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Steve waves goodbye to Peggy and her husband before reluctantly turning back to the party.
The jazz club is buzzing with people for SHIELD’s anniversary. Steve doesn’t recognize most of the attendees – wives and husbands of those working in the offices and not in the field – and that’s precisely why he decided to leave the suit and shield at home. And since Peggy’s the only one who’s recognized him so far, it was definitely the right call.
But with or without the anonymity, Steve Rogers still doesn’t know what to do at parties. He’s twenty-seven years old and doesn’t own a suit that isn’t military-issued, so he just wears a button-up and slacks and feels severely underdressed in the sea of tailored three-pieces and shimmering cocktail dresses.
He takes a sip of the scotch that the bartender recommended. It burns on the way down and Steve tries not to grimace at the taste. Some of the finer things in life, he'll never understand.
“Steve!”
Steve straightens his back, immediately tearing his attention away from the crowd to search for the familiar voice.
That’s when a blur of curly brown locks stumbles into him, and Steve reaches out on reflex to steady the person. Half of the man’s beer sloshes over and splatters on the hardwood floor.
“Woah,” Steve says. “Take it easy.”
The bundle of manic energy looks up at him with a lopsided grin. “Good catch, Cap,” Tony says.
Steve finally lets go of the slim shoulder. “Evening, Tony.”
Tony smiles just that much wider, his smooth skin barely crinkling around warm eyes that focus on Steve. Tony’s eighteen years old and in his third year at MIT – something his old man never shuts up about. He’s dressed in a fancy suit that looks like Tony’s been fighting with it, the sleeves rolled up and wrinkled and the tie half-undone, allowing for the top buttons of his shirt to be popped open.
“Thought I’d come over and say hi. You got a minute?” Tony asks.
It’s like he knows how difficult it is for Steve to ever say no to him. “I can chat a little, sure,” Steve says.
Tony takes an uncoordinated sip of his drink – still not seeming to have realized that half of it’s over his shirt and on the floor – and it’s only then that Steve remembers something.
“Does your father know that you’re out?” Steve asks.
Tony makes a face and that’s answer enough for Steve.
“Tony –” Steve starts.
“I’m an adult. I can make my own damn decisions.” Tony’s expression is set into a stubbornness Steve recognizes all too well from back alley fights in the 1940’s. “Howard doesn’t need to know.”
Steve hesitates. It feels strange to sneak behind Howard’s back, but he’s well aware of the strained relationship of the Stark patriarch and his rebellious son.
“Captain America would probably escort you out of this fine establishment because he’s very aware that you’re not of legal drinking age,” Steve says.
“Oh come on, I’m in college and it’s summer break –”
Steve lifts up a hand and Tony instantly quiets. “But it’s a good thing Captain America isn’t here tonight.” Steve smirks.
A grin slowly spreads on Tony’s face. Steve’s seen that look before, on adoring fans when he’s in uniform and is showing off the shield, or in suggestive glances from the USO girls after a show.
Tony’s not here for Captain America, though. For the entire year they’ve known each other, Tony’s always seen Steve, the guy from Brooklyn who’s always ready to pick a fight, who cusses loudly at baseball, and who stands on the sidelines at every party because he doesn't know how to mingle.
And Steve sees Tony; sees the way Tony’s feelings are driving him wild, even when he’s trying so hard to play it cool in front of Steve.
Steve knows he should put a stop to those feelings. Turning down Tony would be the right thing to do, because he’s still so young and he’s a Stark and Steve belongs to America –
“Dance with me?” Tony asks.
Steve blinks. “You've gotta be kidding.”
“Come on,” Tony whines. “I don’t care how bad you think you are, you can’t go to a party and not dance.”
Steve really shouldn’t give into this, shouldn’t comply with Tony’s every whim just because he’s used to getting what he wants. But Tony’s pouting now, his plump lips drawn into a frown, and Steve knows he’s being played by a spoiled rich kid but he just can’t help it.
“Fine,” Steve relents. “I’ll dance with you, if you think it’ll be funny to get your toes crushed.”
Tony beams brighter than the sun and Steve barely has time to put his drink on a table before Tony’s dragging them out on the dance floor.
Tony puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and grabs Steve’s hand with the other. Steve hesitantly places one on Tony’s hip, but when Tony starts swaying to the beat, Steve’s feet stay firmly in place.
“I really don’t know how to –” Steve starts.
“Shh,” Tony says. “Just follow my lead.”
Steve pauses. The few times someone’s been unfortunate enough to have to dance with him, Steve’s always been the one to lead. But of course Tony would be better at it; he was probably taught ballroom etiquette as soon as he could walk.
Steve watches Tony and slowly starts to follow him. Small steps at first, to the left and then back, turning when Tony turns, following him around the dance floor. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“There you go.” Tony’s smiling. “Having fun yet?”
“I don’t know about that,” Steve says. Yes. Always, when I’m with you. “Relieved that I haven’t broken anyone’s feet, maybe.”
Tony laughs and Steve’s heart does a somersault in his chest. Tony’s feelings may be obvious, but Steve’s are doing their best to claw their way out of his throat and tell the young man in his arms just how much he means to Steve.
Because sure, Steve can go along with some of Tony's whims. He can dance with Tony, he can chat with Tony, but, maybe, he can also flirt with Tony.
Just a little.
Steve leans in, until the curls on Tony’s temple lightly caress his cheek. “So what’s a sweet thing like you doing at a boring party like this?” Steve murmurs.
Tony chuckles and bows his head, stepping closer to Steve.
“Wanted to see you,” Tony says. His lips brush against Steve’s throat as he speaks. “Drink and dance and have fun.”
Steve hums and keeps dancing; one-two-three, one-two-three, Tony’s lips are still on his skin.
“... And maybe not go home alone tonight,” Tony says.
Steve swallows and feels heat creep up his neck. One-two-three, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait –
“You seem pretty young to be searching for that kind of fun,” Steve says.
You're drunk, he should say, or I’m not the one for you. But the words refuse to come out, and Steve’s completely lost the beat now, too busy trying not to think about taking Tony home.
Tony just leans back and looks up at him. “I'm not too young," he huffs. "I know what I’m doing.”
Tony’s cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, his soft-looking lips parted. His eyes, the eyes that have always looked wise beyond his years, are unguarded and full of so much want that it takes Steve’s breath away.
Steve has never wanted anything as much as he wants to kiss Tony at that moment.
He takes a big step forward, but all that does is make Tony stumble and lose his balance, and Steve once again has to catch him before he can hit the floor.
“Sorry, sorry,” Steve says, steadying Tony. “Easy, there.”
Tony shakes his head and blinks, gripping Steve's shoulders. “Fuck,” he says. They both seem to realize that Tony is more drunk than he thought, clutching Steve’s shirt and squeezing his eyes shut. “Gimme a minute, I just need to wait for the damn room to stop spinning.”
“Better slow down,” Steve says. “Let’s get some air.”
“Yeah,” Tony agrees, “good idea.”
Steve stands outside with Tony for nearly an hour, letting the young man smoke cigarettes while waiting for the cool summer night to sober him up. He happily listens to Tony talk about MIT and his roommate and rant about Howard, and doesn’t mind in the slightest when Tony positions himself against Steve’s side after claiming to be cold.
But eventually, Steve hails a taxi and gives the Stark manor address without getting into the cab himself.
Tony looks utterly betrayed. He’s not even giving his fake pout, his face simply falls as he stares at Steve with hurt in his big brown eyes.
“I had fun tonight,” Steve says, leaning on the doorframe of the cab. “And I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”
Tony straightens and licks his lips. “Yeah?”
“Only without the alcohol and a hundred SHIELD employees.” Steve smiles. “I could use some more dancing lessons.”
Tony beams. “I’m free tomorrow!”
No, you’re not. Howard isn’t going to let his prodigal son sneak off two nights in a row.
“I’ll schedule something for next week,” Steve says. Tony pouts. “I don’t think Mr. Stark would say no to his son learning hand-to-hand-combat from Captain America.”
Steve sees the light bulb go off in Tony’s head.
“Why, Captain.” Tony’s smirking now, his eyebrow quirked up. “Are you saying we should sneak behind Howard’s back?”
Steve smiles. “Maybe there are some things your father doesn’t need to know.”