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There's a moment of silence, the only sounds their measured breathing. Steve's thumbs move against the waistband of Tony's jeans, and Tony can feel it acutely even through the denim. He's not sure what to say, but luckily for him it's Steve who breaks the silence.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Careful what you say, Cap,” Tony says lightly, feeling hope burning traitorously in his chest. “That’s open to all sorts of interpretation.”
And Steve, the bastard, pushes Tony back by his hips and looks up at him, blue eyes open and piercing. “What you said about realisation,” he says, and there’s so much honesty in his gaze that it makes Tony’s head spin. “I want to be with you. I want you back here in the goddamn tower. I want you telling me when I fuck up, and I want you to let me tell you when you’re doing the same.”
And Tony has never felt so completely winded in his life. His hands smooth over Steve’s shoulders as he tries to find words, as he tries to find thoughts. Steve is still looking at him with those damn blue eyes and he can’t look away.
“Okay,” he manages. “So, you know friends can do that for each other-”
“No,” Steve says, sounding strained. He dips his head again, presses his forehead to Tony’s abdomen again. “No, I can’t-” He looks up again, awkward and beautiful. “I wouldn’t say I’m queer, I never have, I just-”
“The ends of these sentences better be good,” Tony says blankly, and Steve huffs, irritated.
“You, Tony. It’s always about you. God, why are we even talking about this?”
“Because communication is the key to a healthy, functioning relationship?” Tony suggests and it's a joke until it isn't, and it isn't when Steve’s head snaps up, eyes finding Tony's and pinning them in place with nothing more than his own bright gaze.
“Yeah?” Steve says, and he looks more vulnerable than Tony has ever seen. He wants to be the person to fix that, right now. He breathes in, lets his shoulder relax as he exhales. He can scarcely believe it, that Steve seems to have actually realised that he wants him. It’s terrifying and humbling and amazing all at once, and Steve is still looking at him openly, waiting for a response.
Waiting for Tony to decide if they’re going to do this or not.
“Yeah,” he says softly, and Steve’s eyes flutter close, relief and joy and something else flickering over his face. Tony laughs shortly because he put that expression there, and he traces his hand down the side of Steve’s tired face. “But I agree with the why are we talking sentiment. You need to be resting, and I need to be finding a creative way to ruin Reed Richards’ life.
“Stay,” Steve says, and then, “please.”
And Tony cannot – will not – argue with that word or tone of voice, not ever. He nods wordlessly and gives Steve a push. Steve acquiesces and lets go of Tony’s hips, toeing his shoes off and reaching down to pull off his socks. He doesn’t appear to think twice about pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it aside and then reaching for the button of his jeans. Tony’s mouth goes dry as Steve pushes them down his thighs and then shimmies out of them, kicking them off and then turning to crawl up the bed. God, he’s all tight muscle and glorious expanses of skin, begging for Tony to map each line and space with his mouth. He resists the urge though, watching as Steve climbs under the covers and settles on his side, on the left side of the bed.
God, but that man is beautiful.
Steve sighs, pulling at his pillow, eyes already closed. “Get in,” he murmurs, and who is Tony to deny that request. He’s glad Steve is lying on his left side because it means he’s facing Tony. Not that he’d be complaining about getting to get to see the glorious expanse of Steve’s back and shoulders, but right now he wants to be able to see his face, to catalogue every breath and commit every flicker of his eyelids to memory.
Tony unbuttons his own jeans and kicks them off and then, feeling slightly like he’s in a dream, goes around to the other side of the bed and climbs in. He leaves his shirt on, concious of both the arc reactor and the fact this is the first time they've done anything like this. “You got a tablet anywhere?” he asks as he shifts, edging closer to Steve.
“Nightstand,” Steve mumbles back.
Tony twists around and then falters. He’s spotted the tablet but that’s not what’s caught his attention; the tablet is half underneath a sketchbook, and the sketchbook is open. On the top page is a trio of sketches done in what looks like green felt pen; one is a snapshot of Steve fighting what appears to be a version of himself; the second is a small kid with a stripy shirt and scuffed knees who looks suspiciously like a little version of Steve; the final is a profile of Tony, smiling gently and warmly.
His eyes feel far too warm. He debates asking Steve about the drawings now, but Steve is already breathing deeply and evenly. Instead, Tony carefully pulls the tablet out from under the sketchbook, settling back against the pillows, half sitting and half reclining.
He means to read, to check in on some data for the stress capabilities for the new suit, but he can’t. He’s got Steve right there next to him, and Tony can’t stop looking at him. God, over the past few months he’d thought he’d lost Steve in more ways than one, and now he’s got him right here next to him.
He remembers the conversation they’d had when they’d talked before he’d left for LA; Steve’s careful words and his own honest reply.
‘And if I don’t want?’
‘Then you don’t get.’
Tony’s eyes flick to Steve again, and his heart aches at how peaceful he looks. He reaches out, brushes his fingertips lightly along Steve’s jaw for a moment.
“You want, you get, Rogers,” he murmurs, a smile on his lips that he doesn’t think is going to go anywhere anytime soon.
Steve wakes up just as the sun is setting. The blinds haven’t been drawn over the windows and the last of the light is casting an orange glow over the room, long dark shadows stretching across the carpet and bed. It’s peaceful and warm and quiet, and he doesn’t want to break it.
He blinks slowly, eyes on the form that’s lying next to him. Tony is asleep; he’s lying on his back with a tablet held loosely in his hand, resting against his chest. His other arm is resting loosely over his stomach, and his breathing is steady and easily audible as he breathes through his parted lips.
Steve doesn’t think. He doesn’t question or second guess. He just shifts closer, lifting himself up on his elbow, and as he does his bare legs brush Tony’s under the blankets and a shiver goes through him. His eyes flicker over Tony’s face, taking in all the details that he’s noticed but never stopped to appreciate before. The dark of his eyelashes lying against his skin, the soft bow of his upper lip. Objectively, he’s a handsome man; Steve’s always known and acknowledged that. But now it’s more; he’s here and he’s Steve’s and that means he can act on these new feelings that are simmering pleasantly under his skin.
He wonders how any other Steves across the multiverse discovered this just like he has, and then he decides he doesn’t give a damn, leaning over and brushing his mouth over Tony’s.
Tony stirs, making a rough noise in the back of his throat. He shifts atop the mattress, shoulders inching back and chest lifting towards Steve’s, and Steve feels want uncurl warm and fluttering in his belly. It’s something he’s not felt in so long, and it disconcerts him a little how strong it is; it’s as if now he’s realised exactly what he and Tony can have, all the barriers are toppling like towers of cards.
Steve kisses him again, catching his lower lip between his own, slowly tipping his head back and gently breaking the contact. Tony moves again, lifting one leg so it bends at the knee, foot flat on the mattress. He also lifts his head from the pillow, chasing after Steve’s mouth with his own. Steve indulges him with another gentle kiss; it’s all he can manage before he has to pull back, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion.
“You drew me,” is the first thing that Tony says, before he's even opened his eyes, words gentle puffs of air against Steve’s chin.
“I did,” Steve confirms, eyes flicking to where his sketch book lies on the nightstand. Tony's eyes open slowly, and he just breathes out, not replying for a long while. He blinks up at the ceiling, expression inscrutable when he finally speaks.
“Do I read into that?”
“Depends what you’re reading,” Steve says, pulling back a little. He shoves his pillows up and out of the way against the headboard to rest his elbow on the mattress, propping his head on his fist. He feels physically fine now he’s had some rest, though is still a little shaky after witnessing the fighting between him and Tony across the multiverse. Even the memory of it makes him want to grab Tony and haul him close, promise him that he’ll never be that blind.
“Optimism and ego would say that it means you totally want all up in this,” Tony says, gesturing to himself, and Steve can’t help but laugh, short and easy. “Caution would say that it’s just green lines on paper…and it’s thrown in there with other green lines on paper which are evidently snapshots of your trip through the multiverse. So, possibly all still mixed up in there.”
Steve looks at him, serious. Tony senses the pause and glances over, his hair ruffling on the pillow. His eyes flicker over Steve’s face, down to his bare chest and back again, and Steve reaches out, fingertips dragging across Tony’s shoulder. “I’m not confused.”
Tony doesn’t look convinced. “You are perpetually confused.”
“Oh, come on,” Steve says, mildly exasperated. “I had a traumatic experience and returned from it unsure about the nature of our relationship. I actually think that’s the one time in my life I’ve been genuinely confused.”
“Yeah, I don’t know whether to be honoured or dismayed by that.”
“Tony,” Steve interrupts, and straightens his fingers out, pressing his palm to Tony’s chest, just above the arc reactor. His fingers brush over the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He can sense Tony’s defensiveness, the way he’s digging his heels in and gearing up for a fight, ready to pull holes in this from every angle. God, and people say Steve can be stubborn. “You said you’d go to give me time to think about it. I haven’t thought about anything else.”
That at least shuts Tony up. He shuts his mouth with an almost audible clack, staring at Steve with his expression wobbling between defiant and vulnerable. He stares and stares, and then exhales heavily, a huff of breath through his nose. He shakes his head and then laughs, looking down and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“You are,” he begins, and his mouth curves in a rueful smile. “You are more stubborn than I am.”
“Yeah. Might just be easier for you to go along with that.”
Tony laughs again, a soft sound, and then it fades, eyes going serious once more. “How can you be sure?” he asks, though he doesn’t sound argumentative any more. “How do you know it’s not just obligation, or you going along with what has happened in the other universes-”
“To hell with what the other universes have done,” Steve says, and reaches for Tony, pulling him close. “I like what’s happening in this universe.”
“You are ridiculous,” Tony replies immediately, but he lets himself be pulled into Steve’s front, half draped over Steve's side, one leg slotting between Steve's. “Utterly, utterly ridiculous, Rogers, how corny can you get-”
“Shut up, Tony,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes, and slides an arm around Tony’s waist, hand sliding under his shirt to press against warm skin. His mouth hovers in front of Tony’s, and he can feel Tony’s warm breath against his face.
