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Title: Everything Old Is New Again
Author/Artist: Not Applicable
Pairing/Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Rating: Teen (Chapter One), NC-17 (Chapter Two)
Word Count: 9562 total
Warnings: N/A.
Summary: Steve knows Tony's secret.
1.
I don’t know why I’m frightened
I know my way around here
Steve stopped dead in his tracks. Was he having auditory hallucinations?
The cardboard trees
The painted scenes
The sound here…
Tony wailed when Steve asked what Houses of the Holy was. Literally wailed. “Zeppelin is like garden variety, man! Everyone knows that album!” Tony had said, and then he put it on, assuming that thirty seconds of listening would win Steve over completely. He’d done the same with a bunch of other bands with weird names like Girlschool, Uriah Heep, Pentagram – name it and Steve had listened to it and hated it.
So Steve really couldn’t understand why he heard his favorite number from Sunset Boulevard lilting down the corridor that led to Tony’s lab.
Steve tucked his shield under his arm and stopped at the door, and through the glass he saw Tony sitting at a work table, welding goggles on, leaning over and soldering metal to metal. The door was shut but he could feel the room throbbing with timpani and strings, the actress’s frail but proud voice singing a song from the first show he saw after he woke up. Steve had gone to a lot of stage shows as a young man – hell, it was a staple of night life for him and his friends growing up. He often tried to watch modern movies but they felt like sensory overload to him, and it didn’t help when shit like First Blood just made him want to cry. He liked the controlled bursts of energy in the theatre, the quiet that was followed by tap-dancing and barrel rolls. He’d only managed to see that one show before all that Avengers shit went down, and he looked forward to when things died down enough for him to go see a good musical again.
Steve leaned closer to the glass door. He thought he saw Tony’s lips moving as he worked away, soldering tiny, tiny connections to the pistons that moved his suit.
No way. Was Tony into theatre? It was possible…as much as Tony hated his father, Steve had heard that Maria Stark was a huge Gershwin fan. He’d seen photos of Tony as a boy, on stage in various school plays. These things were hard to reconcile with Steve’s current impression of Tony – a brilliant loudmouth with terrible and expensive taste.
“I’ve spent so many mornings just trying to resist you / I’m trembling now / you can’t know how I’ve missed you…”
Tony, singing along while still focused on his work, the last note with a gentle vibrato. He knew the words by heart.
Steve decided to go back to his room. He’d drop off his shield for modifications another day. He turned on his heel and had only taken a step or two before the music was swelling, horns and flutes echoing all around him. He took one more glance behind him to see Tony holding up his mini-soldering iron, waving it in the air like a conductor. Steve thought of the live show and the actress on stage alone, her eyes spirited yet frightful as she belted her lament to the audience. It was only the second show to ever make him cry.
He was almost to the exit when he heard it, Tony’s bright and pitch-perfect voice almost drowning out the orchestra. “And this time will be bigger and brighter than we knew it / so watch me fly / we all know I can do it…”
Back in his room, Steve rested his shield against a bookcase and put on the original Broadway cast recording. He took off his shoes and thought of Norma Desmond descending that staircase, so happy to return to film, so ready to inspire a world that had completely forgotten her. He let the soundtrack play, and he caught himself singing along, too.
“Could I stop my hand from shaking / has there ever been a moment / with so much to live for / the whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways...”
*
Steve figured Tony wouldn’t want to be caught two days in a row, so he went back with this shield the next day – earlier, closer to noon. Tony had pretty much been holed up in his lab for the past week working on modifications to his armor, and he’d offered to make adjustments to Steve’s shield though it wasn’t clear if and when he’d have time to do so. Steve expected to hear Deep Purple or Motorhead instead of Andrew Lloyd Webber this time, and he wouldn’t be disappointed. No Webber today. Today it was Gershwin. From Steve’s favorite Gershwin musical.
He’d seen Crazy For You when it came out in 1937, right after his mother died and he was finally alone, living in a boarding house. Bucky had gone with him and they’d had quite a roar at “Things Are Looking Up” and “Naughty Baby,” but “I’ve Got Rhythm” was the song they sang randomly to each other, while bouncing down the street or goofing off at haphazard moments. It was the song that street musicians played to get tips. It was a wedding party standard. And it was shaking the rafters in Tony’s workshop when Steve opened the door.
Tony saw him immediately, and Steve wished he had a camera. The look on Tony’s face flashed of devastation, of horror and embarrassment for the quickest of seconds. Steve even thought he saw the color drain from Tony’s face for a moment there. And then Tony was Tony again, mumbling insults at his robots and spinning a red-hot soldering iron in his hand before continuing to work, as if showtunes weren’t filling every corner of his space.
“JARVIS, volume,” Tony said as he removed his goggles, and the volume of the music lessened considerably. “What’s up?”
Steve held up his shield before putting it on the tabletop, and Tony acknowledged it with a nod. “Great,” Tony said, and he let his fingers brush the metal. “I’ll make a digital wireform of it and return it to you tonight. Thanks.”
Tony put his goggles back on then and continued to work, pointedly ignoring Steve, who was standing there scratching his temple at the elephant in the room. “Anything else, Cap?” Tony asked, not even looking up from his work, arms tense.
“So you like Gershwin?” Steve asked, and Tony looked up for a second, his mouth twitching. After a second of silence, Steve figured he was not going to respond, so he continued talking. “Yeah, I remember this show.”
“Were you there on opening night?”
Steve just smirked, knowing that Tony wouldn’t miss an opportunity to insult him, but he wouldn’t take the bait this time. His head was full of memories of the Lower East Side now, laundry hanging between tenements and sneaking into Funny Face through the stage door. The only time he’d ever outrun Bucky was when they got busted sneaking into Zeigfeld Follies back in 1931. It was the last year, last show. How could they not at least try?
“No,” Steve said, “but I did see it with the original cast back in ’37. Bucky went with me.”
Tony seemed to perk up a bit. He still had his goggles on but he was clearly looking at Steve, now even putting down his soldering iron. “Original cast, huh?”
“Yeah,” Steve replied. “Saw Porgy and Bess at the Majestic back in…what, ’42? Last show I saw before I enlisted.”
Finally Tony removed his goggles, but his gaze lingered on them as he laid them on the tabletop. “Wow,” Tony mumbled, pretending to rearrange things, “color me jealous, Rogers. Was that before or after Anne Brown left?”
“Before.”
Tony actually seemed to relax a bit, and he let his mouth tilt into an unguarded grin. “My mom took me to see a lot of Gershwin,” Tony said. “We saw Porgy and Bess but I was too young to catch anyone from the original cast in it. I love that show. Just amazing.”
“Me too,” Steve said. “It was the first show that ever made me cry.”
Tony laughed a bit at that, not his obnoxious I’m-making-fun-of-you cackle but a quiet, throaty thing that lacked eye contact or much volume. “Really? Then you haven’t seen All That Jazz, I’m guessing. Well, it’s a movie, not a play, but it has been staged since then. Still, the movie – brilliant. Bob Fosse. He’s after your time, but he’s great.”
And Steve knew that Tony didn’t mean that as a jab or insult.
“You should bring it to a movie night,” Steve said, and then he shifted his shoulder back, making it known that he was preparing to turn and leave. “But anyway, I gotta go.”
“I’ll leave your shield outside your door.”
Steve had been lying. He didn’t have anything to do. He’d just been weirded out by suddenly bonding with Tony Stark over musicals, of all things. Tony had even known the name of the original Bess, and the fact that Steve had seen her perform the role live had been the one thing that finally cracked Tony’s defenses about liking musical theatre. Steve hadn’t missed the fact that Tony was wearing a Black Sabbath shirt during their conversation – well, he didn’t doubt that Tony sincerely loved rock ‘n roll, but why was he so secretive about his love of showtunes? Steve had apparently slept through the moment in American history where men stopped dancing and singing, stopped going to see live theatre and musical revues. These things were now under the domain of women and homosexuals, and the idea that making joyful noise was effeminate – and therefore shameful – bothered Steve to no end. He’d gone to maybe two clubs with Tony since waking up, and it was always the same thing: the women bent over and rubbed their asses into the crotches of men who stood there, still as statues except for their arms, which did little more than lift beers to their lips. Back in his day, a fella could have never gotten away with passing that off as dancing, and dame would not have tolerated it.
Steve had many cast recordings of his favorite musicals, most on vinyl. He listened to them in his room while he did sit-ups or drew, and sometimes he danced. His favorite was doing the soft-shoe to the musical break in “I’ve Got Rhythm.” Steve hadn’t told Tony the bit where he and Bucky went to see Crazy For You so many times that they’d even learned some of the choreography. He couldn’t believe he still remembered it.
He knew Tony Stark liked to sing and dance. He’d seen it himself, oh so many times and with Tony in oh so many states of inebriation. Tony soft-shoed occasionally, would goofily Charleston or jitterbug for his friends while singing, “In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking / but now, God knows - anything goes!”
Steve headed towards the gym and remembered random moments where Tony had let his inner theatre fan show, times when he’d tap out a grapevine or make a reference that only a theatre fan would get. Once he remembered Natasha, four vodkas down, saying, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. De Mille,” to which Tony immediately sat up and responded, “It’s actually ‘Alright, Mr. De Mille, I’m ready for my close-up.’” Natasha just flipped Tony off and did another Lemon Drop, going five-for-five with Steve.
Steve grinned to himself, remembering having to put Natasha in bed even though he’d reminded her several times that he couldn’t get drunk so it was pointless to choose him as an opponent in a drinking game. Maybe she’d just needed an excuse to get drunk.
Tony was in their group study. Steve hadn’t even walked past the door yet but he knew Tony was in there because he could hear low bass vibrating in the walls, and Tony was the only one who ever worked in there with music. The point of a study is to study in it, Tony, not head-bang to Metallica. And seriously, were Metallica even considered rock ‘n roll?
As Steve got closer he could hear that the bass wasn’t choppy and raucous like rock music – and also that Tony had the door closed for a change. Long, sustained notes that faded out naturally…notes from an upright bass.
Standing by the door now, Steve heard Tony’s voice. This wasn't the cast recording – this was Nina Simone. He'd recognize her voice anywhere. This song had been a hit during his Army years, it had been everywhere, and Steve remembered listening to it over and over again, requesting it from the house band at every club he went to while on tour with the USO. The girls always wanted to slow dance with him for that particular number, but he never accepted. He would just sit and listen.
“It’s gonna be like dying, Porgy, when he calls me / but when he comes I know I’ll have to go…”
Steve went back to his room. He missed Bucky and his mother. He missed seeing a good play. He didn’t have to be watching Porgy and Bess to cry because of it.
*
Steve was glad to be lost in the crowd exiting the theatre. Everyone poured out onto the streets, some ducking into the nearby alleys to try and catch the stars of the show upon their exit. He blended in, wearing a simple black suit and tie as he moseyed over to the taxi stand. He let many people go ahead of him, just happy to be out of the tower for another evening. A couple of months ago he’d taken to going to shows by himself, once it had become clear to him that his evenings would continue to go uninterrupted unless he did something about it himself. The shows started late and ended late, for his standards at least, but it was nice to be loose amongst the crowds in this old part of town, a part of town that still slightly resembled itself from 70 years ago. Slightly. There was a bar across the street from the Majestic, made of old glass and moldy stonework, and Steve considered sitting down for a drink.
A taxi rolled up and he got in. No drinking tonight. He’d missed another movie night with the team to go to the show – Phantom of the Opera, it was pretty good – and he figured he should at least go home and catch the last of whatever they were watching. The driver balked when he told him to drive to the private entrance of Stark Tower, but still the man left the curb and merged into traffic.
The living room was empty and dark when Steve walked in. He could see evidence of a movie night – popcorn spilled on floor, dried rings of soda and booze on the coffee table – but none of the others were around. He walked over and picked up the stray kernels, then went to the trash and threw them out. He stood in the quiet of the living room for a while, his ears still ringing from the orchestra.
Steve picked up his playbill and stared at its iconic cover. He was hopelessly bored and unwilling to admit he was lonely, and he wished he’d had that drink after the show. So what if it wouldn’t affect him. Not the point. Maybe Natasha would be in the gym – no wait, she was in the field for a week. Thor was always good for a chat or sparring, but he was in New Mexico. Bruce was definitely asleep, and there was no telling where Clint was hiding. Tony was probably in his lab.
Steve went and took a seat on the couch. There were DVD cases on the table and he flipped through them. The Crossroads, Event Horizon, The China Syndrome, Step Up 2 Da Streets, All That Jazz…
Steve turned over the case and read the back. Featuring the infamous and legendary performance of “Take Off With Us”…He opened the case and the DVD was there. He looked up at Tony’s entertainment system, which was actually just a featureless box with a disc port on the side. Steve thought that maybe he was supposed to talk to it.
“Wanna watch that?”
Steve startled for a moment then calmed himself, turning around to see Tony behind him, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. He was remarkably clean – hell, he even looked freshly showered.
“Why aren’t you in your workshop?” Steve asked, and Tony snickered as he walked around the table and took a seat beside Steve.
“Because I live here,” Tony said, “and I can wander my house as I see fit.” Steve just laughed, still turning the DVD case over in his hands. “How was the show?”
“It was good,” Steve said. “I mean not Gerswhin-good, but good for a new show. It was nice to be out, though. See the city a little bit.”
Tony grinned and nudged Steve’s arm. “Not many people would call Phantom new.”
“I know. I just like that old sound, you know? But I mean it was worth it. It was a fun show, I’m glad I went.”
“I like Phantom alright,” Tony said, and he took the movie from Steve’s hand. “I get what you mean about newer stuff, though – the sound of it. But I think you’ll like this one. I really do. It’s probably my favorite.”
Steve leaned over to look at the case again, and he could smell bourbon and pizza and clean skin on Tony. “Let’s put it on, then.”
Steve didn’t miss the way Tony smiled as he went to the load the disc, and he could hear him singing, “Won't you climb aboard, you’ll ride as smooth as glass…”
All That Jazz was the third musical to make Steve cry. He didn't even notice that Tony was curled against him until a remarkably smooth hand reached up to gently brush a tear off of his cheek, and he whipped his head around to look into Tony's eyes - and then he felt him...Tony's legs pulled up and leaned into his side, Steve's arm around his shoulders, Tony's face so close to his neck.
Steve opened his mouth to apologize (for what, he wasn't sure), and he froze when Tony pressed two fingers under his chin.
"Watch," he whispered, and he turned Steve's face back to the screen. The angel of death, dressed in all white and finally uncovered, showing her true self, so beautiful, floating down a hallway, her gaze terrifying and sweet. He didn't think about it when he rested his hand on top of Tony's, which lay on his stomach.
Steve was happy he decided against going to that bar. He probably would have missed the opportunity to watch this movie. With Tony.
The credits rolled and Steve continued to cry quietly, not shamefully but just quietly, and Tony said nothing. He reached up occasionally to wipe a tear away but mostly he just laid against Steve, petting his chest and saying nothing. Steve chuckled through the wetness in his eyes and looked at Tony, trying to smile.
"I liked it," he said, softer than he meant to. "Great numbers."
Don't throw the past away
You might need it some rainy day
Dreams can come true again
When every thing old is new again
*
Steve didn’t like wearing makeup. He didn’t like strange overdressed women leaning so close to him, smearing pressed powder all over his face and neck. Apparently he only had to talk to Kathy Lee and Hoda for three minutes and then he’d be done. All this makeup for three minutes? Fury is never talking me into some shit like this again, he decided silently. Tony had offered several times to go on with him, but it was 8 am and Tony already reeked of black label bourbon. He wasn’t wasted, but he’d definitely had too much to act right on live television.
“Almost done,” the makeup artist said, and Steve waited until she was turned around to roll his eyes. He heard a snicker behind him and looked in the mirror to see Tony on the couch, eating strawberries from the craft services table.
“The food’s only for guests of the show,” Steve said, not serious.
“I can buy this building,” Tony mumbled around a mouthful of fruit, and Steve snickered as the makeup artist began filling in his eyebrows. She didn’t take long to finish, and she stood back and patted his shoulder before exiting the room.
“You know Kathy Lee and Hoda are probably drunk already, too,” Tony said, and Steve just laughed. “You look nervous.”
“I don’t like wearing makeup,” Steve said. “Had to wear it for war films before I went to Italy. I hated it back then, and I hate it now. I don’t understand how women do it.” He leaned towards the mirror, examining his powdery face up close. “And I have to be interviewed live on tv by two drunk chicks…boy, am I sweatin’ already.”
“Calm down,” Tony said, waving a hand carelessly at him. “It’ll be over before you know it, so relax.” Steve caught Tony’s grin in the mirror, and before he even opened his mouth Steve knew what Tony was about to sing. “Lean back, relax – dadum, dadum – here come the snacks” –
And with that, Tony threw a strawberry at Steve.
*
The team sat silently as the credits rolled. Natasha shook her head mournfully, then raised her beer towards the screen before turning it up and finishing it. Bruce was almost disturbingly quiet, and so was Clint. Thor laughed silently, clapping occasionally and complimenting Ben Vereen’s dancing, the depth of the ending seemingly lost to him in the song and dance of it all.
“That was most enjoyable,” Thor said, nodding. “I am quite sad for his daughter. She is the only one who seems to have been forgotten in all of this.”
Tony and Steve shared a look, impressed. So Thor didn’t miss the point after all. Clint picked up the movie case, staring at the photo of Roy Scheider in front of bright lights.
“I’d always thought 'All That Jazz' was just a song from Chicago,” he said, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I have no idea why we didn’t want to watch this last week.”
Eventually everyone else went to bed, but Tony and Steve stayed up. They watched the movie again, and this time Steve pulled Tony into his side as soon as the movie started.
*
“Hey.”
Steve walked out of the teleconference room to see Tony standing there in a suit, dressed for meetings and R&D walk-throughs, not to mention that all of this was happening during his official consulting hours for SHIELD. Everyone was busy today.
“Hey,” Steve responded, tucking his tablet under his arm. “Just got off the horn with Fury. Clint and Natasha are on the Avengers Initiative full-time now. No more field work.”
“That’s good,” Tony said, genuinely pleased. “Was that your doing?”
Steve nodded.
“How about that. Why don’t we celebrate then?” Tony held up an envelope. “Nice Work If You Can Get It is playing at the Imperial. Private box.”
Steve regretted pausing for as long as he did, because Tony was dropping the tickets to his side now and giving a pissy snort. “Or you can just go by yourself, as usual” –
“I’ll buy drinks after,” Steve said. “Since you paid for the tickets.”
“Why buy me a drink?”
Tony looked around the old but fancy-looking bar they were in, seated at a booth near the back. Steve’s playbill sat on the tabletop beside his Old Fashioned, which was slowly melting. Tony hadn’t kept his playbill, and Steve liked to imagine that it was for fear of people finding it. Steve had planned to meet Tony and Happy in the garage but they ended up riding the elevator down together, and neither were surprised by how quiet the trip was. When they got to the car Tony caught himself a second too late, but it was already happening when he realized he was holding the door open for Steve, and Steve was climbing in.
Things loosened up once they got to the show. Steve watched Tony more than the actors during the play, watched him lean up on his elbows and laugh and clap without fear. Some of the songs in the show had become jazz standards by 2013, and Tony wasn’t shy about singing along, just tossing Steve helpless smiles whenever he would give a goodhearted chuckle at the display. They left the theatre through the alley and Happy drove them to this bar, some place that Steve told Tony about, across the street from the Majestic.
Steve held the door for Tony when they walked in. Let him into the booth first. Happy sat at the bar, just a few meters away from them.
“Why buy me a drink?”
Tony asked again when his second bourbon arrived in a crystal tumbler. Steve took a sip of his own drink and just shrugged, using his fingers to grab the cherry out of his glass, and he gingerly plucked the fruit off of the stem. Across the table Tony was swirling his drink around, leaving thick legs running down the side of the glass once it sat still.
“Why take me to a show?” Steve asked, still chewing his cherry.
Tony looked up, across the table and into Steve’s eyes. There was a piano player somewhere in the room, and of course he had been playing showtunes all night. Quiet ones, sad ones.
“You were singing this in the lab one time,” Steve said. “Ages ago. You didn't know I was there.”
Tony listened closer. Yes, a world to rediscover / but I’m not in any hurry / and I need a moment… Steve was right – that had been months ago. He remembered it because that was the night he’d soldered new cabling into his boots, and it had taken until dawn. He still hadn’t slept when Steve brought him his shield the next morning.
Tony wanted to think of a clever retort but nothing came to mind, and in the end all he could do was snicker into his drink and curse the piano player under his breath.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Steve said. “What do you think I did when I got back to my place?”
They both laughed then, and beneath the table their legs were touching.
“I like your voice,” Steve said.
The wine was on the floor, still corked and utterly forgotten. JARVIS had been shuffling Broadway songs for a while now, since Tony had stopped telling him which songs to play. Tony recognized it - his favorite ballad from Miss Saigon, and he wanted to congratulate JARVIS for making such a good selection, but he didn't say anything. Steve lay back on the floor of Tony’s living room, his suit jacket off and his tie loosened, one hand behind his head while the other one rested on his stomach, fingers gently curled into Tony’s. Tony was pressed against the side of him, leaning over him, kissing him long and slow. They had been that way for at least two songs now, just lying down and kissing only with their lips, and something seemed to be tugging at Steve’s insides, reminding him that he didn’t have to settle, that he could have more if he wanted. Steve hesitantly opened his mouth, and for the first time he tasted the person he was kissing, let Tony in and let himself be tasted as well. Steve managed to keep it together until he felt Tony’s hand rubbing innocent circles on his side, and Steve’s lips began to tremble from the heat that pooled low in his belly. Tony was no idiot and he backed off, pressing a sweet peck on him and resting their faces together.
“Relax,” Tony whispered against Steve’s lips, red and shining.
“I’ve never kissed like this before,” Steve said, too loud, too soon, too nervous to properly censor himself. Too late now. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
He hoped Tony wouldn’t laugh or start in with 21 questions. He hoped Tony wouldn’t take the moral high ground and ask him to leave. But Tony wasn’t saying anything – he was just looking at Steve, his expression not shocked or even surprised. He was staring at Steve’s mouth. He seemed peaceful. He was grinning at something he wasn’t sharing with the man on his floor.
“So, we can just,” Steve continued. “We don't have to...”
“I know,” Tony said, his fingers tickling at the back of Steve’s neck. “And it’s fine. I’m happy just to kiss you.”
2.
A month later, and they’d seen every Gershwin show playing in Manhattan, both on and off Broadway, and at the university theatres too.
And they did the same thing after every show: they went to the same bar, ordered the same drinks, requested the same song from the pianist, and then they came back to Tony’s place where he would teach Steve how to kiss, how to soften the corners of his mouth and relax his tongue and read Tony’s movements. He showed Steve how to use his hands when he kissed, how to touch Tony in ways that made Steve feel like he was playing an instrument.
Tony did a surprisingly good job of keeping his hands to himself in those moments. It was easy to forget sometimes that Steve wasn’t Captain America 24/7, and this knowledge would come rushing back to Tony when Steve would be grabbing at the air with his hands, Tony latched onto his ear and making him beg. Tony would let go and take his hands then, smile and kiss them and say something sweet, and then he’d hum a couple of bars of something, or maybe he’d just say, “Relax.” And then they would start again from the beginning, just kissing each other’s lips.
Tony was shocked at his complete disinterest in pressing the issue.
The last time Tony had felt that satisfied with just a kiss was when he was a teenager, making out with the few upperclassmen at MIT that would humor a 15 year old’s advances. He imagined that Steve felt the same way, probably more so than he did. People always expected something out Tony, especially the people he dated, and Steve expected nothing. Seriously. They’d make out during a movie, get distracted by the plot, and then Tony would turn to kiss Steve again only to find him asleep, arm wrapped around him and his head lolling back onto the couch. Tony would emerge from the shower and Steve wouldn’t even look up from his sketchbook. He knew it wasn’t for lack of interest. Steve was the only man Tony knew who could fall asleep with a raging hard-on. He was a professional at self-control. He was a gentleman.
Tony wondered why Steve’s demure nature wasn’t annoying the fuck out of him, and when he looked back at all of his romantic exploits, he was shocked to find that he was rarely the one to initiate sex. He’d climb into cars with a date for the evening and have to shove her off of him so they wouldn’t get in an accident. That Vanity Fair reporter from years ago had actually bruised Tony’s shoulders, she’d gripped him so hard to shove him onto the bed. Each and every time he’d gotten a blowjob in the VIP bathroom at a club, it hadn’t been his idea. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy the perks of being thought of as a slut – sex anytime and anywhere – but he also couldn’t say that he wasn’t charmed by the distance between him and Steve, the fact that they had yet to even be naked together in the same room.
“This doesn’t frustrate you, does it?”
Tony knew Steve would ask eventually. Tony was straddling Steve on the couch, buttoning his shirt back up while Steve panted, trying to calm himself.
“I mean it’s been…how long?” Steve seemed to be calculating in his head, but he gave up. “Couple months, right? Surely you wanna…”
“Tony Stark, slutty trillionaire,” Tony said, grinning, and Steve smiled apologetically.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Tony leaned forward and planted his elbows on Steve’s shoulders, studying his still-flushed face. Steve’s large, hot hand slid up his side, and then the other one joined, warming him.
“It’s kinda nice when people don’t expect you to put out,” Tony said, and he could tell that Steve thought he was joking from the way he smiled. “But really, I’m happy just to kiss you.” And he leaned in to prove his point.
*
“What’s so interesting?”
Tony approached Steve at the kitchen bar, resting a hand lazily on his lower back as he leaned into the newspaper Steve had spread before him.
“Just reading a review,” Steve said, and he pointed it out on the page. “At one of my war buddy's alma mater, too. Sounds like it was a good show.”
Tony read for a moment, then pulled out his phone. “Wanna go?”
Steve looked at Tony, who was tapping and sliding away. Steve opened his mouth (to what - protest? That would be dumb.) and then he shut it again, opting instead to just nod in agreement.
“Hey, there are two shows tomorrow night,” Tony said. “JARVIS, get me two tickets to Porgy and Bess at Howard University, alright? Tomorrow night, 8 o’clock show.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I prepare travel arrangements and accommodations as well?”
“You know the routine - jet, Happy, penthouse. And let's get there early, too. I wanna show Cap around.”
*
Steve assumed that a rich guy like Tony would wanna stay at the W Hotel or some fancy Georgetown condo overlooking the Potomac, but from here Steve couldn't see any water, and they most certainly weren't in the city center. He sat in the backseat of Tony's Jaguar with a delightfully shocked grin on his face as Happy crawled through traffic on 14th Street, eventually crossing U Street and making a left to enter the garage of the Ellington. The neighborhood was crowded, loud, dirty, and old, but Steve liked it that way. Reminded him of home, like so many things were starting to nowadays.
“I lease the penthouse,” Tony said. “I’m in town a lot. This is a historic building, too - used to be a theatre. We’ll get dinner at Ben’s after the play. They're open late, and there's a bar next door. Great sausages.”
Tony’s penthouse was as luxurious as was to be expected, all floor-to-ceiling windows and European fixtures. He even had JARVIS installed there, though he mentioned that he didn’t use him as much when he was in DC. Steve tried not to marvel at the place as they walked through the foyer and into the living room. Tony went to the sidebar and put down his keys, then turned to face Steve with a smile.
“You’ve got a really nice place here,” Steve said, still holding his travel bag. “Thanks for having me.”
“My pleasure,” Tony said.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Steve asked.
Tony only paused for a second. “Through the bedroom there, on the left.”
“I haven’t had a shower today, so I’m gonna go get cleaned up before we go out.”
If Tony’s heart was in his throat, Steve couldn’t tell. “Sure thing,” Tony said, and he fished his phone out of his pocket, wandering towards the kitchen with it.
Steve stepped under the giant showerhead and immediately leaned forward against the tile, sighing heavily. He glanced over his shoulder, where he knew the bathroom door would be.
He was alone with Tony. Happy had gotten himself a hotel room and would pick them up whenever needed. There was no one else to distract them from each other. If there was ever a time for Steve to tap into his bottomless reserve of bravery, it was now.
He felt like he needed to make a move because he was endlessly amazed by Tony's patience, by the complete absence of any pushiness or outward showings of frustration. Two months and they were still working on top of each other's clothes, still making out and stopping when things got too hot, like teenagers waiting for their wedding night. Tony was just as quick to reign in his wandering hands as Steve was, which was surprising for both of them. Tony had a ridiculously storied history, the whole "12 for 12 Maxim cover models" legend, as well as other rumors Steve had heard over time. Perhaps Tony wasn't as horny as the world made him out to be, or perhaps he felt actual respect for Steve. Steve supposed both of them could be true. He need only remember the look in Tony's eyes when Steve admitted to being a virgin, and how Tony never attempted to touch him below the belt. Steve didn't even get good-natured butt pats from Tony anymore, like he had before they'd started dating. Steve knew that Tony didn't want him to feel pressured.
Steve wanted to - oh jesus, did he ever want to - but he didn't push it for fear of embarrassing himself. He knew that when his first time came around that it would probably be awkward and not-perfect, but he didn't want that to happen when he was with Tony Stark, a playboy with so many figurative notches in his figurative bedpost that it would be a figurate pile of sawdust by now. He imagined Tony nodding off during sex with him, though he knew that a thought like that was unfair to both of them. If Tony liked him enough to put up with sixty days of makeout sessions, then he was sure Tony could tolerate some beginner-style sex.
Or maybe it wouldn't be situation of Tony tolerating anything. Maybe he'd be as happy fucking Steve as he was kissing him. Maybe he'd love it, beginner-style or not.
Steve couldn't think about this much longer. It was noon and they were in DC, and Tony intended to take him to Georgetown and show him the older parts of the city. If he kept thinking about possibly having sex with Tony he'd just end up with a hardon, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep it concealed from Tony in this apartment that was huge, but still only had four rooms. But maybe Tony wouldn't be shocked or order him into a cold shower. Maybe he'd just walk up and kiss Steve, wrap one arm around his shoulders while his other hand reached between them and...
Okay. Enough.
Steve quickly washed off and turned off the water, and outside of the room he could hear music playing and Tony moving around, and he dried his hair a bit before wrapping his towel around his waist and tucking it tight. He let out a deep breath, then opened the door.
Tony was laying on the bed in his undershirt and slacks, ankles crossed and playing with his phone. He looked up as if to speak and paused, his eyes freezing on Steve's wet torso, traveling down and then back up to his face. He was silent as Steve walked over, and finally Tony let out a breath and started back with this phone, fingers moving almost frantically.
"Is it cheesy to listen to the cast recording before we go to the show?" Tony asked, and Steve just shrugged though Tony couldn't see it. "I think it's cheesy, but I don't care."
Tony finally looked up again when he felt Steve's weight on the bed, and he saw Steve hoisting his legs up off of the floor and scooting close to him, lying side by side with him. Steve's skin should have had goosebumps but it didn't, and water still dotted his chest and stomach, made his neck shine.
"Hey," Tony said, trying to smile, his hand pausing on his phone. "How was your shower? Is that not the best bathroom in DC?" His eyes looked strained, as if they were desperately trying to not roam all about Steve's body.
"Sure," Steve said, though the truth was that he didn't remember anything about the bathroom at all. "I, uh, I wanted to..." Steve let his eyes wander down to Tony's chest, to where the arc reactor glowed dully through the black tank top. He reached out and rested his hand just below it, and Tony dropped his phone to the side, resting his now-empty hand on top of Steve's. "I just wanna show you that..."
Fuck it, Steve thought, he sounded like a fucking idiot anyway so he leaned forward and took Tony's mouth in a kiss that was so practiced and so perfect that Tony moaned into it, gripping Steve's hand hard. Tony always moaned when Steve kissed him now. Steve learned everything quickly and efficiently, and now the guy who'd only kissed two people in his 90 years on earth had Tony Stark trembling against his mouth. He always had Tony trembling against his mouth.
Steve dared to reach out for the hem of Tony's shirt, pulling at the front of it gently until it came untucked. Steve rested his hand low on Tony's stomach, and he sucked Tony's tongue as he rubbed circles there, letting his hand slide lower until it dipped beneath the waistband of his trousers.
Tony's hand was gentle when it covered Steve's, stopping him. He barely broke the kiss, just backing away a touch so that he could see Steve's eyes.
"You sure about that?" Tony asked softly, his breath gusting.
"Yes, god yes," Steve murmured, kissing Tony again before he could pull away once more.
"Steve," Tony said, blinking a bit. "I'm not really...I mean it's...you should find somebody whose -"
Steve's groan cut him off. Tony had only talked like that once before and Steve had been quick to shut it down. He tried again, but to no avail. "Don't start with that -"
"No - really, listen to me," Tony said, his voice all too serious now, "You want me to be your first, okay, your first ever. But you know what that's gonna make you? You're gonna be my, like...9,000-and-somethingth." Steve couldn't help the tiny laugh that fell out of his mouth. "Do you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you," Steve said, "and...okay, so I'm new to this, but I know what I want." He reached down and untucked his towel, keeping his eyes on Tony's as he laid it open on the bed, showing his unblemished peach skin, modest and curly blond hair framing his half-hard cock. Tony looked down and sighed at the sight, at the size of it though it wasn't even fully erect, before meeting Steve's eyes again. "Never been more sure." Tony nodded lazily, eyeing Steve almost cautiously as he scooted closer. "I want you, okay? And you're not dirty, Tony."
Steve could feel himself blushing under the weight of his words but he ignored it, instead running a hand up Tony's thigh, deliberately across his tightening crotch. Tony blinked a bit and sighed, dipping his head toward Steve's to rub their lips together. Steve rubbed Tony for a while, and he had to remind himself to breath when he felt Tony stiffen beneath his ministrations, hips pressing up to into his stroke. Steve wasn't sure from where he was able to muster up his bravery, but suddenly he was unbuttoning and unzipping Tony's expensive suit pants and reaching in, pulling out an erection that seemed to throb as soon as the air touched it.
"See," Steve breathed, sliding his hand up and down in the laziest of strokes, "I get you hard, Tony. You want me, too." And he kissed Tony desperately then, pulling at Tony as if he needed to be convinced further. "I want..." And Tony's hand was on him now, making Steve's body twist beneath the thumb swirling the tip of his cock. "God, I wanna fuck you."
Steve dipped forward and kissed Tony, kissed him as passionately as he'd been taught to, and he silently marveled at the way Tony got harder in his hands, throbbed and twitched beneath his unskilled fingers. His lips trailed down Tony's chin and neck, and he noticed that Tony stopped breathing once his kisses began to land on his clavicle, moving down the center of his chest as Steve shifted his body lower, making his intentions known. He'd never done this before. Tony's cock was poised in front of his lips now, shining just the tiniest bit at the tip. Steve licked curiously and found the taste to be mild at best and slightly sweet, not at all like the bitter saltiness he'd read about on the internet.
"Just tell me what to do," he whispered along Tony's hot skin, making the man above him hiss with need.
"No rush," Tony murmured. Steve sucked at the very tip of Tony's cock first, getting more of his flavor before wrapping his lips around the head and letting his tongue work in the dark heat of his mouth. He flicked his eyes up to see that Tony's were shut, his lips parted slightly and his hands flexing on top of the sheets. Steve pulled back and then took more in, and Tony's mouth dropped open slightly, his back arching languidly off of the bed for a moment.
"A little bit more," Tony said, and he rested a hand on Steve's shoulder as he moved a bit faster, taking more in with each stroke. There wasn't much technique to Steve's endeavor but he could see the sweat on Tony's skin, the way his stomach fluttered when Steve finally relaxed enough to take all of Tony's length. Steve felt a hand brushing sweetly at his hair as he held his position, nose pressed firmly into Tony's pubic hair, and he didn't pull back until he felt a gentle push at his shoulder.
"Crawl before you walk, now," Tony said in a barely coherent whisper, leaning back again once he saw that Steve was alright. Steve would have grinned at Tony's concern but he didn't (couldn't). He kept going, kept pushing hard and deeper for the reaction it got out of Tony. Tony lay on the bed with one hand thrown over his eyes and the other one resting on Steve's head, his skin flushed and his voice whimpering wordlessly. Steve liked Tony unguarded like this, naked even though he was still in his shirt and pants. Steve took all of him in again and Tony keened, lifting up off of the bed as his cock gave a great throb inside Steve's hungry mouth.
"Wait, wait," Tony said, and Steve blinked as he sat up.
"Was it that bad?" Steve asked, and Tony just laughed as he opened the bedside drawer.
"Quite the contrary," Tony said, and he climbed into Steve's naked lap and kissed him, their erections brushing as Steve was laid gently back on the bed with Tony straddling him. "But you said you wanted to fuck me, right?"
Tony didn't wait for an answer; he just turned and grabbed a bottle of lube and a condom from his bedside table. He dropped the condom on the bed and opened the lube, then removed his pants quicker than anything Steve had ever seen. He straddled Steve again, then took his hand. "I've had those condoms for a while, actually," Tony mumbled as he squeezed a little onto Steve's fingers. "Should probably check the date on 'em."
Steve knew what Tony was getting at. "Stop killing the moment."
Tony just grinned as he slid up Steve's stomach a bit while guiding the slicked up fingers behind him. "Then warm me up. It's been a while."
Steve froze for a second. Tony was just sitting on him now and not offering any direction, but Steve figured that some things were supposed to be intiutive. So he tried not to rub the lube away as he fumbled between Tony's ass cheeks, eventually finding his hole and rubbing it in small circles. Tony bit his lip as Steve eased in a fingertip, and it was as warm and tight as Steve hoped it would be, and he fell back onto the mattress with a huff. His finger kept moving, sliding deeper until he was in up to his knuckle. "One more," Tony said above him, and Steve complied, adding another finger and moving it gently until he felt Tony relax around him, taking him easily. Above him Tony was flicking Steve's nipples and pushing back onto the fingers inside of him, shamelessly enjoying it.
"That's almost too good," Tony said, and he was sliding back now, situating himself over Steve's hips once again. Steve took his hand away and discreetly wiped them on the sheets before taking Tony by the hips. Tony reached over for the condom and Steve rested his hand on top of his.
"You're not dirty, Tony." Steve said this because the two times they'd broached the subject of sex before, Tony had told him that he'd tested clean and that he hadn't slept with anyone since his last test but that he used to be a fucking slut and that he would definitely give Steve a cold sore at the very least. Steve didn't want to think about that right now. He didn't want to remember the story about Tony almost crashing on the PCH because he was fighting off a nonconsensual blowjob from a stranger. He just wanted to feel Tony, to be inside of him, skin against skin.
So he sat up a bit while still holding Tony's hips, and this motion alone was all it took to ease the head of his cock inside. Steve felt like his face was on fire and he looked up at Tony, whose mouth was gaping and his head nodding. Steve moved in more, oh so slowly, and Tony fell forward then, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck with a bitter sigh. Steve leaned back a bit, bringing Tony with him as his hips finally met Tony's ass, and now the blush was all over his body as he let himself relax, let himself feel the heat around him and relish it.
Tony sat up and begin to thrust on top of Steve, and it was if they'd traded places - Steve now lay back on the bed with an arm across his face, his other hand resting lazily on Tony's hip as he gasped above him, mumbling too low to hear. The sensation of it sent stars across Steve's vision as he began to pull Tony to him with each stroke, an easy feat even one-handed for Captain America.
"Hangin' in there?" Tony asked rhetorically, though Steve still nodded from behind his arm and gave a pathetic whimper as Tony picked up his pace, planting his hands onto Steve's chest and moving in earnest now. Tony seemed to realize he was still wearing his tank top and he slung it off quickly, both of them now naked on top of Steve's damp towel. He leaned down and Steve met him halfway with a kiss, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around Tony's waist. Steve bucked upward and Tony moaned into his mouth, louder than he was already moaning, and then Steve realized he could continue to fuck Tony this way, he could hold him close and smell his skin and watch him come undone from only centimeters away.
Steve brought his hips up again and again, and soon Tony wasn't kissing him anymore. He was rigid in Steve's arms, hands gripping Steve's shoulders as the super-soldier fucked into him, not too hard but enough for Tony to feel the thickness of Steve's cock with every stroke, to feel it's gentle curve and the veins that painted its surface like the branches of a tree.
"Is it good?" Steve asked, and Tony nodded, and that little bit of encouragement seemed to make Steve's body blush deeper, made him want to fuck Tony harder. But he wouldn't - Steve knew he was big and that Tony hadn't done this in a while, and besides, it's not like he had to. Steve had never done this before but he could recognize a man losing control, surrendering to pleasure the way Tony was with his eyes glazed and his knees locked, squatting over Steve's cock and just taking whatever he was being given.
Tony's knees trembled from holding his position and neither seemed to notice until he finally lost his balance and fell forward, seating himself fully on Steve's cock and burying his face in his neck. Tony gave a yelp as Steve's erection pressed into that wonderful spot inside of him, making all kinds of colors and patterns pepper his vision, and he could hear sweet Steve talking, whispering something into his ear once before saying it again.
"Does it hurt?" Steve asked a bit louder this time, and Tony just kissed him, kissed sweet Steve who swore up-and-down that Tony was not dirty.
"Just like this," Tony breathed against Steve's mouth, staring into his wide eyes, almost frantic with lust. "Fuck me just like this."
Steve started again and Tony pressed his face into his neck, his mouth falling open as Steve found his pace again - energetic but not brutal, eager but careful. Steve couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and he held Tony tightly, desperately as his hips drove up into him, both of their moans and pants drowning out whatever showtune was playing now. Tony was slick and almost too hot around him, pushing his hips down now with Steve's every upward thrust, his cock thumping against Tony's prostate almost every time.
"Steve," Tony warbled, and the sound of his name being said like that made Steve move harder, now unabashed in the way he was chasing his orgasm. "Steve - goddamn..." Tony gave a creaking groan before he came, his come spurting between their bodies. Steve didn't realize what was happening until wet warmth striped his belly and Tony went rigid in his arms, eyes locked to his, lips pleading wordlessly. Once their eyes met Steve knew he was done for, and he held Tony down on his cock as he came hard inside of him, his entire body flushed and misted with sweat, his hips snapping up with every throb of his orgasm.
Steve wrapped his arms around Tony and leaned back, pulling them into an embrace as they laid flat on the bed. Both just breathed, eyes closed, warm summer sun coming in through the windows, a view of the Washington Momument right outside.
"Was that okay?" Steve asked.
"Why would you ask me something like that," Tony said, and it was definitely more of a statement than a question. He pulled the bedsheets over him and Steve, who lay beneath him flushed and sweating with his cock pink and not really softening just yet. Tony groped blindly around the bed and found his tank top, and Steve looked away when Tony used it to clean himself out. Tony threw the shirt off of the bed and laid back down, moving close to Steve and pulling the covers around himself as well. Steve leaned over and kissed Tony, leaving their faces pressed together. Steve finally recognized the song playing but he couldn't think of the name. Something from Miss Saigon.
"I picked up a newspaper at the airport," Steve said. "This show is gonna be at the Kennedy Center tomorrow. Never seen it, but I love the music."
Tony smiled against Steve's face. "JARVIS, you heard the man." The AI was responding with something about how he'd already purchased a private box for them and arranged for VIP entry, but they were kissing again, kisses that drowned out everything else.
They thought about sleeping but instead decided to turn on All That Jazz, which had now become Steve's favorite movie musical. The stage production wasn't playing anywhere locally, but Steve knew how to be patient. Tony used to protest when Steve would want to fast-forward to his favorite number, but now he just lay smiling beside Steve, waving his hands around and singing along with him.
Don't throw the past away
You might need it some rainy day
Dreams can come true again
When every thing old is new again
