Work Text:
Tony Stark, C.E.O of Stark Industries, Iron Man; Savior of the World, four time Nobel Prize nominee, is terrified of motorcycles. Terrified is a strong word. Perhaps he should use scared…
Well anyway, the back story to such an irrational fear is a typical textbook childhood trauma. He knows it’s stupid, it happened over twenty years ago, he reaches ten times the speed when he’s in the suit. He’s tried everything, therapy, meditation, but nothing works. So when Rogers marches into his lab, decked out in the latest leather, Tony just sighs.
“No. It doesn’t affect me in the field. I do just fine without it. And I don’t need to talk about it. ” Tony says, eyeing up the leather jacket Rogers holds out for him with disgust and turning back to the schematics.
“Stark! You fly around in a tin suit, for goodness sake, what the hell is wrong with a motorcycle?” Steve cries. He walks around Tony attempting to look into his eyes. “Stop being so cold, just let me- just let the team in.”
“Not today, Captain.” Tony says closing his eyes and only opening them when he hears the footsteps disappear.
-
“Hold on tight son.”
“I am daddy! Les go!” Tony says bouncing up and down and turning to beam to his father.
Howards ruffles his hair slightly with a fond smile and holds on to the handles.
“Okay, let’s do this big boy.”
And suddenly their moving.
Tony feels the air rush against his face and can’t help the giggling. It feels so good! He’s flying! He’s flying like when Cap does!
It’s so cool, he wants to do this all the time, with daddy laughing behind him, and the air rushing past him. And the screeching of the tires.
And his father screaming.
Tony flies forward, the collision propelling him far.
He see’s his daddy’s face paralyzed in horror. One arm is reaching out for him, and suddenly he’s screaming.
He hits the floor. It all goes black.
-
Tony is under the Audi when he hears Steve’s arrival. He tries not to flinch at the sound of the engine.
Strong hands grab his leg and pull. Suddenly Tony is face to face with a flushed and excited leather clad Captain…
A very beautiful Captain.
Tony can’t talk. Steve’s hair is messy, ruined by the wind, his cheeks are a faint red and his lips redder still. His eyes are vibrant and wild. Rogers is a freaking god.
Tony curses the day he let this god damn crush take over him.
“Ugh.” He mumbles intelligently.
“What?”
“Ah. I said did you enjoy your ride?” He says refusing to meet Rogers’ eyes. He jumps up and yanks his gloves off.
“Oh.. Uh, yeah, I did. It was great. I just...” Cap rubs the back of his neck in an unconsciously adorable habit that Tony can’t help but follow. “Just, thanks, Stark. For the bike, for everything.”
“Just picking up where the old man left off Rogers. Don’t mention it.” Tony says starkly, moving away from Steve Rogers and his fucking blush. He jumps to sit on the bench and gets out the schematics for the helicarriers engine. Tony immerses himself in Fury’s bullshit complaints.
“Stark, you make no sense." He whispers. "Why are you so inconcievable?” Steve says suddenly louder, almost to himself. Tony looks up. He’s stood facing him, one hand clutching his helmet and the other in a white knuckled fist by his side. His mouth is set in a grim line and his eyes spark with a challenge.
Tony gulps and looks down. No way is he telling Rogers anything. The man is everything Tony thought he’d be. He’s never let anything stop him, not his illness, not his mother’s death, not even the loss of everything and everyone he ever knew. And that’s because Captain Rogers was a hell of a man. He’s strong, courageous, honorable and honest. But above all Steve Rogers is brave.
And Tony isn’t.
Hell, he’s reckless, he’s self sacrificing, sure. And he’d do anything to save somebody’s life. He’d throw his own into a hole of fire if it meant saving hurt to someone. Tony Stark could face down his captors, say no in the face of torture and come back to make sure no one else was getting hurt. But still he knows he isn’t brave, all this shit he has to do because, fuck, he has to make his life worth something, for Yinsen, for his mother, for Pepper and Rhodey. He doesn’t fucking deserve to live; he’s got to make each second count.
Why should he face his own fears when he could be stopping other peoples?
I’m inconceivable because I’m scared that if I get on that fucking bike I’m going to see my dad’s head smashed on the floor crying, I’m scared I’m going to wake up, six years old, in a cold hospital with less than a thirty percent survival rate, I’m so scared I can’t even stand the rev of an engine anymore.
I’m scared and I don’t know how to stop it.
“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” He finally replies, forcing out a rubbish Italian accent and ignoring the slight lump in his throat. He snaps his goggles on and goes back to the schematics.
Steve scrunches his eyebrows together and opens his mouth to answer. Tony watches him snap his mouth shut, he watches his shoulders slump, he watches him slowly shake his head and he watches him leave.
“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you haven’t seen The Princess Bride! That’s only what- fifty years since you went down capsicle!” He calls to the retreating figure, ignoring the angry scorning of his heart.
His eyes sting and as the door closes he tries not to feel so empty.
-
Tony’s not avoiding Steve.
He’s not.
Okay…
So maybe he is, just a little bit.
Tony doesn’t remember when exactly he started calling Steve Steve not Rogers. If he was pressed he’d probably say it was that time he caught Steve’s smiling proudly like a young, devilishly handsome dad at his kids first play, at Bruce immersed in his lab. Or when Steve had asked him for help with his email account, “I guess it’s tough to trust people. But I’m trying Tony.” He’d said, shoving his laptop in Tony’s face. Hell it could’ve been way earlier, back when his hand shake had made Tony’s palms all sweaty. Or when Tony first saw him fling his shield and vault himself in the air, catching it mid flip.
Suddenly they begin smiling at each other. Like regularly. Steve smirks when Tony mouths off to Fury and he laughs at Tony’s rubbish attempts to freak him out. They joke around together, they hang out, they pretty much do everything together and Tony finds most of his free time labeled STEVE.
Tony still gets ridiculously fanboy urges to just scream but he’s managed to tone it down. Steve’s amazing. Everything about him is just awesome, but he’s Steve. He’s lovely, warm, human, funny, smart Steve.
So Tony tells him stuff, actually Tony tells him a lot, tells him things he doesn’t tell anyone else. Tony tells him how he got the arc reactor, tells him about Obi and the Iron Monger, about his mother and her nimble hands. Steve listens to everything intently, with no form of pity or exasperation. He gives advice when Tony tells him about problems at work, or what to get Pepper for her birthday. And in return Steve tells Tony things he’s sure no one in this century had ever got to hear. Tony learns about life in the trenches, the good times like when Bucky nabbed them all some scotch and the bad times like when Dum-Dum lost his leg.
Tony’s heart doesn’t really stand much of a chance against the inevitable tide of overwhelming emotion that wallops him in the face.
Inevitable, just how he falls in love with Steve.
It’s when Tony realizes this that he stops talking to Steve. Anybody else would’ve kept on at the (not so) harmless flirting, tried their luck and if the worlds a happy place maybe even had a relationship. But Tony’s damned if he’s going to let Cap get into a relationship with a man whose daddy issues has daddy issues. No way is he going to be responsible for the breaking of Steve Rogers' heart.
“Hey Tony, want to go get a burger or something?” Steve asks time and time again.
“Not hungry cap.” Tony replies, because yes does he want to get a burger but his stupid, stupid mind keeps telling him that Steve is asking him out on a date. And no. Just no. Steve wouldn’t ask Tony out on a date, he’d be mortified if he knew how Tony felt, so Tony says no. Because it seems he isn’t capable of recognizing the difference between a hook up with a friend and the beginning of a deep relationship.
So he’s holed up in his workshop for the eighth consecutive hour this day, totally not avoiding Steve, no, he’s just adding some final touches to Natasha’s boots… And Clint’s quiver... Then possibly Steve’s suit.
He’s focusing hard on the Kevlar that make up Natasha’s ankle support so he doesn’t notice when a piece of offending clothing comes flying at his head.
He lets the jacket slop to the floor before turning to scowl and pout at who he thinks is probably Pepper. Or Bruce. The pout works on both so it doesn’t really matter.
And then, quite intelligently, his mouth drops and he lets out, “Hermph.”
“It’s been a week since I last saw you. I’m sick of this.” Steve says firmly, his hands on his hips.
Tony closes his mouth quickly and focuses on rewiring his brain. Nope. Nothing.
Cos there he is. In his freaking leather again.
“Seriously Tony, are you ever going to come upstairs and see the light of day?”
God, what had Tony done in his past lives to deserve such torture! Steve’s muscles are flexing deliciously when he gestures his point further with his arms. It’s all Tony can do to not jump the man right there and then. Well, to be perfectly honest, he knows he probably fucked up somewhere in all of his past lives if he has to stand in front of this glorious man and keep his hands to himself. His Shakespearean counterpart would’ve been a con man, his Greek version probably a whoring official, ha! He probably was a pirate, WITH FURY! Oh dear god, The Starking Fury, what a name for a shi-
“Tony. Are you even listening to me?” Steve says, dead pan, with his eyes narrowed slightly.
Shit.
“Err... Yes?” Tony tries, with a nervous smile. The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch upwards slightly.
“So you will?” Steve asks, rubbing the back of his head and staring through his eyelashes in a coy way that makes Tony want to groan. Loudly. And ridiculously inappropriately.
And because his mind is still latched on the shadows Steve’s lashes create on his cheekbones, and the way a smile is tugging at his lips he unconsciously says, “Sure Steve, whatever you want.”
“Brilliant!” Steve cries triumphantly, and god if that smile isn’t a sight to behold. “Gosh, Tony you’re going to love it! Seriously, everybody said you had this thing about motor cycles-“
And Tony’s jaw drops.
“But I said that’s impossible, you’re the bravest man I know-” Steve is still talking, but Tony can’t hear him.
“Steve I’m not getting on a motorcycle.” Tony manages to croak out.
Steve stops his fumbling; slowly he turns to look at Tony.
With eyes too blue and a smile too kind he says “Tony, you know I’d never judge you, right?”
Tony nods helplessly, swallowing that lump in his throat, trying and failing epically to not misunderstand the messages Steve is sending him.
He looks up at Steve Rogers, the man he’s known for all his life and yet only six months. And he knows, if someone asked him who it was he trusted the most, not just with his life, with everything, he wouldn’t say Rhodey; his best friend for most of his life, he wouldn’t say Pepper; the only girl he managed to truly love, he wouldn’t even say Jarvis; the now-dead butler that read him T.S Eliot at night. He would say, undoubtedly Steve Rogers; the man who had managed to make his damaged heart sing with love.
He looks down at the crumpled jacket at his feet and gulps.
Finally he looks at the refurbed sleek Harley Davidson, standing quietly and reserved in the corner of the garage.
Tony makes his decision.
“Alright Cap, let’s do this.” He says firmly, swapping spanner for jacket.
-
“Okay,” Steve says professionally as he zips up his jacket, “A couple of ground rules before we go.”
Tony’s looking at the wheels and all he’s seeing is the wreck.
“Tony?! Tony, baby!” he hears his father scream.
“Tony?” Steve says, his voice is firm, grounding.
Tony jolts out his reverie and clears his throat. Can’t back out now Stark, Steve would be sad.
Yeah, you’re doing this for Steve. Man up.
“Yeah, yeah I get it, hold on tight, and don’t look down, blah blah.” He murmured. His fingers were shaking as they fumbled with the zipper of his jacket.
Suddenly, cold hands gently tap his out the way and Steve’s zipping up his jacket. Tony keeps his gaze down, refusing outright to think he was acting shy. No, he just didn’t want to see Steve’s face again, could probably get cerebral hemorrhage from trying to make sense of how perfect his features were.
“Yeah, hold on tight.” Steve breathes, his hand slides up to touch Tony’s face and he tries to repress a shudder. Steve forces Tony to look into his eyes.
His hand hasn’t moved, his fingers still in Tony’s hair and his thumb on his jaw.
Tony pulls back harshly and clears his throat, “Come on, Rogers, we haven’t got all day.”
Steve’s face falls and Tony kicks himself internally.
“You’re right.” He says, turning away from Tony to fling a long leg over the back and straddle it. Tony’s mouth goes dry as he follows the movement and somehow he forces his legs to move.
He doesn’t think about the crash, he doesn’t think about anything until he’s sat down behind Steve. Tony’s left a gap of around two inches between them, not entirely sure what the protocol was on two-up-riding-with-your- blazing-hot-crush-that-also-happens-to-be-Captain-America-your-colleague-with-an incredibly-firm-ass.
He hears Steve chuckle, a hand reaches out blindly for him, grabs the front of his T-shirt, pulls him forward swiftly and suddenly he’s feeling Steve chuckle, feeling the vibrations in his body pressed into his chest.
Tony scowls against Steve’s back. Smug bastard.
Steve kicks up the stand and presses the ignition. The roar of the engine floods Tony’s senses, he clamps his eyes shut and when the bike surges forward he grabs Steve’s middle and holds on.
Jesus, Jesus, oh god, why did he agree to this, oh god, god, it’s Stark, dude if you’re there don’t let me puke.
Tony can feel the air whipping his hair around his face, he can hear Steve’s blissful laugh as they speed down the night. Slowly he opens one eye.
And then he can’t close them.
The floor is rushing past him, it’s too fast, it’s too close. His grip around Steve’s waist tightens and his breath hitches.
After the accident, when he was a little bit older, his mother told him about what happened. He didn’t remember much, only a few glimpses here and there.
His father and him, they had been riding, laughing, while she watched from the front door. She said that she had been worried sick but had loved the giggling, so she didn’t try and stop them. Tony had kept on bouncing in his seat in front of his father, craning his neck round to make sure Howard was laughing too. Howard had looked down for less than a second, just a glimpse, an acknowledgment. And that was all it had taken, he didn’t see the car pull out slowly. He was going too fast to stop but god did he try; he threw himself on the brakes, tires screeching manically. His mother says that’s when Tony had stopped laughing.
They collided, denting the car and sending the bike spinning to the left. Howard did all he could, she said, he did all he could to reach out for Tony. But he was tangled up with the bike, bones already broken. All he could do was watch as Tony’s head hit the ground with a resounding crack.
She said she ran, as fast as she could. Pushing past the shocked driver of the car and holding on to her baby, to Tony. She said he was cold. She said he wasn’t breathing. He knew he was scared.
Howard had crawled up next to them, ignoring the pain from his broken arm. He had put his good arm around her as she clutched on to Tony, head bowed slightly.
She doesn’t know how long they had stayed like that, the Stark family, convinced their only son had died. The authorities had come soon enough and led them away from the wreckage. She didn’t leave his hospital room once, not even when they had to attend a press conference. She just let Howard deal with it, needing to be close to her son that was fighting so hard.
She says his father could never look at him the same way; he couldn’t, not without wincing at the memory of his failure to protect him. And that’s why, Tony, he’s not as loving as he could be, it’s not your fault, he’s just angry at himself.
Tony blinks out tear after tear, dampening the back of Steve’s shirt, his hands are like vices, and he can’t unlock them from his waist. He can’t stop shivering.
He’s so scared, the memories, they just won’t go away, why won’t they go away?! Please, go away. The rev of the bike echoes and echoes through his mind, screeching, screaming, never going away. And he’s screaming, daddy please! It’s going to come; they’re going to crash-
A soft hand, always with a temperature slightly lower than normal, wraps around his, tugging him slowly, surely away from the pain. Steve rubs circles into the back of his hand, steering one handed and Tony relaxes. He can do this, he can do this, with Steve’s hand in his he could take on the whole god damned world.
He relaxes and as it turns out, riding isn’t that bad.
-
Steve slows the bike down, pulling to a stop.
Tony looks up and around realizing that they’re at the dock, the Hudson stretches out in front of them, throwing off the lights of the city serenely.
Steve kills the engine, kicks down the stand and gets off the bike in one fluid motion, somehow managing to be graceful and not kicking Tony in the face at the same time.
Tony keeps his eyes down, scrubbing quickly at his face. He tells himself he doesn’t mourn the loss of Steve’s heat…
“When I was a kid, I used to sketch here, with my feet dangling over the river. I mean I’d come by almost every day, I used to live only two blocks down,” Steve says, pointing absentmindedly. He has his back towards Tony, one hand in his pocket. Tony can see the cold air he breathes. “I used to love it down here, it’s calm, you know. Some where you can be calm. It hasn’t changed.”
Steve turns to look at Tony, offering him a small, private smile, his eyes twinkling. He walks back to the bike sliding back on, this time facing Tony.
“I’ve been meaning to take you here for awhile.” Steve whispers, taking Tony’s hand in his own. Tony doesn’t look; he keeps his eyes locked on their joined hands. His heart is beating so loud he knows Steve can hear it, if the slight flush on his face is anything to go on.
“Bruce would like it here, so-so would Natasha, you should take them,” Tony mumbles. Steve laughs softly.
“This place, this place isn’t just for my friends.” Steve lays a hand on Tony’s face, his blue eyes catching vivid brown and keeping them there. Tony can’t breathe, Jesus, god, this is too much. Steve can’t- Surely he’s j- This isn’t for real. Steve leans in, Tony’s helpless.
Oh.
Oh.
Steve’s lips are pressed against his, soft, teasingly cold. God this feels good, this feels so right. Steve has one hand cradling his head, tangled though his hair, and the other at his hip, curled around him protectively. His lips are so soft, addictive, they slide together harmoniously.
The kiss was gentle, easily the most gentle thing to ever touch Tony. Steve’s lips were soft and slow, memorizing the feel of Tony’s. Cherishing it. Tony moves his hands up, grabbing Steve’s collar and pulling him closer, and then he slips his hands round his neck and plays with the soft bristles there.
He can’t breathe, Steve tugs on his hair and the kiss gets deeper. Demanding, full of bold need and no regret. Steve’s tongue laps at Tony’s lips, asking for permission and Tony parts his mouth, eager to give it. Their tongues chase each other, a breathless tantalizing game of cat and mouse. Steve, Steve, Steve, Tony thinks. It’s overwhelming, this sensation, it shakes him, every single part of Tony is tingling. Singing Steve’s praises. Warm, safe, brilliant.
Steve pulls back and nips slightly at Tony’s bottom lip, a gesture that sends an electric shock all the way through Tony’s body. Their foreheads are pressed together, mouths centimeters from each other, breathing heavily.
“What I’m trying to say is, if you’ll let me, I want to share this place with you.” Steve whispers.
Tony closes his eyes, “I had an incident with a motorcycle once.” He replies.
“I know, it’s in your file.” Steve mumbles against his lips, he moves back slightly, “You don’t have to tell me, I just want you to know that I’ve wanted you for a while now, Tony. And you don’t have to be afraid, because I’m here now.” Steve says firmly, pressing a chaste kiss to Tony’s mouth.
“Hey, I’m not afraid. I rode with you all the way here didn’t I?” Tony says, pushing at Steve in a flirtatious manner that under different circumstances would have made him roll his eyes.
Steve grabs his hands and entwines them. “Yeah, yeah, you did. You got on the bike even though I had the whole world telling me you’d never do it.”
And because Steve is looking at him with big wondrous eyes, like he’s brave or something, Tony has to put him down, let him know the truth. “Steve, the only reason I did that was ‘cos of you.”
“Yeah?” Steve asks, leaning back against the handle bars.
“Yes.” Tony says firmly.
“You only did it because of me?” Steve’s lips quirk, in a hint of a smile.
“Of course.”
“You want to do it again?”
“Of course.”
“So you like me?”
“Of course.”
“Do you love me?”
“Of cou- Erm…” Tony chokes. Steve laughs out loud, beaming. He tugs Tony forward and envelops him in a hug.
“I love you too, tin man.” Steve whispers against his ear. Tony smiles against Steve’s shoulder and snakes his arms around his waist.
They stay that way for a long time, Steve’s arms around him and Tony clutching at his jacket. And when Steve asks Tony if he’s ready to get on the bike, Tony feels no anxiety. Hell, he’s excited for it.
And suddenly, Tony Stark, C.E.O of Stark Industries, Iron Man, Frequent watcher of The Princess Bride, Member of the MoMa, Owner of many-a sketch and proud boyfriend of one Steve Rogers, isn’t terrified of motorcycles anymore.
Funny, huh.