Work Text:
Steve felt his mind reeling. He thought he'd been so obvious with his affections... Apparently not. And the suggestion of them sleeping together... however platonic Tony had meant for it to be - although saying you're going to wrap yourself around the other person didn't really sound all that platonic - Steve still felt it would be wrong. Granted, the 21st century was a lot more open-minded and happy to believe that being gay wasn't a sickness, but that didn't stop his 1920s Catholic upbringing from screaming "IT'S NOT RIGHT! YOU'RE SICK! HOW DARE YOU!" into his ear whenever he thought about the man in the other room. And what about Becky? Steve was 90 percent sure that he had feelings for her, but what were they? And were they true feelings? The questions and self-accusations began spinning out of control and he felt his breathing begin to quicken, soon enough causing him to hyperventilate, as if he was back as his former self having yet another asthma attack. He threw his StarkPad onto the sofa cushion next to him (panicking minutely that it would break) and put his head between his legs, trying desperately to regulate his breathing.
Once he regained control he sat back up and picked up the discarded StarkPad, re-reading the letter another 5 times to make sure he read it in the right context and didn't get the wrong impression. Confident in what the letter was saying to him, he began to write his reply. He wanted - needed - to apologise firstly. How could he not have ever realised that maybe he wasn't as glaringly obvious as he thought he'd been? The easy part finished, he now had to reply to Tony's request. Should they? Could they? Steve had wanted this and wanted him for so long, but was it really a good time? But on the other hand, if Tony needed this from him, how could he say no? He wrote, deleted, and re-wrote his answer more times than he would have liked before settling on focusing on what Tony needed rather than what he himself wanted. He sent the reply and flopped back into the sofa, already regretting his agreement. Could he really be platonic about this? He loved the man more than he ever thought he could love anyone, so how did he really expect himself to distance his emotions from what he was about to do? He stopped his train of thought before it forced him to hyperventilate again and mustered up the courage and strength needed to do what was right for Tony.
If he was going to do it, right away was as good a time as any. He got up from the sofa, carefully placing the StarkPad down on the coffee table, and went to the kitchenette for the pills and water he had promised before heading towards the bedroom. Opening the door slowly, he peeked his head through the gap, hoping to see the lights off and Tony asleep so that he could pretend it never happened. What he did see was Tony, dressed in pyjama pants and a white tank, tapping away at his own StarkPad. He looked up and stopped instantly, eyes widening a fraction in surprise.
"Well I guess-"
"I, er, don't-"
They both stopped and waited for the other to continue, before Tony gestured his hand.
"I know I agreed to do this but I don't know if this is a good idea Tony, I mean are either of us really in the best state of mind?"
"Because of Pepper or because of the accident? Steve, when I said platonically in that letter I meant it." He sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. "I'm just so fucking tired, Steve. I haven't really slept since Pepper, and believe me I've tried, but I just can't anymore. Too many things have happened to me while I've been on my own that I don't feel safe anymore without someone else beside me. Please, Steve. I don't want to talk about anything else that's been said. I just want to sleep."
Steve had never seen Tony with his walls down this far. It was... breathtaking. To see the man who he thought he knew to be so strong and so self-assured become a broken and vulnerable shell of that made all the emotions that Steve felt for him stronger, but also more confused. Was this affection Tony felt for him true, or did he just want Steve because he knew somehow that all he wanted to do was protect him? The desperate look in Tony's eyes as he waited for Steve's reaction made his train of thought shut down immediately. It didn't matter what he thought would come out of the eventual conversation they would have, because he needed him now. That conversation would probably not even be able to happen if either of them didn't get some proper rest, because they wouldn't be able to wrap their heads around what they were saying, and Steve wanted to be fully aware when he spilled out everything that had been running through his mind.
His body had begun moving before his mind had finished the train of thought because before he knew it he had shut the door with a soft click and placed his shoes to the side of the door. He walked across to the bed and gave Tony his pills and water before sliding in gently, Tony shuffling towards one side to help accommodate for his large frame. The scarlet duvet rustled as Steve settled in and Tony took the pills before doing the same, both men laying on their backs. The feeling of Tony so close to him overtook his brain for a brief second and he pulled the slighter man closer to him, wrapping an arm around him. The tension in Tony's shoulders left and he moved his head onto Steve's chest, sighing ever so slightly in what Steve hoped was contentment.
"Thank you." It was almost too quiet for Steve to hear but his enhanced hearing picked up the thanks and he smiled fondly in response. He began to card his fingers through Tony's hair, remembering that his Mother used to do that for him when he was particularly sick to soothe him. The rest of the remaining tension in Tony's body seeped away, bit by bit, and his breathing evened out as he finally slept.
There was a small part of his brain constantly repeating the question "But what about Becky?", but that was soon drowned out as Tony curled up closer to him, in an even deeper sleep. Becky - and everything else that concerned him - was a worry for tomorrow; now was for relishing the moment he had. He carded his fingers through Tony's hair one last time, and then slid his eyes closed. That night's sleep was the best he had since before the war.