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♡
Five months in Malibu, and Steve is addicted.
Tony moves through the world like it’s built to keep up with him, all restless motion and half-finished thoughts. When he talks, he circles. When he thinks, he paces. When he stops, it’s usually because he’s bumped into Steve without noticing and decided, apparently, that this is as good a place as any to be.
A hand on Steve’s arm while explaining some math he swears Steve doesn’t need to understand the logistics of the gun he’s working on. Fingers catching the edge of Steve’s sleeve to tug him out of the path of a rolling tool cart that Dum-E is pushing across the room. A brief, absent-minded press between Steve’s shoulder blades as Tony guides him through a doorway.
No one else touches Steve like that.
Happy shakes his hand, solid and respectful, then keeps his distance. Peggy… Peggy is different every time Steve sees her, recognition flickering in and out like a faulty lightbulb, her nurse Jackie always nearby, kind and careful not to crowd him. Pepper and Rhodey are polite, and stay away from his personal space.
Tony is none of those things.
Tony touches Steve like he’s just another guy in his life. Someone he knew and made friends with years ago and doesn’t care about boundaries anymore. Like, he’s not a fossil of seventy years dug out of ice, despite all the jokes and puns he makes about it.
Steve doesn’t notice when he starts leaning into it.
He just finds himself angling closer when Tony talks, standing where Tony’s path naturally curves so Tony would brush past him, holding still when Tony’s hand lands on him so it won’t move away too quickly.
When Tony’s knuckles brush his wrist, Steve’s breath goes a fraction steadier. When Tony’s shoulder bumps his, Steve’s feet feel more firmly planted on the floor. Steve doesn’t know why, but he figures he likes it, thinks about it all the time he’s idle.
It’s grounding. That’s the word JARVIS offers once, when Steve asks, late at night, why the room feels quieter when Tony is nearby.
Tony never comments on it. If he notices, he doesn’t say.
Steve finds Tony… adorable, which is not a word he ever expected to associate with Tony Stark.
In the mornings, Tony pads into the workshop barefoot, hair a riot, coffee mug in one hand while he chats to his robots like they’re coworkers instead of machines. Dum-E whirs happily when Tony praises him, extending a robotic arm that nearly knocks over a tray of tools.
“Hey, hey, watch it, Dummy,” Tony scolds fondly, steadying the mess before it can fall. “You’re doing great, buddy. Love the enthusiasm. But maybe take it slow, yeah?”
Steve watches from the couch where he settled a couple of hours ago to sketch and just breathe, arms folded, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest. He can’t help rolling his eyes at himself.
Tony catches him once and grins, assuming it’s aimed at him. “What? You jealous of my charming personality?”
Steve huffs a quiet laugh. “Didn’t know you talked to machines like that.”
Tony shrugs. “They listen. That’s more than I can say for most people.”
Then, without breaking stride, Tony reaches out and hooks two fingers into the belt loop at Steve’s hip, tugging him closer as he passes. “C’mon. I wanna see these fluffy pancakes you’ve been making. JARVIS was raving about them yesterday.”
Steve goes. Every time.
Everywhere Tony takes him to.
And Tony loves showing him the world like a magician pulling scarves from his sleeve. Cities that glow at night, museums filled with glass and steel, coastlines where the ocean stretches endless and blue instead of frozen and white. Tony talks and talks and talks, pointing out changes, inventions, the way the world kept going while Steve slept, the things that didn’t change and would bring Steve some comfort. Especially those.
Sometimes, when it’s too much, Steve slows. Tony slows with him, matching his stride without comment. They stay in for a day, Steve eats junk, Tony lounges with him.
Sometimes, when Tony’s trying not to drown in the bottom of a bottle, he’d get into Steve’s space. Browse on his phone or chat with JARVIS, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder, or feet resting in Steve’s lap, or playing with Steve’s hair. Steve loves those times.
Steve doesn’t notice the jealousy the first time it happens.
The first time, Pepper is there, sleeves rolled up as she leans over Tony’s workbench. She laughs at something Tony says, reaches out without thinking, fingers brushing his forearm as naturally as breathing. Tony doesn’t pause, doesn’t even look down. He just keeps talking, letting the contact exist.
Steve, watching them from the couch in the corner, feels… off. Restless, like a radio tuned half a notch away from the right station. He’s too busy frowning into his fries, trying to figure out why he’s feeling the way he’s feeling, to notice Pepper leaving. The uneasiness fades away when Tony drifts towards him, knee knocking into Steve’s as he flops onto the couch and steals one of Steve’s fries without asking.
Steve exhales and forgets about it.
The second time, it’s Rhodey.
They clap hands, laugh, Rhodey’s palm landing solid on Tony’s shoulder, friendly and familiar. Tony leans into it, grinning, complaining about deadlines and defense contracts and things Steve still hasn’t quite learned how to care about.
Steve’s jaw tightens. He watches the way Tony’s posture is relaxed, easy and unguarded, like his body knows exactly what to do with Rhodey’s presence. Steve feels it like a physical thing. Like something has been taken from him, even though he can’t name what it was.
Again, it passes when Rhodey leaves and Tony drops back into Steve’s space, foot nudging Steve’s calf, shoulder pressing warm and solid against his arm.
It takes three, maybe four more times, before Steve finally understands what’s going on. And once the connection clicks, it’s impossible to ignore.
It’s bound to get too intense at some point. Like, now. Today. At this moment.
Pepper’s radiant with victory, some deadline met, crisis averted. Tony looks wrecked in that way he only gets when he’s run himself ragged and refuses to admit it. Pepper cups his face briefly, presses a kiss to his cheek.
“Proud of you,” she says, soft and sincere.
Something sharp scrapes at Steve’s gums.
It’s sudden, visceral, irrational. His mood sours like milk left out too long. He shifts where he’s standing, arms crossing tighter over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps. He knows better. Knows this is normal. Knows Pepper has every right. That he doesn’t have a right to feel this away.
Doesn’t stop his chest from tightening anyway.
Tony smiles at Pepper, a little shy despite everything, and Steve hates how much that smile isn’t for him.
He feels clingy. He hates that too.
He finds himself hovering closer, tracking Tony’s movements unconsciously, like if he stays near enough the imbalance might right itself. His hands itch with the urge to grab, to pull Tony back into that familiar orbit where Steve knows exactly where he stands.
He tells himself not to. He tells himself he cannot pick up Tony Stark and wrap himself around him like some kind of overgrown koala, no matter how much his body wants to.
Pepper leaves soon after, Rhodey with her, their laughter fading down the driveway.
Steve holds himself rigid until the door closes.
Tony doesn’t say anything. He just turns, takes two steps, and bumps into Steve on purpose, hands settling at Steve’s waist like they’ve always belonged there.
“Hey,” Tony murmurs, forehead pressing briefly against Steve’s shoulder. “You good?”
The relief is instant and humiliating.
Steve’s shoulders drop. His breath steadies. The itch at his gums fades, replaced by warmth spreading slow and deep through his chest. He doesn’t even answer right away, just lets himself exist there, solid and grounded and chosen.
“Yeah,” he finally manages.
Tony hums, satisfied, fingers tightening just a little before he pulls back. His hands stay at his waist, warm and solid.
“Okay,” Tony says, softly, like he believes him.
Steve waits for him to step back anyway. He always does. Waits for the moment to pass, for Tony to pull away and resume motion, resume noise, resume being Tony Stark with a thousand places to be and thoughts to chase.
It doesn’t happen.
Instead, Tony shifts closer. Steve becomes acutely aware of the exact shape of him, the way Tony fits like he’s always belonged right there. Then Tony’s gaze drops to Steve’s mouth.
His heart stutters. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t weigh it or measure it or talk himself out of it like he’s learned to do with everything else in this new century. He just moves on instinct.
The kiss is unhurried. Steve presses his mouth to Tony’s, and Tony exhales into it, surprised but not unwilling, lips parting anyway.
The world narrows until there’s just warmth and pressure and the quiet, stunned understanding blooming in Steve’s chest.
This fits.
That’s the thought that settles in, heavy and sure. This fits like nothing else has since he woke up.
Tony pulls back first, but only far enough to breathe. Their foreheads knock together, noses brushing, smiling in that soft, disbelieving way people do when something impossible has just become real.
“Okay,” Tony says again, a little breathless this time. “Just— just checking here—”
He lifts one hand, thumb brushing along Steve’s jaw, reverent now instead of casual.
“You sure?” Tony asks. “Because I don’t do this halfway. And I really need to know you actually want this. Not because you’re… adjusting. Or because I’m here.”
Steve doesn’t hesitate.
He cups Tony’s face fully this time, palms warm against his cheeks. He presses their foreheads together again, breathing him in.
“This,” Steve says quietly, voice steady in a way it hasn’t been for weeks, “is the one thing I’m sure of.”
Tony’s brows knit. “Yeah?”
Steve nods. His thumb brushes just beneath Tony’s eye, gentle. “You were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. I think some part of me decided, right then, that if I was still alive… it was going to be with you.”
Tony’s kissing him this time, and Steve knows there’s more in his future.
♡