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“No, Steve,” Sam says from his position to Steve’s left, beer clenched firmly in hand. “I see what you’re looking at and no.”
Bucky, sitting on Steve’s right, cranes his neck. “What?”
“Nothing,” Steve insists, but he doesn’t look away from the scene halfway across the crowded club, where a very drunk man was being rather aggressively hit on by another guy. Every bone in Steve’s body is screaming to go help the poor guy, but he isn’t sure if it would be okay. Or how to go about saving someone from an unwelcome suitor.
“Dude, the drunk guy at the bar,” Sam explains to Bucky, “Steve’s superhero senses are getting all tingly.”
Steve whips his head around to his two best friends. “I’m not a hero, I just-“
“Like saving people? Righting the world’s wrongs? Fighting injustice one step at a time?” Sam says, arching an eyebrow.
They are at an impasse, so they turn to Bucky. He glances away from a redhead who’d caught his eye across the bar to say, “Yeah, dude, you have a hero complex. Want me to go beat up the harasser?”
“Bad idea,” Steve says hastily. “There’s a better solution.”
“Better find one fast,” Sam remarks. “Look.”
The harasser is getting more aggressive with the increasingly drunk guy. Drunk Guy has almost slipped off his bar stool, and Harasser has his hands all over him, half in support and half in sexual harassment. Steve’s blood boils. “Permission to end guys’ night out early?” Steve asks.
“I need to be getting home anyway,” Sam says, stifling a yawn with his hands.
Bucky flaps his hand at them. “I need to get her number.”
“And I need to save a very drunk guy,” Steve says. “And come up with some kind of plan.”
Tony is vaguely aware that he has drunk more than Pepper suggested/demanded, and that this will probably get him in trouble. He is also aware that Pepper is no longer his girlfriend so it really shouldn’t be any of his damn business, but she’s still his PA and so he still needs to listen to her. Sometimes.
Someone who is decidedly not Pepper is touching him, and while normally that sort of thing is right up Tony’s alley, the hands gross him out for some unidentifiable reason.
His head flops back and he meets Justin Hammer’s eyes.
Well, shit, that would explain the squicked-out feeling. Tony tries his best to pull away, but the aforementioned drunkenness makes that pretty hard, so all he succeeds in doing is flopping around a bit in Hammer’s grip.
“Go ‘way,” Tony protests weakly, grabbing for the bar. “Don’ like you, Hammer.”
Hammer laughs, that cheap and phony laugh that drives Tony bonkers. “Oh, but Tony, you haven’t even seen my hammer yet.” And, in a douche-tastic move that would forever ruin a wonderful movie, he whispers in Tony’s ear, “The hammer is my penis.”
Fuck. This is really bad. Tony needs to get away.
Suddenly, muscular arms are sliding around Tony’s waist and an unfamiliar voice is saying, “Hey, man, guys’ night out is ending early, Sam needed to bail. Want me to drive you home? You got pretty wasted, Buck thought it was hysterical.”
Tony flopped to look at this guy.
One, the guy was fucking gorgeous. Blue eyes, full lips, blond hair that did the floppy thing that Tony liked on guys. And smile lines. Plus, muscles. Yum.
Two, Tony had never seen this guy before in his damn life.
However, Hot and Mysterious Stranger is a welcome alternative to Hammer, so Tony clings to him like a limpet and says, “Kay, drive me home, bes’friend. Sam’s a f’ckin lightweight.” The guy did say Sam, right? That was one of the names? Oh well, hopefully Hot and Mysterious Stanger would just sort of go with it.
“You always say Sam’s a lightweight,” the guy replies easily. He turns to Hammer and says, “Thanks for helping my buddy here, he never knows when to stop. Bye!”
With that, he half-drags, half-carries Tony out of the bar.
“Thanks,” Tony slurs into the guy’s shoulder.
He shrugs. “Don’t mention it. Are you here with anyone? Do you need a ride home?”
The guy is warm and comfy and Tony feels safe with him, this stranger who’d pull him away from creepy-aggressive kind-of-enemies, so his brain is slowly shutting down from exhaustion and alcohol. He should probably answer the guy’s questions, but the only answer he can really muster is, “Pepper.”
“What?”
Tony hums into his shoulder and the half-carrying becomes full-on carrying. “Pepper likes me, but not enough.”
“Okay, you’re really drunk,” Hot and Mysterious Stranger says. “I’m going to just take you to my place. Is that okay? I’m not going to rape you or anything, I just think you really need to sleep this off.” Tony hums vaguely and passes out.
Well, this is a bit of a situation, Steve thinks as he shifts the guy in his arms. He was hoping Drunk Guy would be a little bit more aware so Steve could get him home. However, all he could do was mutter about condiments not liking him. So Steve couldn’t in good conscience abandon the poor guy. It just made sense to take him home.
Had nothing at all to do with how gorgeous the guy was, even sloppily drunk.
Nothing at all to do with that.
The guy’s calloused fingers clutched weakly at his shirt and he nuzzled into Steve’s chest a little in his sleep.
Okay, maybe a little to do with that.
Drunk Guy really conks out in the backseat of Steve’s car, so it’s a bit of a chore to carry him up the few flights of stairs to his apartment, but he’s emotionally invested in the guy now, he can’t just leave him in the car.
He shoves a pillow under Drunk Guy’s head, tucks him under a blanket on the sofa, and crashes in his own bed.
“Where am I?”
Steve shot upright in bed and rubbed his eyes. Who said that?”
“Hello?”
The previous night floods back to him and he remembers that Drunk Guy was conked out on the sofa. Shit.
Steve gets up and skitters out to the living room sofa. “Hi there,” he says to Drunk Guy.
“Hi,” the guy says blearily. “Where’s Pepper?”
“In the spice rack?” Steve says. “I’m Steve, by the way. We met last night at the club when some guy was hitting on you, I got you out of there but then you were really drunk and passed out on me so I took you to my house because I didn’t know where you lived.”
The guy processed that. “Pepper?”
“Still in the spice rack,” Steve replied. Didn’t Drunk Guy talk about pepper last night too? What was with this guy and his condiments?
“No,” the guy said, “Pepper Potts, Virginia Potts, it’s her nickname, she’s probably looking for me.”
Steve shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone with you at the club last night.”
“She hates clubs,” the guy says, deep in thought.
There’s a long pause as Steve expects the guy to offer more information and the guy is lost in whatever he’s thinking about. “What’s your name?” Steve asks finally.
“Really?” he says doubtfully. Steve stares blankly. “I’m Tony Stark.”
Suddenly, Steve realizes why the guy looks familiar. Forbes 400 Lists. Time Magazine. Stark Industries. Tony Stark.
The goatee should have been a dead giveaway.
“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark,” Steve babbles, “You just looked really uncomfortable last night and I was trying to do you a favor but I didn’t recognize you so I couldn’t bring you home I’m so sorry please don’t sue me-“
“Hammer was hitting on me, right?” Tony interrupts. “Douche in a grey suit, asshole glasses, obnoxious laugh?”
Steve nods.
“And you hauled me away?”
Steve nods.
“I could kiss you,” Tony says fervently, “That guy follows me around just to hit on me, I swear to God, ruined a perfectly good Dr. Horrible’s pun, it was a fucking nightmare, but I drank too much because Pepper-“ He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair.
“Pepper?” Steve echoes curiously.
Tony glances up at Steve through his lashes. “Pepper’s my PA. We, uh, dated for a while, and she, you know, ended things recently. She was very nice, but…”
“It hurt, hence the bender,” Steve says. “Okay. Do you want to hide out here for a while?”
“She’ll worry,” Tony replies automatically.
Steve tosses Tony his phone. “Call her,” he replied easily. “I’ll make breakfast, unless you’re too hungover to eat.”
Tony shrugs. “I’ve been worse. Way worse.”
“I’ve seen it on tabloid covers,” Steve says from the kitchen.
It takes monumental willpower not to eavesdrop on Tony as he calls his PA-ex-girlfriend-Pepper. Because Steve thinks he likes Tony. Not Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, but the sleepy, crazy guy he had the pleasure of meeting last night.
Plus, he’s cute.
“She thinks I’m sleeping with you,” Tony says without preamble, sitting at Steve’s kitchen table. “I vehemently denied it, but she insists I’m sleeping with you and she is delighted. I think she's going to look you up and interrogate you at some point to make sure you're not a gold-digger. Sorry.”
Steve chokes on his tongue. “Are you interested in men? In that way?” he asks tentatively.
“Yup,” Tony says, kicking his legs unconcernedly. “You do too, right?” He points to the pansexual flag refrigerator magnet Bucky got for him when he came out in the tenth grade. It’s one of his favorite things.
“I like people,” Steve replies, still not sure how this conversation happened.
Tony nods. “That’s the pan flag, right? I’m more of a bi guy myself, but it’s a fine, fine line, am I right?”
“Avenue Q?” Steve asks.
“Taste,” Tony replies.
Steve stops what he’s doing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Sorry,” Tony says quickly, “My brain kind of jumps around a lot and I normally only talk to people who’re used to it, sorry-“
“No,” Steve says. “It’s cool.”
And it is. Because Steve followed. He could get used to this.
“Nice digs,” Tony says, gesturing wildly at Steve’s apartment. “As long as I’m here, I can fix the lighting issue you seem to have going on.”
The overhead lights in Steve’s kitchen have been busted forever. He makes do with lamps. This is not a very good permanent solution, but Steve kind of doesn’t have the money for an electrician and the landlord doesn’t care. “Can you?” Steve says.
“Sure,” Tony replies easily, “Simple enough. I should repay you for saving me last night, though I don’t like to damsel. Pilates?”
Steve’s yoga mat is rolled up in the corner. “Sundays.”
“Keeps a guy young,” Tony says approvingly. “Pep says if I did that I might not die in a gutter before my time.”
“Or if you stop binge drinking,” Steve replies before he can think about it.
For the first time, Tony doesn’t immediately have a response. Steve glances over at him and the guy is staring at the table, drawing patterns on it without seeming to think about it. Worry lines draw themselves on his forehead. “Sorry,” Steve says.
“You’re right,” Tony says, omitting the implied ‘of course’. “I just… can’t.”
The eggs are done. Steve tips them into a plate that he sits in front of Tony. He then takes the seat across from the other man. It’s probably a little creepy that he’s watching the guy eat, but whatever. “Why not?” He deliberately keeps his voice light.
Tony seems happy to pretend this conversation is as serious as one about the weather. “Because I’m a fuckup. And I fuck up fucking up. Hence the waking up in a stranger’s house.”
“You’re not a fuckup,” Steve replies automatically.
“Yeah I am,” Tony says seriously, “Pep runs the company because I can’t do the board meetings, she dumped me because I can’t do the boyfriend-“
Steve frowns. “So, in the eyes of Pepper, you’re a fuckup, apparently.”
“Yep,” Tony says, studying his eggs.
“What about in the eyes of someone else?” Steve asks. Tony looks up, vulnerability in his eyes. “Like, do your employees like you?”
Tony blinks. “Yeah.”
“What about the general public? Do they like you?” Steve presses.
Confusion starts to cloud Tony’s face as he repeats, “Yeah.”
“And I like you,” Steve says. And he does. It’s not a lie told for Tony Stark’s benefit. The man is energetic even when drunk or hungover, he doesn’t mock Steve’s habits, he’s a genius with his hands, and somehow, he has failed to realize exactly how wonderful and valuable he is. People who feel wonderful and valuable do not binge drink and call themselves fuckups.
Steve has to fix this.
Tony can’t bring himself to look away from Steve’s eyes. Jesus, he’s known the guy for all of one drunken night and one hungover morning and he’s already taken a liking. It was like this with Pepper, too- she walked in one day with those heels and that attitude and Jesus, five seconds later he was all but putty in her hands. Not like he told her that, though. Not soon enough. Not convincingly enough.
But Steve’s eyes are blue and full of earnest conviction and Tony can’t look away.
“You like me?” he eventually manages to croak out.
Steve nods and smiles a little. “Yeah,” he replies. Tony gapes. “So you’re not really a fuckup, Tony. I promise.”
Pepper thinks so.
Steve doesn’t.
That blue. Tony is going to go home and paint the entire fucking Tower that blue.
“You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure,” Steve says.
Their eye contact has probably lasted longer than is socially acceptable or even a little bit heterosexual, but then again, Tony has never been accused of being either.
It only takes one second for things to change. Steve’s eyes flicker to his lips, just for an instant, but it’s enough of an invitation for Tony to shove the plate of eggs aside, grab the man by the front of his shirt, and kiss him. Hard.
Steve responds immediately, eagerly.
Something warm flutters in Tony’s stomach in a completely not-sexual way. It vaguely reminds him of the way he used to feel about Pepper, before she kindly and gently tore his heart out because he was slowly consuming her life, but this flutter wasn’t tinged with that fear. It was just… the same way it felt when an invention turned on under his hands. Rightness.
Steve is the first to pull away, but he doesn’t go far. He rolls his head so his forehead is pressing against Tony’s.
They breathe.
“I swear that this wasn’t my intention when I brought you home, and I didn’t just say I liked you to seduce you or anything and I’m not a gold-digger-“
“Shut up,” Tony says, and kisses him again.