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When Tony Stark — the Tony Stark — waved the bottle in front of Steve’s eyes, his face had gone steaming hot under the cowl.
‘So, my dear Captain, are you up for some fun?’
Being holed up on a rundown farm in the French countryside was not Steve’s idea of fun. It was nobody’s. Outside, it was raining. Inside, it was raining too. The fire had died a few hours ago and dinner had been one half of a K-ration.
But Tony’s caressing voice, his twinkling blue eyes, and his devil-may-care smile eclipsed all of that. This was, in some twisted way, a dream come true, an adventure out of Marvels.
So Steve gulped down his doubts and grabbed the bottle.
‘Oh, feisty. I like that in a man,’ Tony said and winked at him.
‘Don’t joke.’ Ugh. He sounded like a surly teenager and not like Captain America, hero of the nation. ‘Sorry. I’m just…’
‘In a mood. Understandable. What about a game? To lift your spirits up?’
‘Well, I’m not seeing any cards here.’
‘Simpler game, with simple rules. You say something embarrassing. If you don’t have the balls to do it, you drink until you do.’
‘That sounds like a really stupid game.’
‘Hey, they almost had it at the Olympics.’
‘I wonder if…’
‘Don’t wonder. Don’t think about the future. Just drink. Or talk, whatever suits your fancy.’
‘Oh, no, do me the honor of going first.’
When Tony laughed, he threw his head back and left his throat ever-so-tantalizingly exposed. It was very annoying. ‘Fine. Only because you look really good in that suit.’ The atmosphere in the room became thick with something Steve didn’t want to think about. It kept happening every time Tony was alone with him. Or maybe Steve was imagining it. ‘I’ll talk. I had a parrot once. It was called Parratcelsus.’
‘You have to be joking.’
‘Nope. I’ll introduce you sometime. Your turn.’
He drank.
Then he drank again.
Then he remembered he was Captain fucking America and after drinking one last time, he wiped off his mouth and stared directly at Tony. ‘I used to have wet dreams about you.’
Tony, thankfully, didn’t punch him. Instead, he leaned back, his smirk growing smugger by the second. ‘Used to?’
‘No time for wet dreams now.’
Then, before Steve could even begin to realize what was going on, Tony was leaning forward. One of his hands went to Steve’s nape, and the other caressed his cheekbones. His lips brushed Steve’s and Steve’s fingers grasped Tony’s shirt before dragging him forward. Tony’s knee pressed against Steve’s crotch and all sorts of funny ideas went across Steve’s mind. Steve could taste the whiskey on Tony’s tongue, so of course that made him whine in the least dignified way.
Tony took a step away before things got any further.
‘This is not a great moment but look me up. In London. Next leave. And we can turn your dreams into a reality.’