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Tony isn’t sure what’s taking Stephen so long. Most people would have had Tony the night of the Superhuman Defense Fund gala. A not insignificant number would have had him in the car. Or the bathroom. Stephen had certainly seemed eager enough, possessive enough, swooping in to steal Tony away as he had.
But there has been no ‘having’. There hasn’t even been any kissing.
Touching, yes. Since the gala, Stephen takes every opportunity he’s given to lay hands on Tony, always pressing his fingertips in firmly, always pulling away reluctantly.
Heated looks, yes. Tony can feel the weight of Stephen’s eyes whenever they're in the same room. He hardly seems to look away.
But nothing else. Which leaves Tony here, sweating through a series of weights in a tank top and a pair of tiny shorts while Stephen watches, hoping to chip away the man’s control.
Blowing out a breath, Tony racks the bar and sits up from his last set, eyes automatically going to Stephen’s bench. He’s still there, eyes still fixed on Tony. He’s flushed, and as Tony sucks down a drink from his water bottle, Stephen’s tongue slides out to wet his lips. Tony shifts, parting his legs a little; he’s not quite hard, but he’s on the way there, and Stephen licking his lips makes him swell a little more.
Stephen stands and crosses the room. Reaching Tony, he leans down, close enough Tony can feel his breath… and picks up Tony’s towel, dropping it in his lap. “Can’t have you showing that off to all and sundry,” he says, voice a low rumble, even lower than usual. “That’s mine.”
Tony takes a breath to tell him If it’s yours, then take it…
…but the gym door opens to admit Steve, Sam, and Bucky.
Goddamnit.