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Jan’s drunk on eggnog and Hank’s asleep by the fireplace. Iron Man’s near the door, wearing a Santa hat. Steve crosses the room and before he knows it, he’s kissing Iron Man’s smooth cheek. He laughs, blames it on Asgardian mead. But Iron Man closes his hand around Steve’s wrist and drags him away from the party. He puts his cold fingers on top of Steve’s eyes and then Steve feels lips that taste of expensive champagne, and a scratchy beard. It lasts a second, two, maybe twenty, but it’s enough for it to imprint itself on Steve’s soul forever.