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Visiting Asgard was… well. Eventful was probably too weak to describe it. Surreal came close.
But it was most definitely the most fun Tony’s had in years.
There was only one thing that made Avengers’ stay in Asgard not as fun as it should have been.
Steve Rogers’ insistence that at least one of the Avengers should not go out every night with Thor and his buddies and get really, thoroughly, amazingly drunk.
Steve insisted it was respectful of their hosts.
Tony insisted it was boring and redundant because Asgardians? They really loved to drink.
No one was really surprised - or bothered - when it was Steve who stayed behind when the rest of the team went out.
Tony didn’t find a problem with that situation.
Until one day he did.
They were ready to head out, and then Tony made the mistake of actually looking at Steve’s face.
Steve looked sad.
Well, he looked his stoic and composed self, but there was something off with it. Like Steve had to make a considerable effort to appear nonchalant about staying behind.
Tony had no idea what made him do it. Temporary insanity or something else, but all of a sudden, he heard himself saying: “You know what, Cap?” Tony made a show of yawning and stretching. “I don’t think I’m up to going out today. Why don’t you go instead, and I’ll stay here and act like a good, respectable Midgardian?”
Steve’s eyes widened, suspicion and hope and excitement swirling in his gaze. Then, a beat later, Steve seemed to gather himself. “You don’t need to do this, Tony,” he said, and Tony wanted to smack him upside the head for being… well, himself. He also, kind of, wanted to hug him. “I was the one who insisted on this rule.” He grimaced. “And the only one who voted for it. You were very clear on your stance. Loud and clear.”
Tony arched an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I am acting unselfishly, Rogers?” Tony said. “Because if you are, I am going to need you to say it-- in those exact words-- when we’re back home so JARVIS can record it.”
A couple of years earlier that would have ended in a shouting match. And one of the storming off in a huff. Now, Steve merely shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Okay,” Steve said. “But you will need to say those words too. For a recording of my own.”
For a second Tony found himself rendered speechless. While his stomach did something weird and fluttery.
“As much fun as this is not,” Clint cut in. “But the rest of us would really want to be where the mead is. Which is not here.”
Tony threw a dirty look in Clint direction. He didn’t look especially bothered. “Can you try not to be a dick for five minutes, Barton?”
“Tony,” Steve said. He was suddenly standing close, his hand gentle on Tony’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I don’t mind staying. It’s not like I can get drunk.”
Tony squared him with a flat stare. “You don’t need to go out to get drunk, Rogers, but to loosen up. A little fun won’t kill you.”
The moment those words left his mouth, Tony knew he’d made a mistake.
Steve stiffened, his face going blank instantly. He pulled his hand away, squeezing it into a loose fist by his side. “Maybe you are right, Tony,” Steve said, and Tony really, really wanted to bang his head against something in that moment. “I should loosen up.”
With that, Steve turned on his heel and marched out of the room without a second glance.
“What were you saying about not being a dick, Stark?”
Tony didn’t bother to turn his head in Clint’s direction to flip him off.
***
Tony wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep.
Although, the answer was probably somewhere between the first and fourth hour of sitting alone in the truly stunning - and very, very gold-encrusted - room that was given to him during his stay on Asgard, and feeling like the biggest asshole alive.
He also wasn’t sure what woke him up.
He pushed himself up, blinking bleary-eyed at his surroundings. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. “Huh,” he muttered, eying the sofa speculatively. “My neck doesn’t hurt.”
He wondered whether it was due to magic or just really good craftsmanship. He hoped it was the latter. He hated magic.
A loud bang on the door, followed by an annoyingly familiar voice dragged Tony’s attention back to the present.
“Stark, I know you’re in there,” Clint yelled. “So open up.”
Tony silently debated not answering the door, just to see what Clint would do. His mind helpfully supplied him with an image of doors being violently smashed open. It most certainly wasn’t what a good, respectable Midgardian would allow.
He’d already hurt Steve’s feelings - unintentionally this time, not that it mattered - he didn’t need to add an intergalactic diplomatic incident to his list of offenses.
Along with a broken promise.
“Hold your horses, Barton,” Tony called out, rising to his feet. He quickened his steps all the same. “I’m coming.”
“Barton, you better be having a good-” Tony groused, opening the door. The moment the door opened, Tony was enveloped in a tight hug. He almost buckled under a sudden, not unsubstantial weight of what appeared to be a very clingy and very relaxed super soldier.
Tony shot out a hand, steadying both himself and Steve with a rather desperate grip on the doorframe.
Tony looked down at the blond head that was nestled against his neck, then back at Barton. “What the hell did you do to Steve?”
“Tony,” Steve muttered, his breath warm and wet on the skin of Tony’s neck. He nuzzled closer, inhaling deeply. “You smell nice.”
Tony ignored the very inappropriate thoughts Steve’s closeness evoked, focusing instead on Clint.
“I know I have threatened you before, but I really mean it this time. Explain this. In a way that won't end with me throwing your crap out of my Tower,” Tony ground out. Steve was more or less leaning most of his weight on Tony now, while clutching at Tony’s back like an enthusiastic octopus. Tony was glad that Steve still had enough presence of mind to use only a fraction of his strength. He tightened his hold on the doorframe, then tried to take a step back. It only earned him more enthusiastic nuzzling. “He was fine when he left. How the hell did you break Captain America in just a few hours?”
Clint at least had the decency to look somewhat chastened.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “It appears he can get drunk. If he drinks enough Asgardian mead. Which he did.”
“Obviously,” Tony grit out, glaring at Clint. “So now that we’ve covered the obvious… Why the hell did you bring him here? He has a nice room with a bed just down the hall.”
“That wasn’t an option,” Clint said, shrugging. “Sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry, though. Quite the opposite, in fact. He looked smug. And like he is on the verge of rolling on the floor with laughter.
“And why is that?” Tony said. He almost choked on his breath when he felt something - lips? - brush against his neck. He swallowed thickly. “Before you answer, remember that you fall off of buildings often enough on missions.”
“You wouldn’t let me fall, Stark. You’d be bored without me around.”
“I’ll take my chanc-- Steve, stop that,” Tony yelped, his voice reaching embarrassing height. Yep, those were definitely lips. Steve lifted his head off Tony's shoulder, looking confused and maybe a little hurt by Tony’s outburst.
“Tony?” Steve said, soft and low. “Why don’t you like me?”
So, apparently, Steve was an affectionate and clingy drunk who also pronounced every word without slurring. Tony really, really hoped he was still asleep and this was nothing but a weird nightmare, brought on by his guilty conscience.
“Yeah, Stark? Why don’t you like Cap?” Barton cut in, grinning like a lunatic he was. And standing safely out of reach. Not that Tony would have been able to do anything to him, considering that Steve showed no intention of letting go of Tony.
Tony shot Clint a murderous glare, before looking up at Steve. And woah. Those were some really blue eyes Steve had. Blue, and wide, and soft--
Tony really, really needed to wake the fuck up.
“I like you, Steve,” Tony said, forcing his mouth into a smile. It was a strained and obviously a fake smile, but Steve didn’t seem to notice. He sighed happily, then returned to nuzzling Tony’s neck. It wasn't exactly what Tony had in mind. But at least Steve was no longer doing that thing with his mouth.
Tony valiantly tried to pretend he was happy about that.
Tony took a deep breath, then glared at Barton. “Talk.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He was moping the entire time because you were a jerk to him. Also, he drank. A lot,” Barton said, gesturing at Steve. “And voilà. Drunk Cap.”
“And?” Tony prompted in an icy undertone.
“Then he suddenly decided he needed to see you. We tried to talk him out of it.” At Tony’s dubious look, Clint shrugged. “Oh, come on, Stark. You know him. How likely is he to change his mind when he has his mind set on something? And he was dead set on looking for you. Bringing him to you seemed the best solution for everyone involved.”
“Everyone involved?”
“The entire team took a vote. We counted your voice as ‘no’. You were outvoted, by the way. Five to one.”
Tony exhaled a resigned sigh. “I hate you all.” He let go of the doorframe, shutting the door to grinning Clint’s face.
When Steve released another happy sigh, squeezing tighter, Tony leaned down, not quite accidentally brushing his lips against the crown of Steve’s head. “Not you, though.”
***
Maneuvering Steve to Tony’s bedroom had taken a lot of time. And effort. And patience. And restraint.
Steve had been adamant on trying to cuddle Tony while standing. It was simultaneously the best and the worst thing that has happened to Tony.
It was all Tony had wanted for a long time. And now that it was happening, it was not real.
Their progress had also been constantly derailed by Steve's insistence on sharing everything he liked about Tony. Apparently, Steve really appreciated Tony’s hands, hair, and eyes.
He had a lot of thoughts about those - and other - Tony's attributes. Which he had disclosed with great enthusiasm. Tony hadn't been able to decide whether he should laugh or cry. He settled on croaking a polite thank you. It had earned him a wide, beaming smile from Steve.
But especially memorable moment had been when Steve had cupped Tony’s face - he was surprisingly gentle about it, like Tony was something precious and delicate - then said, in that earnest way of his, “You're a good man, Tony.”
And then he had hugged Tony. Again.
By then Tony had been quite certain he was wide awake, and in hell. Because he sure as hell wasn't a good man.
A good man would't have pretended that Steve's drunken - no matter how articulate - ramblings were true.
***
“I’m not sleepy,” Steve said as he sat up for the twentieth time since Tony had finally managed to get him to lie down. He pouted when Tony pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him back, but he went with it. He refused to let go of Tony’s wrist. Which he'd been holding for the last half an hour or so. It wasn't a tight grip, but definitely a decisive one. Like Tony's wrist was a lifeline Steve didn't dare to let go. “I want to talk to you. I like to listen to you talk.”
Tony snorted, amused. “You do? You spend a lot of time telling me to shut up.”
Steve frowned, then waved dismissively. “And you never listen,” Steve said. He almost sounded like himself then. But the illusion was broken when he beamed at Tony. “You’re really smart. And funny.”
Tony sighed. “And an asshole. Don’t forget asshole.”
“Sometimes,” Steve agreed. “But you’re no longer deliberately trying to hurt me.” Steve paused, a strangely vulnerable expression drawing across his features. “Are you?”
Tony scraped a hand across his face. He needed to say this to Steve when it would actually matter. That didn't mean he should let Steve feel bad now. He'd done enough of that already today. “Yeah, about what I said earlier. I was a jerk, I know, but I didn’t mean to offend you. I- I like you, Steve.”
“Good,” Steve said, his eyes drifting shut. “Because I really like you.”
Tony held his breath, hoping - for both of their sakes - that Steve had gone to sleep.
His hope was shattered when Steve blinked his eyes open, gaze locking on Tony’s. He brushed his thumb against the pulse point on Tony’s wrist, smiling sheepishly.
“Will you kiss me?” Steve asked. Tony froze down to his very core. The only part of him that seemed alive was his heart, beating wildly against his breastbone.
“What?” Tony croaked when he’d finally regained power of speech. He tried to jerk his hand out of Steve’s grip, but Steve didn’t let him go. He pushed himself up, and cupped Tony’s cheek. He was really - dangerously - close. He'd always looked unfairly pretty, but in that moment: eyes half-lidded, hair mussed and looking so unlike his usual composed self... well. Tony and his feeble self-control were having a not so mild panic attack.
“Just this one time,” Steve said, sounding sad and hopeful at the same time. He leaned forward a bit. Tony could feel his breath on his lips. It smelled sweet. Probably from the mead. Tony wondered whether his lips would taste sweet as well. And Tony could find out. It wouldn't take much. All Tony had to do was tilt his head forward just that tiny, tiny inch and he would-
Prove that he truly was a terrible human being. And Steve would never forgive him.
“Okay,” Tony said. Trying to argue with Steve was futile. It barely worked on him when he was sober. Which left Tony with only one option: lying through his teeth. The way Steve’s eyes brightened at Tony's promise made Tony’s chest twist painfully. “I will kiss you. But not now.” Steve frowned, looking betrayed. “In the morning. I will kiss you in the morning.” Tony paused, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smile that wasn’t nowhere near the realm of happy. “If you still want it.”
“Tony,” Steve said, leaning his forehead against Tony's. “I will always want it.”
***
Tony didn’t sleep. Instead, he sat in a chair by the bed and watched as Steve slept.
He tried to tell himself it was to make sure Steve was okay, but it was a feeble lie and Tony knew it.
He stayed because there was a part of him that foolishly hoped that Steve had been serious when he’d told Tony he would always want that kiss he’d asked Tony for.
When Steve finally woke, it was in increments. He sighed, rolled onto his back and frowned, then slowly blinked his eyes open.
His expression became alert as he slowly took in his surroundings, then turned startled when his gaze settled on Tony.
And then it became horrified when the realization set in.
He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his hand across his face.
Tony took a deep breath, then rose to his feet. “So. How much do you remember?”
A long beat of silence. “All of it,” Steve said in a hoarse voice. He sounded resigned. The kind you get after learning you have an hour to live.
Tony waited one moment, and yeah. Right on the clock.
Steve took a deep breath and lowered his hand. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed at his forehead, grimacing.
There was that patented Steve Rogers' stubborn resolve. It didn't matter whether he was facing mad gods, cackling super villains or the embarrassing consequences of getting drunk, he would always do it head on. It was simultaneously frustrating and admirable.
“Hangover?” Tony asked.
Steve let out a mirthless laugh. “I would prefer it to what I am actually feeling.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Tony said, pasting a wide smile on his lips. Better to get this over quickly. “We all do ridiculous things when drunk. Or say things we don’t mean. It’s okay. I’m not offended. I’m flattered actually.”
Steve frowned. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed, and swung his feet down on the floor. He looked up at Tony with a strange mix of defiance and bitterness. “Things we don’t mean,” he repeated in a flat voice.
Tony nodded, slowly. That wasn't exactly the reaction he'd been expecting. Tony had no idea what was going on in Steve’s head, but he had no desire to find out. Actually, all his higher brain functions were pretty much in agreement: Tony needed to leave. Sooner rather than later. “I think I once offered to marry Dum-E. It wasn’t my best moment.”
Steve rose to his feet with a grace he shouldn’t poses after… well. After drinking himself into a state that had made him say and do things he wouldn't have said and done at gunpoint. Tony didn't like the expression on his face. It was that I-will-do-this-even-if-it-kills-me expression. Well, with the added blush on his cheeks
“What if I told you that I meant every word I said? That everything I said was true and mead had no influence over me?” Steve took a step forward. He looked like a man marching to his execution. But determined to get there. “That it only,” another step, “made me not care about why,” and another, “I shouldn’t finally come clean about how I feel about you?”
Tony looked up at Steve - who was standing well within Tony’s reach, who had, apparently, been well within Tony’s reach for who knows how long - and smiled. He no longer cared whether this was a dream, hallucination or some weird Asgardian magic. It was Steve. “Then I would remind you about the promise I made you.”
The hesitant little smile on Steve’s awe-stricken face was one of the best things Tony has ever seen.
Kissing it away? Even better.