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Tony stumbled out of the Saloon, leaning his body heavily against Sheriff Rogers.
Rogers laughed. “You’re cork high and bottle deep, Stark.”
“Ludicrous! I’m perfectly well, Sheriff.”
“That so? How d’you explain this, then?” Rogers looked at Tony’s hand resting on his shoulder.
Tony smiled coyly. “An excuse to get close to you? You’re very… warm.”
Steve shook his head, but there was a small smile on his handsome features.
They walked around a corner, down between buildings where visibility was low. Tony later didn’t know why he decided that this was the right time to act, only that he was bored of this dancing around each other game they played, and the opportunity was there.
Tony used his hand to push Steve against the wall of one of the buildings, placing them both in shadow.
Steve startled, eyes wide, mouth agape.
“What are you on, Stark?”
“I think it’s time, don’t you? Enough dallying.” Tony pushed forward, leaning into Rogers’ space.
Before he could make contact, however, Rogers’ hand shot up to press against his chest, halting his movements.
“Whoa there, Stark. I ain’t like that.”
Tony faltered, frowning deeply. You always had to be careful with this sorta thing, it was a good way to get punched or worse in most cases. But this was the honourable Sheriff, he would never be harsh even if Tony had gotten something wrong.
But point of fact, how had he gotten this wrong? Impossible. “You ain’t like that?” He questioned.
Steve nodded uneasily.
“Starin’ at me across the bar? The lingering touches? You telling me that’s all in my head?”
He stayed silent.
Tony scoffed, stepping back from Rogers. He wasn’t about to be where he wasn’t wanted. “Tell yourself what you like, Sheriff. You always find a way to be wherever I am, and that ain’t no accident. Why do you even leave with me, not earlier, not later?”
Rogers hesitated, opened his mouth to respond, but Tony didn’t like his look. “And if you say it’s your duty as Sheriff I might thump you.”
Rogers' mouth snapped shut.
“Forget it. Don’t say anything. Seems there’s nothing worth saying.” He nodded his head. “Evenin’ Sheriff.” Without a second glance, Tony turned and went on his way.
What a fucking waste of time. Who knew the honourable, brave Sheriff was a goddamn coward.
-
Steve didn’t know how long he stood there, unmoving, until a cool breeze blew past to remind him where he was.
He’d been frozen in shock up until that point. Stark’s words echoed in his ears. His mind retraced over that moment, and he wondered. Wondered what it would have been like if he hadn’t prevented Stark.
If Stark had moved even closer, warm breath on Steve’s skin, letting Steve feel a man pressing his lips against his for the first time in his godforsaken life.
Shame curdled in his gut, and he wasn’t sure if it was shame for rejecting Tony that way—with what was likely a lie—or because he had wanted it. God forgive him. The press of his soft lips, the rub of his facial hair. The strength of his body.
Steve could attempt to obfuscate the truth, but in his heart, he knew. Steve had desires he shouldn’t have, but have them he did. Everything Stark said had truth to it, from the way Steve lingered on Stark to the fact that he didn’t have to be near him all the time. He chose to be.
Steve thunked his head against the building. Painfully. No less than he deserved. He’d made a mistake responding that way to Stark, too afraid of the implications of accepting his advances.
He would just have to hope Stark would accept his apology tomorrow. Steve wasn’t sure about… the rest of it. But he could repair any damage to their friendship, at least.
Only Stark wasn’t anywhere the next day. Not in the saloon drinking at the bar, not wandering the streets, not a single sound of his blasted drunken singing. Steve didn’t think he’d miss hearing that through his window, but the silence was unsettling.
All week long Stark was absent. Steve had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He was growing increasingly concerned. How long did he plan to avoid Steve, if that’s what he was doing? Was he mad? Hurt? Embarrassed? Boozed?
Steve didn’t know but he needed answers. Needed to make sure his… friend was alright.
That evening Steve decided it had gone on long enough. He should’ve stopped by sooner, he admitted. Being nervous of his reception was no reason to delay. Although the solitude of the week had made quite clear how much Stark livened up his day.
He walked over to Stark’s shop, and knocked on the door.
Silence.
Steve frowned. It wasn’t that late, and if Stark wasn’t here then where was he? No, he had to be here. He hadn’t just disappeared. “Stark!” He yelled, pounding on the door. “Answer the door. I know you’re in there!”
“Aright, alright. Hold your horses, Sheriff.” The door swung open. There he was, Tony Stark, in the flesh. For the first time in more than seven days. Looking perfectly the same as he ever did. Not drunk, then. Well not absurdly so, like he might have worried.
“Something I can help you with, Sheriff?” Stark drawled, and Steve wanted to wince at the distance between them now.
“I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” He said for lack of anything useful to say.
Stark shrugged. “Haven’t been feeling very sociable.”
“About the other night—” Steve paused. “Do you think I could come in?”
“Why? Don’t want to cause a stir out on my front porch?” He asked mockingly, looking behind Steve at the vacant street.
“It’s not that.” It mostly wasn’t that. “This is just an important conversation, so if you wouldn’t mind us not doing it out here?”
Stark sighed. “Oh fine,” he turned around and didn’t wait on Steve to follow. He led the way through the shop to the stairs that presumably led to his living space.
Once there, Stark collapsed on a brown leather couch and picked up a bottle of whiskey from the beat-up wooden coffee table. “Cheers,” he said, lifting it up to Steve before taking a sip.
Steve perched on a nearby chair, and faced Stark. Collecting his thoughts.
“Go on then,” Stark said.
“I apologise for the other night. It was never my intention to offend, and—”
“Sheriff.” Stark interrupted. “If this is just gonna be a retread of the other night but with more tact this time—not interested. I may have been sulking a little, but I’ll be back to being the town’s charming drunk soon enough.”
Steve picked up the bottle of whiskey Stark had placed back on the table and took a large swallow. For courage. He wasn’t one to indulge, usually. But he felt as if he needed it.
“And if that’s not what this is?” He asked carefully.
Stark looked curious.
“If I was maybe a bit hasty the other night? Because I’ve gotten so used to burying that truth, that pushing you away, saying what I said, was second nature.”
“How about that. You sayin’ what I think you are, Sheriff?”
“Steve. It’s—I’m not the Sheriff right now. I’m a man. A man who—” Steve gulped nervously. “A man who wanted you to kiss me the other night. A man who still does.”
A warm grin spread over Stark’s handsome face. “You should’ve just said so. Get on over here, then.”
He waved his hand to gesture Steve over. Steve sat down on the couch beside Stark. Tony. Just as he leant in, Steve pressed a hand to his chest, and the familiarity of the move from the other night wasn’t lost on him. Nor on Tony, apparently.
“Steve?” He asked dryly.
“This isn’t just some sort of whim, is it? Because I don’t think I could do all this on some sort of a—”
“You’re a serious man, Rogers. Dutiful. Trust me to know that? To know what this means.”
Steve nodded, and then his halting hand instead clutched at Tony’s chest as Tony leant into him, reclining them all the way on the couch, and connected their mouths. His lips were warm and soft, and his moustache rubbed against Steve’s skin.
It was wonderful.