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It’s silent, besides, the music, of course, as it resonates off the soundproofed walls of Steve’s apartment. Inside, two men are dancing - well, at least making a valiant attempt. To be more correct, one is dancing, and the other has simply grown two left feet.
Although he would never admit it , Steve was secretly glad that he’d finally found something Tony wasn’t good at.
"You god damn - motherfucker,” Tony mutters angrily as he, once again, trip over Steve’s feet. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. Of course Captain America is a good dancer, I should have known.”
"Wow, is it just me, or was there some bitterness in there somewhere?" Steve replies cheekily, unexpectedly whirling Tony around. The ancient 1940’s swing music that played from the decrepit gramophone Tony had restored months earlier, (although he would have never agreed to it if he knew it would lead to complete humilation. He was Tony fucking Stark, for God’s sake. He didn’t need it getting out that he couldn’t even dance.)
And, even though he loved Steve, he was not expecting the super soldier, the guy who was in ice for 70 years, to have better moves than him.
"Christ, who taught you how to dance like this?" Tony breathed, and then swore because he had tripped.
"My mom," Steve said, whirling Tony around again, crisp and perfect. "She always said that it was important that I knew how to dance, because the first part of courting a lady is to ask her dance, and she won’t pay you any mind if you can’t dance a step. She always said that a dance was the way to get a love into your heart, so they stay forever."
It was quiet after that, with Steve reflecting on fond memories of his mother and Tony pondering over the words Steve had just said.
"Wait, I’m not a chick."
Steve snorts.
“That’s what you got from that?”
"I’m just clarifying, that’s all!"
"Yeah, whatever." Steve chuckles. "You’re just mad that I’m a better dancer."
"Am not."
"You are."
Steve pauses.
"I can teach you, if you want?"
Tony laughs.
"You’re going to teach me to dance?"
"Yes," Steve says, in his most commanding voice he can muster in that moment. He’s made his decision. He walks over to the gramophone and switches it to a slower, softer song - a ballad.
"Okay, come here. Take my hand."
Tony apporaches, and slips his hand in Steve’s. Steve smiles reassuringly down at him, and then notices something that will be pretty vital later on.
"And remember to breathe, Tony."
Tony snorts, but he does just that. He breathes in deeply, and his shoulders relax and he smiles: just a little one, but it’s enough to make Steve smile, too.
Steve pulls Tony closer to him, so close that they’re breathing the same air.
"Okay, so it’s just a box motion. You step backwards first, then to the right, then forward, then left. And then I turn you."
"Why are you turning?" Tony asked, as they moved. Backwards, right, forward, left.
"Because I’m leading," Steve returns.
"Oh, yeah, right."
The dancing goes on throughout the night, and if someone were to see, it would be quite a sight: Captain America teaching the invincible Iron Man to dance; backwards, right, forward, left.
The next time, there’s a party at Stark Tower, and all the Avengers are required to be there. Steve has never been one for parties; he’s an introvert at heart. He found himself at a table near the back, fiddling idly with the ends of the white, silken tablecloth that was arranged neatly over the table, when a familar voice jolted him.
"May I have this dance?"
Steve looks up to Tony’s warm gaze, and he can’t help but smile.
"You may."