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.
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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.
no subject
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.”
no subject
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.
no subject
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?”
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.