Chapter Text
It’s the third night this week (in a long line of weeks of the same) that Tony watches surreptitiously from his seat in the common room as Natasha approves Steve’s attire. His fingers jab a little harder into his Starkpad as he pretends to not mess up the new algorithm he’s been working on. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t.
"She’s a doll," he hears Steve say about what’s-her-name-Tiff-Janice-bimbo-that-wasn’t-Tony-who’s-lucky-ass-is-getting-a-quiet-dinner-with-Captain-America-and-probably-doesn’t-understand-how-LUCKY-she-is…
Okay, maybe Tony’s a little jealous. But just a little.
"Tony?" Steve questions as the genius realizes he’s gripping the pad fit to snap it in half. "Do you think she’ll like the restaurant?"
"Of course," he says smoothly, perfection in hiding the bitter acidity in his tone. He secretly hopes the girl is allergic to peanuts. And he almost doesn’t manage to feel guilty about it.
Steve leaves and Tony ignores the knowing look Natasha levels on him.
Two weeks and a string of faceless dates, women and -for a surprising panic-inducing moment- men attending dinner and movies and strolls and clubs with Steve later, Tony’s done. He’s given up the ghost. He doesn’t even bother to acknowledge Steve’s date nights anymore.
It hurts, physically, to watch the Captain get ready, Natasha throwing in a helping hand from time to time. The perfect hair. The newer, nicer clothes that fit and defined and beckoned Tony to snap buttons and reveal skin.
He pulls away from Steve and their friendship. Hides in the catacombs of his lab. Buries himself in wires and metal and inventions, lets Jarvis recommend new places and ideas for Steve to take obviously more deserving people than Tony. So he doesn’t see Steve’s hurt gazes or dismayed expressions.
A week later, he doesn’t see Natasha roll her eyes and sit Steve down to explain what is going on until Steve’s jaw clenches in understanding and a little anger at Tony’s stupidity.
He does, however, see the good Captain America calmly shatter the sliding glass door to gain entry into the lab and stalk his way over to where Tony’s standing there, mouth gaping.
"It was open," he said, blinking up at the determination in Steve’s face.
"If you wanted to date me yourself, Stark," Steve says, angry and blushing at the same time. "then you should have just asked. I could have done this weeks ago!”
"Done wh-" oh.
Steve’s mouth is insistent against Tony’s as he’s backed against the table he’d been sitting at. He admits that his brain melts just a little, so it takes him a few seconds to get in gear and respond. But just as he’s about to go romcom and slide his arms around Steve, the blond pulls back with a lick of his lips.
"I’d like to take you to dinner, Tony," he says softly, smiling like he hasn’t just blown Tony’s mind a little.
"You can take me for dinner too,” and okay, maybe Steve blew his mind a lot. Tony’s only human. And as Steve only laughs, Tony decides that’s okay.