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Of all the stupid ways Steve’s gotten hurt in his life, this one definitely takes the cake. That’s really saying something, too, considering he was a spindly thing growing up. Barley weighing over 100 pounds soaking wet, he’d been diagnosed with a laundry list of ailments, including asthma, two different types of anemia, and heart arrhythmia. And that’s only the tip of the ice burg.
It also probably didn’t help that he was prone to getting into fights with guys at least twice his size. He just couldn’t avoid it, if he saw something wrong he was gonna put an end to it. Until his first semester of college, the black rim of his glasses was constantly wrapped in little pieces of white masking tape to keep the frame from snapping in two. Why overentitled drunk guys always went for the nose Steve would never understand.
The point is Steve’s dealt with a lot of pain and injuries throughout his 22 years of life, and up until this Christmas Eve, the top spot was claimed by the one time he accidentally stepped on a Lego. They looked so harmless until it was two in the morning and one of those little fuckers decided to try sticking itself in the arch of your foot on the way to the bathroom. Seriously, screw Bucky for bringing those Satan’s helpers into their apartment, even if it was in a really cool way involving a replica Death Star. To this day, every time Bucky looks at the stupid thing on the shelf behind their garage-sale bought couch, he bursts into shaking laughter, remembering the way Steve had hopped around and cursed until there are tears streaming down his face.
Speaking of Bucky, Steve is 100% blaming him for this too. If it weren’t for him Steve wouldn’t be here, lugging giant plastic candy canes and fake presents from Santa’s now-closed workshop through the mall to the storage room where the decorations will stay until the next holiday season. He also certainly wouldn’t be doing it while dressed in red tights and an itchy as all hell- not to mention hideous- green felt elf costume.
Yep, it was Bucky’s fault alright. Him and his stupid crush. As soon as he found out that Sam had applied to work as an elf for the holiday to earn a little extra cash, Bucky had ran to the mall and signed up not only himself but Steve too to work at the “North Pole.” The fucker hadn’t even had the decency to tell him until the morning of their first shift when he’d barreled into Steve’s room and threw his newest fashion statement for the next month and a half onto his head, declaring he’d better “get a move on bitch or we’ll be late.” It was also on Bucky that Steve was currently stuck on clean up duty- a two elf job- by himself. True, Steve had agreed to it, but there was begging involved, the kind with puppy dog eyes and promises to do his laundry for a month if Steve would let him skip out early to go out with Sam. At least those two finally got their shit together and realized they were crazy about each other. A silver lining, he supposes.
It also doesn’t hurt that the decorations are pretty light, allowing him to stack the brightly wrapped packages and take about five of them at a time to the storage room. It’s only a little after nine and the mall officially closes to the public at 9:30, so with any luck he won’t have to stay too much longer after closing. There’s hardly any people left walking around in the main aisles, just a few people here and there peering into the store windows for that perfect last minute gift that they should’ve bought weeks ago. The music playing over the PA system seems louder than normal without any children screaming or begging their parents to buy them something they didn’t really need or deserve after the second of three tantrums over the course of a 15-minute wait to see Santa. Steve might have become a little bitter due to exposure.
He’s humming along to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” his mouth full of candy cane and his hands full of the last bunch of fake gifts when it happens. For the most part, he’s been able to avoid bumping into people due to craning his neck around the presents that are obscuring his already atrocious vision and the politeness of other people who moved out of his fucking way, but he meets his match in the form of a guy wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt under a blazer, chewing on the warped straw of his empty ice coffee and typing away furiously on his phone. He’s clearly not paying attention to anything going on around him, but it’s fine because he’s not directly in Steve’s path, so they should pass by each other just fine. Of course, “should” is the key word here.
Right as they’re about to bypass each other, the guy- still staring fixedly at his phone- lets out a frustrated sigh and swerves unexpectedly to his left, smacking right into Steve full force and pitching him to the ground. The fake presents scatter all over the hall, sliding across the linoleum tiles with ease. As for Steve, he slams onto the floor hard, his elbow cracking on the cold surface and his knee landing at a pretty odd angle. But that’s nothing compared to the pain that strikes through him as the candy cane he’d been happily sucking on is jostled violently, sending the sharpened tip straight into Steve’s tongue, piercing through a layer of skin.
“Ah!” Steve gasps, quickly pulling the part of the candy cane that was still intact out of his mouth and throwing it to the floor beside him in distaste. There’s a distinct cracking sound as the thing shatters again upon impact with the floor. Gingerly, he sticks his tongue out, wiggling it from side to side in an attempt to inspect the damage, hoping beyond hope that it was just a superficial wound.
He has to shut one of his eyes to be able to see it clearly without going cross-eyed, but it doesn’t look too bad at first glance. The dagger- that’s what Steve’s going to label it and he feels perfectly justified in doing so- is sticking out of the middle of his tongue, clearly wedged under a layer of skin. It isn’t too deep of an incision, though. He can pretty much see the tip of the dagger through his skin it’s that thin- and wasn’t that something that Steve never needed to see let alone feel. Now it made perfect sense why he never felt the desire to go for that tongue piercing when Natasha dared him to over spring break.
Just because the wound isn’t that severe doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt like a bitch, though, as he delicately pulls the candy from his tongue, wincing the entire time. “Oh God,” he moans begrudgingly as the thing is finally extracted from body. Steve isn’t much of a crier, but there’s definitely an unmistakable dampness stinging the back of his eyelids. “What- what the hell was that?” he snaps shakily, unsure if he’s talking to the candy cane or the man who caused this, who’s just fucking standing there in front of him, frozen.
Later, he’ll blame it on the adrenaline or the shock of being tossed to the ground and stabbed in the tongue, but when the guy’s phone- hanging loosely from his fingers at his side- vibrates lightly again, causing him to unfreeze and look down at it, Steve’s blood boils. Who the fuck does this guy think he is that he can just walk through the mall on his phone like he owns the fucking place and then continue the conversation like his actions didn’t just inadvertently lead to Steve being impaled?
Before he can even think about it, Steve’s on his feet in front of him, jaw clenched. “What the fuck is your problem? Do you ever look where you’re going or are you so self-absorbed it never crossed your mind that there are other people in the world besides you? No, wait, let me guess,” Steve seethes, holding up a finger to stop the guy from touting off some piss-poor excuse, “it’s my fault because other people are just supposed to move for you, right? People see you coming and just move right out of your way, probably lay down their coats so you don’t have to step in any puddles.”
“Generally, people do move when someone’s in their way,” the guy says offhandedly, but not like he’s trying to pick a fight or defend himself, though. No, it’s more like he’s just so used to saying something that the words just slip out, slurring slightly around the straw still caught between his teeth, pressing into his bottom lip and creating a plush little dip that Steve can’t help but stare at. It’s like watching a car crash, once you notice it you can’t look away no matter how much you may want to, and God does Steve want to as he feels his cheeks start to heat for an entirely different reason that has nothing to do with irritation or pain.
Ok, maybe it still has a little to do with pain as the unmistakable metallic tang of copper fills his mouth, announcing with a flourish that Steve’s tongue has finally started bleeding. Grimacing, Steve swallows down the gathering mouthful with a shudder and, again, sticks his tongue out. Apparently, his first inspection wasn’t thorough enough if he didn’t realize this was the next step in the wound’s progression. Though to be fair, it probably wouldn’t be as bad if he hadn’t slurred his way through an entire angry tirade. But it was too late to worry about that now.
So, the red splotch in the center of his tongue doesn’t come as a shock. What does is the sound of rattling and plastic being squeezed followed by the taste of vanilla and coffee as the guy presses a half-melted ice cube he pulled from his cup against Steve’s tongue. Sure, it’s a nice gesture, but mostly it’s really freaking weird since Steve doesn’t even know who this guy is or, more importantly, where his fingers have been. For some strange reason, as the ice melts, the cool water that caresses Steve’s tongue before dripping to the floor has the faint taste of motor oil.
Steve snaps his eyes up to meet the guy’s questioningly, and… that’s when everything inside Steve comes to a halt. He recognizes the chocolate brown eyes staring back at him. He knows these eyes intimately. They’re currently the first drawing at the front of his sketch book. The guy who’d bumped into him and spent the last five minutes listening to Steve rant at him about narcissism and distracted walking is none other than Tony Stark; the guy who throws wild parties and works on robotics projects during their philosophy class yet can still answer every question Fury throws at him with ease. From the first moment Steve had seen him across the lecture hall, he had been enamored. The guy is an enigma, and he’s currently holding an ice cube against Steve’s tongue.
What a way to finally get noticed, huh? Jesus, Steve can feel his soul slowly beginning to wilt. Where was a hole to fall into when you needed one?
Tony cocks his head and gives Steve a look like he’s calculating something. “You know, I’m starting to gather that this might be a little weird.” He doesn’t move his hand, though, not until all of the ice is gone, his fingers brushing against Steve’s tongue before he moves to wipe the dampness onto his jeans. “I’m Tony,” he offers, rocking back on his heels and sliding his hands into his pockets, the picture of elegance.
“Steve.”
Tony grins at him like a kindergarten teacher who just got the shy kid to introduce himself in front of the class, surprisingly pleased yet encouraging. “Sorry about all of,” he flaps his hand in the general direction of their collision, “that. Entirely my fault. I was a bit distracted. I’m in charge of one of the labs in the engineering department and there was a crisis I had to attend to. Apparently, three of the brightest undergrad students can’t handle an overheated mainframe power core on their own. Just like children, as soon as daddy leaves everything goes to hell in a hand-basket.”
Steve chuckles at Tony’s exasperation, knowing full well that half of what he’d said went right over his head. Maybe it was simple for Tony, but it all sounded way above his pay grade. Steve sympathizes with the lab assistants. If it had been him, he definitely would have been trying to reach the boss, especially since he didn’t even know what a mainframe power core was let alone that they could overheat until Tony had just confirmed it. He also has the feeling that when he referred to himself as ‘daddy’ it was in regards to the robots and computer system, which is a little endearing when Steve thinks about it. Maybe more than a little endearing.
Nevertheless, he nods along because, while he might not understand technology malfunctions, he absolutely knows the stress of leaving a project in someone else’s hands only to find out that something went horribly wrong. Fucking mandatory partner assignments, they would be the death of him yet.
“Right. I get where you’re coming from, and yeah that sucked,” he says, mirroring Tony’s hand motion referring to the fall, “but it’s not that big of a deal. Sure, you should’ve been paying a bit more attention, but shit happens, and I can’t really fault you for trying to deal with a meltdown. I would say no harm no foul, but well,” he shrugs, pointing at his mouth.
Tony wrinkles his nose at the reminder, taking a step closer to Steve. “Sorry about that. Do you need more ice or…?” His gaze darts around, trying to locate where he’d put the cup of ice, clearly intent of retrieving another piece for Steve’s tongue. Unfortunately, by this point the ice has gone from half-melted to a full-on puddle of water. When he turns his gaze back onto Steve, there’s a brief flash of something in his eyes that he’s hesitant to name because for a moment Tony almost looks… disappointed. But that’s ludicrous, there’s no way that Tony would be sad about being unable to hold ice on Steve’s tongue. Right?
“It’s okay,” he assures. “I think it’s stopped bleeding for now. At least it feels like it has. Probably just be a little tender for the next few days.”
Tony nods, his gaze now burning into Steve as he sizes him up. He’s moved so close to him that Steve feels like he’s chocking, or maybe not chocking because that would imply that there was some intake of air going on and Steve’s pretty sure he hasn’t breathed in about a minute since Tony sidled up next to him with all the intensity of a power surge crackling down a live wire. Slowly, Tony reaches up and- like he’s not about to kill him- straightens Steve’s glasses, the pads of his callused fingers brushing lightly against his cheeks.
“So, Steve,” Tony begins, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he slowly pulls his hands back, “What’s an elf like yourself doing now that Santa’s done with you for the night?”
And, ok, what? An elf like…? Oh, God.
That’s when it hits Steve like a freight train. Sure enough, when he glances down at himself, he’s met with the familiar sight of green and red. In all the chaos, he’d completely forgotten that he was still wearing the hideous elf outfit, complete with tights. At least he’d taken off the hat with the pointy ears before he’d started cleaning the shop. If only he’d changed all of his clothes before he started. Every time he thinks he’s reached the lowest point of this interaction, a fresh layer of hell is revealed. It’s fine, though, it’s not like he needed his dignity anyway.
That becomes abundantly clear when his mouth moves without his permission, spewing out the words pounding in the back of his mind like a second heartbeat. “I look like a dork.”
“No, it’s nice. I kinda like it, but maybe I just have a thing for hot guys in tights. But seriously, what’re you doing tonight?”
“Um…” Steve feels like he has whiplash trying to keep up. “Nothing. I mean I have to finish packing things up, but after that nothing.”
Tony flashes him a megawatt smile, bright enough that it could illuminate a small city. “Excellent!” He claps his hands, rubbing them together as his mind continues to move a mile a minute. “Would you like to go out with me tonight then? We could get a drink or some coffee. Or maybe not coffee,” he amends as he catches Steve’s glance at his already empty venti cup. “Honestly, I’m up for whatever as long as you’re there and happy and looking all delectable.”
“Seriously?” Steve’s heart makes a valiant attempt to shoot out of his chest, pounding harder than it did after he finished running the marathon last summer. “Yeah, that sounds good. I just need to finish up and change and then I can meet you back here in say… ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes it is then. That should give me more than enough time to sort out the minions,” he shakes his phone, indicating the people working in the lab. “Then I’m all yours.” Tony throws him a wink before sauntering off towards one of the benches in the center of the mall, sliding one of the fake presents back over to Steve when he gets close enough to it.
Steve picks up where he left off, moving the last few handfuls of things to the storage room with a renewed pep to his step. Honestly, he’s willing to bet no one has ever cleaned this godforsaken place faster. He’s jacked up on nerves and excitement. Also, a little bit of fear that Tony might come to his senses and change his mind if Steve leaves him alone for too long. Tony’s a brilliant, generous man full of life. The fact that he wants to take Steve out after the catastrophe in the hall is a miracle in and of itself. That’s the main reason Steve only spares a passing moment to question his life choices instead of having some kind of meltdown and refusing to leave the locker room when he goes to pull his shirt out of the staff locker to find it’s been replaced with the atrocious sweater Bucky had worn in that morning.
Shop successfully packed up and his clothes back in semi-decent order, Steve heads down the darkened employee hallway back to where Tony’s waiting for him. He’s still fiddling on his phone, but somehow Steve can tell that it’s no longer work related. He looks more relaxed, leaning back on the bench as though he owns it, a small grin adorning his face when the phone dings with the overly happy music that declares a level has been won. Steve’s never seen anything more beautiful. He’s already got the beginning etchings of a painting formulating in the back of his mind by the time he makes it over to him.
Noticing his approach, Tony closes out of the app and looks up, mouth open like he was going to say something but lost track of his thoughts once he catches sight of Steve’s attire. His eyebrows instantly shoot up as he smirks. “Nice sweater.”
Steve grimaces, looking down at the offending sweater again, pulling it away from him by the hemline as though a different angle will make the dancing Santa or the light-up words proclaiming, “Where’s my ho at?” magically disappear. “Thanks. It’s uh- it actually belongs to my friend. He must’ve switched our shirts when he left,” Steve says, mourning the loss of his blue button-down. Yeah, Bucky’ll give it back later, but he’s going out with Tony now. Isn’t it bad enough that he’s already witnessed Steve wearing an elf costume? “Apparently he doesn’t consider it date material.”
“I don’t know,” Tony says, taking a step further into Steve’s space so their chests almost brush with each breath. Steve grabs Tony’s elbow, using it as an anchor as the other man pinches a bit of Steve’s sweater between his fingers and inspects it. He flicks his eyes back up to lock onto Steve’s as he declares seriously, “Feels like boyfriend material to me.”
“Oh my god,” Steve groans, shoving Tony back, “That’s a horrible pick-up line.”
And that’s the truth, because normally shit like that makes Steve want to cringe. But there was something different about the way Tony said it- with an air of confidence and cockiness blended perfectly with an edge of subtle unsureness- that made Steve want to pull Tony closer. Made him want to press his laugh into Tony’s tousled hair and breathe in that heady scent of coffee, oil, and cinnamon. It made Steve want to believe Tony, and wasn’t that something?
“Well, that’s a horrible sweater,” Tony admonishes, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Besides, there are worse things I could’ve said. For instance, I could’ve said you found him.” He nods at the question of where Santa’s ho is, clearing up Steve’s confusion and making him roll his eyes- Steve has a feeling this man is going to make him do that a lot; he also has a feeling that he’s not really going to mind- before continuing. “But this fun little baby belongs to your friend, right? I’m guessing the one with the long hair and the fascination with eye liner. Seems to be something up his alley in terms of style.”
“Yeah, it is,” Steve says slowly, confusion bleeding into his words. Tony was obviously describing Bucky. He’d let his hair grow down to about his shoulders now and recently started wearing eye liner at the suggestion of Natasha, but he had been long gone by the time Tony had literally bumped into Steve, so how the hell did he know what Bucky looked like? Or what type of fashion sense radiates off of him for that matter.
Seeming to sense Steve’s wariness, Tony runs back through the conversation in his head, the exact moment he realizes his slip up obvious by the sharp intake of breath through his nose.
They stare at each other, locked in a stalemate- Tony clearly wanting to ignore the information he’d unintentionally given Steve and Steve refusing to let it go- until Tony finally sighs and begrudgingly admits, “I may have been at Santa’s Workshop more than a couple of times this past month.”
That didn’t make sense. Steve’s pretty sure that if Tony had done the near thirty-minute wait to see Santa he would have noticed him, especially if he had done it more than once like he claimed, which is exactly what Steve tells him, watching with delight as Tony lights up at his words.
“Well, it might have been more like window shopping,” Tony corrects, dragging his gaze up and down Steve’s body, making his meaning obvious. Tony’s been coming to the mall and walking by Santa’s Workshop to see him. Tony, beautiful, smart Tony spent the past month checking out Steve. God, he’d looked less than flattering too, wearing that costume and making faces at the children to keep them from crying.
The thought causes a warmth to settle into his chest. “So, did you see anything you liked?”
Tony chuckles, brushing his knuckles against Steve’s. “You could say that. Unfortunately, I was hoping to get it for Christmas and it seems I may have made it on the naughty list by upsetting one of Santa’s elves.”
“How terrible,” Steve says conversationally, twisting his fingers with Tony’s. “But, you know, in my experience, I’ve found that sometimes you have to be naughty to be nice.”
Tony is taken back for a moment- something that isn’t exactly shocking since most people take one look at Steve Rogers and deem him to be an innocent, repressed do-gooder- but Tony recovers quickly, throwing his head back and laughing full-bodied and freely. It’s a beautiful sound that bounces off the walls of the abandoned corridor, filling Steve with a blooming sense of pride that he’s the reason Tony is so happy.
“Oh, you are going to be so much fun, darling,” Tony declares, squeezing Steve’s fingers where they’re twisted together and tugging on his hand, setting them walking towards the exit.
“Just wait ‘til my tongue heals. I’ll show you exactly how much fun I can be.”
Tony turns to look at him, shaking his head in amazement like he can’t quite believe that Steve is real. The thought isn’t exactly foreign as Steve had found himself thinking the exact same thing about Tony not even five minutes ago. Not many people looked at Steve the way that Tony was, and if they did they certainly didn’t keep that fascination with him once a conversation started. He tended to be stubborn and hotheaded in addition to being a little old fashioned, not exactly the epitome of appeal. Yet, here Tony was, leading them off to God knows where in a buzz of energy, displaying every intention of keeping Steve around for longer than just the night.
As if sensing this, Tony’s gaze softens as he takes Steve in, his eyes brimming with affection as they sweep over his features before locking in on his blue eyes. He brings their hands up, kissing the back of Steve’s hand. His goatee scratches, but his lips are soft and warm, soothing. “So much fun,” Tony murmurs, his lips dragging over Steve’s skin, searing the words into Steve like a promise.
As they approach the doors, Steve notes with delight that it’s started snowing. He’s always been a sucker for snow on Christmas. Apparently, Tony is as well because he hums in approval before shoving the door open with more flourish than entirely necessary, the thing squeaking loudly on its hinges. “Well, Merry Christmas to me. Everyone else can check out and go home. I clearly just got the best gift.”
Watching the snowflakes catching in Tony’s hair and eyelashes as they step out into the cold night air, Steve has to disagree. If anyone won the Christmas Lottery, it was definitely him.