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You couldn't hold back a smile as you watched Tony expertly weave through the crowd of the dance floor to meet you at its edge.
"No Captain tonight?" He asked, innocently enough.
"He's at the bar, I think." You nodded toward the bar where, sure enough, Steve was sitting with a glass of beer in hand.
"So what are you doing over here?" Tony pushed your shoulder playfully. "Go. Seduce him with your wily charm."
You glanced over at Steve again, and he caught your eye, giving a wave. Tony waved back, and then glared intently at you. Sober or not, Tony was being quite the wingman tonight.
After another nudge, you finally decided to make your way over to the bar, where you slid onto the stool next to him. The bartender, a pretty woman in her thirties, turned to ask what you wanted.
"Just a ginger ale, thanks."
The bartender reached under the counter for a glass and a can of Canada Dry. As she was pouring it, Steve spoke up, stumbling a little on the start.
"I-It's on me." The bartender smiled and pointed at a sign behind her. "Designated drivers are on the house."
"Oh." Steve mumbled into his beer.
"Thanks, though." You tried to make him feel better. "It's a nice gesture."
Steve glanced up, smiling briefly at you before looking down again. The bartender placed the ginger ale in front of you. As you sipped at it, you stole another glance at Steve.
Even as a SHIELD agent, or as Tony Stark's personal friend, it was sometimes a little hard to believe that you were sharing space with THE Captain America. Past Steve, you could see Tony making a face at you that just screamed "talk to him!".
"Wanna dance?" You blurted out. You had just been looking at the dance floor, and there was pressure to say something, and this could not end well. Steve looked over at you and then back down at the floor. To equal parts your suprise, horror, and relief, Steve had put out his arm for you to take, and he led you to the dance floor, right past Tony, who was making the most obvious thumbs up with one hand, while the other held onto a shot of tequila.
Neither of you danced well. Not to the music that was playing, anyways. All electronic and hollow. No one could swing to this. Not that you knew how to swing dance. You could barely keep ryhthm.
"You know," shouted Steve over the music, "I used to be a good dancer. Back when the bands were live."
You nodded, picturing you and Steve in full 40s' get-ups dancing around to a live band in some little bar. Damn, that would be nice.
"If you want," Steve shouthed again, "I could teach you."
Your insides bubbled over at the thought of dancing with Steve. Over the bass drop of the song on the speakers, you yelled, "okay!"
As the two of you continued to awkwardly sway to the music at hand, you could have sworn you saw Tony slide past you, sporting two more shots, and the same big thumbs up.
Ultimate wingman.