Certainly someone in PR is getting fired but that's a problem for tomorrow. His problem right now is excusing himself from the goodwill holiday party he doesn't really remember agreeing to go to- which he was going to do anyway- and getting in his car. He's had a glass of scotch. Maybe two. Still confident enough to drive. But that might account for why he's making such a big fuss about this. Steve's a big boy, he can handle himself. But he shouldn't have to.
Pepper will give him flak later, he knows, for the way he unceremoniously drops his glass down on the bar and then checks his watch like he has anywhere else to be. He's actually calculating the time it's going to take him to get from one event to the other. She's probably also already mad that he was texting most of the evening. Again. Tomorrow problems.
FRIDAY has already served him up Steve's location, not that it's a secret. There are about a hundred socialite twitter posts dripping with glee that Captain America is at the party they're at and what a hunk of meat he is. People have no shame anymore. And that's coming from someone who was practically born without any sense of the word.
He's out the door in the next ten minutes after excusing himself from a crowd that started to gather, mostly because these people have the sense for when Tony Stark is about to serve a standard Irish goodbye and they're trained to try and stop it. But they can't. It's inevitable, like it always is. Once Tony makes up his mind it's over.
Steve gets a text another five minutes after that which will have been fifteen minutes of lapsed silence, but he's safely behind the wheel of his car now and feeling a little more in control.
On my way to you. Post up somewhere visible.
If for no other reason that he's going to make an example out of someone tonight. Steve doesn't belong to him but he doesn't belong to the world at large, either. And certainly not to handsy trustfund babies and trophy wives. The fact that there's a rather large possessive river running through him is thoroughly ignored. It's not about that and probably never will be. It's about the principle of the thing. And nothing else.
When the first text comes in, Steve is distracted by the fact that he has definitely touched Tony in all those places and handed him something on at least a few occasions. He’s not sure which is worse; that he had just not noticed that Tony hates it, or Tony had endured it and chosen not to say anything for whatever reason.
His attention is dragged back to more immediate problems when another tipsy socialite stops by to say hello, a clap on the shoulder lingering to drift all the way down his back. It’s not as bold as the one who blatantly felt him up as she leaned into him, only to be offended and deny it when he asked her to stop. This guy still has the nerve to grin as Steve excuses himself to answer the latest message.
Maybe the choice to go with a tuxedo instead of his dress uniform had been a mistake. Not that he’s feeling particularly charitable about the military these days, though he suspects it might have at least given people more pause. The flurry of picture taking has barely slowed down since he arrived. People have been finding excuses to touch him all evening. He doesn’t particularly like it, but it’s something he’s used as a part of being Captain America. The more shameless ones are what’s fraying his temper.
Tony’s response makes his eyebrows rise. It says something about how far they’ve come that Steve’s initial reaction, aside from relief, is intrigue. He might not have been around for the heyday of Tony Stark Making a Scene, but he’s learned that it never happens just for the hell of it.
Before he can start tapping out a reply, one of the party hosts appears at his elbow, all shimmering makeup and dizzying perfume. Steve had chosen this particular event because they’re donating a sizeable amount to causes he cares about. He tries to keep that in mind as she tugs him over to meet a group of people who smile at him the same way Thor does at a buffet.
His phone buzzes in his pocket eventually but he never gets a chance to look, having to pose for more photos and drawn into a somewhat interesting conversation with the hostess still clinging to his arm. They’re right in the center of the room, which is why it’s easy to tell when the general murmur of the room picks up, heads turning toward the entrance.
At the wheel, as he speeds down streets and takes corners sharply Tony feels more in control, something that felt like it had been swiped from him touch after touch. He puts up with a lot, more than he would like. But he really doesn't like being approached. It had started a while ago. A long time ago. But he gets through events by telling himself he's used to it. By cringing away from touches and standing tall, shoulders back and putting on a good mask. The mask is still what he's best at.
So he feels a little frazzled, and maybe that's why he's out to cause a problem. Make a scene, as he'd said. Because he bets Steve is just there in that room full of people sipping away his autonomy touch by touch and he's not doing much about it. He's probably taking it. Because they're in polite society with deep pockets.
Well. Tony really doesn't like the idea of that. And he won't have it.
Outside the venue entrance people are still milling about even in the chilly weather because there are always people outside events like these. If not starry-eyed onlookers, then it's the press. Who immediately turn their attention to the roar of his engine as he comes in. His cars are easy to identify, license place of this one Stark4. He comes to a halt right in front of the valet, getting out of the car while shutters start flickering brightly and people call for his attention, tossing his keys to the kid at the stand. "You can take her to the garage but I'll be back soon." He's not sure yet if he plans on staying long with Steve, just long enough to leave an impression.
Up the carpeted stairs set out to look like a runway, he struts with his usual sense of purpose. He's not running to Steve but he is in a hurry. He also wasn't invited to this particular event, or maybe he turned down their RSVP, or- who even knows. He doesn't really handle that sort of thing himself anymore because if he did he'd never go to any of them. Whatever his invitational status, the security at the door take one look at him and open the doors right up. It's a few paces from the main hall to the party room, and already he feels he has a handle on things.
Right until he catches the sight of someone perched at Steve's side, arms practically wrapped around his like she might drag him upstairs to a bedroom in just another moment. Again there's this dark streak of something. It's not jealousy, he tells himself. It's- ...offense, which surely it is. On Steve's behalf, of course. And there are others, he sees them in the few seconds as the front of the room turns their attention and the usual squealing gatherers start rounding up to him. There are other people vying for Steve's attention in that small circle, reaching out to pet at him like he's some well trained zoo animal on loan.
He raises his voice to answer people's ecstatic greetings, but it's not shouting, it's just projecting. He takes command of the room because it's his now. He's here and he could buy this entire building right now if he wanted and order everyone out of it. But that's dramatic and he's a little more clever than that.
It takes a few more measly moments to part the sea that's formed around him as he steps forward, piercing the tight social bubble of the small crowd in the center of the room. The hostess says his name like she knows him and she very well might but he has no recollection. And then she takes stock of what's happening. Tony Stark has just stormed into her party and made a beeline towards the only other Avenger in the immediate vicinity so she has the good grace, after her cutesy greeting, to ask, "Is there... trouble?"
But there's something nonchalant and indignant about it. Like there shouldn't be. Not when she's having a good time. And if she has to suffer having her star player taken from her she might not be very happy about it.
Unfortunately for her, Tony's a bigger brat by far. With a staggering amount of crisp charm backed with one of those sharp grins he simply says, "We'll see, won't we." Which is a threat. Everyone hears it like one. This will be gossip come tomorrow. But. Well. Tony did say he was out to make a scene. Which is why he's not done yet, as he arches a brow and dresses her down just a few more rungs. "Would you mind taking your hands off my merchandise? You hang on any tighter and he might lose circulation." There's a quiet few snorts behind suddenly upturned hands. Never mind that Tony said my. He didn't hear it.
She lets go, flushing in embarrassment, or maybe it's anger. It's hard for Tony to differentiate at this stage and in the next few seconds it won't matter at all. "Well, if you-"
And that's really it. Instead he puts a hand at the small of Steve's back, attention focused solely on him like all the other people in the room had suddenly dissolved. It's a quick touch, one and done, returning his hands to his pockets immediately after. His head nods towards the bar, "Get a drink with me. I wanna talk to you before we leave." It's not a request, and the grin he aims Steve's way is far softer than the one he stormed in with. It also further separates the two of them from the bodies around them, he and Steve belong to themselves now and they won't be bothered. They'll also be leaving soon.
It’s one thing to know that Tony is on the way. It’s another to hear him heralded by whispers and camera shutters, the attention of an entire ballroom shifting as the man appears.
The hostess’ grip on Steve’s arm tightens and she huddles closer. On his other side, a man who had been making small talk pauses and laughs, low and pleased. “Oh, this is an interesting turn of events. Is he here for you, Captain?”
Someone else clutches at his sleeve. “Are we in danger?”
Steve doesn’t respond or even look away as a crowd starts to form around Tony. He thought he had seen Tony in his element before, in the workshop or even in the armor. This is different, like watching all of Howard’s careless charm tempered by something harder, a foregone conclusion rather than a bid for attention. The way he approaches reminds Steve of a scene from a nature documentary, a shark moving through schools of fish.
When Steve had sent the text, it had meant to be commiserating more than anything else, that they were in the same uncomfortable boat. Tony had said, warned really, that he was going to make a scene. This isn’t the kind of big, flashy distraction Steve had been expecting.
The exchange between Tony and the hostess-- she has a name, Steve cannot for the life of him remember it right now-- has heads turning, phones raising. Tony's words should be insulting. Steve isn't anybody's merchandise, for all that everyone seems to feel entitled to Captain America. But the way Tony says it makes something still in the back of Steve's mind, any response he had dying on his lips.
Is he here for you?
The touch is brief, barely more than a nudge, more welcome than anything else this evening. Tony’s gaze is softer now, but all that focus makes it crackle across Steve’s skin like static. He manages a curt “excuse us” before they head to the bar.
He’s suddenly very aware that anything they say or do here will be everywhere within seconds. Any scene he would have made probably pales in comparison to what’s happening right now.
"Can we-" He takes a breath, ducks his head to be closer so that Tony can hear when he says quietly, "Can we just go home?"
People are definitely talking, and they're doing their best version of pretending not to stare. All angled away but taking glances from the corners of their eyes or passing turns over their shoulders. Rich people love gossip. That's definitely what this is about to turn into. Tony Stark just, more or less, stormed into this woman's party (Tony still can't recall her name and he doesn't care to make the attempt at this point), waltzed right up to Captain Steve Rogers, and stole him away. There's something going on and every body in the room is electrified wondering what it might be.
Immediately at the bar, Tony orders a scotch, and then reaches into his pocket to shed a hundred dollar bill from a bundle of them, tipping it into a large glass full of money. It'll take only a second for the bartender to pour him his drink, but in that time Steve is making a request.
Tony tips his head up, brow arching when Steve dips further in to ask him something privately. Which is hard to do considering what's happening. For that reason Tony can't help the way he smirks, but it's gentle. There's no malice there, certainly none directed at Steve. He's amused and in control right now. "I'm not done making a scene yet." This is part of it, according to him apparently, and the second his drink gets put down he takes it hand and then sips at it.
Quieter then, though, he murmurs back to Steve, "We don't wanna look like we're running. Because we're not." Which seems important to him. But it is. If he just comes into the party and absconds with Steve it looks bad. For both of them singularly but together as a pair more so. He doesn't want people to think he's coming to take Steve to an Avengers level threat because that's the last thing PR needs to hear tonight, that they scared a bunch of rich people. There's also the other side of this where people might start circulating rumors that Tony's a jealous lover or something very close to and that the two of them are hiding an affair. But...
Perhaps a little more than that he's being a brat. Which he's exceedingly good at. He's simmered out a lot from stages of life where he'd do things like this, but it's easy enough to recall. He won't stand for people making Steve uncomfortable, and he's going to be mulling over just how nasty a feeling it had been, the lead up of Steve complaining about it paired with the sight of the hostess practically wrapped all the way around him. That's private though. He'll hold that in. "Let me finish my drink and then we'll calmly walk out and I'll drive you home. In the meantime, tell me about your night." He's completely turned towards Steve, attention fully on him regardless of what's going on around them. Because none of the rest of it matters. Just Steve.
The bartender looks at him expectantly, so Steve says he’ll have the same. It doesn’t really matter when alcohol won’t do anything for him, a fact he has tested extensively in the wake of certain events. The most he’ll probably do with a drink is take a few sips, because that's what you do at these things, no matter the decade. Dress up, play nice, and hope it’s worth something in the long run.
Still, this has never been his world, and these aren’t people who are used to being told no. Playing nice has become difficult as the evening wears on, and now he has new problems.
His lips quirk at Tony’s response. It’s true they should at least try to salvage what’s left of the situation, even if Steve wants nothing more than an excuse to leave. With his hearing, it’s easy to pick up snatches of conversation as people drift past, speculation already shifting from surprise and alarm to pure gossipy intrigue. There’s probably a strongly worded email in their future, if the PR person still has their job by morning.
Tony angles himself towards Steve, and the full force of that attention is much more compelling than anything else happening around them. Along with the promise that they won’t be here for much longer.
“Well,” he muses, picking up the glass placed in front of him. “Didn’t think being pawed at would become an occupational hazard but here we are. Sorry I wasn’t around to scare yours off.”
Tony swirls the scotch around in his glass, eying Steve with a guarded expression. He's already come in here and made a huge mess, so there's no need to give everyone else a million other things to talk about. He's only too aware that everybody is watching them, whether they're pretending to or not. Giving a lot else away means he'll lose control of the situation. In the back of his mind he's preparing a statement for PR to serve up where necessary come tomorrow.
His shoulders come up in an easy shrug. "Hey, you're not my security detail. I think that'd actually be an occupational downgrade for you. But maybe we need to get one for you." Because these events happen. They can't get away from them. They're good to do because it puts the Avengers forward facing. Sometimes people forget that they're people too. Sometimes they get put up on pedestals and when they leave messes behind those altars crumble. But if there's good will built up, the fall isn't as bad.
It's one of the only things Tony has to remind himself of. Else he wouldn't show up at all. Just write a check. Which serves the purpose it's meant to.
There's a minute expression that shifts in his eyes and he takes a quick sip of his drink, lips quirking at the corner. "Or maybe a beard. You know what that is?" He's not actually serious. The reason for barking up this certain tree is selfish and inquisitive. Trying to quietly get to the bottom of some things he's been wondering that he can't just ask aloud. And probably won't anyway, regardless of the answers.
Steve makes a noncommittal noise as he sips his drink, glancing at Tony over the rim of the glass when the question lands. He’s had time to get used to it, knows when to let the jokes and gentle goading slide. This is an interesting one to bring up here and now.
He knows he tends to look for too long. A combination of being an artist and a soldier and someone who could only watch for a long time. He didn’t realize Natasha had clocked him until she offered to add some guys to the list of people she tried to set him up with. He had refused, not because they were men, but more to avoid the absolute circus that was being seen with anyone nowadays. Ironic that it had been much easier during wartime.
“Nat did offer,” he says with a smile. It’s a bit of a running joke for them now, whenever she catches Steve looking. And he has been looking an awful lot lately. Nobody's fault but his own if anyone else caught on. “Might need to take her up on it after that back there.”
Now that he’s out of the crowd, away from the hands, it’s easier to be curious about it.
There's that feeling again. The one that slammed into him when he'd walked in here. Something that he has no right to feel. Steve's not his. Nowhere even close. Not even with how often he flirts- he flirts with everyone, right? None of it's real. Except some of it. But. No one needs to know that. He's not even sure he knows that. Which is great. Makes this a lot easier. At least it should.
Which is why he seems not to miss a beat, maybe a very extremely small window of literal blink-and-you-miss-it consideration in his eyes. "You've got Nat matchmaking for you, huh?" He'd heard as much, but he thought it was mostly a joke. As if she and Steve don't have better things to do with their time. But then again...
"I'd give you my little black book, but I never dated nice people. I don't think any of them would be right for you." Which is what he pictures for Steve. Someone nice. Sweet. Curled around his arm. Not unlike this party's host. He's also doing something else by saying this, though. Because Tony himself is nowhere near anyone's definition of nice, either. "But maybe I'll take a copy of your current desires and see what I can do for you." He takes a much larger sip of scotch, almost finishing it.
Tony flirts like breathing and Steve should know better than to read into it, but all his irritation from has been shifting into something else since Tony arrived. This isn’t the place to unpack the way he feels about the oddly possessive display earlier, or the difference between a touch from someone he likes and being handled like a show piece by strangers.
The comment about the kind of person who would be right for him makes his jaw clench. What makes you think I want nice is at the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, the wide berth they had been given is already shrinking, people drifting closer to get to the bar. A few of the bolder ones seem like they might be gearing up to interrupt.
Well. The whole evening has been sliding towards what his squad used to call the fuck it threshold anyway.
Steve sets his glass down, pitches his voice for Tony’s ears only. “My only desire right now is an exit strategy, so I can make our excuses and you can take me home.”
It's automatic, the way he drains his glass the second Steve puts his down. The writing is on the wall. They've had their moment. Held it. Aren't going to be suspect to running. Tony feels sufficiently in control- ...mostly. With the party. With Steve he's feeling a little out of sorts, suddenly.
There's an immediate spark of interest in his own gaze as he rakes it over Steve, though his smirk is soft. His tone matches Steve's, quiet, deep, and private. "I'll take you anywhere you want, Cap." Suggestiveness practically dripping from every word.
He puts his now empty glass down on the bar and that same hand touches across the crook of Steve's arm, grasping momentarily. Mostly because he can. Steve doesn't need guidance. But he's feeling a little bold. And protective against the oncoming crowd of bodies that seems like they're descending. Like they might say no, please stay. So he's quick about it, and hangs on perhaps a little longer than he should as the two of them abscond from the party, the entire length of the ballroom, through the lobby, and then out into the brisk night air.
The valet stands at attention at his podium and once he sees Tony zips away to go get his car. Only then does Tony let go of Steve, slipping his hands into his own pockets and aims a grin his way. "So. My place or yours?" This is a joke. It's a joke but he doesn't follow it up to really give that indication. Maybe because a part of it isn't.
Steve's gaze flicks between Tony's face and the hand on his arm, surprised for a moment before settling on pleased. He doesn't do anything to dislodge it even when they pass the hostess, and he offers a rushed, vague apology. It's hard to feel bad for her when he knows she'll be thrilled about her party making the front page tomorrow. It’s probably trending even now.
There’s a certain satisfaction to sweeping through the crowd with Tony Stark on his arm. It’s almost like having Iron Man at his back during a fight, a reassuring presence when they’re tearing through opponents. When they finally make it outside, Steve feels like he can breathe properly again, the cold air a relief after all the perfume and cologne in the ballroom. Sharper senses have their downsides.
Tony’s question is a valid one, even if it’s delivered with one of those grins. Steve’s place these days is the compound. Not everyone lives on base full time, though it does house both the team and support staff. He wants, selfishly, to keep Tony’s attention to himself a little longer. “Where is yours these days?” he asks curiously.
The valet returns in record time. Steve will always be more of a motorbike kind of guy, but he can appreciate the sleek design of a nice car. Which reminds him. “Are you okay to drive?”
Of all the things he's expecting Steve to do, it isn't that. It isn't to lean into this little game Tony's mostly sure he's been playing by himself. It isn't to ask where he's staying right now. And surely that also isn't an attempt to actually go there. Steve's probably just trying to check up on him, which is only made clearer when he asks if Tony's sober. Yes. Steve's just being Steve and it's got nothing to do with nothing else.
No reason to get his hopes up. To that, even, he's not sure what he's hoping for, really. He only knows that, for a single second before trying to talk himself out of it, it almost felt like he was getting away with something.
Not quite seducing Steve, but something a few yards close to that.
Tony tips the valet and swings his keys around in his hand. "Perfectly capable of driving. I promise. Scout's honor." Giving a two fingered mock salute as he walks down the length of the front of the building. "I have a Penthouse right now. Hotel. In and out." And definitely not at the Tower, which he absolutely can't stand the thought of. The Penthouse there that he used to share with Pepper. The woman he no longer shares anything with. Not even his heartbreak.
"You know me," he says with an easy grin, almost hoping that's true. "Can't ever stay in one place too long." He pushes the button on the fob to unlock the doors, the car chirping quietly. Then as he opens the driver side door he leans atop it, casting a long glance Steve's way, less thoughtful and more just heat. "You wanna stop by?" Just because Steve's being Steve doesn't mean Tony wants to stop being Tony.
It might be throwing Tony off that he’s not ignoring it or sassing back as he usually would. But Steve has been wondering what if for a while now, and tonight is the first real indication that it might not all be for show.
He nods at Tony’s assurance as he follows, the mention of a hotel making him a little sad. It’s skirting carefully around the fact that Tony hasn’t been with Ms. Potts for a while now. They don’t talk about that, though, the same way they don’t talk about how Steve stopped leaving for weeks at a time to chase a trail gone cold. There is, after all, no sense in being where you’re no longer welcome.
It’s a surprise to realize that yeah, he kind of does know Tony a little now. The look from over the top of the car is a reminder that he’d like to know a whole lot more. It’s still a dangerous game, not knowing how far he can push before Tony either backs off or steps up to the plate, but he’s willing to follow this hunch. The worst it could be is awkward, and he’s had plenty of experience with that.
“Sounds good,” Steve says before opening the passenger side door and folding himself into the seat. He’s aware that there are still photographers around, shutters still audible somewhere on the edge of his hearing. It’s a hell of a feeling to finally put a barrier between that as he closes the door behind him.
His phone buzzes for the first time since Tony arrived. It’s set to do that only for certain contacts, so it’s not surprising when he checks to find a new message from Natasha.
Hope you know what you’re doing.
It must be everywhere if it’s already reached her. Steve sighs, reaching up to loosen his bow tie, and tips his head back against the head rest. He hopes so too.
Another surprise, but this one less so. Seems like Steve's in for a ride tonight, which is fine. That's almost what Tony wants, if he could be sure for a moment what he wants. He's pretty sure it's Steve, but when that turned from idle fun crush into want is a mystery to him. Surely sometime before tonight, but seeing him at the gala all wrapped up with someone else laid it out for him a bit clearer. Now he's acquiesced to going back to Tony's place. Who knows what could happen?
Probably nothing. Tony tries to temper his expectations of an evening that's probably not going to go the way of a dear Penthouse letter. But... well it would be fun if it did.
Until he figures out exactly what all this is, he relaxes a little, visibly so. Once both their doors are shut and he's behind the wheel of his car, he eases back in his seat, engine roaring as he pulls away from the venue. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Steve more or less doing the same. There's no more listening ears- except for his own devices. But those are safe. The two of them are free from their respective galas and all the groping hands and annoyances.
Then Steve's phone goes off and while he's looking at it Tony can't help himself. "Got something more important to do? I can drop you off somewhere." It's more caring and less the charming in control playboy look he'd been wearing all evening. It's not an Avengers thing, certainly, because Tony would have something pinging him, too. But. If Steve needs to go... His reaction to whatever's sitting on his phone makes it hard to tell, though. "At least tell me you didn't give the hostess your number. I'll have to just get you an entire new phone if that's the case."
Steve glances over at the question. The difference between Tony’s public face and how he is in private has changed over the time they’ve known each other. Or maybe he was always like this and Steve is just allowed to see it now.
“No, no it’s fine.”
The idea of him having something better to do is almost laughable. If he does go back to the compound, it would just be another evening of going over reports or training. He used to be better at spending time off, but few things besides the work hold his attention any more.
Tony has the uncanny ability to steal it whenever he’s around. Steve knows this feeling, remembers it from the few times it’s happened before. A first after the ice, though. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Rogers.
The comment about the hostess makes him laugh even as he shakes his head. “Not for lack of asking.” Then, quieter. “Thank you, by the way.”
It would be easy to add that it hadn’t been necessary, much less the way Tony did it. But here, in the safety of a car with nothing overwhelming his senses besides the familiar hint of metal he associates with Tony, Steve is grateful.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Saving the Night - For NotMyFuture
Pepper will give him flak later, he knows, for the way he unceremoniously drops his glass down on the bar and then checks his watch like he has anywhere else to be. He's actually calculating the time it's going to take him to get from one event to the other. She's probably also already mad that he was texting most of the evening. Again. Tomorrow problems.
FRIDAY has already served him up Steve's location, not that it's a secret. There are about a hundred socialite twitter posts dripping with glee that Captain America is at the party they're at and what a hunk of meat he is. People have no shame anymore. And that's coming from someone who was practically born without any sense of the word.
He's out the door in the next ten minutes after excusing himself from a crowd that started to gather, mostly because these people have the sense for when Tony Stark is about to serve a standard Irish goodbye and they're trained to try and stop it. But they can't. It's inevitable, like it always is. Once Tony makes up his mind it's over.
Steve gets a text another five minutes after that which will have been fifteen minutes of lapsed silence, but he's safely behind the wheel of his car now and feeling a little more in control.
On my way to you. Post up somewhere visible.
If for no other reason that he's going to make an example out of someone tonight. Steve doesn't belong to him but he doesn't belong to the world at large, either. And certainly not to handsy trustfund babies and trophy wives. The fact that there's a rather large possessive river running through him is thoroughly ignored. It's not about that and probably never will be. It's about the principle of the thing. And nothing else.
no subject
His attention is dragged back to more immediate problems when another tipsy socialite stops by to say hello, a clap on the shoulder lingering to drift all the way down his back. It’s not as bold as the one who blatantly felt him up as she leaned into him, only to be offended and deny it when he asked her to stop. This guy still has the nerve to grin as Steve excuses himself to answer the latest message.
Maybe the choice to go with a tuxedo instead of his dress uniform had been a mistake. Not that he’s feeling particularly charitable about the military these days, though he suspects it might have at least given people more pause. The flurry of picture taking has barely slowed down since he arrived. People have been finding excuses to touch him all evening. He doesn’t particularly like it, but it’s something he’s used as a part of being Captain America. The more shameless ones are what’s fraying his temper.
Tony’s response makes his eyebrows rise. It says something about how far they’ve come that Steve’s initial reaction, aside from relief, is intrigue. He might not have been around for the heyday of Tony Stark Making a Scene, but he’s learned that it never happens just for the hell of it.
Before he can start tapping out a reply, one of the party hosts appears at his elbow, all shimmering makeup and dizzying perfume. Steve had chosen this particular event because they’re donating a sizeable amount to causes he cares about. He tries to keep that in mind as she tugs him over to meet a group of people who smile at him the same way Thor does at a buffet.
His phone buzzes in his pocket eventually but he never gets a chance to look, having to pose for more photos and drawn into a somewhat interesting conversation with the hostess still clinging to his arm. They’re right in the center of the room, which is why it’s easy to tell when the general murmur of the room picks up, heads turning toward the entrance.
no subject
So he feels a little frazzled, and maybe that's why he's out to cause a problem. Make a scene, as he'd said. Because he bets Steve is just there in that room full of people sipping away his autonomy touch by touch and he's not doing much about it. He's probably taking it. Because they're in polite society with deep pockets.
Well. Tony really doesn't like the idea of that. And he won't have it.
Outside the venue entrance people are still milling about even in the chilly weather because there are always people outside events like these. If not starry-eyed onlookers, then it's the press. Who immediately turn their attention to the roar of his engine as he comes in. His cars are easy to identify, license place of this one Stark4. He comes to a halt right in front of the valet, getting out of the car while shutters start flickering brightly and people call for his attention, tossing his keys to the kid at the stand. "You can take her to the garage but I'll be back soon." He's not sure yet if he plans on staying long with Steve, just long enough to leave an impression.
Up the carpeted stairs set out to look like a runway, he struts with his usual sense of purpose. He's not running to Steve but he is in a hurry. He also wasn't invited to this particular event, or maybe he turned down their RSVP, or- who even knows. He doesn't really handle that sort of thing himself anymore because if he did he'd never go to any of them. Whatever his invitational status, the security at the door take one look at him and open the doors right up. It's a few paces from the main hall to the party room, and already he feels he has a handle on things.
Right until he catches the sight of someone perched at Steve's side, arms practically wrapped around his like she might drag him upstairs to a bedroom in just another moment. Again there's this dark streak of something. It's not jealousy, he tells himself. It's- ...offense, which surely it is. On Steve's behalf, of course. And there are others, he sees them in the few seconds as the front of the room turns their attention and the usual squealing gatherers start rounding up to him. There are other people vying for Steve's attention in that small circle, reaching out to pet at him like he's some well trained zoo animal on loan.
He raises his voice to answer people's ecstatic greetings, but it's not shouting, it's just projecting. He takes command of the room because it's his now. He's here and he could buy this entire building right now if he wanted and order everyone out of it. But that's dramatic and he's a little more clever than that.
It takes a few more measly moments to part the sea that's formed around him as he steps forward, piercing the tight social bubble of the small crowd in the center of the room. The hostess says his name like she knows him and she very well might but he has no recollection. And then she takes stock of what's happening. Tony Stark has just stormed into her party and made a beeline towards the only other Avenger in the immediate vicinity so she has the good grace, after her cutesy greeting, to ask, "Is there... trouble?"
But there's something nonchalant and indignant about it. Like there shouldn't be. Not when she's having a good time. And if she has to suffer having her star player taken from her she might not be very happy about it.
Unfortunately for her, Tony's a bigger brat by far. With a staggering amount of crisp charm backed with one of those sharp grins he simply says, "We'll see, won't we." Which is a threat. Everyone hears it like one. This will be gossip come tomorrow. But. Well. Tony did say he was out to make a scene. Which is why he's not done yet, as he arches a brow and dresses her down just a few more rungs. "Would you mind taking your hands off my merchandise? You hang on any tighter and he might lose circulation." There's a quiet few snorts behind suddenly upturned hands. Never mind that Tony said my. He didn't hear it.
She lets go, flushing in embarrassment, or maybe it's anger. It's hard for Tony to differentiate at this stage and in the next few seconds it won't matter at all. "Well, if you-"
And that's really it. Instead he puts a hand at the small of Steve's back, attention focused solely on him like all the other people in the room had suddenly dissolved. It's a quick touch, one and done, returning his hands to his pockets immediately after. His head nods towards the bar, "Get a drink with me. I wanna talk to you before we leave." It's not a request, and the grin he aims Steve's way is far softer than the one he stormed in with. It also further separates the two of them from the bodies around them, he and Steve belong to themselves now and they won't be bothered. They'll also be leaving soon.
Because that's what Tony Stark says.
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The hostess’ grip on Steve’s arm tightens and she huddles closer. On his other side, a man who had been making small talk pauses and laughs, low and pleased. “Oh, this is an interesting turn of events. Is he here for you, Captain?”
Someone else clutches at his sleeve. “Are we in danger?”
Steve doesn’t respond or even look away as a crowd starts to form around Tony. He thought he had seen Tony in his element before, in the workshop or even in the armor. This is different, like watching all of Howard’s careless charm tempered by something harder, a foregone conclusion rather than a bid for attention. The way he approaches reminds Steve of a scene from a nature documentary, a shark moving through schools of fish.
When Steve had sent the text, it had meant to be commiserating more than anything else, that they were in the same uncomfortable boat. Tony had said, warned really, that he was going to make a scene. This isn’t the kind of big, flashy distraction Steve had been expecting.
The exchange between Tony and the hostess-- she has a name, Steve cannot for the life of him remember it right now-- has heads turning, phones raising. Tony's words should be insulting. Steve isn't anybody's merchandise, for all that everyone seems to feel entitled to Captain America. But the way Tony says it makes something still in the back of Steve's mind, any response he had dying on his lips.
Is he here for you?
The touch is brief, barely more than a nudge, more welcome than anything else this evening. Tony’s gaze is softer now, but all that focus makes it crackle across Steve’s skin like static. He manages a curt “excuse us” before they head to the bar.
He’s suddenly very aware that anything they say or do here will be everywhere within seconds. Any scene he would have made probably pales in comparison to what’s happening right now.
"Can we-" He takes a breath, ducks his head to be closer so that Tony can hear when he says quietly, "Can we just go home?"
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Immediately at the bar, Tony orders a scotch, and then reaches into his pocket to shed a hundred dollar bill from a bundle of them, tipping it into a large glass full of money. It'll take only a second for the bartender to pour him his drink, but in that time Steve is making a request.
Tony tips his head up, brow arching when Steve dips further in to ask him something privately. Which is hard to do considering what's happening. For that reason Tony can't help the way he smirks, but it's gentle. There's no malice there, certainly none directed at Steve. He's amused and in control right now. "I'm not done making a scene yet." This is part of it, according to him apparently, and the second his drink gets put down he takes it hand and then sips at it.
Quieter then, though, he murmurs back to Steve, "We don't wanna look like we're running. Because we're not." Which seems important to him. But it is. If he just comes into the party and absconds with Steve it looks bad. For both of them singularly but together as a pair more so. He doesn't want people to think he's coming to take Steve to an Avengers level threat because that's the last thing PR needs to hear tonight, that they scared a bunch of rich people. There's also the other side of this where people might start circulating rumors that Tony's a jealous lover or something very close to and that the two of them are hiding an affair. But...
Perhaps a little more than that he's being a brat. Which he's exceedingly good at. He's simmered out a lot from stages of life where he'd do things like this, but it's easy enough to recall. He won't stand for people making Steve uncomfortable, and he's going to be mulling over just how nasty a feeling it had been, the lead up of Steve complaining about it paired with the sight of the hostess practically wrapped all the way around him. That's private though. He'll hold that in. "Let me finish my drink and then we'll calmly walk out and I'll drive you home. In the meantime, tell me about your night." He's completely turned towards Steve, attention fully on him regardless of what's going on around them. Because none of the rest of it matters. Just Steve.
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Still, this has never been his world, and these aren’t people who are used to being told no. Playing nice has become difficult as the evening wears on, and now he has new problems.
His lips quirk at Tony’s response. It’s true they should at least try to salvage what’s left of the situation, even if Steve wants nothing more than an excuse to leave. With his hearing, it’s easy to pick up snatches of conversation as people drift past, speculation already shifting from surprise and alarm to pure gossipy intrigue. There’s probably a strongly worded email in their future, if the PR person still has their job by morning.
Tony angles himself towards Steve, and the full force of that attention is much more compelling than anything else happening around them. Along with the promise that they won’t be here for much longer.
“Well,” he muses, picking up the glass placed in front of him. “Didn’t think being pawed at would become an occupational hazard but here we are. Sorry I wasn’t around to scare yours off.”
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His shoulders come up in an easy shrug. "Hey, you're not my security detail. I think that'd actually be an occupational downgrade for you. But maybe we need to get one for you." Because these events happen. They can't get away from them. They're good to do because it puts the Avengers forward facing. Sometimes people forget that they're people too. Sometimes they get put up on pedestals and when they leave messes behind those altars crumble. But if there's good will built up, the fall isn't as bad.
It's one of the only things Tony has to remind himself of. Else he wouldn't show up at all. Just write a check. Which serves the purpose it's meant to.
There's a minute expression that shifts in his eyes and he takes a quick sip of his drink, lips quirking at the corner. "Or maybe a beard. You know what that is?" He's not actually serious. The reason for barking up this certain tree is selfish and inquisitive. Trying to quietly get to the bottom of some things he's been wondering that he can't just ask aloud. And probably won't anyway, regardless of the answers.
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He knows he tends to look for too long. A combination of being an artist and a soldier and someone who could only watch for a long time. He didn’t realize Natasha had clocked him until she offered to add some guys to the list of people she tried to set him up with. He had refused, not because they were men, but more to avoid the absolute circus that was being seen with anyone nowadays. Ironic that it had been much easier during wartime.
“Nat did offer,” he says with a smile. It’s a bit of a running joke for them now, whenever she catches Steve looking. And he has been looking an awful lot lately. Nobody's fault but his own if anyone else caught on. “Might need to take her up on it after that back there.”
Now that he’s out of the crowd, away from the hands, it’s easier to be curious about it.
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Which is why he seems not to miss a beat, maybe a very extremely small window of literal blink-and-you-miss-it consideration in his eyes. "You've got Nat matchmaking for you, huh?" He'd heard as much, but he thought it was mostly a joke. As if she and Steve don't have better things to do with their time. But then again...
"I'd give you my little black book, but I never dated nice people. I don't think any of them would be right for you." Which is what he pictures for Steve. Someone nice. Sweet. Curled around his arm. Not unlike this party's host. He's also doing something else by saying this, though. Because Tony himself is nowhere near anyone's definition of nice, either. "But maybe I'll take a copy of your current desires and see what I can do for you." He takes a much larger sip of scotch, almost finishing it.
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The comment about the kind of person who would be right for him makes his jaw clench. What makes you think I want nice is at the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, the wide berth they had been given is already shrinking, people drifting closer to get to the bar. A few of the bolder ones seem like they might be gearing up to interrupt.
Well. The whole evening has been sliding towards what his squad used to call the fuck it threshold anyway.
Steve sets his glass down, pitches his voice for Tony’s ears only. “My only desire right now is an exit strategy, so I can make our excuses and you can take me home.”
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There's an immediate spark of interest in his own gaze as he rakes it over Steve, though his smirk is soft. His tone matches Steve's, quiet, deep, and private. "I'll take you anywhere you want, Cap." Suggestiveness practically dripping from every word.
He puts his now empty glass down on the bar and that same hand touches across the crook of Steve's arm, grasping momentarily. Mostly because he can. Steve doesn't need guidance. But he's feeling a little bold. And protective against the oncoming crowd of bodies that seems like they're descending. Like they might say no, please stay. So he's quick about it, and hangs on perhaps a little longer than he should as the two of them abscond from the party, the entire length of the ballroom, through the lobby, and then out into the brisk night air.
The valet stands at attention at his podium and once he sees Tony zips away to go get his car. Only then does Tony let go of Steve, slipping his hands into his own pockets and aims a grin his way. "So. My place or yours?" This is a joke. It's a joke but he doesn't follow it up to really give that indication. Maybe because a part of it isn't.
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There’s a certain satisfaction to sweeping through the crowd with Tony Stark on his arm. It’s almost like having Iron Man at his back during a fight, a reassuring presence when they’re tearing through opponents. When they finally make it outside, Steve feels like he can breathe properly again, the cold air a relief after all the perfume and cologne in the ballroom. Sharper senses have their downsides.
Tony’s question is a valid one, even if it’s delivered with one of those grins. Steve’s place these days is the compound. Not everyone lives on base full time, though it does house both the team and support staff. He wants, selfishly, to keep Tony’s attention to himself a little longer. “Where is yours these days?” he asks curiously.
The valet returns in record time. Steve will always be more of a motorbike kind of guy, but he can appreciate the sleek design of a nice car. Which reminds him. “Are you okay to drive?”
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No reason to get his hopes up. To that, even, he's not sure what he's hoping for, really. He only knows that, for a single second before trying to talk himself out of it, it almost felt like he was getting away with something.
Not quite seducing Steve, but something a few yards close to that.
Tony tips the valet and swings his keys around in his hand. "Perfectly capable of driving. I promise. Scout's honor." Giving a two fingered mock salute as he walks down the length of the front of the building. "I have a Penthouse right now. Hotel. In and out." And definitely not at the Tower, which he absolutely can't stand the thought of. The Penthouse there that he used to share with Pepper. The woman he no longer shares anything with. Not even his heartbreak.
"You know me," he says with an easy grin, almost hoping that's true. "Can't ever stay in one place too long." He pushes the button on the fob to unlock the doors, the car chirping quietly. Then as he opens the driver side door he leans atop it, casting a long glance Steve's way, less thoughtful and more just heat. "You wanna stop by?" Just because Steve's being Steve doesn't mean Tony wants to stop being Tony.
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He nods at Tony’s assurance as he follows, the mention of a hotel making him a little sad. It’s skirting carefully around the fact that Tony hasn’t been with Ms. Potts for a while now. They don’t talk about that, though, the same way they don’t talk about how Steve stopped leaving for weeks at a time to chase a trail gone cold. There is, after all, no sense in being where you’re no longer welcome.
It’s a surprise to realize that yeah, he kind of does know Tony a little now. The look from over the top of the car is a reminder that he’d like to know a whole lot more. It’s still a dangerous game, not knowing how far he can push before Tony either backs off or steps up to the plate, but he’s willing to follow this hunch. The worst it could be is awkward, and he’s had plenty of experience with that.
“Sounds good,” Steve says before opening the passenger side door and folding himself into the seat. He’s aware that there are still photographers around, shutters still audible somewhere on the edge of his hearing. It’s a hell of a feeling to finally put a barrier between that as he closes the door behind him.
His phone buzzes for the first time since Tony arrived. It’s set to do that only for certain contacts, so it’s not surprising when he checks to find a new message from Natasha.
Hope you know what you’re doing.
It must be everywhere if it’s already reached her. Steve sighs, reaching up to loosen his bow tie, and tips his head back against the head rest. He hopes so too.
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Probably nothing. Tony tries to temper his expectations of an evening that's probably not going to go the way of a dear Penthouse letter. But... well it would be fun if it did.
Until he figures out exactly what all this is, he relaxes a little, visibly so. Once both their doors are shut and he's behind the wheel of his car, he eases back in his seat, engine roaring as he pulls away from the venue. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Steve more or less doing the same. There's no more listening ears- except for his own devices. But those are safe. The two of them are free from their respective galas and all the groping hands and annoyances.
Then Steve's phone goes off and while he's looking at it Tony can't help himself. "Got something more important to do? I can drop you off somewhere." It's more caring and less the charming in control playboy look he'd been wearing all evening. It's not an Avengers thing, certainly, because Tony would have something pinging him, too. But. If Steve needs to go... His reaction to whatever's sitting on his phone makes it hard to tell, though. "At least tell me you didn't give the hostess your number. I'll have to just get you an entire new phone if that's the case."
Sorry this took forever!
“No, no it’s fine.”
The idea of him having something better to do is almost laughable. If he does go back to the compound, it would just be another evening of going over reports or training. He used to be better at spending time off, but few things besides the work hold his attention any more.
Tony has the uncanny ability to steal it whenever he’s around. Steve knows this feeling, remembers it from the few times it’s happened before. A first after the ice, though. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Rogers.
The comment about the hostess makes him laugh even as he shakes his head. “Not for lack of asking.” Then, quieter. “Thank you, by the way.”
It would be easy to add that it hadn’t been necessary, much less the way Tony did it. But here, in the safety of a car with nothing overwhelming his senses besides the familiar hint of metal he associates with Tony, Steve is grateful.