Work Text:
Ice-Breaker
Tony had never done well with awkward silences, and this? This was awkward. He and Bruce had been chatting for a while, but even his legendary ability to ignore other people had withered under Steve’s disapproving gaze that said, all too clearly, what he thought of a host having an exclusionary conversation during their Tower-Christening party. So now, the room had sunk into silence, only the occasional clink of glasses breaking the tension.
“So,” Steve’s voice seemed unnaturally loud, and forcedly cheerful. “We should play a game.”
Theatrically, Tony buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder. “A game? Seriously? Are we twelve? Is this a slumber party?”
Natasha, seated next to Clint on the far sofa, shot him a quelling look. “What did you have in mind, Captain?”
Steve was flushing lightly by now, his cheeks a delicate shade of pink, but, ever determined, he soldiered on, turning in his seat to face his unlikely ally exclusively. “An ice breaker,” he said steadily.
Tony gave another theatrical groan, and Bruce petted his hair absently, like a mother with a colic-y toddler. “That sounds…nice,” Bruce offered hesitantly.
Clint’s face was contorted, he looked like he was having trouble deciding between agreeing with Steve to aggravate Tony, or explaining to Steve just how lame he thought the idea was. “We don’t have to do trust falls, right?”
Steve looked briefly confused, “No, I have a great game. One we used to play in the commandoes. It was a variation of truth or dare, you pick a themed question and the go around the group, each telling your answer.”
Despite himself, Tony started to feel interested. He grew up hearing about the legend of Captain America, he’d love to hear some of Cap’s actual stories.
“Here’s one, what about…the most ill-advised thing you’ve ever done believing you’d die in the morning?”
The brief softening of the awkwardness and tension hardened instantly as the group drew back. “That’s…uh…a bit morbid, Steve,” Bruce pointed out.
Steve’s flush darkened. “It’s not…it’s…we used to play it all the time!”
“You were in World War Two Cap, normal social rules didn’t apply. Normal people don’t talk about death over drinks.”
Steve spluttered for a second, and once again, Natasha came to his rescue. “No, let’s play. Immanent death is something we’ve all got in common.”
“It’s bonding!” Steve interjected.
Tony gave him a sideways look and gestured expansively at Natasha. “You first then, Widow.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”
It was obvious that she was making the effort. Tony didn’t doubt she had far more disturbing and unpleasant stories to hand, but the tale she told – a witty saga about disguising herself as a man because, in her long and illustrious career as a spy she’d never been inside the men’s toilets – was enjoyable, and relaxed them all enough that it was clear that Clint was trying to one up her when he described hitting shamelessly on Nick Fury in a final and last ditch effort to make Coulson jealous enough to fuck him on an op. Thor hadn’t understood the game fully, but the tale he told was…interesting, even if the description of exactly how one gutted a bilgesnipe was both graphic and unnecessary, and Bruce’s ended so abruptly that the awkward silence briefly made a reappearance as they all realised what the end likely was. Tony had lived his MIT years as though he would die young and leave a beautiful corpse so he had an endless number of stories to draw from, but, in deference to Steve, he did at least try to pick one that wouldn’t make his 1940s heart give out.
Which brought them back to Steve.
“Your turn, Cap. What’s the most ill-advised thing you ever did believing you’d die in the morning?”
Steve leaned forward, eyes dancing. He opened his mouth, and a shadow abruptly passed over his face and he pulled back. “I…I can’t. It’s not…appropriate.”
Tony blinked. “Uh…no. Fuck that. You made us play this game, you can’t not play just because it’s your turn!”
If Tony had thought Steve has been blushing before, it was nothing to the colour he was now. He was scarlet. “I really can’t, Tony. I’m not…I’m sorry. I’ll tell you anything else.”
Tony gave a wicked smirk. “That’s not fair, Cap. What is it you’re too ashamed to tell us? Did you eat the last slice of apple pie? Did you forget to kiss a baby? Did you deflower a maiden without proposing to her?”
“Tony!” Steve gasped, shocked. “No! Of course not! Nothing like that. But I…You really don’t want to know.”
Tony’s smile became smooth and his voice silky. “Oh, I really do. And I think everyone else does too.”
Steve gave a helpless glance aground, but there was no help coming this time. Even Natasha was watching him with an amused, intense expression. If possible, Steve’s blush darkened, and his jaw firmed in the now familiar expression that always accompanied a hated defeat or unpleasant report.
“Come on, Cap!” Tony continued mockingly, “Or are you too afraid to tell us? Would you really ask us to do something you’re too afraid to do yourself?”
It was obviously the final straw. Steve’s face was still red, but his eyes hardened instantly. He locked steely gaze with Tony’s intense expression and, with no quaver admitted, “The most ill-advised thing I ever did…I…uh…fondued with Howard.”
The intense concentration of the others changed sharply in focus from Steve to Tony. Oblivious, Tony gave a sharp bark of laughter. “That’s it? That’s your big shameful secret? That you slunk off once for a cheese based meal with my dad? I can’t even…Why is that even a secret? Were you supposed to be saving the world? Did helpless kittens have to stay trapped in trees because you were slurping dairy products off a stick? Or is it a gluttony thing? That’s one of the seven deadly sins isn’t it? Did you eat too much?”
“Tony-” Bruce tried.
But Tony was in full swing and didn’t even acknowledge him. “Maybe it was chocolate fondue. I see you as a chocolate guy, Captain. And dad never did anything by halves, he’ll have taken you to the best place he could think of, probably in Switzerland. Were you enjoying yourself in a private chateau, slurping chocolate at dad’s expense while the war continued?”
“Tony-”
Furious that he still wasn’t getting a response, from anyone Tony carried on. Voice sharper and more staccato, a mean curl lurking beneath the joking veneer as he tried to raise more than the silent stare Steve still had fixed on him. “And you know dad was…the word is bisexual. You’d probably say queer. I bet he enjoyed watching you lick that chocolate right off your…”
His voice trailed off, and he became abruptly aware of the incredulous stares of the others, fixed, not on Steve for his incredibly fucking stupid secret, but on Tony. On whatever was coming out of Tony’s mouth. A dark and terrible suspicion began to lurk in his mind. Steve didn’t say a word, merely raised one sardonic eyebrow.
Tony tried to say something, anything, but his face felt frozen, mind blankly whirling as the realisation of exactly what Steve had meant clunked into his mind. His mind, of which he was usually so proud, was now supplying images, in technicolour, to go with the thought. Awesome.
His face reflected nothing, not anger - in Bruce's expert opinion - and not hurt, simply the blank expression of a computer unable to process a certain piece of data and in the process of restart. Stiffly, on uncertain legs, Tony stood, and walked, still silently from the room.
There was another beat of silence, then Steve held out his hand to Clint. “You owe me five bucks.”
Clint blinked his surprise. “I…What?”
“You bet me I’d never be able to make Tony shut up.”
Clint’s mouth twitched at the edges. “You mean…”
Steve’s impassive face split into a wide smile that made him look like a school boy that had managed to get away with the entire cookie jar. “Best prank ever.”
There is now a First Impressions Second Chances remix of this fic here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/730178/chapters/1507812