guardianship give them complete privacy and freedom to spend the day however they wished, but Steve's presence filled the house with more life than Tony's family had in seventeen years. When Howard Stark came home, he drifted to one of two places: the kitchen for a drink or the basement where his workshop was located. Maria, Tony's mother, would either vacate the house once more to see friends and have lunch with important people or would lock herself away in her bedroom. No one spoke, no one smiled, and whether Mr. and Mrs. Stark were home or not made little difference to the deadened feel inside the mansion.

But Steve—Steve was a miracle. He fluttered between each room like he'd found the passage to a new world through every door. He asked questions about every statue, every painting, every bit of overpriced decoration, and seemed endlessly—genuinely—interested, not because of what it was all worth, but because it was Tony's.

Not once did he ask a price, as so many people often did, but, instead, he questioned the history—artists and movements and time periods and locations. His interest in the art was apparent, and Tony had little trouble guessing why; he'd seen Steve's sketches—they were hard to miss when the boy spent 99% of his time doodling in class. Tony would not have been surprised to find himself standing at Steve's art show—at his own gallery—in just a few year's time. Now, if Tony had anything to say about it.

When they reached Tony's room, Steve's eyes widened. He walked the perimeter, his hands rising at every project, finished or not, that Tony had left lying around, as though to reach out and stroke Dum-E's main frame, to touch the pieces of the half-built computer on the floor. But each and every time, before Steve's fingers had more than twitched in there mere vicinity of Tony's work, he dropped his arm again and let it fall respectfully by his side.

Tony could not have stopped smiling if he tried.

Moving so he was standing behind Steve, Tony wrapped his arms around the other boy's chest and rested his chin against his shoulder. "You can touch, you know. I didn't build anything to be that fragile. What do you think I am, an amateur?"

Steve turned in Tony's arms until they were face to face. "No," he said seriously. "I think you're a genius."

Tony kissed him for all he was worth and tried, unsuccessfully he was sure, to express in a single kiss everything he knew he would never be able to say. There were few things in the world that could render Tony Stark speechless, but Steve had found them all.

As Steve lounged across Tony's bed that afternoon, eating pizza and sketching what Tony could only assume was Dum-E (the bot was a more willing subject than Rose for Jack), Tony hacked into Entertainment News' website and posted a story that read: Tony Stark's Leaked Sex Tape, Link Below. The link, (not so) coincidently, led to Tony's own webcam, and though he did eventually join Steve on the bed, a sex tape never did occur. Though, from the look of the several million views they got, it would have been a hit.

So instead of sex, instead of lying, instead of everything that had happened in the last two weeks, Tony told the truth—the real story behind every conquest and party, and for those few minutes, as he bared his soul to the world and denounced every rumor, every fake hook-up, he did something he'd never done before: he took off his mask. In those fleeting moments, he was no longer Tony Stark, the billionaire's son, or Tony Stark the boy genius, or even Tony Stark, that drunk at the party that had his stomach pumped when he was fifteen. As he leaned against Steve's shoulder, eating pizza with his bot whirling around his feet and the whole world watching, he was just Tony, and for once, that meant something more than just a title.

"Now, and not that it's any of your business, but Steve and I have plans, and you're not invited. So you can make it up, and you can tell everyone we spent today having an orgy with a bunch of space monkeys, but it doesn't matter. Because I know the truth. And I know who I am. And if you're still believing everything you read then, well, that's your problem not mine. Have a good life." Tony shot a peace sign at the camera then shut his laptop.

For the first time in years, he felt completely free.

"I'm competing against amateurs," Tony said for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon.

"But at least you're not lacking in modesty," Steve whispered back.

Tony rolled his eyes but squeezed his hand just a little tighter, so Steve considered it a win.

The two stood on the sidelines of their district's robotics competition, watching as a dozen little helper bots on wheels darted around the room to complete different tasks under a set time limit. Dr. Banner stood on the other side of the room, watching the events unfold with his arms crossed over his chest and a determinedly unbiased expression on his face. (Steve was quite sure he'd seen the doctor smiling last time Tony's robot took the floor, but some things were best left unsaid).

Steve was no expert on technology, but he was no idiot either, so he didn't need the endless stream of the judge's commentary to tell that Tony's robot was far superior to the rest. Dum-E (Steve had been quite appalled by the name at first, but was quickly growing used to it) was a bit klutzy, sure, but he made up for it with sheer determination. If bots could feel excitement, then Dum-E was bursting with it, rushing back and forth across the gym floor to collect the contest designated items and bring them to the judges with impressive accuracy and speed.

The entire gym was filled with the sounds of wheels, the squeaks of metallic joints, and the cheers of the crowd. It was a technological wonderland, filled with kids he'd rarely had the chance to speak with at school as they walked in such different circles—he in sports and art, and they in science and engineering. It was a shame, really, and one he was determined to alter the first chance he got. His fellow students were some of the brightest teenagers of their age, and he was itching for a pen and paper just to sketch their designs.

Clint Barton caught up with them just as Dum-E was declared the winner. Steve had met him a handful of times, and only spoke with him during half of these, but Clint had the sort of bold personality that was nearly impossible to dislike.

"I'm not here to support you," he said to Tony. "You win every year. It's boring. Last year, you didn't even show up. I'm here because I watched your video, and A) thanks for ditching my competition for a fake date, and b) I don't understand why I wasn't offered a ride on the Tony Stark merry-go-round. I mean—" Clint gestured at his own face so as to highlight his good looks.

Tony grinned. "You're not my type," he said, but before he could elaborate any further, he was called up on stage to accept his award.

Steve watched as Tony shook the judges' hands and smiled for the camera, watched Clint cheer beside him with far more enthusiasm than his previous words had foretold, watched Pepper and Rhodey clap side by side, and Dr. Banner grinning from the sidelines. Steve's heart ached to think that there had ever been a time where Tony questioned this, a time in which he'd felt alone when it now seemed so clear how very much he was loved—how well he was known. For all its fame and grandeur, the name 'Stark' had never been what attracted Steve; before the newspaper articles and the E! News' specials, Steve had seen a bright-eyed kid in over his head, a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and cared too much, no matter how heard he tried to hide it. He was a bit (okay, a lot) hot-headed, endlessly stubborn, and quite terrible at taking care of himself, sure, but Tony was far more than a Stark, and Steve had never seen anything but Tony. Just Tony.

As his boyfriend stepped down from the stage (and boy, was it nice to finally call him that), Steve beamed at the new trophy in his hand; Tony handed it off to Rhodey and kissed Steve instead.

"That," Tony said, his lips tickling Steve's cheek. "Would make a fantastic magazine cover. Ooh, no. Yearbook cover. Where's Peter when you need him. Pep! Take a picture. What do you think? Front page?"

Steve watched Tony and Pepper argue, and though he was sure he'd need to step in at some point to save his boyfriend from a stiletto to the heart, he knew he would never change a thing.