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Tony had always been a tactile man by nature. Even before he found his passion in building and crafting, before he learned to feel the shapes of metal and the click of how things came together, he’d been known for always seeking out human touch. His mother, in the early years, was the one he’d cling to most often, if only to see the smile that would stretch across her lips. Tony had even become adept at feeling out the fabric she wore and demanding she teach him the different words for silk and cashmere and wool.
It had become something of a party trick, one he kept up with his Nanny and even on a few memorable occasions, his friends. When that trick turned to metal and mechanical pieces, it finally got his father to smile too. Of course, that never lasted. Eventually he became too old to cling to his mother and his trick became childish instead of impressive.
Regardless, it never stopped him from finding contact when he could. He cherished the little touches and far between hugs from his mother and the very occasional clasp of the shoulder by his father. His friends, luckily, had no such qualms and Tony reveled in their heavy-handed play fighting and sleepy dog piles.
Of course, as he got older, it became much easier to find willing people to share not only his bed but his casual touches. It wasn’t something he ever had to think too hard about. Who wouldn’t welcome the touch of Tony Stark? Even better if it was misconstrued as genuine affection, like the reporters were so apt to do. He was happy, his partners were happy. No big deal.
Pepper, though more mindful in public then he would like, never rejected his touch. She understood when he would cling to her in the aftermath of a nightmare or when he simply needed to press up against her side, reassure himself she was alive, and he was alive, and life wasn’t quite so terrible.
And on long business trips he’d often recruit Rhodey when he could. His best friend was used to it after all, even if he liked to grumble about how ridiculous Tony was in each instance. Basically, Tony liked to touch, like to fit himself against people and feel their pulse and the rise and fall of their chests and know they were alive and if they were worse for wear…he’d fix it. Just like all his gadgets.
As it was, Tony found himself in a new and seemingly impossible situation. Beneath nimble fingers, cool metal was turned this way and that as he carefully fitted it into a larger piece of his overall design, hands moving and adjusting automatically as he turned his problem over his mind again and again.
Stephen was different.
Not to say he wasn’t affectionate, but his lover was more composed then any of his other partners. Stephen wasn’t one to reach out and give random touches to people, there was always a purpose, whether it be magical or medical in nature.
Really, it wasn’t that big a deal. Stephen was more then willing to touch when they were alone, and the sex was as affirming as any simple hug. Tony didn’t have a reason to complain except for that fact that his impulsive nature was beginning to get the better of him. He always acted before he thought and now when he and Stephen were walking down the street or grabbing dinner, he found his hands drifting toward him instinctively, forcing him to draw quickly away.
It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
Not to mention the other reason Tony tried to curb his reaction. He knew Stephen didn’t like to be taken by surprise, had witnessed his lover sliding on simple gloves and slipping his hands into the protective folds of his Cloak on bad days. The last thing Tony wanted to do was accidentally hurt Stephen by reaching out too quickly, too roughly.
Usually, it wasn’t that hard to gage. When they were having sex, Tony was hyper aware of Stephen’s hands just like his partner was of his chest. They moved slowly, communicated when something hurt, took care of each other. He just wanted to do the same in the day to day.
“Tony.”
Startled, his head snapped up at the sound of Stephen’s familiar voice. He was standing in the middle of his workshop, arms crossed, and eyebrow raised as a portal disappeared behind him. Stephen looked beautiful as ever, even with the scowl marring his expression.
Tony grimaced, “um…you’re early?”
That earned a sigh, “you forgot again?”
Tony shook his head, “hey now, this is progress! I knew we had lunch today, but I could have sworn it was at one.”
Stephen shook his head but finally dropped his arms, “its sad that you’re right.”
He offered the taller man a wide grin, “good thing one, is a perfectly acceptable lunch time.”
Stephen shot him a look but didn’t comment on the fact that it had nothing to do with what time lunch should be eaten and everything to do with their tight day to day schedule being derailed by Tony’s forgetfulness. The lack of complaint made Tony’s stomach flip, just like always, when Stephen chose to put up with the chaos that was Wong and Kamar-Taj in order just to spend more time with him.
That, as it turned out, was all Tony needed to gain a little courage, despite the embarrassment prickling his skin. His sudden nerves must have been obvious because Stephen raised an inquiring eyebrow before coming forward and sitting in the chair across the small worktable. It was almost funny how Tony didn’t need to say anything for the man to know he wanted to talk about something.
“Tony, what happened?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head. “I just wanted to ask you something.”
His expression immediately turned weary though it was bellied by the smirk creeping onto his lips, “this better not be a proposal.”
Tony snorted, his anxiety dissipating, just like Stephen probably intended, “no…though I could always-”
“The point,” Stephen interrupted.
He shook his head, still smiling, trying to focus on what he wanted to say. Stephen was resting his arms against the table, leaning forward and watching with a familiar intensity that felt both comforting and intimidating most days. This time was no different.
“Its about your hands.” He winced at the thoughtless starter, at the way Stephen tensed minutely.
“What about them?”
That was another thing about Tony. He was terrible with words, though he was trying to be better, between Pepper and Stephen. It was just that he found expressing himself physically far more satisfying, more honest then stumbling promises.
So, he chose to try that now.
Tony reached across the small distance and put out his hand, palm up, waiting. Stephen stared at the offering for a moment before wearily placing one of his own in Tony’s. The touch was light, barely there as though he were ready to snatch it back at any moment. Tony didn’t mind. He understood. Stephen trusted him explicitly but old habits, old pains died hard.
They weren’t holding hands, not really. Yet, that simple contact, the warmth exuding from Stephen’s body, the slight tremble that would never go away, was everything Tony wanted and more. Not meeting Stephen’s curious eyes, it was suddenly much easier to say what had been knocking around his head all morning, “I want to hold your hand.”
“What?”
Tony glanced up, found Stephen watching him with confusion in his eyes. Swallowing thickly, he tried again, “I like the idea of holding your hand when we go out to lunch, when we’re sitting on the couch, when we’re cooking, when we’re talking. I like how it feels when you put them on my hips, my shoulders, my neck, my head…but I like holding them, kind of like this. Except…I hate the thought of hurting you.”
“Is that what you were so afraid to ask me? Really?”
Anyone else would have said that mockingly but Stephen’s eyebrows were pulled tight together, sincerity wrapped lovingly around his tone. Tony nodded lightly, uneasy all the same. Despite how well they knew each other Tony was still very much learning how to be in a relationship with Stephen whose emotional hang ups could rival his own and his physical disability was just one of those things he was terrified of getting wrong.
There was shifting where their hands touched and Tony watched with rapt attention as Stephen carefully tangled their fingers together until they interlocked, properly holding him. The touch was still light but far more confident and Tony couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his lips.
“Thank you.” He looked up at Stephen whose eyes were soft, “I don’t mind holding your hand Tony, whenever you want to. I just never really thought you would want to-”
“Stephen-”
“Its fine,” Stephen interrupted, well versed in Tony’s insistence that he not be ashamed of his hands. “I get it, really. Its just not something I thought about you wanting, that’s all.” Stephen hesitated, seemed to consider their interlocked fingers, “when you want to hold my hand just ask alright? I don’t mind so long as you don’t just reach out…some days I’ll have to say no, when it hurts.”
Tony nodded quickly, “this is ok though?”
Stephen smiled, flexed their fingers, “yes.”
Uh, Tony thought as they stood and began making their way toward the door, hand-in-hand, maybe there was something to communication after all.