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There’s still ten minutes to midnight when they enter the dining room. The place is a mess with machine parts covering most of the dining table and lying scattered on the floor. Tony can’t help but to sigh; he should at least have some self-restraint. A whole day of obsessive cleaning and he ends up wrecking the place in a few hours. It’s like he’s five years old again.
However, his worries about the state of the room are easily forgotten when the hand at the small of his back moves a little, stroking reassuringly through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“What have you been doing here?” While mostly amused, Steve also sounds a little nervous, as if he’s not sure where he fits in all of this. Tony wants to wrap his arms around him and say “here, you fit right here”, but he doesn’t, because he’s not sure if it’s okay to say those kinds of things directly after kissing a guy for the first time. Well, technically being kissed… it doesn’t matter.
“I’m re-building a classic.” They walk up to the table, and Tony realizes that nothing makes sense right now; partly because he’s not far enough into the building process to be able to explain things properly, and partly because Steve’s hand feels warm enough to burn a hole in Tony’s shirt. It’s ridiculously distracting and totally messes with his thinking process. The guy has to be cheating somehow. Tony is far from a blushing teen; since when is a simple touch enough to make him breathless? “I like to get my hands dirty.”
Yeah, he should just hit himself in the head with the nearest tool and be done with this. Clearly he was never meant to open his mouth. Ever.
Steve doesn’t laugh at Tony’s horrible people-skills though; instead he brings a hand to the table, poking lightly at the components. “Is it the one-armed robot? I think I kind of recognize this part.”
Tony can’t help but tense up. This is the first time Steve has ever hinted at knowing who he is, and it’s not like he’s assumed Steve is an idiot… he’s just been living in a Stark-less bliss. People can actually put up with him without the whole “Stark” thing keeping them around. Who knew?
It still feels weird to be manhandled by Steve, with those thin hands gripping his arms and holding steady until they’re facing each-other.
Once again Tony attempts one of his most smoldering smiles, but he’s pretty sure he ends up looking like a dork. “So you’ve seen good old Dummy?”
Steve chuckles at that, his hands still holding tight despite the lighthearted tone. “So that’s what you’re calling it.” He hesitates for a moment, and Tony wonders what could possibly have Steve doing that; the man rushes into dark alleys to save strangers for crying out loud. “I’m not stupid Tony. I figured you were someone important, but you never spoke of it so I never asked.”
Tony is about to interrupt him right there – because if nothing else he’s the master of bothersome interruptions - but before he’s able to say anything Steve’s finger is against his lips. And yes, Tony has had all kinds of things against his lips, but is not the touch as much as the gesture itself that warms his heart. It’s been forever since someone touched him so carelessly and intimately without asking for permission first. Sure, people will throw themselves at him, but not like this. Never like this.
“But then you invited me here, and seriously Tony… you can’t ask a guy to celebrate New Year’s at this kind of place without him getting suspicious.”
“So you’re saying that you figured out who I was when I invited you to the Stark Tower?” Steve laughs at that – leaning slightly forward as if to rest his head against Tony’s chest – and Tony is so relieved he could eat his own goatee.
“Yeah, pretty much. I didn’t read up on you until then.” Once again Steve looks at him with slight hesitation, before taking a deep breath. “I just had to make sure you meant it. You know, that you would actually be here and it was real. Because sometimes it isn’t.”
And Tony can see Steve – good-hearted, loyal Steve – following people just because they asked him to. Showing up early, expecting a date or perhaps not even that, only to be left waiting until finally accepting that no one’s coming to meet him.
He wants to say things like “I’ve never felt this real before” and “tell me who’s stood you up in the past and I’ll call them and laugh in their face”, but he’s Tony Stark, so he just ends up choking on the words instead.
Steve doesn’t hesitate to lean against Tony’s chest when pulled close, and his tiny frame fits perfectly beneath Tony’s chin. If he wasn’t so caught in the moment he would consider doing a victory dance; mostly because he’s holding Steve Goddamn Rogers in his arms, but also because how he’s rarely tall enough to hold someone like this. He can feel Steve’s neatly combed hair being brushed slightly by his goatee, and it would ruin the moment completely if he started giggling, so he does his best to bite back the laughter.
“We’re gonna watch the fireworks now, and it’s gonna be awesome.” He decides to bring up a hand to ruffle Steve’s hair, because seriously, it’s more tempting than an unsupervised box of chocolate. They end up stumbling out on the balcony - because Tony prides himself in being a very cuddly octopus – only to realize that it’s already past twelve. Steve doesn’t seem too distressed about it, and Tony ends up standing behind him, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders as they watch the sky light up.
“You didn’t lie. The view is amazing.” There’s a smile in Steve’s voice, and if Tony is an octopus then Steve is definitely a cat; nodding his head, nuzzling against Tony’s forearm. And this, this is why Tony should always wear his sleeves rolled up. He’s not even going to pretend the shudder running through him is because of the weather.
“So we kind of missed midnight”, it’s little more than a whisper, Steve’s voice being muffled against Tony’s arm. “But it’s still a new year and all and… and I think you should kiss me now.”
Steve’s eyes are bright as he turns in Tony’s arms, his gaze going from searching to content in a heartbeat. There’s a moment of indecision, and then Tony can feel those thin hands rest on his hips, the grip almost possessive, and Tony is surprisingly cool with that.
“Welcome to the future.” Tony has this bad habit of never knowing when to shut up, but Steve simply smiles fondly, as if Tony isn’t an embarrassment to every smooth-talker who’s ever lived.
Steve’s lips move against his – as if he’s trying to speak but can’t make a sound – and it’s not until Tony captures his bottom lip, sucking gently and grazing it with his teeth, that he stills.
It's neither hesitant nor controlled, all open mouths and breathing together, and Tony would probably worry about smearing grease all over Steve's face if it didn't look so incredibly gorgeous. Tony has to pull away for a moment, simply to look at Steve; his pale skin, now slightly flushed and covered in dark, oily streaks (and Tony suddenly feels the need to rub Steve with everything in his workshop simply to watch the dark stains on him, just like this). He looks more like a painting than anything else, and Tony can't think of a more fitting look for him. Except, perhaps, some kind of awe-inspiring uniform; his outside reflecting the hero inside. Maybe Tony can get him to wear something like that… maybe Steve is totally cool with role playing.
All thoughts of Steve wearing uniforms - and maybe Tony has some interesting designs lying around that would be perfect for that - disappear as Steve reaches up and scratches with blunt nails through Tony's beard, nudging him in for another kiss.
The night is cold around them, making Tony shudder whenever Steve's hands leave him for even a moment. But Steve is overwhelming, devouring and larger than life, yet forever soft and caring with every touch. Licking at the corner of his mouth - tiny touches of tongue trailing the outline of Tony’s lips - Steve seems fascinated and thrilled by the rough texture of Tony's beard, and Tony can't help but laugh at the touch.
Pulling away again, this time to rest his chin on the top of Steve's head, he breathes heavily, taking in the scent of Steve - of them - and smiles contently. Steve is all soft hair tickling Tony's face and the smell of soap and sweat and paint, his body hot as he holds Tony tight, placing light kisses just above the collar of his shirt.
Tony stark is not supposed to giggle, but he can’t stop himself, and ends up clinging to Steve while laughing gently. He feels lightheaded and content and terrified.
This is kind of a thing now. And the thing about, well, things, is that they can break. But Steve is nuzzling against Tony’s chest, humming happily as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now, so maybe it’s okay for Tony to continue with the stupid giggling. It’s been a while since Tony took enough time to enjoy the view properly, and looking out over the city – seeing fireworks still going off against the dark sky, and with Steve discreetly unbuttoning Tony’s shirt where he’s being held against his chest – he’s convinced that this will be a pretty good year.