Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers or my little Superhusbands babies.

This is kind of inspired by a line from Kesha's, The Harold Song,

"drunk off of nothin' but each other til the sunrise."

Pepper had left.

Tony wasn't surprised, really. He had known this day would come eventually. It was inevitable, and it happened to be the one inevitability in Tony Stark's entire life that he'd been fully prepared for.

He'd thought about her leaving hundreds of times. Hell, he'd imagined her leaving before they'd even gotten together. Just to be safe, of course, because he knew going in how goddam terrible Pepper leaving him was bound to be.

He'd run simulations and play-by-plays in his head of any situation that resulted in her leaving. He'd imagined their final conversation (an argument, truthfully); how he'd try to act like he wasn't dying inside, like his heart wasn't shattering, just so she wouldn't feel too bad about it. He didn't want her to feel guilty. He owed her way too much to do something like that to her.

He tried to imagine her face; would she be crying? She probably would. She'd wanted it to work out too. She had risked just as much as he had going in, but it'd been too much for her. Some straw or other broke the camels back; Tony never really focused on that part in his imaginings, it wasn't important why she left, just that she did.

They would probably blame themselves for it not working out, but Tony didn't want her to blame herself. God, Tony wanted anything but that.

It would be so much easier if she were a bitch. If she got mad and screwed him over. She knew every detail of his life—hell, she knew his social security number and almost every password he'd ever created! She could literally rob him blind and turn his life inside out if she were that kind of person.

But she wasn't. And that's what made her leaving so damn unbearable.

She would try to fix it, god knows she would. And Tony would try too, harder than he'd ever tried in his entire life to fix a relationship—but it wouldn't matter in the end because deep down Tony never truly believed that he deserved her. He would ask her to stay, make promises both of them knew he wouldn't keep, offer pointless suggestions that she would scoff at or that would just make her cry more. He never begged in any of his scenarios; a Stark does not beg. And he didn't want her to pity him, either.

He'd imagined that he would apologize, but of course she couldn't accept it, not after everything. She would be leaving for a reason, wouldn't she? He would apologize anyway, even if it meant nothing. He would have to try. She might apologize too, for not being enough for him, and he would tell her that was stupid, she was enough for anyone, he was just dysfunctional. He would compliment and praise her and make sure she knew that it was not her fault. He'd always hoped he could manage to at least do that. Pepper was beautiful and kind and everything that was right with the world and damn him if he made her think any lower of herself.

Tony always imagined the time after she left would be painful. Of course it would, he loved her. He pictured locking himself away, diving into his workshop and not coming out until he'd invented something that would ease the heartbreak. He would try not to be too upset or do anything stupid, of course, because she would worry. He didn't want that. He didn't want her to feel like he needed her. No guilt, he'd sworn to himself. He would suck it up when she left. Handle it like a man.

He wouldn't drink, though. He promised himself that. He tried to imagine that he'd made the promise to her instead of to himself. Surely that promise would be harder to break.

After a while he would get over it. They would still be friends. She would run Stark Industries and he would fight with The Avengers. Life would continue to flow.

Of course, all of his plans and promises flew out the window when she started walking out the door.

He fell to his knees begging right from the start. And as soon as he saw that guilt blossoming in her tear-filled, sea foam green eyes he hated himself. He'd never hated himself more than he had in that moment. But he couldn't stop. He begged her, tried every single thing in his book to make her stay. He cried, sobbed, wishing he could stop but being unable. The pain was so much more than he could have predicted. It was crushing, pure agony and it ripped at him.

He didn't even hear her reason for leaving. He didn't hear anything but his own stupid voice repeating the same few lines over and over. How beautiful she was, what he would do to change, how much he loved her.

And then he said the one thing he hadn't wanted to say above all.

"I can't live without you."

Oh God that hurt her. It was everything he hadn't wanted to do to her, all rolled up in one shitty, weak, pathetic bid for salvation. It was guilt, and hate, and desperation, and weakness, and he wished he hadn't meant it but he did, and he couldn't take it back. Not even when she collapsed on the floor, her hair a mess, the bag she'd packed falling over beside her, her whole body shaking with the force of her tears.

Tony reached out for her hand but it was limp in his. Eventually she stood up, took her bag, and walked out the door, leaving him sitting helplessly on the floor in the dark room that they once shared. That was when Tony broke.

He reached up and somehow his hand curled around a bottle. He stayed sitting in the dark, drinking until that bottle ran out and he got another, then another, then probably more, he didn't remember. He didn't know how many he'd been through he just knew they weren't working. They were supposed to numb the pain, make it go away. Alcohol had always been his medicine, but it wasn't working anymore.

Time and place and his own mind started to jumble. All he knew was that he was alone and he hurt; everything in him hurt, but the place that hurt the most was right in his chest. The blue light from the reactor was all he could see. It blinked at him, mocking him with its constant pulse.

His heart was shattered, the pieces of it stabbing him with every breath. It hurt so damn much. He just wanted it to stop. Just stop.

In his drunken state he imagined that the reactor was his heart. It kept glowing and he didn't understand why. It hurt so much, how could it still be there, glowing, pulsing, alive? Damn this heart, he thought. It was the cause of his pain. He reached up, fumbling, his hands sweaty and his fingers impaired. Finally he felt the snap and click of the reactor coming out of its socket. He pulled and with one more click it was in his hand, no longer in his chest.

He stared at the blue light in his hand through fuzzy, unfocussed eyes. Then, everything went black, and he couldn't feel any pain anymore.

Steve was the one to find him, and Tony will never, ever forgive himself for putting him through that. Not that Natasha or Clint or any of the other Avengers would ever let him forgive himself, even if he wanted to.

Tony never knew exactly what happened when Steve found him, but he wasn't an idiot and he could imagine it. Steve had panicked, of course, and hurriedly shoved the reactor back in, hoping the whole time that it wasn't too late. He pressed his ear to Tony's chest and just barely made out a hint of a heartbeat. He felt relief spread through him before yelling for someone to call an ambulance. Someone had, they'd raced him to a hospital, and that's where he'd woken up, lying in a hospital room with Steve sitting by his side, face scrunched with so much stress and worry Tony couldn't help but make a joke at his expense.

"Not constipated, are you, Cap?"

And, per usual, Steve hadn't found it funny in the slightest. He was relieved to see Tony awake, but that relief quickly faded and was replaced with a sorrowful expression that told Tony that Steve knew exactly how the reactor had come to be removed from his chest. Somehow, miraculously and despite the outrageous amount of alcohol Tony had imbibed, he could still remember taking out his own life-source with his very own fingers. Tony couldn't really handle that look, not then, so he turned away and he and Steve sat in silence until a doctor came in and told Steve he had to leave.

Tony was given the whole suicidal spiel. He sat through several psychologists because he had to; he was being forced. Pepper was distraught, but he tried not to think about that because the doctors told him not to think about things that would make him want to kill himself again. The others were really wary of him for a while. They were careful, cautious, like they expected him to jump off a building at any moment. They made him install a security system in the reactor that would go off if it were ever removed again (he was surprised he hadn't thought of that after Obadiah). He was benched from the Avengers, of course, replaced temporarily with War Machine. There was no way to tell in a fight if throwing himself into death's clutches was him being self-sacrificing or just sacrificing.

He tried to tell them a hundred times that he wouldn't do it again, it had just been one little moment of weakness, but they either didn't believe him or couldn't risk it.

The thing was, though: Tony was telling the truth. He was frightened, terrified of what he'd done. He'd had low moments before, everyone did, but usually he just handled them with some other kind of self-destructive behavior, not the life-destructive kind. It scared him and it made him realize just how dangerous his drinking was.

He was sure that he never would have done it if he hadn't been hammered out of his mind. His head hadn't been right in that moment. He could remember it, vaguely, and he knew that it hadn't been him, not really. He'd been drunk, and confused, and emotional, and that combination made him do something he wholly regretted, with all of his being.

The idea that he'd let himself get to that place scared him so much that he decided right then that he was going to quit drinking for good. He knew what it would take for him to quit, but when he thought about what he almost did he knew he didn't have any other choice.

He made the decision to announce his plans one evening as the Avengers were all gathered in the dining room.

"I'm going to quit drinking," he muttered softly, unassumingly.

The room that had been buzzing with conversation fell quiet. He looked up and everyone was staring at him, cautious, unsure what to do or say in response to his proclamation. Finally, Bruce, who was closest to him, leaned over and awkwardly pat his knee, saying kindly,

"That's—that's really good, Tony. I'm glad."

Tony nodded, trying not to feel weak and ashamed. Bruce was sincere. He was Tony's friend, they were all Tony's friends, and Tony knew they would help him through it.

"This bodes well, my gentle friend," Thor said to him, smiling honestly. "I wish you luck on your endeavor."

Tony wasn't sure how he felt about being described as " gentle" or it being an "endeavor," but he let it roll off of him as he turned to Clint and the archer smiled at him and nodded.

"Probably for the best, Stark."

Tony agreed, more than Clint could imagine. He took a deep breath.

"It's not gonna be easy," Natasha said softly. Tony looked up and caught her eye. She seemed to be genuine and it made Tony realize that she probably knew more about his awful drunk decisions than anyone on the team. She understood better than most what he became when he drank. No one else on the team had really seen him like that before, at least not in person.

He nodded towards her.

"I know. That's why I mentioned it. Figured I'm letting you guys live in my tower for free, you might as well help me out."

"What do you need?" Clint asked right away. "Thor and I can start rounding up the stray bottles but I doubt even you know all the secret booze hideaways in this place."

Tony allowed a slight smile at Clint's playful jab, and nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be great. JARVIS knows everything. Just ask him. He can probably give you a print out of every liquor cabinet in the building."

"As a matter of fact, Sir," the AI nosily added. "I can."

"Great," Tony said, sighing as Bruce offered to join Clint and Thor on the booze-hunt they were putting together. Tony should have known circus-boy would turn it into a game. He didn't mind though. It was kind of nice to have them treat it so meaninglessly, like it was just as simple as getting rid of everything in the house.

Just then, Tony realized that Steve hadn't said a single thing to him since he'd made his announcement. He looked around the room and saw Steve leaning against the wall, staring at him. When Steve noticed that Tony was now looking straight at him, the soldier straightened up and made his way over to Tony. He paused at Tony's side, frowning.

"Good luck," he said finally, his expression lightening into a small, encouraging smile.

"Thanks, Cap," Tony replied, holding his breath for something more.

He'd wanted—he wasn't exactly sure what he'd wanted. He'd wanted Steve to be relieved and happy, excited even, at the prospect of a fully sober Tony. He'd wanted praise. He wanted Steve to not look down on him anymore. He'd wanted to give Steve something he could be proud of Tony for.

But Steve gave him nothing more, leaving Tony stupidly disappointed. Why was Steve's opinion so much more important than anyone else's? Tony figured it had something to do with the fact that he and Steve had been growing pretty close before… before Pepper. Tony would even have considered them friends.

Even now, he still hoped Steve considered him a friend. And yet, where everyone else jumped on the chance to help him through what was bound to be a difficult time for him, Steve simply offered him "good luck." The whole thing made Tony really want a drink.

He groaned, sinking his head to the table. He wasn't off to a great start.

About a day and a half into his detox (or as JARVIS put it: 37 hours, 26 minutes, Sir), Tony started to feel awful.

Clint had reported that they had successfully rid the entire tower of any alcoholic substance ("even those beers I bought yesterday that were chilling in the fridge. You owe me, man") and shortly after, Tony made his way down to the lab. Bruce asked if he wanted company but Tony declined. The next few days were going to be hell. It was safer to be alone.

He'd been down there ever since. He didn't know how long it'd been, but he was hungry, tired, and frustrated beyond measure because nothing he'd tried to make was working and he really, really wanted a drink. He wanted a burning down his throat and the focus he got from drinking. He even wanted the taste, damn it.

And he was angry with himself for being so weak that he couldn't even make it 2 whole days without wanting it.

His hand slipped, something that hadn't happened since he was a kid, and the wires he'd been trying to connect went way past where he'd been trying to get them, ruining what he'd been working on for the past 3 hours.

"God dammit!" he cursed, sending the small machine flying from his work desk and across the room, crashing to the floor in pieces.

"Tony?" Steve's voice came from the doorway he just entered. Tony jerked his head around, startled by the sudden intrusion. When he saw that it was just Steve he let out a shuddering breath and pulled a hand through unkempt hair.

"Sorry, Steve. You scared me."

"I scared you?" Steve asked, eyes wide as he glanced in the direction of the wrecked machinery Tony had just flung across the workshop. "I walked in, you screamed and threw something. I think I was more scared."

Tony gave him a small apologetic smile and added,

"Right. Again, sorry."

"No worries. No one was hurt." He glanced at the broken tech and added, "Sort of. What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

Tony's pulse fluttered at Steve's question. Clearly, Steve didn't understand exactly how dangerous a question that was. But Tony wasn't surprised that he'd asked. It was such a friendly, Captain America thing to do. Tony even let himself believe for a moment that Steve was asking because he was genuinely worried, because he cared about him.

He glanced at Steve then down at the desk, reaching for a pair of pliers so he could start building again from scratch. He liked having something to do with his hands; that was why he'd come down to the lab in the first place. Doing something, building something, had always been a coping mechanism for him. Of course, in the past he'd done it along with drinking, which wasn't exactly an option anymore. He still liked the feel of metal in his hands, even if he was fucking it up royally tonight.

"I'm just," he began, glancing back up to make sure Steve was still there. "Going through withdrawal. Typical addiction-breaking stuff. Nothing to worry about, Cap. No need to get your spandex in a twist."

Steve rolled his eyes, but his expression softened.

"If you say so, Tony."

"Well, I do," Tony replied testily, then bit his tongue inside his own mouth, angry with himself for getting agitated so easily. He hated how he lost control of his emotions when he stopped drinking. It didn't help that he thought he'd already made a mistake on his new piece and something about Steve's presence had made him even more frustrated than he was before. "What are you down here anyway? Came to check up on me? Wait, don't tell me—are you checking to make sure I'm not drinking or to make sure I haven't tried to—"

"Tony," Steve cut him off softly. "The only thing I'm checking on is you, Tony Stark, my friend."

Tony stopped fiddling with the electronics of the device and swallowed thickly.

"Well, thanks for the checkup then, Steve. As you can see, I'm just fine. Off you go."

"You don't seem fine to me," Steve quietly replied, glancing once again at the wreckage on the floor of the lab. "Please, Tony. Talk to me."

Tony shook his head, wishing he could be better, different, someone worthy of being Steve Rogers' friend. Instead he was just Tony fucking Stark—idiot, worthless, lonely alcoholic. He wondered what Steve saw in him in the first place.

"It's just—" he began, pausing to glare at the wall pointlessly. "It's just hard. And I want a drink but, obviously, that's the problem not the solution."

"You're only feeling like this now, Tony. Eventually you'll—"

"What? Not want to drink anymore? That's what really bites about this whole thing, you know? You never stop wanting to drink. It's in your blood. You just want it a little less, after a while. But even then, it's everywhere, all around you and you know that if you let yourself slip even one tiny bit you won't be able to stop again and it fucking sucks, okay?" Tony took a deep breath, hands clenched on the edge of his desk. After a minute his grip loosened and he added,

"But I know what you're trying to say, Steve. It's always hardest in the beginning, right? Just like quitting any addiction."

"Didn't you quit drinking when you were with…" Steve trailed off. Despite the fact that she had been around, spoken to Tony and everyone else, no one had said Pepper's name in front of Tony since she left.

"Yeah," Tony replied gruffly, bending over his work desk and digging through a pile of scraps, not looking for anything in particular. "But that was easier because she was there distracting me."

When Tony finally said it, he felt much better. He hadn't even put that together before, how Pepper had helped him the last time he stopped drinking. Then he felt worse, realize that this time he had no one—he was alone. He was really starting to hate himself again.

"It's easy to not think about drinking when you're busy starting a relationship," he said, then added glibly, "And there was the sex."

He glanced up to see Steve's reaction to that but Steve's face was blank, impassive. Tony went on,

"Drinking and sex do the same thing to me, they're stimulants—I know, I know, alcohol is a depressant. Whatever, it feels stimulating. You wouldn't know though, right, Mr. I-can't-get-drunk-Rogers?"

Tony smiled but didn't look up this time for Steve's reaction, just continued digging through scraps and hating himself even more. He wished he could stop talking, but now it was already too late.

"No distractions this time," he murmured. "I'm on my own. I suppose I could go out and get a one-night stand like the old days but then I'd have to go out and that would mean drinking which would make all of this completely pointless. Be nice to have a little distraction, though. Not gonna lie."

"Sex…" Steve began slowly. "Is a distraction for you?"

Tony looked up to see Steve scowling thoughtfully. Of course that was the one thing Steve focused on. Tony could have hit himself; he never should have brought up one-night stands around Steve, at least not if he ever wanted Steve to respect him even a little. He probably thought anything that wasn't courtship in a relationship was blasphemy.

This was just going from bad to worse for Tony. He was getting a headache, he couldn't make anything work, and he still wanted that drink. His life was pathetic and the one person he wished he could impress was getting an up-close and personal view of all the things he hated about himself. So much for friendship—he'd be lucky if Steve even wanted to work with him again.

"Yeah," he said through a sigh. "Sex can be a distraction. Look, Steve, just ignore me, okay? I'm not thinking clearly and I just—" he shook his head. "Need some time to think."

It was quiet. Tony thought he heard Steve heading back upstairs but he didn't look up from his work desk. This was surely for the best. Steve didn't need to see any worse of Tony than he already had.

Then, from the doorway of the lab came a whisper,

"Could I be a distraction?"

Tony froze, hand suspended in midair, probably bent in some oddly unnatural position, but he didn't care. His breath was caught in his chest, but he managed to reply and sound joking,

"Come again, Cap?"

"Could I be a distraction?"

Steve blinked. Then he blinked again, willing himself to believe that he had not just said that out loud. Surely he hadn't. There was no way—

Had Tony just said something? Steve felt sure he had. And Tony was looking towards him, not at him but definitely towards him, which was better than he'd gotten the rest of the time he'd been down in the lab. Steve felt his heart stop.

He had said it. Out loud.

That was why Tony was looking at him. That was why he'd asked—

"Cap?" Tony repeated slowly. "Did you just say…?"

Tony didn't finish the question, and Steve knew why. He could see it in Tony's wary, uncertain expression. And Steve, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence, just found himself looking at Tony, just looking at him, and everything he'd been thinking a moment ago came rushing back.

Tony was, god, Tony was a mess. Steve hadn't expected anything less when he'd come downstairs to check on his friend and teammate, but it was still strange to see. Tony, who was usually so put-together and classy, looking like regular trash, crumpled over his desk, hair in disarray, clothes dirty and face unshaven. Tony always had bags under his eyes, but these were worse than normal. His eyes were the eyes of a man who had done nothing for the past few days but think about how shitty of a person he was.

Steve hated when Tony did that. He always had, even before Tony had almost…

Steve hated it because he found everything about Tony amazing, and wonderful. Well, not everything, because he knew Tony had flaws. He knew better than most people Tony's flaws. But Steve saw parts of Tony that no one else could. Steve saw how brilliant Tony was, how he thought in numbers and equations and never stopped thinking for even a second. Steve saw how brave Tony was in battle, how much of a hero Tony was, even if he himself didn't believe it. Steve regretted almost every day telling Tony he wasn't a hero, because he was, and he was a great one.

And even when Tony looked like this, Steve still thought he shined like a star, one little bright spot among the darkness of this new world he was forced to inhabit. Tony was an amazing friend to Steve, and he had this way about him that sometimes made Steve's breath catch or his heart race, or made him feel warm in places he'd never wanted to let Tony find out about. Steve owed Tony that much.

But that didn't stop his mind from thinking about it. From fantasizing, daydreaming about Tony's taste and his smell and the exact inflection of his voice, or tone of his laugh. And it couldn't stop the way Steve's hand moved on its own across the pages of his sketchbook, tracing out yet another image of Tony's face, his shoulders, his neck… Steve had a particular fascination with Tony's neck. Sometimes he would lean over his desk and it would be all exposed and damn if the skin there didn't look soft as satin and sweet as sugar. Sometimes Steve could get off just thinking about running kisses along that neck, leaving marks where everyone would see, if he had anything to say about it.

Steve's fantasies were somewhat limited, considering he'd never really done any of the things most people might fantasize about. All he knew was that he wanted to touch Tony, all over, and have Tony touch him back; roughly, gently—he didn't care, as long as it was a touch.

When Steve thought about it that way, maybe it wasn't such a shock that he'd actually allowed those words to slip past his common sense and become as real as he was himself.

And they were real. So real, that Tony had actually heard them. Panic rose in Steve, like adrenaline but smothered in a scorching plaster of fear and hopelessness.

But Tony had given him a way out. Tony hadn't finished that sentence.

"Did you just say…?" Steve knew Tony had heard him, clear as day, and yet the genius had chosen not to finish that sentence. That unfinished sentence was a rope that Steve could grab on to and pull himself up before it was too late to turn back, before those words that he'd accidentally let slip turned everything that had been growing between he and Tony into dust.

Steve took a deep breath, preparing himself to take the rope. "I meant a friendly distraction, Tony, that's all." And of course that's all, Steve is okay with that, he can live with that, and maybe Tony really will accept his offer, accept Steve's friendly help, and maybe, hopefully, it'll make a difference. Steve just wants, more than anything, for Tony not to suffer. He wants him to get better.

But that's not all I want, Steve thought, still staring at his safety rope, dangling there, offering him that easy way out. But the longer he remained silent, the faster the safety rope begins to slip away. There was only so much safety Tony could give before it wouldn't be there any more and all that would be left to Steve was a dark, black void of uncertainty, and there would be no safety rope or safety net or rescue from that. Just a few words and the rope would be in his hands. Just a few words another way and there was the void, waiting for him to take the plunge.

He looked up, crystal blue eyes meeting Tony's gaze from across the room. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and decided in that moment to take the plunge. Fuck it, he thought, opening his eyes to the void. I've been safe all my life. Now's the time to change.

"I could be a distraction, Tony."

Tony's eyes widened, and the safety rope vanished from sight. Steve instantly doubted his decision. God, he didn't even know if Tony liked men! He had absolutely no clue how Tony would react. He hadn't been thinking, hadn't calculated all the variables, hadn't planned this far ahead. He was screwed, and it was his own damn fault.

He gulped, hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to think of a way to phrase this to make it seem… But Steve knew how it seemed, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

"You obviously need one," He motioned to the smashed machine in the corner, wincing internally at his own false words, hating himself with every syllable that spewed from his mouth. "And I'm, you know, here. I figure I could help, some way, if you, you know, would be up for something—something like that."

He didn't want to look up, to see Tony's reaction, but he forced himself to. The least he could do was take responsibility for what he'd done.

Tony's expression was guarded, uncertain, and behind it all, a bit… afraid? His eyes were dark, his posture that of someone in pain. Steve felt like ripping out his own heart. He clearly didn't deserve to have one if these were the kinds of things his heart made him do.

He was an idiot, he knew that. This was exactly the kind of thing Tony didn't need, and no amount of twisting meanings and skewering words could make what Steve had just done okay. Tony was going to hate him, and Steve almost hoped he did. He deserved it, he deserved Tony's hate for using—oh god—he had used Tony's weakened state to try and get the one thing he wanted. He'd used the fact that Tony was fucking detoxing. Steve felt like he needed to be taken out back and shot. That's all he deserved. He'd let his own desires overcome his logic and now he'd hurt his friend, probably lost him too. What would the others say when they found—

"Are you saying you would sleep with me to distract me, Rogers?"

Steve's breath caught in his chest, he clenched his fists until it hurt. He could hear the anger and betrayal in Tony's voice and it pierced him like a knife.

But… Tony hadn't said no.

"Only if," he gulped, taking a shaky step towards Tony, "you'd want that kind of thing."

Tony's eyes narrowed to slits, confusion and anger contorting his face beautifully.

"Are you serious?"

Steve somehow found it in him to shrug. He couldn't let Tony know how much he was affected, how much he was hating every word he spoke as he spoke them, voice dripping with fake bravado,

"Only if you are, Tony."

Tony felt sick, he thought he might puke. All he could see was red and all he could hear was Steve's shallow breathing from the other side of the room.

He'd thought, optimistically, that he was at his lowest when he'd been secluded, alone in his lab, fucking up new tech and feeling some aborted combination of pity, hate, and contempt for himself. Not to mention how shitty his body already felt as it tried to rid him of the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream. Surely that was enough punishment for one man to bear. He wasn't even sure he deserved anything worse.

But of course, too much was never enough when you were the one and only Tony Stark.

But, even if Tony had suspected that some unforeseen circumstance would arise to increase the suck of his evening exponentially, he never would have guessed or even speculated, in a million fucking years, that Steve Rogers would be that unforeseen circumstance. Let alone Steve fucking Rogers telling Tony he wouldn't mind having sex with him.

As a fucking distraction, no less.

But that's what was the worst thing about all this… Tony had trusted Steve.

Steve was the one person Tony thought would maybe be able to pull him from the abyss he was slowly falling into. He'd done it once already, and Tony had just hoped—it was stupid, now that he thought back—that Steve liked him. He had almost thought they were friends.

But now he saw it clearly. Steve didn't think of them as friends—he probably never had. At best, Tony was a charity case. Someone in need of a distraction. And fuck if that didn't hit Tony in all his soft, weak places.

To Tony, it was like Steve was showing him what he really thought of him, and what he thought of him was that Tony would only respond to something dirty and physical and meaningless, like sex. That Tony's problems were so shallow that a little time between the sheets could patch him right up. That the extent Steve was willing to go for Tony was just to go to bed with him.

It was betrayal, and it stung, and it filled Tony with rage that he didn't dare reveal on the surface. He wished Steve would take it back. Would say that he was joking, or was a life-model-decoy replacement of Steve, or, fuck! Anything but this!

Anything but Steve staring at him like that; those pretty blue eyes hazed with lust, that hard, solid body that Tony may or may not have had one or two fantasies about—something he found perfectly normal but had never, ever intended on acting on. Anything but Steve answering everything Tony threw at him with calm nonchalance, as if it was really nothing, just a thing, just a distraction because Tony "obviously needed it." Anything but Steve looking at Tony in a way that should make Tony hate every single thing about him because it was degrading and impersonal and sympathetic, but instead just made his blood boil and his heart race.

Tony swallowed, wanting more than anything to hate Steve, but seeing nothing but earnestness in those lusty baby blues.

And wasn't that just the real god damn problem here? Because no matter how fucked up this was, no matter how mad Tony was, Steve remained as genuine as ever, making it entirely impossible for Tony to hate him.

But that didn't mean Tony couldn't be angry with him.

"So… What?" Tony smirked, rage just barely under control as he strolled out from behind his desk to stand in Steve's personal bubble and look up at the super soldier, just daring him to show a sign of weakness or regret. "You offering up your ass as a distraction?"

Steve, predictably, blushed bright red, turning away from Tony's harsh gaze. He cleared his throat and added awkwardly,

"I—if you think it will help."

Tony actually considered this for a moment. He hadn't been talking shit earlier when he'd said sex was a distraction, and sex with super soldier pretty boys—he looked up and down Steve's body appreciatively, earing what seemed like a shiver from said pretty boy—was sure to be a decent enough distraction. And Steve seemed willing, somehow, which Tony would have to think about later, when his brain wasn't so clouded with hurt, anger, and desire.

And really, if Tony hadn't been so mad, if just seeing Steve's stupid, adorable, perfect blushing face didn't make every part of Tony wracked with fury and hurt, he knew he wouldn't have done it. As with other strong emotions, anger makes you do stupid things.

And yes, Tony considered grabbing Steve's shirt roughly by the collar, pulling him down and shoving his tongue down Steve's throat a very stupid thing.

A stupid thing that just got stupider when Steve instantly responded, his mouth allowing Tony's tongue entrance without a fight, automatically surrendering consent and dominance. Somehow this only made Tony angrier. Damn Steve, why couldn't he put up a fight? Tony was trying to freak him out, scare him off so he'd get the message that being Tony Stark's distraction wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But Steve just kissed him, sloppily, messily, his body awkwardly angled and his hands held out at his sides like he had no idea where to put them.

Tony released Steve's collar with one hand and let it slide around to the back of Steve's neck, pulling him down even farther into the kiss, nibbling on Steve's lip as Steve let out a surprised gasp when they pulled apart.

"Tony, I—"

Tony cut him off, his anger turning him into someone he hated more than he hated his normal self. Turning him into his father.

Which was a real kick to the groin when he remembered what he was trying to do in the first place; quit drinking, the trigger that usually made him act like his father. Yet here he was, painfully sober and still an asshole.

"Come on, Steve," he said, sliding his hands down Steve's broad chest until he reached the belt loops of Steve's jeans, slipping his fingers through them and tugging Steve's hips forward. "Distract me."

He locked his eyes on Steve's. He saw a million emotions in those eyes, but he could place only a few. There was lust, of course, but also regret and hesitation. Tony held his breath, wondering, hoping Steve might still change his mind, that they could still fix this. Steve swallowed, closed his eyes, then opened them again and Tony knew he was fucked.

"What do you want me to do?"

Tony smirked, hating himself and his unfaithful body. Hating his clouded judgment and wanting Steve to stop looking at him like that. He wanted to do anything to get Steve to stop looking at him like he wasn't as horrible as he knew he was.

"You could start," he said, crossing his arms and giving Steve his best cocky asshole face. "By taking your clothes off."

Steve's eyes widened, but he nodded jerkily, frowning as he used shaky fingers to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. He let the shirt drop to the floor, painfully aware of Tony's gaze on him as he pulled his undershirt over his head, tossing it where the other shirt had landed.

Tony sucked in a breath through his nose so Steve wouldn't notice how he reacted to just the removal of his shirt. Tony stared at Steve's chest, his muscles glistening as he shyly rubbed his arm and avoided Tony's eyes. Tony wanted to touch him, slide his fingers all down Steve's body and then follow them with his tongue. He wanted to taste Steve.

But he couldn't let Steve know that. He wouldn't.

He just stood there, hand on his hip as he motioned for Steve to remove his pants next.

Another jerky nod. Steve went much slower this time, physically wincing as he slipped his pants down past his underwear and revealed his already fully erect cock, the tip poking out of the top of his briefs.

This filled Tony with raging heat, spreading across his entire body like wildfire. He felt like he'd needed to prepare himself for a sight like that; Captain America, hard as a rock and blushing from head to toes. Having it thrown at him without warning made Tony's body react without any chance of stopping it.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, then turned away, glancing around his lab as he said to Steve,

"Don't move. I'm just, I need to find—here it is!" He'd looked in the drawer he thought he vaguely remembered putting what he needed inside. He reached in and pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube, trying not to think about how he'd brought it down to the lab in case he ever managed to convince Pepper to fuck him down here. He hadn't, so both the condom and the lube were unused.

He turned his eyes, dark with lust and anger, back to Steve. He tossed the bottle of lube up and caught it easily when it came back down. He didn't miss the way Steve's eyes followed the bottle then returned to Tony's face and stared apprehensively.

"Catch," he said, tossing the bottle at Steve, who caught it like it was second nature, glanced down at it then back up at Tony, his face voicing the question his mouth seemed unable to.

Tony shrugged, but kept his gaze dark and steady, fixed on Steve's face as he said,

"I want you to prepare yourself while I watch."

His eyes narrowed challengingly. What he didn't say was: you're supposed to be distracting me, right? How far can I push you, Steve? How far will you go for this? I want to see. Show me. Because Tony wanted to torture Steve, to push him out of his comfort zone. To make him regret ever offering to be Tony's distraction, because at this point, Tony wasn't even sure he deserved this kind of distraction.

Steve appeared to hear this silent challenge loud and clear. Tony could see it in his face: comprehension. Steve took a deep breath, eyes not defiant, but somehow… acquiescent.

Tony wasn't sure what to make of that, but it quickly flew from his mind when Steve removed the last of his clothing, leaned against the edge of Tony's desk, and spread his legs.

Tony tried not to let anything show on his face. He couldn't let Steve know how he was making Tony feel.

That proved even more difficult when Steve popped open the bottle of lube, lathered his fingers, and moved them deftly between his legs. Tony sincerely hoped Steve's sharp intake of breath when the first finger slipped in had covered his own. When Steve started moving his fingers, it was all Tony could do to hold back the rush of need that burned through him. He didn't want to feel that way for Steve. Being angry with him was much better, because at least he deserved that emotion, not the butterflies that settled in his gut as he watched Steve open himself up, nearly all reservation gone from his features, replaced by passion and hunger. For Tony.

Tony wished Steve would stop looking at him like that. It just made him angrier.

"Damn, Steve," Tony said, a mocking smirk gracing his lips. How far can I push you before you'll break? How cruel do I have to be before you get mad back at me?

"You look like a pornstar, and trust me, I'd know."

Steve didn't glare or even flinch, he just, just fucking submitted, and pushed his fingers in deeper, threw his head back, a shiver clawing through his shining, sculpted body.

Tony could barely take it anymore. Steve glanced at him, chest heaving and cock twitching from lack of stimulation. He was panting heavily but his fingers were still moving. He locked his gaze onto Tony's and that was the last straw. He pulled his own dick out in a flash, already pulsing hard from watching Steve, ripped open the condom packet and rolled the little bit of plastic over himself.

"Turn around," he ordered, and Steve obliged, bending himself over the desk he had used for support. Tony was on him in a second, hands firmly clutching Steve's ass as he pressed himself forward, entering slowly and letting out a low groan from between his lips as he did.

When he was all the way in and felt Steve clenching around him, it first occurred to Tony that in all likelihood Steve was a virgin, and Tony was taking him his first time like this, bent over his desk, angry and rough. And it made Tony even madder because damn Steve for making him do that, for offering himself like this in the first place.

He wished Steve had offered some other way, any other way. And maybe it could have been different. But he hadn't, and so Tony could do nothing but fume and fuck the ass that was offered, no matter how much it would make him hate himself once he was done.

He rocked his hips and Steve let out a choked whine. He did it again, and Steve mewled.

"Fuck, Steve," Tony gasped, pleasure coursing through him every time he moved. He gripped Steve's waist, one hand on each hip, and moved faster, eliciting a soft cry from Steve with every thrust. He moved faster, because it felt good, and because he wanted Steve to be sore, to ache. He wanted Steve to feel him, feel every ounce of anger that was coursing through him.

And, despite it all, Tony had to admit that when he finally came, grunting as he shoved as deep as he could inside Steve, he felt good. All the frustration built up from quitting his drinking flowed from him. And though he was still angry with Steve and angry with himself, when he pulled out and bent, panting, over Steve's body, he felt better.

It was then that he realized the horrible irony of the whole thing, and every bit of him that he thought felt better, resumed feeling worse, and he fled from the lab and up to his room without another glance at Steve, because he just didn't think he would be able to handle anything that Steve might say to him at that point.

The irony of it, really, was that through all of this, Tony had felt exactly as he did when he was drunk.

Tony left Steve in the lab, bent over his desk, still sporting a raging erection that Steve didn't think Tony had even noticed hadn't been relieved yet. He left Steve feeling sore and hurt and so, so blissful, Steve barely even cared that he still hadn't come.

Okay, that wasn't true, because as soon as he realized that Tony had left, Steve finally wrapped a hand around himself, stroking barely three times before releasing with a pained groan. He then slumped to the floor, wincing when he landed on his ass, and leaned his head back against the side of the desk, feeling like the biggest idiot in the history of the world.

Sex with Tony had been everything Steve had imagined it would be, and damn if that didn't make him feel pitiful. Because even though it'd been rough, and fast, and dirty, and he hadn't even come, it'd still been the best fucking thing Steve had ever felt in his whole life because it was Tony.

Steve let the back of his head slam into the desk. That was it then. He really couldn't deny it anymore. He was in love with Tony.

He groaned and tried to curl himself into a ball and disappear. He felt like—no, was a horrible person. He knew Tony was pissed; he wasn't an idiot. But he couldn't help himself. There'd been an opportunity and he'd taken it, and now he would have to suffer the consequences, even if it meant Tony hated him or used him or never spoke to him again.

He tried not to let himself wonder when the next time would be… or if there even would be a next time.

The next time came without warning, a day and a half later. Steve hadn't seen Tony much in that time, but he'd seen him enough to know Tony wasn't doing well. He always looked a mess and he barely made snarky comebacks at Clint when the other man teased him for looking so bad. Steve didn't say anything to Tony; he didn't even look at him. He had no right.

Which was why he was so surprised, a day and a half after the first time in the lab, to find Tony slipping inside his room, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, staring Steve down with a tantalizing smirk.

Steve gulped as Tony flicked the light switch off and the room was only lit through the windows on the far wall. Steve could still see Tony perfectly clearly, relaxed against the door and staring at him through the low light. He looked worse than before, somehow, the bags under his eyes more intense, his hair fanned out around him, his skin a sickly grey instead of his usual vibrant tan. Steve swallowed because despite all that, he still looked like everything Steve wanted and so much more.

Tony raised his chin, some kind of sign, and Steve stumbled from his bed where he'd been sitting, tossing his sketchbook behind him as he made his way to where Tony was. He stopped about a foot from the other man but was then roughly pulled closer by his shirt until his nose was almost an inch from Tony's. His breath caught, and he waited to see what Tony would do. His eyes moved slowly down Steve's face until he was staring at Steve's mouth, slightly parted as he held his breath. Steve licked his lips, expecting a kiss, but not a moment later felt himself being pushed to his knees, Tony's hand tight in his hair.

Steve closed his eyes, resolution settling inside him like fallen leaves. He should have known, he thought as he heard the snap of pants coming undone and the rustle of clothe as they fell to thighs.

As he took Tony's length inside his mouth he wondered if things could ever go back to how they were before, if he and Tony would ever just be friends again. He choked and realized that was probably a stupid dream.

The next day he sucked Tony off again, this time in Tony's shower. A little while later Tony fucked him into the mats in a corner of the training room.

This continued over the next few days, and although something inside Steve died a little bit every time it happened, he could never say no. Also, Tony seemed better. Three days after the first time they had sex, he came downstairs for breakfast showered, shaved, and whistling.

Nearly everyone had turned to him with either surprise or suspicion, but Tony just smiled at them, pouring himself a cup of coffee and pinching Steve's ass when he passed him in the kitchen.

Steve wasn't sure what Tony getting better meant, and he tried not to think about it.

Later that day, Tony found him in the gym as he was furiously attacking one of the reinforced punching bags, trying to relieve some of the tension that had been ever present ever since he and Tony had started… whatever it was the two of them were doing.

"Woah, slow down, Tiger. I know I said these things were unbreakable but even technology has a limit, you know."

Tony placed a hand on the swinging punching bag, steadying it as he looked at Steve with hungry, appreciative eyes. Steve felt heat rise to his face, suddenly aware of the thinness of his shirt and the warmth of the room. Tony was smiling at him, and the sight made Steve's heart ache. It felt like a long time since Tony had smiled at him.

"What do you want, Tony?" he asked, slowly unrolling the gauze on his hands and avoiding that gaze at the same time.

Tony slipped his hands lazily into his pockets, looking cool and confident as he shrugged and replied,

"I just wanted to know if you were busy tonight."

Steve paused in what he was doing, then continued, unsure what to make of this sudden politeness. Tony didn't usually schedule their fucking, so what the hell was this? He took a chance, answering lightly,

"Not especially. Why?"

"I have to go to this thing tonight, a charity ball. Boring, black tie affair where I'll spend all evening entertaining the elderly with my charming personality and charisma. Thought you might wanna come along. You can chat up the old ladies and reminisce about 'the good old days' or inflation or whatever it is you old people talk about."

Steve felt a slight smile twitch across his lips. But it was still weird. Tony had never invited him to something like this before. Why now?

Just then, Tony took a step towards Steve, leaned in to whisper, his breath ghosting over an ear as he said,

"And I figured, you know, if it gets too boring, having you there will be a nice distraction."

Steve heated up right away, his hands clenching up as he stared at the opposite wall. Tony started walking away, shoes tapping a rhythm into the floor as he went. He called back after him, voice echoing through the training room,

"I'll have a tux laid out for you. We leave at 7."

Steve didn't even try to talk himself out of going. At 6:45 he went up to his room and found the promised tux, sighing heavily as he began putting it on. Just as he was struggling with the bowtie, he heard a knock on his door as it was opening. Steve didn't even have to look up to know it was Tony. No one else knocked while entering; it was a particularly Tony Stark trait.

"One minute Tony. I've almost got this thing—"

"No problem, I can help with that," Tony said, crossing the room before Steve could object. All of the sudden Tony was standing right in front of him, invading his space and senses, and Steve hadn't been prepared. Tony smelled good, his hair slicked back like he was straight from the shower. He looked even better than he smelled; Steve was convinced that no one could fill out a suit like a Stark could.

"Hard to get a grip on something this small with those big, serum-enhanced hands of your, huh?" Tony said with a wink that nearly made Steve swoon.

Steve sucked in a breath when Tony's nimble hands reached up and he began tying the tie with the dexterity of someone with much tie-tying experience. Tony glanced up at him, eyes shining below his long, thick eyelashes. Steve bit back a smile.

Tony took a step back when he was finished—admiring his handiwork, no doubt. He smirked, then turned and made a motion that meant for Steve to go ahead of him. Steve took a few steps and then felt Tony's hand squeeze his ass. He jumped as Tony chuckled and murmured before walking out the door,

"Gonna be a good night, Steve."

Steve didn't reply, just blushed and silently followed Tony downstairs to the car and Happy who was waiting for them.

Tony asked Steve jokingly for a blowjob barely 10 minutes into the ride. He seemed surprised when Steve didn't refuse, as though he had expected him to. Also, after Steve was finished (careful the entire time to make sure both of their suits stayed stain-free) he noticed that Tony spent the rest of the ride staring silently out of the window. Steve wasn't sure what to think of that. Either Tony hadn't wanted him to accept the request, or Steve was worse at giving head than he thought. Both ideas made him feel a bit sick to his stomach, so he tried not to think about them.

Eventually, they arrived at the elegant building in which the charity ball was to be held. It was a beautiful building, even more so once they were inside it. Chandeliers glittered on the ceiling while the gowns of the women in attendance glittered across the floor. Steve could honestly say he'd never seen anything like it.

But from the way Tony sauntered inside the main doors and glanced around, stifling a yawn, it was clear he had seen many things like it before. Steve took a deep breath and followed Tony inside the room, already regretting his decision to come along. He wasn't good at these types of things, and it didn't help that as soon as they entered, Tony abandoned Steve like the people at the ball would last week's fashion. Steve felt like a balloon that had gotten a hole in it, and slowly deflated. He wasn't sure what he expected this night to be, but he knew he shouldn't have expected anything at all. He'd only agreed in the first place because it'd been the first time Tony had really spoken to him since—since he stopped drinking. Steve let his head droop and found himself a corner to settle into where he could stare at Tony until it was time to leave and mull over how pitiful he really was.

Tony was pissed. Again.

He'd been joking.

Had just tossed out a clever quip about charity events making him nervous but, hey! If you wanted to help, blowjobs are always great for calming the nerves!

He'd even laughed after he'd said it, so, no. He had not expected Steve to instantly put his face in his crotch, undoing the zipper of his dress pants with his fucking teeth. Thank god the shield was up between the back and front seats. Happy had seen him do a lot of shit in the back of the car, but Tony didn't think even his most loyal assistant would forgive him for befouling Captain America's decency vie fellatio (no matter how much it wasn't his fucking fault because he'd been fucking joking).

Truthfully, Tony hadn't wanted Steve to agree, even if it hadn't been a joke. He was having a good day. He'd woken up feeling much better than he had in a while, his head clear and sharp without all the alcohol that was usually there to hinder it.

Then he'd remembered the charity ball, and at first he had planned on finding a way to get out of it, but then he thought of Steve, and Steve in a tux, and he couldn't help himself. Even though things between him and Steve were weird (what with all the sleeping together without any feelings) but now that he had slept with Steve, he might as well make the best of it.

He'd asked Steve to go with him, loving the way his flirting seemed to catch Steve totally off-guard, and had been more than a little pleased when Steve agreed. It was almost back to how it was before, if you added in a little not-totally-unpleasant-sexual-tension, and Tony was happy, optimistic even.

Then he'd made that stupid joke, and he remembered that there wasn't any point flirting with Steve.

Because Steve had already offered himself.

As a fucking distraction.

Now Tony was back to feeling pissed, all his earlier optimism fleeing from whence it mysterious came. The party was as horrible as he'd thought it would be, but he wasn't going to let Steve, or anyone else for that matter, notice how much he wasn't enjoying it.

He kept his fake smile on his face as he watched Steve retreat to the edge of the room from the corner of his eye. Good, he thought. He hoped Steve would have even half as miserable a night as he just knew he was going to.

Before the car ride over and the disastrous joke, he'd been planning on making it through the evening by seeing how much he could tease Steve. He rather enjoyed the reactions he got, and an evening hitting on the attractive super soldier you might just have a tiny little crush on was an evening well spent in Tony's books, even though it meant having to put up with a bunch of rich, pretentious assholes in idiotic clothes for the whole night.

Unfortunately, now Tony was stuck with only the pretentious assholes and no Steve. And he was pissed, and felt a headache coming on because some elderly broad was trying to sell him her daughter in law or something else ridiculous, and he was barely keeping the smile on his face as it was. He nodded along to something she was saying, he had no idea what, but she seemed pleased. A waiter strode past them and Tony, from years of habit and practice, reached out without even looking to lift a thin glass of champagne from the tray the man was carrying.

His fingers were almost touching the glass when he suddenly felt a strong grip fold around his wrist, freezing it in place before he even got a chance to touch the drink.

He looked up, startled, to see Steve standing there, wrist still held tight in his hand, a formidable glare darkening his features. It was just then that Tony realized what he had been about to do.

"Steve, I—"

"Shut up," Steve cut him off, tone sharp. His grip on Tony's wrist seemed to tighten. He swallowed as Steve glanced around the giant hall then pulled Tony away from the woman he'd been speaking to and towards the entrance hall. Steve's hold on his arm didn't lessen as he pulled Tony through the crowd of people. Tony didn't know where he was being taken, he just knew that his heart was racing through his chest and he still had to explain to Steve that he hadn't meant to grab for that drink!

Eventually they made it out of the large ballroom. Steve continued to lead Tony into the entrance hallway. He spotted the door to the coatroom, opened it and glanced inside. When he seemed sure it was clear he pushed Tony roughly inside, looking around once more before following and closing the door behind him.

"Ow," Tony mumbled, rubbing at his wrist where Steve had been holding him. Sure enough when he pulled his sleeve up there was a red mark. He looked around as Steve busied himself with closing the shutters to the one window of the room. It grew darker but there were still dim closet lights that allowed Tony to see the many coats that were hung about the room, waiting for their owners to come and retrieve them at the end of the night.

He glanced at Steve, chest heaving and heart fluttering nervously. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Steve that angry before. The other man was hunched over, hands flat on a counter in the coat closet.

"Steve, I wasn't—"

"Shut up, Tony!" Steve spat, whirling around to face him, eyes still hard and fiery and enough to take Tony's breath away.

And again, Tony did as he was told and shut the hell up. Not that he could have said anything anyway, because not a second after giving that order, Steve's mouth was on Tony's, hot and firm and completely unforgiving, just the way Tony liked it.

And Tony kissed back, trying for dominance and failing almost instantly. Steve drove his tongue past Tony's teeth and sucked until all Tony could do was whimper and accept defeat. Tony tried to wrap his arms around Steve's broad shoulders and pull him closer, but Steve grabbed both of Tony's wrists in one hand and held them above his head.

As he did, he pulled roughly at Tony's tie, nearly ripping open his expensive dress shirt just so he could break away from the kiss that had left Tony absolutely breathless and bite lightly on the skin at Tony's neck.

Steve let out a low groan over that skin and Tony lost his fucking mind.

"Fuck, Steve!" He cried, grinding his erection against Steve's leg. Steve sucked on the sensitive skin of his neck then nibbled just below Tony's ear.

Tony wasn't sure what happened to his bad mood or his frustration with Steve—in fact, Tony wasn't sure what had happened at all. He had never seen Steve like this before, all riled up and demanding, kissing Tony's body like he owned it. Tony felt dazed and light-headed, his reason slipping away from him like a cool drink down his throat. He needed to explain that he hadn't meant to reach for the glass of champagne, that it'd been an accident, a slip up; but Steve's hands were in his hair and his body was pressed keen against Tony's, intoxicating him in all the right ways.

"Jeeeesus! Steve you've got to believe me, I wasn't gonna, mmnffgh—" Steve cut him off once again with a rough, torturous kiss that made Tony buck his hips and whine with need when Steve pulled away again, placing scorching kisses along Tony's jaw, down to his throat, then to his collar. He kept kissing down Tony's body, hurriedly removing his overcoat and shirt.

Before dropping the coat, Steve deftly reached inside the pockets and removed a condom and travel-sized lube. Tony couldn't even begin to wonder how Steve knew where he'd put those, because Steve's tongue was on his throat and Tony was gone, unable to think about anything but the feeling of Steve's hardness through his pants and how much he wanted Steve, god, he couldn't even remember how to breath. And then Steve's shirt was gone too, and it was skin on skin, tantalizingly hot and sticky, and Tony hadn't been this turned on—fuck, he couldn't remember ever being this turned on.

Then he felt Steve's tongue trace a circle around the edge of the reactor where his skin was scarred and sensitive. He howled, completely devoid of any sense that might warn him not to scream as he was being debauched in a coat closet at a charity gala.

"Fuck, Steve," He panted, eyes hazy and unfocussed as he thrust his hips weakly against Steve's leg. Steve growled and bit at Tony's neck. "Ah! Fuck! Fuck me, Steve, do it, god, Jesus, Thor, whatever just fuck me! Now!"

Steve paused, brought his face up to Tony's and held Tony's chin roughly with one large, strong hand, making Tony look at him.

"Say please," he ordered, licking his lips and panting heavily.

"Fuuuuuuck!" Tony cursed, a shiver running up the length of his body. "Please, Steve. Just, please, please fuck me, now, please! Dammit!"

Steve let go of Tony's arms and Tony had to grab a hold of some hanging coat so he wouldn't fall. His pants and underwear were gone before he knew what hit him then Steve's hands were on his hips and he felt himself lifted up, balanced between the wall and Steve's groin—he could feel how hard Steve was for him through the other man's pants and it made his head spin.

"Oh," Steve murmured into Tony's ear, biting it just barely as he growled and sent shivers coursing through the smaller man, "I was planning to."

Steve pulled out the lube and condom that he'd apparently placed in his own pocket for safekeeping, popped the lid to the lube open and spread it over his fingers. He leaned forward, pressing his body to Tony's as he slid his hand down between Tony's shuddering thighs. Tony whimpered when the first finger went in, then Steve pressed their lips together and he forgot to feel uncomfortable.

"Hold on to me, Tony," Steve rasped, his voice throaty and dripping with sex. Tony reached shaking arms around to cling desperately to Steve's strong back, fingers digging into skin as Tony bit back another whimper when the second and third fingers were added at the same time. Steve moved while using his other hand to hold the condom as he ripped the wrapping open with his teeth.

"Steve!" Tony gasped when Steve's fingers found his sweet spot. "I can't take this, I need it. I need it now, please, Steve—"

"Tony," Steve panted lowly. "I need you to unzip my pants. C—can you do that?"

Steve caught Tony's eyes and Tony jerked as another spasm of pleasure hit him, but then he nodded, panting, and slowly dropped one hand from Steve's shoulder down to his stomach then scrambled for the opening of his pants. He found it and nearly ripped it down until the pants fell to Steve's knees. Tony reached down farther and grabbed at Steve's cock through his underwear, reaching inside them until he felt that solid heat, wet with precum, strong in the palm of his hand. He moaned and stroked along its length, barely able to think about anything but having that in him as soon as possible.

"Shit, Tony. S—stop, I wanna—" Steve stuttered as Tony pumped him, the underwear slipping down to join Steve's pants. He reached down and moved Tony's hand out of the way, managing somehow to unroll the condom over himself as Tony continued to thrust against him.

"I want you," Tony gasped, moving himself on Steve's fingers. "I need you, I'm ready. Please, Steve, do it now."

Steve nodded, removing his fingers then instantly pressing his tip to Tony's hole. He pushed in weakly and Tony let out a shallow whine.

"Harder!" he cried, trying to force himself down onto Steve's length. Steve gripped Tony's waist with both hands, trying to steady himself before pressing in any further. He let out a low breath and pushed in until he was fully sheathed. Tony's fingers were clawing painfully into his back.

"Move, Steve, dammit," Tony gasped. His cock was achingly hard now and he wanted to feel Steve moving inside him, heating him up and tearing him apart.

Steve frowned, leaning forward to kiss the stubble of Tony's cheek before whispering softly,

"I don't want to hurt you."

Tony groaned and rocked his hips. Steve steadied him and Tony shuddered, shaking his head.

"I don't care, I don't care," Tony repeated over and over as Steve pressed kisses strongly onto Tony's throat. Tony didn't know what was wrong with him, but he was lost. He couldn't think, all he wanted was to feel Steve move inside him. He let out a strained whine, chest heaving. "Please," he moaned into Steve's ear.

Steve slowly rocked his hips and Tony threw back his head with a silent cry. Steve took that as a good sign and did it again, a little harder this time, and now it wasn't just Tony's reaction that made him go again, but the feeling he got as Tony writhed around him, lifting his own hips up and down to meet Steve increasing thrusts.

"Ah, Tony!" Steve gasped through clenched teeth, thrusting in roughly, gaining speed and strength in response to Tony's pleading, begging body that moved along with his and sent little shocks through him that made it seem like his heart would stop with every thrust.

He buried his face in Tony's neck, sucking and biting at Tony's skin as he kept thrusting upwards into him, eliciting an even louder cry with every motion of his hips.

Tony made a sound that Steve thought was probably supposed to be a word and clenched even tighter around him, making Steve hiss and thrust again at the same spot. Tony crumbled in his arms, back arching and legs gone to jelly. Steve aimed one more thrust at that spot and then Tony was coming, whimpering nonsense as he released all over both of their chests, clenching around Steve again and then Steve was so close. He waited until Tony was finished to thrust again, then once more before he was coming too, shoved as far as he could go into Tony.

Tony let out a choked cry into Steve's ear as he felt Steve pulsing inside him, his arms holding tight to Steve's back until Steve finished, and then he let them fall because he could barely move or think anymore.

Steve lowered them both, panting and breathless to the floor of the coatroom. He started to pull out but Tony growled and held tight to his arm. Steve stopped moving, sighed, and leaned his head onto Tony's shoulder.

They stayed that way long enough for someone to knock on the door of the coatroom and demand that their precious top-of-the-line Armani jacket was returned to them.

Steve pulled out then, and he and Tony quickly but silently got dressed and snuck out the backdoor of the coatroom. Tony pulled his phone from his pocket and when they made it outside, Happy was waiting for them.

If he thought anything about their disheveled, thoroughly sexed-out appearances, he didn't voice it, just rolled up the window between the front and back seat without a word.

Despite that, neither of them spoke or looked at one another until they were about 5 minutes from home. Tony, staring out the opposite window, cleared his throat and said,

"I, Uh. I wasn't going to drink it, you know."

Steve, who had been trying not to think about how he'd spent the ride to the party with his mouth around Tony's dick in the back of this very same car, glanced Tony's direction. The other man didn't turn away from the window to look at him. Steve replied lightly,

"I wouldn't have let you."

Tony thought of asking jokingly whether he'd get sex that great every time he almost took a drink, but then remembered how well his last joke had gone over and instead held his tongue. The rest of the ride back to the tower was silent.

Tony only spoke again just as Steve was about to go up the stairs that led to his room and collapse onto his bed, hopefully to wake up at some wonderfully late hour.

"Tonight was, um," he started, and Steve turned around to see Tony nervously shove his hands inside his pockets. He looked up beneath his eyelashes and smiled at Steve. "I said this was going to be a good night, didn't I?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled as he did.

"You're a real fortune-teller, Tony. Maybe that should be your power instead of the Iron Man suit."

"Yeah, maybe," Tony replied, a smile appearing and disappearing like the sun from behind a cloud. He looked thoughtful, and something about his expression made Steve's heart ache.

He couldn't even think about what had happened between them tonight. It was too much. But when he saw that look on Tony's face, he felt some unfamiliar emotion well up inside him, and he blurted out before he could stop himself,

"Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony answered quickly, expectantly.

"Do you," Steve hesitated, then sighed and asked, "Do you want to come to my room, tonight?"

Tony bit his lip and blinked, his face unreadable. Then he smiled, rocked back and forth on his heels, leaning his body towards his room in the opposite direction.

"Nah, I, uh, think my hips need some time to recuperate—"

"No, Tony, I don't mean—"

"—So I'm just gonna head to bed, okay, Steve? See you tomorrow?"

And then he practically ran out of the room, leaving Steve with an empty feeling in his gut that he didn't want to face.

Tomorrow.

Maybe things would look better tomorrow.

As it turned out, things were most definitely not better tomorrow.

Tomorrow was a fucking asshole.

Tomorrow was "Avengers Assemble" at 8 in the morning and headaches and an ass that hurt like a motherfucker because Steve had not gone easy on him the night before and he'd barely had enough rest for his body to recover, let alone the most abused part of his body. The suit didn't really do much to help Tony's ass situation, but at least he didn't have to sit down while he was fighting the newest Hydra monster. Sure made being thrown into a building hurt a damn lot more than usual though.

The fight was over by the time anyone remembered that Tony was still supposed to be benched.

It wasn't a big deal, really. Tony had forgotten too. He hadn't done it on purpose, though no one else seemed to believe him. Tony mostly blocked them out as they tried to castigate him for going out in the field when he wasn't supposed to. They gave up eventually because the battle really hadn't gone that badly, and Tony obviously hadn't tried to get himself killed, so what was the problem? Tony thought the conversation was over once they were all back at the tower, relaxing and cleaning monster-slime off of their bodies, but apparently he was wrong.

"Tony?" Steve's voice came from around the corner. Tony was in the shower, and started to tell Steve that before changing his mind.

"In here!" He replied, yelling over the sound of the water. A moment later he heard footsteps approaching the bathroom, then the door swung open and Steve stepped inside.

"Tony, are you—you're in the shower."

"No, I just like to keep the water running all the time, really stick it to those uptight environmentalists."

He imagined that Steve was flushing at the very idea of Tony naked on the other side of the steamed-up glass of the shower. He wondered what it would take to get Steve to join him, but then Steve spoke in his Captain voice and Tony grimaced.

"Tony, we need to talk."

Tony sighed, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. He smirked as Steve's eyes widened then the other man pointedly looked away, frowning like he almost forgot what he was about to say.

"What about, Cap?"

Cap himself chanced a glance along the length of Tony's body, moist and dripping as he was just out of the shower. His eyes instantly darkened with impure desire, and Tony bit his lip. He could still feel where Steve had been inside him the night before, and couldn't believe that he already wanted to feel that same thing again. Steve shook his head to clear it, face pink but expression firmly set.

"About today. How you went into battle even though you were told clearly that you weren't supposed to. You aren't ready to be back with the Avengers, not yet." Tony's mood dampened quicker than the tower he used to dry himself off. Steve exhaled deeply and continued, softer than before, like he hoped to appeal to Tony's logical side, because that always worked.

"You're still… detoxing, and the psychologists said it would be a while before you could come to terms with—"

"Almost killing myself?" Tony interrupted darkly. Steve swallowed.

"Yes… Tony, I'm trying to help you here."

"I thought that was what the sex was for?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow at Steve with contempt. "Does distracting me count as helping me? I'm just not sure if—"

"Tony," Steve said. He looked tired. "I'm not here to talk about the sex. I'm just looking out for you, and I don't want you in the field when you're still so… fragile."

Tony hated the way that word came out of Steve's mouth. Fragile. He wasn't fragile. He'd done perfectly fine in the field today, no worse than usual. It was true that his body still yearned for some booze, but he wasn't suicidal. The opposite, really. He just wasn't sure how to convince Steve of that.

"I wasn't too fragile last night when you fucked me into the coatroom wall."

Steve flinched.

"I—I am sorry about that, Tony, I—"

"Don't be," Tony murmured back, shrugging. "That might have been the best distraction I've ever had, actually." He stepped towards Steve, eyes lidded and mouth barely parted. If Steve could distract him from drinking, Tony could distract Steve from being a stick-in-the-mud. "Wouldn't mind being distracted that way again."

Steve gulped, eyes flickering between Tony and the door. Then, Tony let his towel fall away, and snaked a hand up and around to the back of Steve's neck. The latter sucked in a sudden catch of air and then Tony didn't have to do anything else, because Steve's hands were on him, gripping him tight, making him feel the same strange, lightheaded way that he had the night before. Tony wasn't sure what happened to his shy, unsure Steve who laid back and allowed Tony to do as he wished, but he was glad to see him go—Steve was so much more than that. When Steve touched him, dominated him and took control it made Tony's brain seem to float up and out of his skull. It was a rather addicting feeling.

They didn't go all the way (despite Tony's rather desperate pleading) because Steve decided that Tony still needed to recover from the day before. They were still exhausted by the time they finished, Tony's head resting on Steve's shoulder as they leaned on the bathroom cabinet, too distracted to make it to the bed. He let out a long sigh, his breath brushing over Steve's skin, and Steve couldn't help but smile.

"I wouldn't a done it, ya know?" Tony mumbled, his words slurring from weariness and comfort and whatever weird sensation always seemed to overcome him when Steve held him.

"Done what?" Steve asked, feeling like a traitor to himself for finding Tony completely, irresistibly adorable this way.

Tony made some motion towards his reactor, like grabbing it and pulling it and—oh.

Steve hesitated, an iron vise wrapping around his chest from the memory, then whispered gently, "But you did do it, Tony. I was the one who found you, remember?"

Tony gave a small nod, not looking up at Steve as he added, voice so soft Steve had to strain to hear it,

"But I wouldn't have if I hadn't been..." Tony's voice faded and Steve waited for him to add something else. After another minute Tony shifted against him and said, even more softly than before,

"My dad was a drunk, you know?"

And then Steve got it, what Tony was trying to tell him. Tony wouldn't have taken out his reactor if he hadn't been drunk at the time. That was why he'd decided to quit drinking.

Steve slipped his arm around Tony and held him tightly to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of Tony's head and thought he heard Tony purr in response.

Tony seeking Steve out for sex became habit even quicker than it had before. Something about the way Steve could tame Tony with just a low growl or a biting kiss made Tony crave the very sensation of being tamed. He felt jumpy every time Steve was even in the room with him.

It didn't take long for Tony to figure out a way to instantly alert Steve of his intentions. All he had to do was shoot the other man a furtive, challenging smirk, maybe a wink if he was feeling particularly playful, and Steve would reply with an intense, heated gaze that Tony swore made the air around Steve hotter. Tony also swore he could feel the heat pulse towards him and hit him like a wave, even if Steve was on the other side of the room.

After the exchanged glances, Tony didn't have to wait long before Steve cornered him in some hidden location and made Tony's head spin with his kisses.

And Tony loved that feeling. It was his head full of clouds, it was a ringing in his ears, it was not thinking all the time and it was familiar. Tony took comfort in the way Steve made him feel, and after a while he got the feeling just from thinking about Steve, hearing his voice or dreaming about seeing him later on.

Time started to pass strangely, in ways that Tony couldn't predict. He would be down in his lab, working diligently on something and then he'd think about Steve and when he realized it an hour had passed. Tony tried to follow his schedule, spend only an hour and a half in the gym, but Steve had been there too, minding his own business, lifting weights, and Tony couldn't resist that. After one little glance from Tony it became apparent that Steve wasn't very good at resisting either, and before either of them noticed it'd been four hours and Tony was really, really late.

And while he was thinking about Steve or with Steve, Tony felt amazing, like he was invincible, but as soon as he spent some time away from Steve, nagging thoughts formed in his mind and something sour that tasted like guilt spread across his tongue.

He didn't like what he had with Steve, because sometimes it felt almost real, almost good. And Tony couldn't have that. Tony couldn't have Steve.

Steve was just another Pepper. He was too good for him, in almost every way. He was Captain goddamn America for christ's sake! Tony deserved Steve about as much as he'd deserved Pepper, and that'd worked out very well for him, considering he was still on suicide watch.

But being with Steve felt so good. Too good. Sometimes Tony wondered if Steve had another super power, some pheromone that just made people love every thing he said and did, a smell that made people want to be liked by him, touched and kissed and shoved up against walls by him. To be smiled at by him.

Because every time Steve was around (and sometimes when he wasn't), that was all Tony could think about. And then when that feeling faded, Tony remembered that he was Tony fucking Stark and damn him for thinking he should have this perfect man all to himself. He would wonder whether Steve even wanted him the way Tony wanted Steve.

He would try not to think about the fact that Steve was still just a distraction.

Thinking about that made the area of his body around his reactor ache.

About a week after the charity gala, a bunch of statues came to life downtown, courtesy of a deranged super villain who had somehow acquired the ability to bring statues to life. Tony suited up and went along with the others before anyone could try and catch him and force him to stay home. By the end of the fight though, Tony wished he had sat this one out. Solid stone and metal could pack one hell of a punch.

He'd been trampled by a few horse statues and his entire torso was bruised, though nothing wound up broken. It hurt to move and more severely to breathe. He was currently sitting in the most comfortable position he could manage waiting for Steve to inevitably come in and yell at him for going out into the field and getting hurt (as though it was his fault).

Instead, he got Pepper.

When she walked in, Tony thought he might be hallucinating because of pain or his medication. He hadn't seen Pepper in weeks. She'd visited him in the hospital after the god-awful night she'd left, and even though he'd still been emotionally wrecked (and she'd been crying, which was just terrible) he'd managed to tell her that he hadn't meant to kill himself. It was easy to tell her that, because he wanted her to know that. It wasn't as easy telling anyone else, especially the idiot psychologists they made him talk to.

She took one look at him and pursed her lips in the way she always used to do, but had that look in her eye that to Tony seemed like she was planning what to say at his funeral. She started having that look a lot once he became Iron Man, and Tony didn't like it, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Now that he thought about, that look may have been one of the reasons she'd left him—he couldn't really remember all the details of that night, not that he even wanted to.

"Hey, Pep," he said weakly, trying not to look quite as beat up as he was. "I didn't expect you over tonight, did someone call you? It was Natasha, wasn't it? Can you please—"

"Tony," Pepper cut him off, and it was such a familiar sensation to be cut off by Pepper that Tony's heart almost burst. He smiled at her and she shook her head.

"Tony…"

"Yep, that's my name. Yours is Pepper. See, I don't even have a head injury, I'm perfectly fine! That's what you're here about, I assume? I know I wasn't supposed to go out today but it's just so boring stuck in this tower all day without anything to blow up, you know? Or punch, I like the punching too."

"Tony I'm not here for that. Well, not entirely."

"Oh," Tony replied, hating the levels of awkward in the room. "What then?"

She cleared her throat, straightening her skirt as she said,

"I heard you quit drinking—"

"Yeah, I'm trying something new, you know—"

"—and started doing Steve Rogers instead."

Tony hadn't been expecting that. He swallowed, unsure how to handle this particular scenario. He'd done the whole ex-finding-out-about-new-lover thing before and it was never fun; but, this was different, because Tony had very complicated feelings toward both parties, and he was sure to say something to make one or both angry.

"I wouldn't, ah," he said uncomfortably, "put it that way, especially. Who did you hear that from?"

"It's not important," she replied, frowning. Then her expression softened and she nearly smiled. Tony wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Tony, I'm not here to yell at you. I'm here to forgive you."

Tony knew he wasn't breathing, but he couldn't help it. This was all too much. His body was aching, his head was confused and Pepper was trying to tell him that she was there to forgive the greatest mistake of Tony's life.

"I've been meaning to come for a while now, Tony," she began, sitting down on the chair beside his bed. "I never wanted to be out of your life forever, but after what happened I thought it was selfish of me to think that way, so I stayed away. But Steve, he asked me to come."

"Steve did?" Tony asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah," she nodded, smiling fondly. "He told me some of the things you'd been saying to him. He told me…" she hesitated, then made sure she had Tony's attention when she said, "He told me that you wouldn't have t—tried to take—take out the reactor if you hadn't been drinking that night."

Her voice went very soft at the end, but it felt loud in Tony's ears. He didn't remember ever even saying that to Steve, but he must have because he knew it was true. He'd wanted to tell someone, anyone that it had never been his intention to kill himself, that it was the alcohol, but he never knew who to tell, or when. But he must have found a time to tell Steve, because Pepper knew, and she was looking at him gently, proudly almost, and Tony felt open and raw and so, so fragile in that moment.

And that was when he understood what Steve had been saying when he'd called him fragile. Because Tony was fragile. He was.

He looked over at Pepper and she seemed to be waiting for some kind of reply. All he could do was nod and reach for her hand. She let him take it in his and he held it to his cheek, breathing in deeply. He nodded again against the soft skin of her fingers.

"I forgive you, Tony," she whispered. "You didn't mean for it to happen that way, I know that now."

"It won't happen again!" he cried softly. "Never again! So please, please come back."

He caught a flash of pain across her face and he instantly added, still holding her hand to him,

"Not—not like that! Just, please Pepper, come back, be my assistant. Be my friend. I miss you and I need you. You know I need you, Pepper. I don't know how I haven't died already just since you've been gone. I'm hopeless, you've gotta help me."

She laughed, tears in her eyes, and then she nodded. The next minute she stood, smiled down at him, then walked over to the door.

"Steve wants to talk to you next, Tony. He's angry about today, as he should be," she frowned, reprimanding him with just a gaze. "But he'll go easy on you because you're wounded."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you?" Tony said, rolling his eyes. Then he paused, biting the inside of his mouth before adding, "Hey Pepper, aren't you curious? About Steve?"

She shrugged.

"It wouldn't matter even if I was. I know you Tony, and you're going to do whatever you want to. I've known that since the beginning, and Steve knows it too."

With one last smile that made Tony's heart soar and ache all at the same time, she walked out the door. Tony heard voices on the other side of the door and the next moment, Steve walked through, gaze catching Tony's as soon as he did.

"Woah, soldier," he said, smirking as Steve walked across the room towards where he was propped up in the bed. "Don't look at me like that right now when I can't even do anything about it."

Steve huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. He started to say something but before he could get out the first word Tony cut him off.

"Wait, I need to put on my 'being yelled at' face before you start."

"I wasn't going to yell at you, Tony."

Tony replied with a suspicious look and asked,

"You weren't?"

"No," Steve chuckled. "Even though you weren't supposed to go into the field, and you got hurt… we probably wouldn't have been able to win if you weren't there to track down the statue guy."

"Eh, it wasn't too hard. Just had to hone in on his control signal then retrace the hot links back to his—"

"Shut up, Tony," Steve laughed, sitting down lightly in the seat beside the bed that Pepper had been sitting in not a few moments earlier.

"Shutting up," Tony replied, smiling.

And, even though he was injured and had absolutely no intentions of doing anything sexual with Steve until he was recovered, Tony still got that feeling he always got when he was around Steve. Clouds in his head, cotton instead of brains.

"Thank you," he sputtered, and Steve glanced at him questioningly. "For calling Pepper. For telling her… yeah."

Steve observed him quietly for a moment, then said,

"I didn't think you were going to tell her yourself anytime soon."

"Yeah, probably not," Tony admitted without any shame.

Then there was silence. It went on for at least five minutes before Steve quickly got up from the chair, running a hand nervously through his hair as he started towards the door, muttering,

"I, uh, you should get some rest, Tony. I'll see you, see you tomorr—"

"Hey, Cap?" Tony said softly. Steve looked up at him, freezing in place in the middle of the room.

"I'm not that tired, so…" he trailed off, motioning to the chair beside his bed. "Wanna keep me some company?"

Steve hesitated in a way that almost had Tony start his signature ramblings, but before he could even think of something to ramble on about, Steve smiled and sat back down beside the bed. Tony didn't know what he was doing; he just knew that he wanted to keep on feeling that feeling he got whenever Steve was around.

"Tell me a story," Tony said, smirking, and though he'd been half-joking, Steve shrugged and decided he had nothing better to talk about. He started telling Tony the story of his first big bully in elementary school, a kid named Lawrence Perkins.

Tony laughed in all the right places, and gasped in all the right places, and was as surprised by the end of the story as Steve had expected him to be.

"He died?" Tony asked, mouth agape, because even in the story it'd been sudden. Steve hadn't alluded to this ending at all, just said that one-day Lawrence had been punching him and the next day he was gone.

"Polio," Steve frowned, recalling something that happened over 80 years ago better than Tony could recall his own life 4 years ago. "Our entire class went to his funeral, and Bucky said I was a baby because I was the only boy who cried."

"You—you cried? Why the hell did you do that? He bullied the crap outta you!"

Steve gave Tony a sad smile.

"But he was still someone I knew, and it scared me a lot. Besides, Tony, he wasn't a bad guy…. He was just a bully."

"And I thought you hated bullies?" Tony said questioningly, raising an eyebrow.

"I certainly don't like them," Steve chuckled, then grew serious, "but I can understand them. Bullies act the way they do for a reason. Usually it's because they've been bullied themselves."

Tony nodded, then smiled and asked cheekily,

"Then why didn't you become a bully yourself once you got all that super-serum strength? You've been bullied enough."

Steve rolled his eyes then looked at Tony sheepishly from beneath his eyelashes.

"I don't think I could be a bully if I tried."

Tony glanced away to murmur,

"Maybe if it was someone you already didn't like…"

Tony was thinking about the way Steve had treated him when they first met, how he still sometimes treated him, almost absentmindedly—like Tony just wasn't good enough. Tony bit his lip, about to tell Steve to leave him alone for the night, when he felt Steve grab a hold of his hand firmly. He looked up and felt his breath catch in his bruised and battered chest. Steve's eyes were firm and set and pouring their solid blue into him as he stared and said,

"I'm not perfect, Tony. I—I can be an idiot like everyone else." He paused and blinked, and Tony got the impression he was thinking over whether or not to add something else. He gave a sniff and apparently decided in the affirmative because he added lowly,

"And I can be selfish… like everyone else, too."

Tony didn't know what the last bit was about, and his head was feeling fuzzy again, because Steve was holding his hand so tightly, and it was warm and big and all Tony needed. Tony felt like he was floating and that one hand was his anchor back down to the earth. Steve had understood to what Tony was referring, and he'd acknowledged it, said that he was an idiot, which Tony didn't agree with at all, but maybe he could sort of see where Steve was coming from, because Tony could be an idiot about things too, a lot of the time, actually.

And suddenly Steve's mouth was on his, soft and gentle and it felt like the first kiss for a moment; like Tony had completely forgotten what kissing Steve was like. Steve pulled away and made to stand and leave, but Tony grabbed the hand that had been holding his and wouldn't let Steve go.

"That story sucked," he said, eyes blurry and throat rough. "Tell me another."

And apparently Steve couldn't deny him, which was all the better in Tony's opinion, because he sat back down and let the slow rumble of his words make their way to Tony's ears—and Tony smiled.

Steve hadn't known what calling Pepper would do, but he knew that Tony needed it.

Steve was tired. He was tired of being Tony's distraction. It'd been fun for a while, really fun, but reality caught up with him in the most inopportune times and untimely ways.

It caught up with him when Tony kissed him; messy, wet, wonderful—the stuff of Steve's wet dreams, really. It caught up with him when Tony would glance at him, that look in his eyes and Steve's pulse would race and he would just lose it completely, like his body was taken over and there was nothing he could do to stop himself. It caught up with him when Tony whimpered or moaned or screamed his name when he came, fingers digging into his back just hard enough to leave scratches. It caught up with him when Tony laughed. It caught up with him when Tony smiled. It caught up with him when Tony got hurt in battle and there was nothing he could do about it because he was weak and Tony would always get hurt because he was Tony.

Reality caught up with him and slapped him hard across the face with the fact that he was irrevocably, drunkenly, stupidly in love with every single thing about Tony.

And all Tony wanted from Steve was a distraction.

It hurt and it was tiring and Steve wondered if Pepper spoke to Tony, if he told Pepper what Tony had told him, if that might make it better, easier. Steve hadn't known what to expect, but he certainly didn't expect Tony to ask him to stay by his side that night, to talk to him.

He hadn't expected to stay, talking and laughing by Tony's side until the sun began to rise outside of Tony's windows.

Steve jumped to his feet, suddenly hyper-aware of the bags underneath Tony's eyes and the bandages around his chest.

"Oh my god, Tony! You need to sleep!"

"I tend to disagree…" Tony started to say, but a yawn interrupted him halfway through. "Okay, you might have a point, Capsicle."

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. He felt like a terrible friend and a worse team captain. He was supposed to look after his team, make sure they were healing and resting properly. Instead he'd spent the whole night mesmerized by Tony's voice and his laugh, and the easiness of their conversations. He hadn't wanted it to end.

"Get some sleep, Tony," he said softly as he moved to the windows to close the curtains.

"Okie-dokie," Tony mumbled, already face-planting into his pillow. "See you later, Capsicle."

Steve chuckled, slowly leaving the room and closing the door behind him. As soon as he exited a wave of exhaustion overcame him. He wasn't sure how he'd fended it off for so long—he usually never got this tired—but now all he wanted to do was sleep, and most likely dream of Tony.

The strange thing was that it happened more than once. The next night, the avengers crowded around Tony on the sofa, deciding that, since he was injured, they could spend some quality, relaxing time together while he healed. They argued over a movie to watch, but settled on the Lord of the Rings trilogy so they wouldn't have to argue over movies again for at least three films.

Bruce left first, in the middle of Fellowship, saying something about wanting to finish a book he'd been reading. Thor went next, once Two Towers had ended, claiming that his warrior spirit couldn't remain motionless for more than six hours. Clint and Natasha silently made their way out not long after that.

Steve and Tony alone finished Return of the King. As soon as the credits started rolling, Steve turned to Tony, exclaiming,

"Wow! Those movies were really good. I think I'll have to borrow the books from Bruce now."

"I have them," Tony said, sipping bottled cranberry juice so at least he had something to drink. "You can borrow them from me."

"That would be great," Steve replied, cheerful despite the fact that it was nearly 4:30 in the morning. They'd started watching late, and they were not short films. Not to mention they'd had to pause more than a few times for bathroom breaks.

But now it was just Steve and Tony, alone again, right on the edge of night and morning—and neither of them wanted the night to end.

Tony started talking about Lord of the Rings, little tidbits and factoids he knew because he was Tony Stark. Like, how Stark Industries was helping fund the newest Hobbit movie being made, which interested Steve a whole lot because he'd read that book before the war. He told Tony about how hard it'd been for Bucky to get a hold of it, but he'd known Steve would like it, so he got it for him for christmas. Steve added that he'd felt bad that year, because he'd only given Bucky a crappy drawing.

"Not that he would ever admit it was crappy," Steve said, rolling his eyes; eyes that held that special fondness that was only ever there when Steve talked about his old friend.

"I'll bet it was a masterpiece," Tony replied, nodding his head seriously.

Steve seemed to blush slightly at this, though his expression remained unconvinced.

"It was the first drawing I ever showed anyone," Steve said softly. "It was a picture of this dog that lived near our apartment complex. It was a stray, and a ratty looking thing, but Bucky and I would always pet it if it was around. Sometimes we even gave it some scraps if we could."

Tony chuckled, imagining two depression-era kids feeding scraps of their own meager meals to a back-alley mutt. Only Steve Rogers. The guy was clearly born to be Captain America. He tried to ignore the familiar, dull ache of guilt that all people born with a silver spoon feel from time to time. It became much harder when he associated with people like Steve.

"Do you still draw, Steve?" Tony asked, the thought just occurring to him as he glanced at Steve's large, calloused hands and tried to imagine a pencil or piece of chalk in them.

Steve definitely blushed this time.

"Sometimes," he admitted hesitantly. "I have a sketchbook. It was one of the first things I bought when I woke up."

"What do you draw?" Tony asked with one eyebrow raised, genuinely interested. "That one punching bag you like so much? Or whatever evil monster has decided to destroy us next?"

"Why would I draw that?" Steve blanched, and shook his head. He wasn't exactly sure how to answer Tony. He didn't think he should tell him about drawing everything he saw in his flashbacks, which did comprise about half of his sketchbook at this point. His USO tours, fighting Redskull, Bucky, Peggy, even Col. Phillips; all of those things seemed a little personal, not to mention a bit of a downer. He also didn't think he should mention the few sketches he had of Tony, or the fact that those few sketches had multiplied since they started… whatever it was they were doing.

He felt himself glance at Tony's neck, as appealing as it always looked, and remembered very suddenly the sensation of biting the skin just below Tony's ears. He swallowed and hoped Tony didn't notice the flush to his face.

No, he definitely couldn't tell Tony about all of the drawings he'd done of the other man's neck—or, of any part of Tony's body, because unfortunately, there were rather a lot. He cleared his throat.

"I draw the team, sometimes. You know, just doing stuff. And I draw the city as I can see it from my room." This wasn't a lie, Steve determined, he was just leaving some stuff out.

"I'd love to see them some time," Tony said lowly, and Steve snapped his head up to look at Tony with wide eyes. The room was suddenly feeling warmer, and he reminded himself that Tony was still injured so there was no way Tony was giving him that look as an invitation.

Steve started to laugh, but it just turned into an awkward cough and he stood from the cough, offering a hand to Tony to help him stand up.

"We should go to bed," Steve asserted, instantly releasing Tony's hand once the other man was firmly on his feet. He was glad he managed to say that instead of what his little brain was wanting him to say, which was something like, "if you're going to keep giving me that look, you'd better be able to back it up." Because that was something he would say if Tony kept looking at him like that, making his head go all weird and his inhibitions fly out the window. It wasn't a bad feeling, but it was certainly unusual.

"Night, Tony," Steve managed to say before sprinting off upstairs to collapse on his bed and eventually make it to sleep.

This somehow happened again and again whilst Tony was healing; he and Steve staying up together, talking til morning. Steve wasn't sure why it was happening, he just knew that when it started, it was really hard to pull himself away and stop.

He did everything he could not to let it get to him, but it was mostly useless. By the time Tony was better, Steve was twice as in love as he had been before.

Tony came down the stairs late in the evening, stretching and cracking his neck. Steve was in the kitchen with Clint and Bruce, all looking up as Tony entered with a bright smirk on his lips.

"All better, Stark?" Clint asked, his eyes scanning the back of the newspaper held firmly in Bruce's hands.

"How can you read that?" Tony asked, squinting at the print that Clint was reading with ease. "And yes, I am. It wasn't the worst recovery I've ever been through."

"I'd think not," Clint replied with a smirk. "What with all those late nights with Rogers."

Steve felt himself flush and determinedly look the other direction so not to catch Bruce's knowing eye. He found himself looking in Tony's direction instead, which meant Tony could smirk directly at him and wink as he said,

"Yeah, Cap was a great distraction. Woulda been bored outta my mind if not for his lovely stories."

Steve flinched. He sincerely hoped no one noticed, though they all seemed to notice when he quickly slid out of the room right after that without a word. Tony seemed the most upset, his face a confused frown as his gaze followed Steve out the door.

A distraction.

Steve probably deserved that. No, he definitely deserved that.

From the moment he'd said it down in Tony's workshop, Steve had regretted it. This wasn't the first time Tony had used it against him, though this time seemed different, like Tony hadn't even realized what he was saying—but somehow that hurt Steve more.

It was one thing to be a distraction with sex, but it was another to be a distraction by simply staying with Tony when Tony asked him too. Steve had been absurdly happy the last few days, slightly horny too, but happy. And apparently all it'd been to Tony was distraction.

Steve swallowed. He definitely couldn't do this anymore. Tony was better now, and Steve just knew that the next time Tony looked at him like that, he was sure to blurt something out that neither he nor Tony wanted to hear. Steve couldn't let that happen. It had to end.

It didn't take long for Tony to go after Steve once the larger man had fled from the kitchen. He just waited long enough not to seem suspicious to Bruce or Clint (futile, though he didn't know this), and followed Steve up the stairs and to the super soldiers room. He knocked on the door as he opened it tentatively, unsure what he might find inside. Steve had clearly left the kitchen in a hurry earlier, though Tony didn't really know why.

"Come on in, Tony," Steve said, but he sounded hesitant.

As soon as Tony saw him he felt his brain start to melt in the way it always did when Steve was around. The last few days had been hard on him, because he kept getting that feeling and, it was nice, no doubt, but Tony wanted a little bit more. He wanted to touch Steve, or for Steve to touch him, because that's when the feeling of floating really took over.

His eyes narrowed to hungry slits and he had to stop himself from licking his lips, until he saw Steve's face, that is. Steve didn't look like he was in the same mood that Tony was, with his tense shoulders and pinched, unhappy expression. Tony faltered, asking tentatively,

"Steve? Cap? What's, uh, what's eating you?"

Steve shook his head and made a face Tony was very familiar with; it was the face one makes when one is trying to hide an unpleasant expression with a nicer, friendlier one. Tony hated doing it himself, though he was a bit of a professional, and he hated seeing it on Steve even more.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Steve began, looking right at Tony though he obviously didn't want to. Tony assumed he was too used to staring things straight in the face to look away now. Steve licked his lips and swallowed. Tony just waited.

"You've been doing a lot better lately," he continued finally, nodding and smiling a strained smile. "With your drinking detox, I mean." He inhaled a deep breath and, still smiling, added, "I'm officially deeming you 'Avenging able.' You're back on the team. And I don't have any worries that you might try what you did again, so I'm taking you off suicide watch, though you aren't allowed to take out that addition to your reactor, just in case."

That pinched expression returned to his face, then faded just as quickly as it appeared.

"I was just on my way to the gym, so, see you around, Tony."

He started to walk past Tony and out of the room, and in that moment it hit Tony what Steve was saying to him. Steve was telling him there would be no more them. And Tony simply hadn't seen it coming.

He liked the way Steve made him feel; though sometimes there was hurt when he remembered that he didn't deserve Steve, that he wasn't good enough because Steve was Steve, but he didn't care about that hurt when he got that disorienting feeling when Steve was around him. He liked talking with Steve, teasing him and flirting with him; it came so easily and it made his heart beat faster, even if there wasn't any sex involved. And then if there was, his heart raced, bounded out of his chest, and he just lost his mind and he loved that feeling and he wasn't sure he could live without it now. He was addicted to that feeling, and Steve was taking it away, was taking all of it away.

"No," he said softly, and Steve froze halfway out the door. Tony saw him place a hand on the doorframe, head low and without turning around.

"Yes," Steve replied in his captain's voice, lower and more gentle than Tony had ever heard it—but it was still a command.

But Tony had never been very good at following commands.

"Fuck you, Steve," he hissed, grinding his teeth together as he strode across the room and grabbed a hold of Steve's wrist, yanking his arm as hard as he could, pulling him back inside the room. Steve fought him, but barely. Tony thought he heard a low groan escape Steve's lips, but it was hard to tell with all the blood pounding in his ears.

And damn it, he didn't want to be angry anymore! Why couldn't Steve just understand that?

"Tony," Steve began as Tony pushed him against the wall. "You need to understand—"

"What? That distracting me was fun while it lasted but now it just isn't anymore?"

"No!" Steve asserted, voice suddenly low and gruff, the sound pulsing straight through Tony. Steve was panting heavily, looking to the right and left of Tony, expression changing rapidly between fear and anger and frustration until finally he just growled and reached both hands up to grab possessively at Tony's hair.

"Tony, you just—dammit! I can't think when I'm with you!"

If Tony wasn't so caught up in the feeling of Steve's hands pulling at his hair he might have thought to agree with that particular statement. Steve jerked Tony's head back, revealing the exposed skin of his neck. He ran his teeth along it, earning a long, drawn out moan from Tony that made the throat Steve was biting vibrate.

"I just—" he said through kisses and an exploring tongue, "This is all my fault—fuck—and I was trying to—"

"Steve, oh god," Tony mewled as Steve's leg came up between his, grinding his cock through his pants. How was he already so turned on?

"I thought I could end it before, before it got out—out of hand, and—hnnng—you just had to ruin everything and—why can't you listen?"

Tony wasn't even sure what Steve was trying to say at this point, all he could hear was the frustration ringing in his ears and shivering down his spine. He'd gone without Steve for too long, but how was that possible? He'd lived his whole life without Steve fucking him, why was it so important now?

"Ahh, shit!" he cursed, and he remembered, because Steve made him feel like he was floating and impervious and—Steve was still talking, Tony felt like it was important, he tried to pay attention as Steve licked along the shell of his ear.

"I know, I know I was just supposed to be a distraction, and I can do it, Tony, I really can, I just—not when you, shit, what am I saying? When you smile at me like that, a—and laugh and tell me to stay with you until morning, I can't bear that, Tony. I'm only human, and you—you make me feel all dizzy and tipsy and khaki wacky—"

Tony let out a sudden hysterical giggle, which threw Steve off enough for him to ask,

"What?"

"Khaki wacky," Tony repeated, still chuckling breathlessly, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

Steve blushed, feeling like he was riding a cloud, despite all the things he was trying to stop himself from spilling to Tony while he was riding his high. He'd tried, he really had.

"P—people say khaki wacky," he asserted, scowling as his hands fell loosely to Tony's waist. Tony just shook his head, chest still bouncing with giggles.

"Only old men from the forties, Stevie. I don't even know what that means."

Steve wasn't sure he could blush any deeper.

"I—it means boy crazy, okay?" he spat, carefully avoiding Tony's eyes.

Tony's smirk was, predictably, a mile wide upon hearing that.

"Boy crazy, huh?"

Steve let out a long sigh. Thank god Tony had laughed right then, because he had been so close to saying those three little words and he could not, could not let himself do that. He pulled away from Tony and the wall, making Tony pout and give a small whine.

"I was on my way to the gym," he said, glaring playfully at Tony. Tony rolled his eyes.

"I can think of another way to burn some calories."

"I'm sure you can," Steve murmured through his teeth, shaking his head. "But I'm not trying to burn calories, I'm maintaining muscle mass."

"Number 1: You could probably avoid the gym for the rest of your life and still manage to stay fit, and number 2: you could hold me up while you fuck me, that would maintain your muscle mass. Trust me, I'm all for maintaining your muscle mass," Tony said, patting Steve's bicep appreciatively. Steve just pushed his hand away and rolled his eyes.

"Going to the gym now."

"Well, maybe I'm going to the gym now too."

"Don't, Tony," Steve said firmly.

"Why?" Tony smirked. "Would I distract you?"

Steve felt his cheek twitch. That really wasn't what he wanted to hear right now.

"Yes," he growled, and Tony's eyes widened the smallest of fractions. Steve instantly regretted his frustrated response; Tony looked almost frightened. But, maybe that was what Tony needed. Maybe now Tony would listen.

"Tony," Steve began slowly. "I already told you earlier, your detoxing is going fine. You seemed perfectly capable of dealing with it on your own. You don't need me… distracting you anymore, okay?"

Steve couldn't force himself to look at Tony's face after that, no matter how hard he tried. There was just silence and the pinching pain in Steve's chest. He knew it was stupid, stupid for him to want Tony so badly, for him to want Tony to want him so badly. He shouldn't feel so lost at the thought of never being able to touch Tony again—but it was for the best, because he knew that if he did touch Tony again, everything would be lost, and he wouldn't even be able to be Tony's friend anymore, of that he was sure.

"You really meant it," Tony said in a breathless hush. "You were serious this whole time."

And Steve hadn't been expecting a reaction like that. He thought Tony would be angry with him, maybe pout for a little while, then he would move on. Steve was ready for that; he was ready to fade into the background of Tony's life.

But he couldn't stand the way Tony's voice shook when he spoke. He turned cautious eyes on the billionaire whose arms were folded protectively over his chest.

"All along, I thought, maybe—because you're, well, you! I always assumed that you couldn't do the whole 'sex without strings' thing, but—" he shook his head like he was suddenly coming to terms with himself. "I thought, it was stupid I guess, that you felt, maybe, something? But no, I get it, it's fine, I just—"

Tony was smirking at him, but it didn't reach his eyes and when Tony spoke his voice was fake, though his words were not.

"You think I'm all fine now, but you're wrong, you know."

Steve didn't reply. He was cursing himself; he should have run the moment he'd had a chance. He knew how slick Tony was with words, and he was weak, it wouldn't even be that hard for Tony to make him stay. He'd been stupidly hopeful, he'd seen that now, hoping that Tony wouldn't accept his ultimatum and would talk Steve into staying. But even though he'd wanted it, he knew it was wrong, he knew what he would do if Tony so much as crooned his name in that devilish voice of his.

Because Tony was right; from the very beginning it had never just been sex without strings. It was Steve's own stupid fault this all started, and he was trying to finish it and with just a few words Tony managed to tear apart every plan he'd made.

"Don't go, Cap."

"Dammit, Tony," Steve hissed, hand firm against the wall. And then he asked the question that was burning through him like a boiling water. "Why?"

He hadn't expected Tony to answer, but Tony was defying his expectations tonight and he answered almost instantly,

"Because I can't do anything without you anymore. You—you do something to me, I dunno, you make me feel better. It's like, what'd you say? Khaki wacky."

Steve let out something between a laugh and a sob, shaking his head and thinking about glad he was that he fell in love with Tony, despite it all.

"Cap, a—are you going to say anything here, because this is really hard for me, okay?" Tony muttered, and Steve finally looked up to see Tony run a hand through his messy hair, eyebrows pinched and anxious as he bit his lip.

"Tell me more about what I do to you," he said, reaching a slightly shaking hand out to brush Tony's fingertips. Tony took his hand and held tight, shaking his head as he replied,

"No way, you'll have to make me do that."

Steve grinned, head floating up into the clouds because maybe… maybe he could do it. Maybe he could resist whatever ability Tony had over him that made him lose his senses and just keep doing this, just keep things the way they were.

He pulled Tony, walking them over to the bed where he threw the other man onto the blankets, leaning over him and planting a kiss as he did.

"Tell me," he demanded, nipping at ear as his hands moved slowly underneath Tony's shirt. He caught something like fear in Tony's eyes, but it passed as pleasure overwhelmed him and he mewled,

"You make my head spin, and shit, you make me forget."

"Forget what?" Steve asked, gently moving one hand underneath Tony's body and up his spine. Tony groaned, arching and closing his eyes as Steve made a mark just below his chin.

"Everything, Steve! Nothing matters but you," he gasped.

Steve's heart caught in his throat. Tony was, he was just saying these things because of the way Steve was making him feel. That was why he hadn't wanted he and Steve to stop, because he liked the way Steve made him feel. Steve tried to ignore how much it sounded like a confession, because he knew it wasn't. He knew that Tony wanted to keep it the way it was, but in Steve's clouded, blurred mind all he wanted was Tony's everything. He didn't want things to stay that same, he wanted Tony to know how he felt, but he couldn't say it, he wouldn't end it like that.

He just moaned as Tony's hands worked open his belt and palmed him through his pants. Tony was hurried, rushing trying to get Steve undressed and inside him, he was saying it, talking in hushed tones about how much he wanted Steve inside him, but Steve had other plans.

If he couldn't tell Tony how he felt, he would show him.

Steve stilled Tony's hands with his own, lacing their fingers together. He then held Tony's squirming legs beneath his own, stilling their movements as he bent over the smaller man and stopped his mouth with a long, slow kiss. When he pulled back Tony gasped, eyes dazed, and he said breathlessly,

"Slow today, Tony."

Tony appeared confused by this, but he couldn't argue as Steve kissed him again, deeper this time, sucking at Tony's tongue hard as he let go of Tony's hands in order to move his own underneath Tony's shirt again.

This time he let his fingers roam across Tony's torso, sometimes gentle and something digging in hard, making Tony gasp in surprise—but he continued to move slow the whole time until he had worked his hands up to the top of Tony's ribs. He nosed at Tony's throat while lifting the shirt up past his stomach. As he pulled it slowly over Tony's shoulders, Steve moved his head down to press his lips delicately along the skin around Tony's navel.

He felt Tony shudder beneath him and try to arch up into Steve in order to get some contact. Steve forcefully pushed him back into the bed, dipping his tongue out of his mouth to trace a line of burning hot up towards the center of Tony's chest where the rector lie, glowing bright in the dark room.

"Hah!" Tony gasped when Steve's tongue trailed across one of his nipples. And then, once Steve got his shirt completely off and tossed somewhere onto the floor, Tony seemed to get it.

They locked eyes, then Tony's gaze flickered and he inhaled as he brought a hand up to tentatively help Steve peel his shirt over his head, just as slowly as Steve had taken his off. And as Steve tossed it over the side of the bed, Tony gently bent forward, lips just barely brushing the skin at Steve's collarbone. He let his lips graze over it lightly, reverently; Steve could feel every breath Tony took break against his flesh.

Steve swallowed, breathing in the scent of Tony's hair as he slowly moved his hands lower and lower, dragging them down the length of Tony's sides.

"You do distract me, you know," Tony purred, his breath hitching as Steve's fingers paused just below his pant's waistline. "But not—not this way."

He exhaled and Steve held his breath, unbearable heat burning just below his gut. It took every bit of restraint in him to take this slow, but he wanted it, he wanted Tony to feel every move he made because every gentle caress was like a confession, if Tony would just listen.

Tony's finger's dug into Steve's back as he murmured,

"Sometimes I—I'd start thinking about you," he swallowed, obviously nervous but unable to stop the words pouring out of his mouth, "and I wouldn't be able to stop. Couldn't get a damn thing done that way."

His words were almost slurred, and Steve felt his chest ache. He just wanted to tell Tony, he did, but instead what came out was a low,

"I never should have offered to be a distraction."

"What?" Tony asked, looking up at Steve's face suddenly. "Why not?"

"It was selfish," Steve smiled down at him sadly, hands a little firmer on Tony's waist. "I just wanted—I wanted you so badly."

Tony was silent and unmoving against Steve, and the words kept pouring out, he couldn't stop them either,

"It just slipped out, Tony, and I—I know it made you mad, in the beginning. I'm sorry I ever said it, I really am!"

"Steve," Tony said, voice like glass, sharp but easy to break. "If you think I still want this kind of distraction you're wrong, you're dead fucking wrong." Tony was gripping Steve's shoulder tight, looking straight into his eyes. Steve could see a hundred things in those eyes. There was determination, and fear, and lust, and Tony looked like glass too, when he said, voice shaky and loud,

"It's not about my alcoholism or my stupidity anymore. This," he gestured between Steve and himself, squeezing the hand on Steve's shoulder. "This isn't a distraction anymore, Steve."

Steve just stared at him and bit his lip. His eyes were blurring with the effort he was exerting to keep himself from professing every little bit of his love for Tony. He managed to open his mouth a tiny bit just to ask softly,

"What is it?"

Tony shook his head, something like panic flitting across his face, then he just lunged forward, arms wrapping around Steve's neck as their lips came together in a kiss, a sweet, demanding kiss that intoxicated them both when they pulled away and Tony murmured against Steve's mouth,

"This is stupid, I don't deserve you… and I can't think when I'm around you!" Steve thought he felt Tony's lips turn up in the smallest of smiles as he added quietly, "But I can't do anything when I'm not around you, Steve."

There was quiet, and then Tony kept talking, his voice light and practically giddy as he said,

"Jesus, are you hearing me right now? What am I talking about? See, you do this to me! I wouldn't ever be saying any of this if it weren't for you!"

Steve laughed, soft against Tony's cheek. He kissed the edge of Tony's goatee then kissed all along Tony's jaw until he reached his ear, where he whispered softly,

"You distract me too, you know? I can't draw anything but you these days. I pick up my pencil and all I see is you."

"That doesn't sound like distraction," Tony replied with a small smirk. "That's inspiration."

Steve laughed, slipping his hands lower into Tony's pants, making the other man shift in surprise. Steve wondered where this unusual high he was feeling came from, but he kind of thought it'd always been there. He wasn't sure he would ever stop loving Tony's teasing jokes; it was amazing to think that he'd hated them when they first met.

Steve suddenly pushed Tony down onto the bed. Tony looked surprised at first, then his eyelids lowered and he looked up at Steve through his lashes, licking his lips in the most obscene way possible. Steve couldn't help but lean down and taste those lips for himself.

They still went slow, Steve teasing Tony out of his jeans as Tony sucked on his neck, leaving marks that everyone would most definitely see the next day. Steve expected Tony to get annoyed with the way he slowly worked his hands down Tony's body, tracing the skin around his cock before ever touching it; but, again, Tony defied expectation and was surprisingly quiet as Steve slowly and carefully prepared him, reacting more with his body than his voice. He would still gasp and mewl when Steve touched his most sensitive places, but it was the fingers and teeth scraping over his skin that seemed the loudest to Steve.

When Steve entered the first finger, Tony bucked off the bed and Steve had to force his hips back down, but Tony didn't beg like usual; he just moved his body so the fingers went deeper, probably bruising Steve when one ghosted over his prostate.

Eventually, Steve couldn't handle the desire to enter Tony any longer. Still, he slowly rolled the condom onto himself and positioned his length at Tony's entrance, both of them holding their breaths as he pressed his hips forward. Tony let out a long, drawn-out groan that was mirrored by Steve as he moved slowly inside. When he was finally all the way in, Tony exhaled deeply, looking up at Steve and saying through a weak smile,

"Slow. Slow's not so bad."

Steve grinned, throwing his head back when Tony involuntarily clenched around him.

They both took a minute to breathe then locked eyes and Steve pushed his hips into Tony's, stars blurring his eyes as pleasure rocked him. Tony locked his legs behind him and Steve made sure he was braced on either side of Tony's shoulders. Tony's arms were above his head, hands gripping the pillows like he was about to rip them apart as Steve thrust again, slow and mesmerizing, creating a rhythm that Tony started to match, both of them soon lost in the throws of their mutual pursuit.

Tony groaned as each thrust resonated inside him, his mind turned to nothing but gentle fire and the color of sedated passion. Steve wouldn't let himself or Tony come; he wanted it to last as long as possible.

"Steve," Tony gasped once they were both dripping with sweat and so close to the edge that every thrust could be the last. Steve opened the eyes that he'd closed to just concentrate on the feeling of being inside Tony, seeing Tony look up at him, eyes watering and jaw clenched.

"Steve," he repeated, more ardently, tossing his head back as his body shook with the force of his climax. Steve thrust in deeply as he rode it out, then Tony's body grew listless, his chest heaving with the force of his heavy breathing; but his eyes were still locked on Steve's, and it only took a few more thrusts before Steve felt his own release building.

He bent over Tony's body as he came, unable to stop the gasped phrase that slipped from his lips into Tony's ear,

"I love you."

Steve awoke a few hours later, the sun just peaking up over the horizon. He wondered how long they'd gone at it. He felt sore, his whole body; but his head felt a particular kind of soreness as he recalled the last thing he'd managed to say before both he and Tony passed out on the bed.

He sat up abruptly only to see Tony already awake and staring out the window, back facing Steve. He didn't give any reaction to Steve waking up, which made Steve's stomach clench up with fear. He tried to calm down; at least Tony hadn't left altogether, he was still in the bed, probably waiting for Steve to wake up.

Steve took a deep breath. There was still time to do damage control. He could fix this.

"Tony" he asked, and Tony grunted to show he heard. "I—uh, last night, we were both saying some…things." He paused, almost unsure how to continue. Fortunately, Tony spoke so he didn't have to.

"I figure it out, Cap," he said, still facing the windows, back hunched his shoulders rising even closer to his ears as he spoke. "I finally made the connection."

"What connection?" Steve asked gently.

"What I feel when I'm with you."

Steve frowned, sitting up a bit straighter.

"I don't think I understand," he said, and Tony finally turned to him, expression sour, cynical, and everything Steve loathed to see Tony's face.

"Being around you makes me feel drunk," Tony deadpanned, blinking unenthusiastically at Steve's confused reaction.

Because Steve was confused. Here he thought Tony was upset about Steve's confession the night before, or the entire thing they'd done, or really, anything Steve might have done that would upset him; but Tony had other things on his mind, and Steve didn't know how to handle something like this.

Tony said being around him made him feel drunk. Steve thought about it for a moment, and just as Tony angrily shook his head and was about to get out of the bed, Steve said candidly,

"But I feel the same way, Tony."

Steve saw Tony's eyes widen the smallest of fractions, and he grabbed a hold of Tony's wrist, pulling him closer and holding him there so he couldn't run away.

"You think I would have said half of that stuff last night if my head hadn't been turned to soup just because you were kissing me? You make my inhibitions fly out the window just by being around! I haven't been properly drunk in years, so you tell me: isn't that what it feels like?"

Tony's eyes were definitely wide then, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to process what Steve was saying. After a minute he glanced down, stuttering sheepishly,

"B—but I was trying to quit drinking—"

"Do I look like a glass of scotch to you?" Steve replied smartly, earning a slight grin from Tony, but it quickly faded as he said,

"I'm a bad drunk, Steve, I—"

"You didn't seem so bad last night," Steve murmured into Tony's skin, planting a kiss on Tony's shoulder, his heart pounding. "Maybe you've never been the right kind of drunk before."

Finally Tony seemed to crack. His body relaxed and his smile, though reserved, was genuine.

"And what kind of drunk would you propose I be?" He asked, leaning against Steve's chest and looking up at him beneath dark eyelashes. He smirked. "Love drunk?"

Steve blushed deep red.

"I—I said I—"

"Me too," Tony whispered, as though hoping no one would hear him.

Steve froze, desperately trying to catch the gaze that Tony was actively trying to avoid. After a minute Tony shrugged.

"You've distracted me enough to make me realize that by now."

Steve couldn't help it; he laughed, pulling Tony tight to his chest and kissing everywhere he could touch. Tony laughed too and kissed him back.

Steve felt giddy, lightheaded, and ridiculously optimistic. As he glanced at Tony, skin glowing in the light of the rising sun, he had a feeling he should probably get used to it.

They both still had mountains of insecurities to move between them, but in that moment, they were nothing but two idiots drunk off of nothing but each other.

End.