Archive of Our Own

They're not going to accomplish anything. Steve doesn't even know why he bothered coming, really.

"What's right is what's right," Steve says, firmly. "If you believe it, you stand up for it."

Tony sighs heavily. He pushed the faceplate up at Steve's request, when he got here, and now Steve's really wishing he couldn't see Tony's face, because Tony is looking at him in utter disgust.

Ten goddamn years, and this is what they've become.

There are a few other reasons he wishes he couldn't see Tony's face, none of which he's going to admit to Tony. He knows Extremis has some kind of healing factor, keeping Tony in peak condition, so most of the usual physical tells are gone, but Steve knows what Tony looks like when he hasn't eaten in twelve hours and hasn't slept in forty-eight, a combination of bone-deep exhaustion and a jitteriness that always makes him seem like he's about to vibrate right out of his skin.

The feeling developing somewhere beneath Steve's breastbone has the awful tenderness of caring, of concern, when he knows there's no goddamn reason he should still care about Tony. They're not friends. They're on opposite sides of a battle line. Steve has, relatively recently, punched Tony in the face. Hard. It doesn't show. There's no reason he should care whether Tony has eaten, or slept, or done anything at all that doesn't directly affect him. Tony's his enemy.

And yet he still cares.

"Of all the naive--" Tony begins, under his breath. "You don't like the Registration Act, Steve? Do you have any idea what the alternatives are?"

He suspects Tony is going to tell him whether he wants to know or not. He wonders how much of this Tony orchestrated. He definitely made some very specific choices with the venue.

Tony decided to hold this meeting right in the ruined foyer of the mansion, which was a hell of a choice; he'd dragged in a table, where he'd been waiting when Steve showed up, and he'd also dragged in a team portrait from a few years back, which absolutely used to hang on the third-floor landing. Tony's hung it slightly askew, so it looks like it was just dislodged in the destruction, like it's always been here. They both know it hasn't. Steve has an eidetic memory. Tony knows this about him.

Steve wonders if he should be offended that Tony is blatantly trying to emotionally manipulate him-- or, no, you know what, he's not even going to bother. He's offended.

He knows Tony misses the Avengers, the way they used to be. The way the two of them used to be. Steve misses that too. Of course he does. They used to agree. They used to be good. But somewhere along the way, Tony traded doing what was right for doing what was expedient. That was what he called it when he stopped a man's heart with Extremis.

He wonders if Tony feels anything, anymore. Maybe that's why he's trying to prey on Steve's feelings. Maybe he has none of his own left. Computers don't have feelings, do they?

Maybe it's Extremis. Maybe that's why Tony doesn't see what's right. Maybe everything inside Tony now is logical, is programmed, true or false, 1 or 0. The trolley problem is a pure numbers game.

Steve knows multiple androids who are far more human than Tony's been, these days.

The two of them started out in the foyer, took a stroll around the garden, past the statues -- more blatant emotional manipulation -- and are now back in the foyer. Tony's not sitting anymore. He's put the length of the table between them. It reads as a defensive move, like he's actually afraid Steve is going to lunge across the table and go for his throat.

Steve wonders at what point all of this went wrong. Maybe it was when Tony told the president he'd hunt down unregistered superheroes. Maybe it was when he first saw the SHRA. Did he look at it and think that he'd better not tell his pal Captain America because he already knew what Steve would say?

Maybe it was that one day at the Vault, five years ago, when Tony put a hand on his shoulder, channeled electricity through his body, and left him lying paralyzed on the concrete. Steve had asked him to do the right thing, and Tony had walked away. He'd paused, like he'd wanted to say something. But then he'd just left him there.

Yeah, it was probably that.

This isn't going to work. They're already done for.

And yet, there's the last reason Steve wishes he weren't looking at Tony's face: he loves him. He's never stopped. He's never going to stop, because if this didn't do it, then nothing will. He might not like Tony all that much right now, but he still loves him, with all his heart.

They always used to agree about everything. About the important things, anyway. Why can't it be this? Why can't Tony see?

Tony is still trying to explain himself, like he thinks he has a chance. He says he's doing this to protect them from worse alternatives, like anything can justify what he's doing. Steve wonders how in God's name Tony can look at himself in the mirror. Does Tony think, hey, I'm doing great, today I only caused half as much human suffering as I could have caused? No amount of what he's doing is okay.

You can't make bargains with morality. Either something's right or it isn't. This isn't hard.

Tony knows what he's doing isn't right, and he's doing it anyway.

And Tony called him naive. Well, Steve would damn well rather be naive than wrong.

"Have you ever heard of Project Wideawake?" Tony asks.

He pauses almost theatrically, like he's waiting for applause. A gasp of horror from the audience. This is his big reveal. Some government program Tony saw the plans for when he was Secretary of Defense.

Steve's never heard of it. Half that shit never gets off the ground. Tony should know that. He built a fucking prison in the fucking Negative Zone because that's the alternative, the better alternative, because he's so goddamn afraid of-- of-- of whatever it is-- of--

Of Sentinels, apparently.

That's it?

Incredulous, Steve just stares, as Tony outlines a future they've all heard of too many times before, from mutants in the timelines where they've lived it. All the superhumans, rounded up, under government control. Power inhibitors. Genetic testing. The works.

This isn't news, not really. The government started handing money to Bolivar Trask practically as soon as they found out mutants existed, as far as Steve knows. The Sentinels have always been a threat. Maybe they've never threatened to use them against everyone before, sure, but they aren't a brand-new terror. They've been on the radar for years.

What is news is that Tony is standing here telling him that this is why he's bending the knee. This. This is it. Steve can hardly believe it.

This shouldn't be a hard choice, either. If the government says they're going to send out giant robots to capture you, to keep you in line... you fight the damn giant robots. You don't become a collaborator. You don't give in.

In the old days, Tony used to make these kinds of decisions for the team. He had money, he had power, he had connections. He had the Foundation. He ran interference with the government, as much as he could. He handled the bureaucracy. Steve had liked it, back then; he never had to deal with red tape. He had a roof over his head. He had a square meal three times a day. Now, he doesn't know what he's eating tomorrow, and Tony's still trying to keep the government away. But it's all wrong, because he's joined them.

In the old days, Tony would have made the right decision. They would have agreed. Tony wouldn't have even had to ask.

It's almost right. That's the most frustrating part. They almost agree. They both still want the same things. They're just... not doing it the same way.

They're almost there. Steve wants his goddamn friend back.

Tony has to still be in there, somewhere. He cares. That's why he's making this argument, Steve realizes. He does care what happens to them all. Extremis hasn't taken that away.

"Never happen," Steve says, because that's the closest he can get to explaining what should be dead obvious. "We'd fight it. We'd stop it."

You should be stopping it. You should be with me, and we should be fighting it. Together.

That's what Steve means -- okay, Steve means a lot of other things by with me that Tony definitely doesn't want to know about, now or probably ever -- but that's not how Tony takes it, at all, because apparently they just can't talk anymore.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Tony snarls, like he thinks Steve's stupid, like he thinks Steve just doesn't get it. That hurts. Tony's raised voice echoes.

Steve gets it, all right. He just disagrees.

Even angry, Tony is still so goddamn beautiful, and Steve hates that he thinks it, but it's true. His eyes are bright, like the hottest of flames, as his fervor, his passion, his sheer belief carries him forward. Tony must be exhausted, but he's going to keep standing.

Tony's shaking. His lip wobbles. He's trembling, either in anger or fatigue. Steve should really, really not be looking at Tony's mouth right now.

He looks miserable, and Steve still-- he still wants to-- he can't think about that.

Tony tries to explain himself. Or rather, he tries to explain that the problem is that Steve keeps getting in his way. Steve imagines that this is indeed a problem for Tony. That's what Steve's trying to do. He wants to be a problem. Maybe, eventually, Tony, who is so smart, will stop and think and actually understand.

Then Tony takes a deep breath, and everything changes.

Steve can't quite say what it is, but Tony's looking at him, in the silence, and somehow everything is different.

"I know terrible things have happened and I hate it." Tony's voice is thick with some deep emotion. He's quieter now. This-- there's something new happening here. "I hate that we're in this pattern of mutually assured destruction -- you escalate, I escalate."

It wasn't anger. It wasn't fatigue. It's sadness. It's sorrow. Tony doesn't want this. He doesn't want them to be like this. Steve doesn't either. But he can't-- he doesn't--

Steve doesn't know what to make of it. He watches, silent. He bites his lip. Fear swirls through him. He's clumsy. If he reaches out, he might break something, and something about this feels like maybe, maybe now he has a chance, if only he knows how to take it. He has a feeling, now, that he might have had other chances that he had lost and not even realized it.

"Tell me, Steve! Tell me what I can do!" Tony calls out, imploring. The words are rough, pained. "What can I do to make it stop?"

A tear slides down Tony's cheek.

Tony's crying.

And that-- somehow that's it. That changes everything. That cuts through everything else. They slip sideways into a new world. One where Steve-- where he has to try. Where he really has to try.

He has to be kind.

Tony told him once that he wasn't the crying type. Of course, he was crying while he told him this. Steve suspects, actually, that Tony probably is the crying type, and he just tries not to when Steve is around. He probably wants Steve to think well of him. Tony has all sorts of ideas about the kind of man he thinks he has to be, and being stoic is probably one of them.

Tony's broken.

This isn't emotional manipulation. This is actual emotion. Tony's sad and he's scared and he doesn't know what to do.

The last time Steve saw him crying -- maybe it had been the only time? -- it was because they were talking about the other fights they'd had. The Armor Wars. The damned Kree Supreme Intelligence. Tony is this upset about... him. About fighting with him.

Wait. That hadn't been the only time he'd seen Tony cry. Tony was drunk in that Bowery flophouse, trying to explain to Steve why he drank, tears streaming down his face. They've never talked about it again, until today. He'd thought, all these years, that Tony had been blackout drunk and hadn't remembered anything they'd said that day -- but, as Tony has just told him, Tony remembered it all. Tony remembers what Steve said about his own father. That means Tony remembers Steve hitting the bottle out of his hand. Tony remembers Steve walking away. Leaving him to his fate.

Steve knows he got it wrong, that day. He got it so wrong. He still doesn't know how to be right, not about that -- he's beginning to think he doesn't know anything about what Tony's gone through -- but he knows that, whatever the answer is, it isn't going to be walking away.

He doesn't want to be wrong again.

He doesn't want to walk away.

Steve doesn't have all the answers. He only has one. They disagree about Registration. One of the two of them has to change his mind. One of the two of them has to stop. That's the only thing that will keep both of them in the same room. And Tony-- he clearly doesn't like what he's doing. That's plain to see. He's on the side he's on because he's terrified of the consequences. If he doesn't run Registration, people die. That's what Tony is telling him. His friends are held hostage for his good behavior. He doesn't want to be where he is. For God's sake, he's crying.

It occurs to Steve, belatedly, that when Tony had been talking about people wanting to be on Steve's side, maybe he'd meant himself.

"Join me," Steve says, because he only has the one answer to give. They have to do this together. "Denounce the act and help me fight it." He takes a deep breath and holds out his hands, palm up. "Tony, please." He's begging. He'll beg. "It's the right thing to do. You know it is. You can do it. You can come with me. Please, Tony."

Steve never said please, when Tony had been drinking. He doesn't know if it would have made a difference. Probably not. But he didn't even try.

He'll never know what would have happened, if he doesn't try, right now.

"Please," he repeats. His hands are shaking. An icy chill runs through him, the numbness of despair. This is it. This is their chance, and it's slipping through his fingers. "Tony, I don't-- I don't know what else to say. I don't have anything else." His voice is raw. "I don't want to hurt you. This is killing me, too. You want to make it stop? Then you have to join me. It's the only way. Please."

He wonders if Tony would believe him if he got on his knees and begged.

He thinks that, perhaps, in another universe, he would have been too proud to beg for this. Too angry, perhaps. And he's still angry. He is. But this is hurting Tony too much, and they both know it. Steve can offer him something better.

He's trying.

But Tony shakes his head wildly. "I can't," he says, and God, they've got him scared bad. Steve wonders if they have something on him. He doesn't know what. Then he realizes he does know what. Those murders Yinsen's son did, using Tony's body -- they never hit the news. And a lot of them were pretty damn public. "Even if I didn't believe in it, which I do--"

To hell with it. "No, you don't."

Tony stops in mid-sentence. "Excuse me?"

Steve takes a deep breath. He has to do this right. "You don't believe in Registration." He tries to keep his voice calm, level. If he's angry, if he's upset, that's all Tony will hear. "You said so yourself. You just told me that you're doing this, all of this, because it's better than the alternative. Because you want to stop Project Wideawake. So... how about we fight Project Wideawake instead of each other?"

He considers smiling. Doesn't, because Tony might read it wrong, because these days they can't seem to read each other right. He doesn't want Tony to think he's insincere.

Tony tips his head to the side. "Wait, you believe me about Wideawake?"

I never said I didn't, Steve wants to say. I just said I thought we'd never let it happen. But he bites it back. He knows Tony will hear that wrong. He knows that, if he wants to have a chance in hell at convincing Tony -- and this, right here, is more of a chance than he thought he'd ever have -- he needs to show him that he can work with him. That he can still trust him.

"Yeah," Steve says, steadily. "I do believe you. Which is why I think we should be on the same side. Which is not the side of the people who want to run Wideawake." He takes a careful step forward, edging around the corner of the table, keeping his hands in the air where Tony can see them. "Before Stamford, things were different. You were willing to go on record, testifying in front of Congress. You were against Registration. I know you were. And in your heart, you still are, aren't you? You're supporting Registration because you're scared of what they can do to us, to all of us, if you don't. I understand what you're sacrificing. I get it. I do. But you don't have to do this. You can fight them. We can fight them. Together."

Tony's throat works. He's silent for several seconds. "I still believe in accountability," he says, softly, and Steve can see it in his wide, dark eyes: he wants to be good. "I did mean that. And Registration gives us that. Like I said, I used to fight drunk. If I'd killed someone then--"

"They'd still be dead," Steve says, just as softly. "Registration or no Registration. It doesn't change that. Doesn't bring back the dead. The government knowing your name doesn't make a lick of difference. It doesn't save anyone. We already have accountability. You commit a crime, they catch you, and if you're a supervillain, they lock you up in the Raft. We've already got the laws."

Tony's mouth quirks. "Says the man trying to get me to break them."

Steve lets himself smile back. "Just one," he says. "Start small."

Tony laughs, and for a second, it's just like the old days. "God, Steve," he says, under his breath. "I don't even know what to do with you sometimes."

"Yes, you do," Steve says. "I know you do. You know exactly what to do. You want to do the right thing. You don't have to sell your soul, Tony."

There's a flare of hope in Tony's gaze, quickly tamped down. "But Stamford--"

"Stamford didn't happen because the New Warriors weren't being held accountable," Steve says, steadily. "Registration isn't how you fix that. You know that. That's like closing the barn door after the horse has left. Stamford happened because they weren't trained to handle the situation. Should they have been trained? Yes. But we can train them. We already train heroes. You want more training? Then we can build it out ourselves. We can do that. You know we can. And if you want the government to help pay for it, we can deal with them then, after, from a position of strength, when they know they can't just tell us what to do. They want to scare us with Sentinels? We can fight them. You know we can. The mutants have. And they're still here." He takes another step forward. "Please, Tony. We can do this. Together."

They're close enough to touch now. He reaches out, intending to pat Tony's shoulder, but Tony flinches before he's even close.

Inwardly, Steve winces. He supposes he's earned that. They both know he can't be trusted to touch Tony anymore.

He stops. Tugs off his gloves, slowly, one after the other, then tucks them in his belt. He pushes up his sleeves. Shows Tony his hands, back and front. Nowhere to hide anything. No EMP.

"No more tricks," Steve says. "I promise, okay? I promise."

A faint smile flits across Tony's too-pale face, and Steve lets his hand settle onto Tony's shoulder. The metal is warm under his fingers. He didn't know. He's not sure he's ever touched the Extremis armor with his bare hands before.

Tony lets out a breath, long and shuddering. Tears are still tracking down his face, but the expression he bears now is relief. His face is half-shadowed by the raised helmet. It's the most human Steve has seen him look in... months, probably. Since before Extremis.

Steve presses him on it. Very gently. "The way you talked about it... you sounded like you thought Registration was happening whether we liked it or not, and so we should just give in. Well, it's not happening if we fight it. I believe that. I really do. Eventually, we can make them stop. We can fight back, fight hard enough that they'll realize it's not worthwhile, going up against all of us. They'll learn they can't control us. And I know I need your help, Tony. You know how to fight them. I can't do this without you."

"You need my data," Tony says, his eyes dull. Like that's what he thinks he's good for. "My information. My access."

"It'd help," Steve admits. "But really I-- I need you." He's said it. He's sweating. "There's no one else I'd rather have at my side."

Tony's throat works. "If they lose me, it doesn't stop Registration. You understand that, right? If I leave, they just hand the keys to someone else. And they'll have takers. Reed. Hank." He swallows hard. "Or someone else. And you really won't like the options for someone else."

He hasn't said no, has he? Oh, God. Maybe they really can do this.

"You're telling me you don't think you can go up against Reed and Hank?"

He's pretty sure Tony still understands him well enough to know that he's not talking about actually harming anyone -- or, at least, he's talking about minimizing the harm as much as possible. He knows how to fight hard enough to make himself a goddamn nuisance.

"No," Tony says, with a hint of asperity, "I'm telling you that they're going to cave to the government. To Wideawake." He glances away. Steve knows Tony the futurist has probably spent untold nights mapping out a thousand futures. He wonders if Tony ever saw this, here, a future where Tony joins his side. "They'll take Hank first, because Hank will cave first. They'll probably even get him to agree. Reed, they'll stall. They just won't tell him about Wideawake. They'll run it anyway. They'll get as far as they can without him. By the time he figures it out, it'll be too late. And the only reason I know they're not doing that to me right now is that, here inside my brain" -- he taps two fingers against his temple -- "I've got authorized access to almost every server they control, and... I cracked most of the ones I didn't."

Tony's grin is quick and almost sheepish. Steve feels a sudden, dizzying rush of fondness.

"What was that you were saying about breaking just one law, Tony?" He feels himself smile.

It really is just like the old days now.

"That was you," Tony says, with another smile. "I didn't say anything about how many laws I'd already broken."

Maybe they can get it back, he thinks, dazed. What they had. Maybe it's not gone.

"Okay," Steve says. He squeezes Tony's shoulder one more time, even though Tony can't feel it. Lets him go, because this is already daring too much. Steve wants so many things. Needs to be content with this. "So what do you know about Wideawake, then?"

Tony looks at him, at his fallen hand, his gaze gone unreadable for a few seconds. But then he nods. His eyes are brighter now. "The short version? They're making their own Sentinels. They've been working on it for years. Gyrich and Cooper. Valerie Cooper."

Oh, hell. Tony was right that he wouldn't like someone else. Shit. He knows Val Cooper from the Commission on Superhuman Activities; she'd been one of the people taking the Captain America name from him, stripping the shield from him and handing it to John Walker. She'd sworn blind that she hadn't known the Red Skull was behind it all, but... well, Steve never really believed her. And then, of course, they all know Henry Gyrich's sins. If anyone was going to be running a Sentinel program, it'd be him.

"Back in the day," Tony says, because apparently the short version gets even worse, "before they started running their own R&D, Wideawake was buying Sentinels off Sebastian Shaw. Don't even ask me where he was getting them. I actually don't know." He grimaces. "Not something I've really wanted to chat about at the Hellfire Club. Haven't been in a while."

The list of names is getting worse. At least Steve's not going to feel bad about taking any of these people down.

"They do their own R&D now?" Steve asks. He knows the answer has to be yes. Tony saw the plans.

"Mmm-hmm," Tony says. "They used to have a facility in Kentucky. Camp Hayden. That got taken out, a few years back. But they're still going. Somewhere." He makes another face. "I know they can't be far along because, like I said, I'm monitoring them, but... I just don't know where they actually are. Where they're physically doing this. Or exactly how far into production they are. I only saw the plans once or twice. That was back when I had legitimate DoD access. I don't think they'll start talking about this somewhere I can see until they're a lot closer to go time; they've got to be working on a network I don't have access to. Yet."

"You could look?" Steve ventures. "You could find out? I mean, like you said--"

Steve reaches out. Somehow the motion is automatic, reflexive, done without thought; he lightly taps the side of Tony's head, the same place Tony did. His body presumes he has the right to touch Tony, and he nearly jerks his hand back, afraid he's ruined everything with his own arrogance.

Tony is warm, warmer than the armor. His skin is a little sticky with drying tears. Steve isn't sure when the last time he touched him was.

Tony shudders and goes still, his mouth half-open, and he stares down at Steve in wide-eyed surprise and something that looks a lot like longing, except Tony can't, Tony never did, Tony would never, not after all of this--

"You-- you--" Steve falters. He lets his hand drop. "You do have access to their files. In your head. You said so." He's aware that he's repeating himself. He feels like an idiot.

He wants to touch Tony again.

"I could look," Tony acknowledges. "But I don't want to tip them off. I don't want to do anything that could make them accelerate their timetable. If I get caught, that's it. So if you're going to go after them, you'd better be sure." He licks his lips. "I mean, I-- we'd better be sure. If you-- if you really mean this. About wanting me. With you." His eyes fall shut, which is good, because Steve knows his face would have given everything away, about all the other ways he's always wanted Tony. "God, I can't believe I'm doing this."

"I can." Steve doesn't know where the steadiness in his voice is coming from. He sure doesn't feel steady. "You're doing the right thing. It's what you wanted to do, before Stamford. You still want to. You just told yourself you couldn't. You told yourself that there was a choice between right and necessary. You told yourself you didn't get to do the right thing, and that someone had to work from the inside, and that had to be you." Somehow he has his hand on Tony's shoulder again, finding a grip on the huge curved epaulettes. Like Steve belongs here, with Tony, even with this strange new armor, even with Tony's strange new brain. Steve's even more sure of that now, and he's becoming surer every second. He's still Tony. "But it doesn't have to be like that. You know in your heart that this is right, Tony. I know you. You're still the same man I've l-- I've known for all these years."

Tony's gaze darts away. "I know," he says, softly. "I know this is the right thing to do. But the route I've tried to take -- everything I've done has been with the goal of hurting the fewest people, causing the least amount of harm. I know I've imprisoned my friends. I'm aware. But they're not dead, because I'm holding back Wideawake." Tony exhales heavily. "If I get out of the way, Steve, it's like opening the floodgates. Everyone's lives are in danger. Maybe we defeat Registration. Maybe we stop Wideawake forever. We'll win. And then we'll all live. But if we don't get it right, exactly right, a lot of people will die." He shuts his eyes again. "Greater risk, greater reward, sure. But the stakes are human lives. And I-- I didn't want to take that bet. Can you blame me?"

Steve runs a finger over Tony's jawline. Half of him can't believe he's doing this, and the other half can't believe he's never done this before.

Tony's eyes open, and his breath catches, a quiet little gasp. He shivers again when Steve touches him. He's cold to the touch. He's half in shadow. The stubble on his jaw is rough. He hasn't shaved recently. He looks like death warmed over. Whatever he's holding onto, whatever's keeping him going, he's clinging to it by his fingertips. And right now, all of Steve's hopes are pinned on him.

Steve lets his hand fall to his side. He doesn't want to be... too much. He thinks this must surely already have been too much, but Tony doesn't stop him. Tony isn't even moving.

Tony watches him in silence. He looks thoughtful. Still scared. Still sad.

"I don't blame you." Steve's not angry anymore. He doesn't know where the anger went. "But... that's the bet I've been taking since 1940, Tony. We save people. That's what we do. You called me naive. And maybe I am. But-- the day I don't believe I can save people anymore will be the day I hang my shield up for good. And that day's not here yet." Here, now, with Tony, it really does feel like the old days. Something about the finality of his own words settles into him, drapes over him like a mantle: this is what it is to be Captain America, to fight for something bigger than himself, not just lash out at the closest opponent. "I believe in you, Tony. I believe in us. I believe we can do this. We just have to fight for it."

Tony half-smiles, eyebrows raised dubiously -- Steve didn't quite get him with the speech, like he used to be able to, so it's not enough like the old days yet -- and asks, "So we fight... everyone?" His tone suggests this is not his preferred option.

Steve's got nothing left to offer Tony except the truth. But the truth's been working out well for him so far. That doesn't mean it's easy for him to say. He takes a deep breath.

"I'd rather fight everyone than fight you."

Tony blinks a few times, and Steve watches him process that. Not like a computer at all. Like a person. His mouth parts. He licks his lips, then swallows, like Steve's words are something he can taste, something he can take in. Something he can savor, Steve realizes. Because Tony's smiling.

"Oh," he breathes, a quiet sound of realization. "That's how it is, huh?"

Steve didn't come this far to back down now. And if Tony wants more, Tony can have more. He'll never hunger. Tony can have everything and anything he wants. Steve will give it to him.

"That's how it is," Steve confirms.

He's looking at Tony's mouth now. And this time, he doesn't look away.

Heavy boots creak on unsteady floorboards as Tony takes a step forward. Tony's always been a few inches taller than him in armor, and Steve tips his head back to look at him. Tony looks like he can't decide whether to smile or cry; his eyes are reflective with tears, but his mouth is quivering. He lifts a hand halfway, shaking even with the gauntlet. He looks like he wants Steve to tell him what's right here too, what's right for him. And it looks-- it looks like there's an answer he's yearning for.

Steve honestly doesn't know if this is the right answer, if Tony wants this like he does, but he thinks he has a shot. Which is how this entire meeting has gone, so, hell, why not this too?

Steve reaches up and puts his hand against Tony's cheek again, slowly, deliberately. Tony makes a quiet clicking noise, his throat catching on air. He offers Steve a tremulous smile; Steve can feel the edge of it against his thumb, the prickle of Tony's beard, damp with tears. He smooths his thumb across Tony's skin. A caress.

"Steve?" Tony asks, his voice rough. "You, uh. You know what you're doing there?"

There's a short, simple answer to Tony's question, but those three little words are too immense right now to pass Steve's lips.

So Steve starts with the beginning. The old days. "You look just like you used to look. A long time ago. When you wouldn't let any of us touch you. You always looked so damn sad. Didn't know why, back then. Didn't know you were Iron Man. Didn't know about the chestplate."

Tony makes a quiet pained noise.

"I just knew you looked like you were dying for it. Whenever Hank and Jan held hands you were staring at them like you were a kid pressed up against the windows at Macy's at Christmas, looking in."

He knows that that wasn't Tony's childhood. He wasn't poor, like Steve. But he always looked like he'd have traded it all for a hug.

"And then," Steve adds, "sometimes you looked at me. Like that."

Tony half-smiles. "That obvious, huh?"

His gaze darts away, abashed, like this admission is almost more than he can bring himself to say -- but only almost. Because here they are. And now they know. They both know.

"And if you wanted someone to touch you," Steve continues, steadily, determined, desperate, like this is his last chance and if he stops now he'll never say this again, "I always wanted it to be me. Always. Even-- even now." He feels his mouth curve, ruefully. "It was coming out wrong for a while there, but I think maybe I finally got it right. So, yeah. I know."

Tony's quiet for a few seconds, but his smile is bright. He hasn't looked like that in... a hell of a long time. "Just gonna get everything out in the open right now, huh?" He laughs, amazed. "You got anything else you've wanted to tell me for years, or is that it?"

"Don't know," Steve says, dizzy with possibility, ready to dare anything. "Why don't you take me home and find out?"

Tony turns his head to the side and kisses the middle of Steve's palm. His lips are dry. He presses his face against Steve's hand, straining for contact, like he needs about a century of hugs, and maybe a few other things besides.

So Steve hugs him. This armor is so bulky on Tony that Steve's hand doesn't even reach the middle of Tony's back, but Tony leans in anyway, like he's just as desperate as Steve is. He lets Steve nudge his head back, and then Tony's the one who leans in and kisses him.

He tastes like the salt of tears, and even through the armor Steve can feel his body shaking, but something about this feels undeniably right. Like slotting the last piece into a puzzle after trying to fit it in backwards. Like looking at a drawing and knowing that it just needed one more thing, and then realizing what always needed to be there. This is how it works, everything in Steve is telling him. This is how it was always meant to work.

When the kiss ends, Tony is still wrapped around him, still shaking. Most people would have guessed that the metal feels unyielding, but Steve's spent a lot of years touching Iron Man. The metal is still oddly warm, and this suit has so many little articulated plates that he really does feel like he has somewhere to put his hands. Like he fits with Tony. There's a place for him, here, with Tony.

He runs a hand through Tony's hair. There are tears on Tony's face again, and he tucks his bare face down against Steve's shoulder again, gripping him with an intensity that suggests he thinks they might be torn apart.

Steve supposes it's a lot. He's asking Tony to betray his government, to betray his country, on the strength of Steve's word.

He feels like he owes Tony one more promise.

"I'm not leaving you," he says, and Tony makes a quiet noise against his neck. "I love you."

The words are easy to say now. Somehow they're easier to say than anything else.

Tony shudders and goes still. Steve thinks he's maybe not breathing.

"You don't have to say it back," Steve says, awkward, which is sort of a lie because he wishes Tony would, but he knows this is even more of a lot to ask. "I just-- I wanted you to know."

"Winghead, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't be here."

The words are quiet, muffled against Steve's neck, and the old, old nickname makes tears sting at Steve's eyes. Well, that's only fair.

Tony rocks back on his feet. He's still holding onto Steve, and when he looks down, he's smiling.

"I can't take you home with me," Tony says, but he sounds fond. "Unfortunately, I think people will notice if I bring a fugitive back to the Tower. Especially if it's you."

He has a point. "I don't think I can take you home either," Steve admits. "Not right this second. There are a couple people who would... probably shoot you on sight, so I want to make sure everyone is briefed before I bring you in."

"Makes sense." Tony draws a thoughtful breath. "So, where are you staying these days?"

The silence is conspicuous.

"You're going to have to trust me, Steve," Tony says, quietly. He doesn't sound hurt. He just sounds serious. "If we're doing this, any of this, you have to trust me."

Once again, Tony has a point.

It's a lot to get used to for both of them, apparently.

"I trust you," Steve says. Time to free-fall into the abyss and wait to see if Tony catches him. "We move around. Right now I've been staying in one of Fury's old boltholes. Old enough that your SHIELD pals won't still have it on their maps. You'll see when I bring you there. One of the underground ones."

Here we go, he thinks.

Tony gives a thoughtful nod. "Cozy," he says, like it's just a polite comment. He probably knows the one Steve means, anyway; he did help found SHIELD, after all. He pauses again, a little longer. "Tigra is a spy for Registration, by the way. Sorry. That might complicate some of the announcements."

Ah, right. Steve figured someone was. Nice of Tony to disclose.

"And Hank's one of mine," Steve confesses.

Incredulous, Tony stares at him. "You got Hank?"

"Not exactly the way you might think," Steve admits. "We've got him in custody. Teddy's in for him."

"Teddy Altman?" Tony asks, eyes still wide. "Hulkling? That Teddy?"

"Yeah." Steve doesn't see what's so surprising about this. He has a shapeshifter. Who else was he going to use? "Something wrong with that?"

Tony chuckles. "Nothing wrong. It's just funny, you not wanting those kids doing anything dangerous, when they started. But I guess you weren't kidding about getting them training."

Steve half-shrugs. "I wasn't. And I wasn't kidding about us training them up ourselves, either."

"I see that," Tony says. "So, you want to get a room somewhere?"

The question is delivered in the same tone of voice everything else has been -- like they're just exchanging information. It actually takes Steve a few seconds to realize he's being propositioned.

Steve can't help but laugh. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a fella, Tony."

The shame of it has rattled Tony a little; he glances away. "Sorry," he says, quietly. He sounds sad again. "I just-- it's gonna be rough from here on out, and if it all goes wrong, I just-- I want to have had one night with you, you know? I just-- I've always wanted--" He sighs. "I'm sorry. That wasn't sweet either--"

Steve kisses him. He knows he's bad with feelings; everyone he's ever dated has been happy to tell him that. He's bad with the words, too. But he's always been eloquent with his body. Maybe that's enough.

Tony sighs against his mouth. He's not trembling anymore, and when Steve draws back, there's a light in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"It's not going to go wrong," Steve whispers. "We're together. It's going to work."

"God, I hope you're right."

Tony slips his hand into Steve's. With the gauntlet, Tony's hands are bigger than his, but Steve does a credible job of interlacing their fingers.

Ever so briefly, Tony leans into him again, and when Steve takes a step, Tony follows. Tony's letting him do this. Tony's the one who took Steve's hand, and Tony's letting him lead the way, letting him guide him. Tony's trusting him now. They're trusting each other.

It's enough. It has to be enough, he thinks, as he leads Tony out.

As dusk begins to blanket the city, they end up in one of New York's many anonymous little hotels, the kind on a corner lot with a tiny, tight spiraling corridor up five floors, and of course with a broken elevator. Steve presumes Tony got something on the top floor, like he said he would try for, so Steve can head out the window and up to the roof if he needs to, because Steve's the one who currently has an arrest warrant out for him.

This is probably a bad time to spend a night with Tony, but, hell, if they want to wait for a good time, they'll be waiting quite a while.

And Steve doesn't want to wait. He might not have another chance.

Steve doesn't know how Tony found them this place, but he's not going to question it. The desk clerk's apparently not going to question them either; when Steve waits five minutes and heads up, trench coat wrapped tight around his uniform, gloves off and tucked in his pockets so the red leather doesn't give him away, the clerk's got iPod earbuds in and is studiously reading-- oh, great, that looks like Playboy. Wonderful. Maybe Tony paid the guy not to care, or maybe he's just naturally apathetic, but he doesn't look up when Steve hits the stairs.

On the fifth floor, 505 is the only occupied room, as far as Steve and his enhanced senses can determine. Dim light streams from underneath the door, and Steve hears the familiar sound of armor plating pinging against other armor plating. This is actually restrained, as far as Tony goes; sometimes he sounds like he's dropped a dozen pots and pans on the floor.

Time to join the chorus. Steve swings his shield off over his shoulder, pulls it halfway out of its bag, and raps his knuckles against the bright, smooth surface. Vibranium rings out, pure and clear. It sounds like no other metal on this earth, and yet it's not one most people have occasion to hear a lot, being as it's the rarest. It's a prosaic sort of sound, even so. Most people, therefore, will probably just ignore it. It's just metal.

Some people, however, have heard it nearly every day for a decade.

Tony opens the door in under five seconds. Excellent. He's standing there, Extremis-golden in the undersuit, and he drags Steve in by the wrist and deadbolts the door behind him.

Steve's uniform boots give him a couple inches on Tony, who is effectively barefoot, and now Steve's looking down into Tony's wide dark eyes.

"Sorry," Tony says. He's close enough to kiss him, but he doesn't move any closer. "I just--" he gestures incoherently at himself. He's talking too fast. He's clenching and unclenching his bare hands. He's left his hands and hair visible, but the rest of him is gold. "I'm not actually wearing clothes, is the thing, so I can't really give you the kind of atmosphere you-- I-- I know this can't be what you imagined--"

Yeah, Tony's getting worked up, but not in the fun way. He's jumpy. Nervy.

Steve used to be good at calming Tony down. Time to see if he still is.

Steve catches Tony's hand. "Hey, no." He rubs his thumb across Tony's palm, and Tony's fingers uncurl. "You don't want to sleep with me, you don't have to sleep with me. You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He considers this. "It'd be a little awkward if you still went back to the government after this, sure, but for the record, I'd still love you anyway." His breath rattles in a laugh. "Can't ever stop doing that."

Sometimes he's wished he could.

He doesn't wish that now. He wants Tony with him. He always wants Tony with him. That's the thing. This has all been so rotten, without him. But maybe now it can be better.

"No, I'm in," Tony says, still too fast, urgent, as if he thinks Steve's going to take it all away. "I'm all in, I swear. I'm with you." His throat works. "I just-- I want to be good for you. I don't want this to be a mistake."

Steve suspects Tony's talking about more than just the sex. More than just being in love with him. Jesus, of course he's scared of the government hunting them down. But right now, they can just deal with one thing at a time. And maybe Steve can calm him down a little.

Steve runs his hands up Tony's golden arms. The undersuit has an odd, striated texture to it. He doesn't know if Tony can feel him through the undersuit. He regrets never really asking Tony anything about Extremis. "You won't be a mistake," he says, firmly. "You could never be. No matter what happens now. No matter what happens after this."

Tony's gaze is almost frighteningly intense, like he thinks he has to memorize Steve's face, like he thinks this is all he gets. His breath shudders. "You really mean that?" he asks. His voice is very small.

"I don't say things I don't mean," Steve says, which Tony damn well knows, but Tony clearly needs to hear it. "I've been told it's one of my worst qualities. Also one of my best." His mouth quirks. "You get to decide which. Lucky you."

He gets a real smile from Tony in return. And then Tony kisses him, pressing himself against Steve like he wants to be as close as humanly possible. It feels desperate in a frightening way, like Tony is clinging to him because he's all Tony has. Well, Steve can definitely try to help settle him down. Steve can comfort him with his body. He can hold Tony together, so Tony doesn't have to.

Without the armor, Steve can actually hold him properly now. He strokes Tony's back slowly, gently, in little circles. Tony makes a muffled noise against his mouth that might be a sob, and then he tips his forehead against Steve's shoulder and relaxes all at once into Steve's embrace, leaning his whole weight on him.

Steve wonders when the last time was that literally anyone other than him touched Tony, for any reason.

He holds Tony tight and just stands there, letting them have this. He strokes Tony's shoulders a little more, and then up into Tony's hair, backwards against the grain, which Tony seems to like, judging by the way he hums, deep and contented. So Steve keeps doing that. He scratches Tony's scalp lightly, and Tony hums a little louder. Tony's breathing settles after several more seconds, and then he raises his head. He's smiling now. His mouth meets Steve's with a slower, less frantic version of his earlier desperation. This one feels a whole lot nicer, like Tony just plain wants him. Good. He's calming down.

Time to rile him up again.

Steve puts his hands on Tony's back again, then lets his hands slide further down Tony's back, and Tony makes an absolutely lovely low noise as Steve's fingertips brush the swell of Tony's ass. Now there's a thought. Oh, Steve has entertained the thought of fucking Tony, maybe one or two or fifteen or fifty times; it's not the only thing he wants, because over the years he's thought about doing pretty much everything that's physically possible, with Tony. But it is up there on the list. He's imagined Tony asking for it, begging for it, alternately pleading and demanding, as Steve's mood takes him. In his fantasies, Tony is always articulately, obscenely wordy. Verbally specific. That's not how Tony is now. He never thought Tony would be so sweet about it. Words seem to have deserted Tony entirely; he's just rocking back into Steve's hands, then up, to try to nudge Steve's hands lower and lower. For every inch Steve moves, Tony rewards him with another gorgeous needy little sound, urging him on. It's nothing like his imagination and Steve loves it.

Tony groans, kissing Steve heavy and deep and still so, so sweet, even better than anything Steve ever dreamed. Arousal burns through Steve as he slides his hands even lower and pulls their bodies together. God, he wants Tony so much. He always has.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Tony would really, really love to be fucked right now. By him. Steve would absolutely love to oblige him, but he didn't come prepared with supplies for this particular act, and Tony is clearly carrying literally nothing. Ah, well. Steve's sure they can figure out something else they'll like. Steve will be happy with anything. He just wants to be here with Tony.

The hotel bed is on the small side, possessed of none of the extravagance that Steve suspects Tony would prefer, but Steve's not planning on letting go of Tony until at least tomorrow morning, so they'll definitely fit. Tony's armor plating is in a pile next to the bed. Steve sheds his coat as they move, then guides them both down, and they land in the middle of the mattress, next to each other. Still keeping his other hand on Tony's back. Steve runs one finger across Tony's golden collarbone, and Tony shivers. He's beautiful. Shining, the way he was when Steve first saw him, glorious and bright. Steve likes the look of him like this. Sure, he was afraid of Extremis at first, but... it's still Tony, in the end.

"Mmm," Steve says. "You could tell me more about how you're not wearing any actual clothes under there. Like you said."

He expects the line to at least get a laugh -- he's not any good at seduction and he knows it -- but Tony's brow furrows. "Steve, you hate Extremis."

Oh. Well, he did earn that one.

"It's growing on me," Steve says, which is perfectly true.

Tony makes a face. "Steve."

"No, really, it is."

"Steve."

He has to think about how to put this. "I hated how I thought it was making you act. I was scared. I thought it was making you... different. I was wrong about that." He knows Tony has feelings, real feelings, and that was what he'd been afraid of, that Tony didn't have them anymore. "If it was ever true, it's not true now. You're... exactly like yourself."

Tony smiles faintly, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes, fear and disbelief mixed. He rolls back a little, so Steve can see him, all of him, and then the undersuit begins to disappear into Tony's skin. It wells up like liquid gold, and it flows back into Tony. It's like watching the tide go out, receding slowly. It's still a little scary -- he's not going to lie about that -- but it's also beautiful, and Steve is rapidly feeling better about the whole thing. Tony's still Tony, just with a new coat of paint. Extremis isn't exactly like Steve's serum, and it didn't affect Tony's strength -- so the muscles he has, he earned. He's basically a working blacksmith, and he looks like it. Steve's always thought he was handsome. Tony's built narrower than Steve, and powerful -- he's still pretty big -- and Steve can't help but glance down as the last of the gold shimmers thinner and thinner across Tony's abs and down his hip. He's gorgeous and gilded; Steve is liking the look of him more and more. The shine just accentuates him, really, both aesthetically and in more personal ways, the swath of gold drawing Steve's eye lower and lower. He's allowed to look, now. Tony's hard, which, given that Steve hasn't touched him, is extremely flattering evidence of his... affection.

When Steve looks up, Tony's face is a shade too pale. Steve knows he's been unkind to Tony about Extremis. Tony's scared of what Steve thinks. Steve doesn't know how to tell Tony he's sorry. He doesn't know how to tell him he was scared, too. He doesn't know how to promise him he's going to do better.

"And you think this is like me?" Tony asks. "Like this?" The question is quiet and level, but still a challenge: tell me you love me like this.

Extremis is new, yes -- but Steve's going to remember this, now, when he thinks of it. And, honestly, Tony is beautiful. Like this. Maybe no one else would think so, and maybe Steve just spent too many years in art school, but it's a striptease no other human can ever match. There's something very Tony about that, now that Steve's not too afraid to admit it.

"Well," Steve says, with a smile, "I've thought about you in a situation like this a lot, yeah. And exactly like this, the way you are now? I'd have to say I'm going to think about you like this a lot more."

It's not all he wants to say, but he thinks maybe it's all he can get out, right now.

It takes a second for the words to hit Tony, and there's color in his cheeks. "Captain America!" he says, on a theatrically-scandalized gasp, and Steve thinks he might actually be embarrassed. Or even more turned on. Or both. He pauses. "Really, a lot? You have? Actually a lot?"

He's loved Tony for a decade. He doesn't lie, and he's sure not going to start right now.

"A lot," Steve agrees. "A lot a lot." He reaches up and starts to unhook the mail-shirt of his uniform, and then grins as Tony's gaze tracks his hand, then fixates on what has to be about one square inch of revealed skin. It's nice to know that they're both so smitten with each other. "Help me take my uniform off?"

He knows he can't possibly be sexy, but somehow, Tony's face goes redder. Oh. Maybe he is, then.

Tony actually laughs, then, full-throated. His cheeks are still flushed. "While we're sharing, I'd just like you to know that I've thought about you saying that particular sentence a lot."

Invitation accepted, Tony's hands replace Steve's, deftly unhooking the mail. God, Steve loves Tony's hands. He's very nimble, especially for someone who hasn't actually done this a lot, as far as Steve knows. The circumstances of their lives being what they are, if he has, it would have been while Steve was already unconscious. So Steve supposes that he's just practiced this act in his mind, and his confession -- that he's imagined Steve asking him to undress him -- also has to be the absolute truth. Which is a delightful thought, really.

Delight. Huh. There's something light and buoyant within Steve's chest. It's an unaccustomed feeling, these days.

He knows life's going to be very difficult after this. He's not actually as naive as Tony accused him of being. But that doesn't mean he can't savor this moment, for as long as it lasts.

"Oh?" Steve asks, intrigued. "And when do I say this sentence, exactly?"

Tony helps Steve tug the mail-shirt over his head, then the undershirt. But rather than moving to his belt, he slides down the bed even farther, skipping his midsection entirely, and starts working Steve's boots off. Steve's cock aches, neglected. He's pretty sure they'll get there.

"Mmm," Tony says, noncommittally, easily freeing one of Steve's feet and moving to the second boot. "There's a few different contexts. Uniform fitting session, that one's a classic. Or, sometimes, you just really need my help, maybe after a mission. I liked that one a lot." He drops his voice, mimicking Steve at his very most Captain America, his voice for the press. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Stark, but my pants just won't unzip. They're stuck. Could you help? I'd be so grateful." He pulls Steve's other boot off, then his socks, and his face is even more flushed when he looks up. "Please don't judge my stupid jerk-off fantasies, okay? I know they're dumb. But they, uh, really worked for me." Tony shrugs a hapless shrug. "It wasn't like there were a lot of other scenarios that made sense to me, you know?"

Steve realizes he must be making a face, and also that Tony has entirely misinterpreted why. "Sorry, sorry," he says, as he offers Tony his hands and pulls him gently upward. "It's not that, I'm not judging you, it's just that-- you never dreamed it might be me actually loving you and wanting you?"

Tony bites his wet, reddened lip, a nervous gesture that is also unbelievably hot. Steve takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down.

"Sometimes, yeah," Tony admits, his voice so soft that even Steve can barely hear him. "I just... didn't think it could ever really happen. So it was too sad. It was easier to pretend that you had some reason you needed me, and if-- if you were grateful, then you'd maybe--" He breaks off. "I don't know. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid." Steve kisses him, gently, and when he pulls back, he sees Tony smile. "Do you want it like that?" He wants Tony to have everything he wants. Tony is here with him, with him in several ways that he never could have dreamed of. Steve knows Tony's life is about to get much more complicated and dangerous, because he's following him. The least Steve can do is make Tony's life tonight as nice as he possibly can, which, to be honest, is a major component of basically every dream involving Tony that Steve has. "I can do that, act like what you want. Don't even need to act all that much. Because, uh, given the circumstances" -- he tips his head back at the window, somewhere in the unwelcome direction of reality -- "I do need you and I am grateful for your help."

Tony shakes his head. "No, I-- no. I don't want to think about anything else. I don't want to think about the real world right now. I just want to... be with you for a bit." But he's half-smiling, wistfully, and Steve thinks he must want to hear it anyway. Just the fantasy.

They can pretend, can't they? For just a little longer?

"Oh, I didn't mean anything about the real world," Steve says, and he clears his throat. "This is real embarrassing, Mr. Stark, but I was... relaxing, in my room, by myself, you know? I mean, I was going to." He gestures downward, where his cock strains against the leather of his uniform. "But somehow the zipper got stuck and, well, I need help and I just... thought of you." He widens his eyes. "Please, Tony."

Steve has to admit, this is a hell of a lot more fun than standing in the ruined mansion and quoting what they'd said to each other the day the Chameleon once took Steve's place and Tony went after Steve by mistake.

Tony's face is redder than Steve's ever seen him in his life but he groans and shudders hard and for a second Steve thinks he might actually come just from the thought of it, which is unbelievably hot. "Oh my fucking God, Steve," he says, under his breath, and then he's all professional.

This is the point where Steve realizes he has neglected to take into account that he finds Tony being his genius engineer self to be deeply, deeply arousing, in the right context. Which, apparently, this is.

"Well, now," Tony says, crisply, as he stares fixedly at the very noticeable shape of Steve's hard-on, which, oh, God, yes. "Let's see what's going on." Brisk, purposeful, he runs his fingers over the zipper of Steve's pants, and then, slowly, down the length of Steve's erection, outlined by the leather.

"Oh, God," Steve murmurs.

Tony's mouth twitches, but he doesn't break character.

Steve's always loved watching Tony work with his hands. He has long, elegant fingers, graceful and dexterous. He talks with his hands a lot, too, when he's not in public, when all the cameras are off. He's not quite at the level of what anyone would call limp-wristed -- that stereotype had been old long before Steve had gone into the ice -- but he's always been expressive enough that he'd read as a little bit queer to Steve from the get-go -- a horticulturalist, as they used to say, and God, Steve hasn't thought of that bit of slang in years -- and Steve hadn't been at all surprised to find out that Tony was in fact, privately, more than just a little bit queer. Tony, he knows, was very surprised to find out the same about him. They've known about each other for a long time. They just never talked about anything that they might have meant to each other.

They're sure making up for lost time now.

Honestly, Steve has thought a lot about Tony's beautiful hands being right where they are now. But he also loves watching Tony use his hands to create wonders, to shape armor, to mend and heal what's broken. And Tony's treating Steve the same way he treats his machines, his inventions, with the utmost care. Something about the nature of the attention, Tony bringing all his focus to bear, is doing a hell of a lot for him.

"Hmm. Yes. I think I see the problem here, Cap," he says. He's just barely keeping a straight face; his eyes are bright. "It's a good thing you came to me. You wouldn't want just anyone helping you." He strokes Steve's cock again, even slower, methodically, like he needs to feel it all to truly take stock of the situation. "You see, your cock's just so huge that I'm going to need to take very special care of it. You understand."

The words just run right through him. Steve thinks maybe he's going to die right now. He makes an extremely embarrassing noise, and his cock twitches against Tony's hand.

Tony, for his part, just gently slides a thumb over the head of Steve's cock through the thick leather, as if he's noting down the intensity of Steve's response for purely scientific reasons. The noise Steve makes is even louder. "I'll need to be thorough, because it's so big," Tony adds. He's not stupid and he can tell what Steve thinks of this approach; of course he's going for it. He's still staring at Steve's cock. "So much bigger than anything ever I've seen. Very, very fascinating. On a personal level. I'd love to examine it more closely. A hands-on approach, perhaps, would be best."

It is such a ridiculous, obvious turn-on -- yes, I'll tell you how much I want your big cock -- that Steve is, frankly, mortified that it's doing anything at all for him, but dear God, is it working.

"Fuck," Steve breathes. "Oh, fuck. Please, Tony." He's aware that this isn't very Captain America of him, but also Captain America doesn't usually have to worry that he's going to come in his Captain America uniform before he can get his pants off.

Tony looks up and flashes him a grin, and for a few seconds, Steve's not worrying about Registration, about Sentinels, about what's going to happen after they leave this room. He's just with Tony, the way he always should have been. He pushes the other thoughts away. He can think about this after. Right now, this is for Tony. Okay, and for him. But mostly for Tony.

Steve coughs and attempts to get back into character. "So do-- mmm-- do you think you can help me with my uniform, Mr. Stark?" he asks, as earnestly as possible. "It'd be real swell of you. I know it's an awful imposition, but I'd be ever so grateful if you could." He flutters his eyelashes. "I really need your help with this. I'd never think of asking anyone else. Just you."

Tony's breath goes ragged and his reddened mouth shapes the words you sneaky motherfucker.

Ha. Tony told him what part he liked best, so Steve's just returning the favor. Also, it's heartening to know they're both terrible at roleplaying.

"Why, Captain," Tony says, with that breathtaking smile he has, "it's no kind of imposition at all. I'd do anything for you. Anything in the world."

Or maybe they're just not roleplaying at all.

Then Tony unbuckles Steve's belt, and Steve can't think about anything except the precise location of Tony's fingers, resting on his waistband. Tony follows it up by unbuttoning Steve's pants, and then -- exactly as he promised -- unzips them. Very, very slowly.

Steve can feel each tiny click of the zipper, and he groans in frustrated protest. "Tony, please."

"Easy, there," Tony murmurs. His free hand strokes Steve's hip, and he's still staring at the clothed outline of Steve's cock with the same attention he would give to soldering a circuit board. Maybe Steve shouldn't find this hot, but he really, really does. "I told you. Gotta go slow. Gonna treat you right."

Steve has to admit he likes the sound of that. "Mmm."

Slowly, slowly, Tony eases the zipper down. Steve's underwear is more and more visible as he goes, and Steve -- well, Steve's been hard for long enough that the fabric of his briefs is damp with pre-come. It's always been something that's embarrassing to Steve -- no one ever thinks a guy should get this wet -- but Tony's enthralled smile is practically radiant. Somehow this is a plus for him. The fabric clings to Steve's cock so tightly and translucently that he might as well be naked already, and Steve hears himself make a high, needy noise as Tony runs one questing finger over the head of his cock.

"Oh, there you are," Tony breathes. "Look at you. You've been waiting so terribly long, haven't you?"

"I've been waiting a whole damn decade," Steve says, through gritted teeth, which is not anywhere near the kind of nice or complimentary thing anyone wants to hear in bed, but Tony's hand is half an inch away from Steve's cock and if Tony doesn't touch him again right now, Steve is going to lose what remains of his mind.

But Tony just chuckles softly. "Well, then, I'm not going to keep you waiting any longer."

The zipper is finally all the way down. Steve groans in relief. Before Tony can help him, he's impatiently shoved his pants and underwear all the way off, kicking all his clothes off the bed. It's just them now, Steve fully exposed to Tony's gaze. Bright, entranced, Tony is actually looking at Steve's face, which is how Steve knows Tony's a romantic.

"Better?"

"So much," Steve breathes, and he's not even acting. But then he realizes he shouldn't deprive Tony of what is almost certainly his favorite line. "But how can I ever repay you, Mr. Stark?"

Tony just smiles. Steve waits for a salacious reply, but then something in Tony's expression softens, and he's not playing the game anymore. "Honestly?" he says. "You want to know something pathetic? I know I'm supposed to say sex, but you could just hold me for the rest of the night and I'd be happy. Doesn't even have to be sex." He laughs, a quiet little laugh. "I mean, I wouldn't say no. Of course I wouldn't say no. That'd be great. That'd be amazing. Dream come true. I've wanted you so much, for so long." His smile turns sheepish. "But, if I had to pick between them right now, I could really use another one of those hugs even more."

Oh, Tony. Just for that, Steve wants to hold him. He knows that has to be something that Tony Stark, the playboy, could never ask anyone else for.

And Steve can give him that. But Steve can give him everything else too.

"That's not pathetic in the slightest." Steve reaches out and strokes Tony's face with two fingers, his temple down to his jaw. Tony's so warm. "And there's no such thing as supposed to. But also, you don't have to pick."

He's a little surprised Tony hasn't figured that out -- but, well, Tony's had a lot on his mind, lately.

Tony blinks. "I don't?"

"Nope," Steve informs him. "I've got a plan. I can hold you and we can have sex at the same time. C'mere. Actually, turn over. No, the other way."

It takes a minute or two to arrange them, and Tony clearly doesn't know what he's going for at first, when Steve has him roll onto his side, facing away. He gets it when Steve slides up behind him, pressing his whole body against Tony's, his front against Tony's back. and wrapping his arm around Tony's chest. Steve knows Tony's body from years of fighting at his side, training with him. He's pinned Tony to the mats too many times to count; fitting himself against Tony is second nature, practically instinct. Steve's hand rests on Tony's breastbone. Tony is warm and solid against him; his heart, no longer artificial, no longer cybernetic, is beating steadily against Steve's palm. Maybe a little fast, but he is excited. Tony's breath hitches and catches as Steve nestles himself against Tony's back, sliding his legs against Tony's, touching him as much as he possibly can. He knows he's not actually all that much larger than Tony, but he knows exactly how to use his body to his advantage, to make himself seem bigger, how to hold Tony to make him feel like he's got him good, to make him feel secure, protected, enfolded in Steve's embrace. At this angle, Steve can just barely see the corner of Tony's surprised, delighted smile, and when he nuzzles Tony's neck, he can smell the traces of Tony's familiar aftershave.

Now, like this, it seems impossible that he could have ever thought Extremis had made Tony anything other than human. Anything other than himself. This is Tony. Whole and entire. Uncompromised. No matter what else he can do now, with his brain, with his body, he's still Tony.

Tony takes another shaky breath, and on the exhale he just melts, all the tension flowing out of him in one vast rush, a river let loose from a breaking dam. He sighs heavily as he settles back against Steve, like he's finally letting go of all the burdens he carries, all these months of fear and pain and terrible decisions, finally letting Steve shoulder some of the weight for him, the way they used to do. Steve's strong; he can take it. Tony doesn't have to go it alone. And Tony needs this. Steve knows Tony's afraid of what's coming, now that he's leaving the government -- God, who wouldn't be? But Steve's here now. Steve has his back. Literally.

Steve's no longer wondering when the last time was that anyone touched Tony. Now he's wondering when the last time was that Tony was alone in a room with someone he actually, fully, wholeheartedly trusted. Jesus Christ.

When Steve woke up this morning, he sure as hell didn't think that was ever going to be him again.

He doesn't know who Tony's been making deals with, in the name of Registration. The usual phrase, Steve knows, would be a deal with the devil, but in their world, that one's literal, and he's certain that Tony would never actually deal with Mephisto. But there's been someone, Steve knows. He doesn't know what of himself Tony's given away in the dark, how much of his soul he's sold, what he's sacrificed on the altar of the greater good. But Steve has Tony now, here in his arms, and Tony doesn't have to worry about that anymore. He's finally safe, and he knows it.

"Oh," Tony breathes. The sound is delicate, full of wonder. "Oh, wow, that's a good hug." There's a low rumble of contentment, deep in his chest, when he talks, something slow and lazy in a good way, like lying on the grass in Central Park on a warm spring day, basking in the sunshine. "Oh, Steve."

Steve's never heard Tony -- or anyone else -- say his name like that in his entire life. It's gratitude, it's pleasure, it's-- everything. Tony says his name like Steve has just given him every bit of happiness that exists in the universe, like he's filled up every worn and tired part of Tony's soul until Tony's overflowing with light. When Tony says his name, it makes Steve feel like he was put on Earth for this purpose alone, to make Tony feel this good. All the years he's striven to help people, the life of service he's dedicated himself to -- it feels like it's all been for this moment, for this man. It's all for Tony. He's done it. This is it.

He'd do anything in the world to hear Tony say his name like that again.

He supposes he's going to demonstrate that he's willing to break a hell of a lot of laws, for Tony. For all his fellow superhumans, but-- for Tony. Right now, though, it doesn't feel like any of that matters.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, softly. "You like that?"

Tony rests his hand atop Steve's, over his heart. "Oh, yeah." His voice is dreamy. "I like that a lot." He's silent, seemingly at a loss for words, unable to find one that will encompass all his feelings. Steve doesn't think he's ever seen Tony quite like this. "That's... the best."

"Good," Steve informs him. "Because it's gonna get even better."

Then Steve leans back a little, pulling Tony halfway onto him, giving him just enough clearance to slide his other arm under Tony's side before tilting the two of them back to their original position. He splays his hand over Tony's chest, a little lower than his sternum. bracing him that way, using that hand instead. He's not letting go. He's just changing his grip. He slides his other hand, the one on Tony's heart, out from under Tony's hand. Tony promptly puts his hand atop Steve's newly-arrived hand; he clearly liked that, and now he can have it again. So Steve's still cuddled up to Tony, and now Steve has a free hand, which he sets helpfully on Tony's bare hip. He thinks Tony gets the message now.

Lightly, Steve runs his hand over Tony's hipbone. "How about now?" he asks. "How's that working for you?"

Mostly he wants to see if Tony will say his name like that again, dear God, but also if Tony really just wants a hug anyway, Steve's all for that. Whatever makes Tony happy, he can have it.

"It's working great," Tony says, his voice still low and easy, nearly slurred; Steve didn't know Tony could be this relaxed, and, as Tony has pointed out, Steve knew him back when Tony still drank. Steve wonders what Tony would be like if he had this every day. He sounds so-- so free. In a delightful counterpoint, Tony's body is quivering with anticipation, a frisson that Steve can feel down to his bones. Tony's not tense, because nothing in him is tense. He's just ready for what Steve wants to give him, and he knows good and well what that is. Tony laughs, sly and knowing. "I can tell it's working great for you too."

Steve's cock is sliding up against Tony, nestled into the cleft of Tony's ass. He's still achingly hard, and it's obvious how much he's enjoying this. He's so hard he's leaking pre-come all over Tony's ass, creating a hot, slick channel for himself, tight enough that he could absolutely come just from this, rubbing off against Tony's ass. Hell, Steve's cock is wet enough that he thinks he could maybe slip inside Tony, smooth and easy, just like this, especially if he licked Tony open first. He can't deny that he likes the thought of that. Of course he wants to make love to Tony, like that. But they only get one first time, and that's now, and Steve wants it to be the absolute best for Tony. All innuendo aside, he does know he's pretty big and he doesn't have anything else with him to ease the way, and so Steve doesn't want to do it like that unless he's absolutely certain Tony will love it, unless he's sure he can make it feel amazing for Tony. So not that, tonight. It'll still be good, this way, just holding Tony, like this.

"So great," Steve agrees. He grips Tony tighter, across his chest, against his hip, just enough that he knows Tony can feel it. "I'm with you. You've got me. I'm right here for you."

"Steve." Tony breathes Steve's name in that same, glorious tone, the one that makes Steve feel like it's all worth it, like he's done everything perfectly. "Please, yes. Be with me."

He's not going to get a better cue than that. Steve slides his hand forward and wraps it around the base of Tony's cock. The angle is a little awkward, and Steve has his face pressed to the nape of Tony's neck, so he can't actually see what he's doing, but Tony groans and shudders in Steve's arms like he's going to shake apart, so Steve must be doing something right.

He's learning Tony by feel, sliding his hand slowly along the shaft of Tony's cock, up to the tip and back down again. Tony's also not exactly small, a fact that Steve has likewise spent a long time contemplating, but Steve's hand is so big that he wraps his fingers around him easily. Tony gasps as Steve grips him a little tighter, tilting his head down, clearly watching, and Steve thinks that maybe Tony likes that, likes feeling held and surrounded.

Steve kisses the back of Tony's neck. Tony likes that, too, shivering and shuddering again, and after a few more strokes, Steve figures out exactly how Tony wants it, nice and tight, but also nice and slow, carefully drawing out the pleasure for as long as possible, like this is how Tony wants to spend the whole night, like they have all the time in the world, like tomorrow will never come. Steve can give him that too. For tonight, it can be the truth.

He runs his fingers over the length of Tony's cock even more slowly, and when he closes his fist at the tip of Tony's cock, making a tight, heavy tunnel for the slick, throbbing head of Tony's cock to slide through, Tony gasps and throws his head back, wildly, against Steve's shoulder. He moves fast, without warning. He nearly hits Steve in the face. His parted lips are deep red, damp, bitten dark. His eyes are shut, and his whole body arcs backwards like a drawn bow. Sweat is dampening his hair and beading on the corded muscles of his neck, gathering in the hollow of his collarbone. Tony's hand atop Steve's, still bracing him, is clenching down on his fingers heavily enough that anyone else would probably bruise. And Tony is trembling hard enough, taut abdominal muscles quivering under Steve's splayed palm, that he feels like he might slip right out of Steve's grasp, and his groan shakes Steve right down to the core. Tony's not hiding how much he likes it. Not from Steve.

God, he's beautiful like this, coming apart under Steve's hands, but he's feeling it all so much that Steve actually can't tell if he wants to be like this, because this is the one realm where he's never seen Tony before.

He can't imagine that most of the people Tony has slept with have seen him like this before. This is Tony, with all the masks gone, holding nothing back, not even his pleasure.

"Too much?" Steve whispers in Tony's ear.

Tony shakes his head so fiercely that this time he actually knocks his skull against Steve's temple, and his eyes flare open, so dark with desire that Steve wouldn't even be able to name the color if that night-sky blue hadn't already been engraved in his mind since the day a man in red-gold armor held out his hand--

"Perfect." Tony's voice is hoarse. "You're perfect, just like that, please, Steve, please, don't stop--"

Steve loves him so goddamn much. He is so far gone for Tony. Always has been, but he knows now how far down the road he is. Even if this is it, even if this night is all they ever get, even if they're caught by Sentinels tomorrow, even if they stand trial for betraying the nation Steve swore to serve, it'll all be worth it. Because they'll stand there together.

"I've got you," Steve promises. "I'm here, Tony, I'm here--"

He kisses the side of Tony's neck, tasting the salt of Tony's skin, and Tony shudders under his lips even harder as he thrusts into Steve's fist.

"Please, yes, more--" Tony pants out.

He knows what Tony wants. He kisses his way up the side of Tony's neck, discovering that there's a spot just behind Tony's jaw that makes Tony groan long and low when he presses his mouth just there, and then Tony turns, tipping his head to the side, clearly straining to kiss him back. He can probably manage it, even; the healing factor adds a little more flexibility.

Well, they're not both of them superhuman now for nothing, Steve thinks, and he knows he's got it bad, he knows they both do, but here he is, trying valiantly, learning to love Tony's new powers because he loves Tony--

And then something clicks inside his head: Tony is like him now, God, how did he never see what Extremis was, Tony as good as told him it was a goddamn super-soldier project, how was Steve too scared to realize it, Tony went and turned himself into him because Tony thought about who he wanted to be, what he wanted to be, his deepest wish, when he had no other hope left, when he couldn't change the world except by becoming someone new, the same way Steve signed his life away to Rebirth, Tony's the same as him, and Steve didn't even see it until now--

Tony shifts in his embrace, twisting around until he can just barely grab Steve's shoulder, where he can probably feel the muscles in Steve's arm flex as Steve's hand continues to work Tony's cock. Steve swings his leg forward over Tony's thighs, the way he might once have pinned him down to the mats, slipping the two of them into a new alignment, rising up almost to his knees, so Tony can get a better angle.

He feels Tony's hand settle on the back of his head, and then Tony drags their mouths together and kisses him. Hard.

Tony's clearly used everything left in him to get them to this point right here, so the kiss slackens fast, but Steve's ready to pick him up and keep going. Tony's mouth is soft and warm and honey-sweet, and he groans deeper than anything as Steve licks into him, learning the taste of him. All Tony has to do is hold on, and he does, as Steve kisses him and caresses him, keeping the rhythm Tony needs, timed to the pounding of the blood in his head, the throb and pulse of his own desire, as Steve carries him right to the edge--

"Steve," Tony cries out, "oh, I'm almost-- yes, perfect, oh, Steve-- love you--"

Tony's hands flex tight on Steve's body, and as Steve kisses him again, Tony thrusts up once more into Steve's tight grip, fast and hard and out of rhythm. And then Tony's coming, still trembling, spurting hot over Steve's fingers as he shudders and shudders again. Gasping, he breaks the kiss, his head turning back just far enough that Steve can see his face. His eyes are shut in bliss. In all his years of furtive imagining, Steve would never have guessed for all the world that Tony would smile as he came. But Tony really is; the corners of his quivering, parted lips are upturned as he gasps again and sighs and lets Steve take him through the end of it, shuddering less and less, the tiniest of aftershocks, until he finally stills.

Tony is quiet, his eyes still shut, his chest rising and falling as he breathes deep, as his heart rate slows. A smile still curves across his lips. He-- he looks happy. Steve wants him to have this every day for the rest of his life. And Tony might let him give him this. Because he loves him. He said so. Sort of, back in the mansion. And then now.

This wasn't how Steve ever thought he might hear a love confession, but he supposes Tony's never been what he expected. He's always been more.

Tony still doesn't stir as Steve enfolds him in his arms; he's loose, easy, languid, yielding. Steve could do whatever he wanted, and he knows Tony would let him. It's a little frightening, knowing that Tony trusts him this much. Maybe that's what love is.

He turns Tony toward him and pulls him close. They're lying on their sides once again, but now they're facing each other. Steve can still hug him, though. That's the important thing. Tony wanted Steve to hold him the whole night, and that's exactly what Steve plans to do.

Steve leans in and presses a kiss to the middle of Tony's forehead. Tony opens his eyes, blinking, and then focuses on Steve. Steve can see the blue in his eyes again, deep and dark, the other end of the spectrum from him. He thinks Tony's eyes are prettier -- a striking, rich jewel tone, a gleaming sapphire, framed by dark lashes. He's gorgeous. Steve doesn't have pretty eyes. He thinks mostly he just looks angry. He thinks that a lot of the time, he is. Somehow Tony loves him anyway.

Tony's still smiling. At him.

Tony exhales, long and shuddering. "Wow," he says. He laughs. "Steve. Oh my God, Steve."

"Yeah?" Steve asks. He can't stop smiling back at Tony. "That was good?"

He's not fishing for compliments. He knows Tony has... a lot of experience. He just hopes he measures up.

Tony must see something of his concern on his face -- Steve is a terrible liar -- because Tony's expression goes soft, and he sets one warm hand against the side of Steve's face, as though he is about to tell him something gravely important. "Steve," he says, urgent, intent. "This is the happiest I have ever felt in my entire life. I mean it. It's all you."

Steve's face is hot. He doesn't know what to do with this much feeling. He wants to look away, but he can't; Tony is magnetic.

"Oh," Steve says. He can hardly believe it. He knows Tony's not lying, but Tony can't mean that, can he? "Oh, that's-- that's-- really?"

"Really." Tony's nod is serious. Then he grins. "It was a very nice hug."

Steve can't help but hold Tony tighter. "Well, you still get the hug. All night. You can have it."

Their bodies press together, and Tony frowns. "But you didn't...?"

Abruptly, Steve is aware once again of his own arousal. It had been so urgent, and then he'd focused on pleasing Tony, and everything else hadn't mattered. But now it's starting to feel like it matters again. His cock is trapped between their bodies, heavy and hard. He doesn't have to do anything about it. But he'd like to. He can be quick. He's close enough that it won't take long.

Steve shakes his head. "I didn't. I was-- I was just thinking about you."

"Well, then." Tony's voice is knowing, curling around every word like each syllable is its very own proposition. "Maybe I can help you think about me a little more, hmm?"

Tony's smile is sharp, sharp in a way that makes Steve hot and dizzy and needy. Tony shifts back just enough that there's room to slide his hands down Steve's chest, his intentions clear.

Tony glances down, then openly stares at Steve's cock, and his smile grows wider. "You know, I didn't really get a good look at you before," he says, thoughtfully. "There you are. I can finally see. Mmm. You are impressive."

"Tony," Steve says, desperately. He thinks he might come from Tony just looking at him.

"I can think of something else I'd like to see." Tony looks up and licks his lips, and suddenly it feels like there's no air in the room, like there's nothing except Tony. He slides one idle finger down Steve's abs, lower and lower. "Is there something else you'd like to see, Steve? We can both watch."

He knows this is Tony's charm, perfectly targeted and overwhelming. He's never been hit by Jess Drew's pheromones, not full-on -- the serum clears them too fast -- but the first few seconds of the experience feel a hell of a lot like this. And then this keeps going. Tony is everything he wants, and he wants what Tony wants.

Then he takes a breath, and he realizes -- he doesn't actually want the charm. Oh, it'd work for him. It's obviously working. But he knows that for Tony, it has to be a retreat. A safe harbor. Tony's doing this because he knows how to do it, because he knows people like it, because he knows chances are very high that Steve will also like it. And that way, he doesn't have to risk going off-script and getting it wrong.

It's a mask. Steve doesn't want the mask.

He realizes he knows what he wants. Oh, God.

There is something else he'd like to see. Something beautiful. Something only Tony can show him. He doesn't know what Tony will think of it, or what he'll think of him for wanting it, but he knows he'll never get it if he doesn't ask.

It's just-- it's hard to say. He opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again. There are no words.

He realizes he's not holding Tony anymore. He's raised his hands halfway to his face, like he wants to cover it. He may talk a good game, but his body knows how he really feels.

Tony's brow furrows, and the flirtation vanishes in an instant. "Steve?" he asks, concerned. "Steve, is everything okay?"

Steve nods. He can manage that, at least, and it makes Tony look less distressed. The words still aren't there. "Yeah, I-- I just-- there actually is-- oh, God." He takes a deep breath. "Can I ask you a question? It's-- it's kind of a weird question. You don't have to answer it."

Tony's petting Steve's hair. Softly. Tenderly. It makes him feel safe. That's probably why Tony's doing it. "Steve, you can ask me absolutely anything."

Steve takes another deep breath and just goes for it. "It's about Extremis," he says, and Tony goes very, very still. "The undersuit. It's always there, right? In you? So you can always summon it? At any time? That's something that can happen?"

There. He said it.

Tony's eyes fall shut. When he opens them, his gaze is sad, sorrowful, like he's trying to break the worst news to Steve.

Oh, hell. He really shouldn't have asked. Tony thinks it's weird. Tony thinks he's weird. Tony thinks--

"Steve, I--" Tony's voice is halting. "The undersuit is in my bones. Inside them. It lives there. It's always with me. And I know you think that's strange. Unnatural." He laughs, low and rueful. "I mean, it is unnatural. Fair point." He looks like he might cry. "But it's part of Extremis. Part of me. I can't just... take it out of me and put it somewhere else. I'd lose Extremis, probably permanently. I think the odds are good I wouldn't survive. I gave myself Extremis in the first place because I was dying and needed the healing factor," he says, quietly, and oh God, why didn't Steve know that? Why didn't he ever ask? "I can't take any of it away. And I know you'd feel better if I could do that for you and you'd never have to see it. You've-- you've made your feelings on Extremis very clear. And I appreciate you... giving me a chance. I know you're trying." He smiles weakly. "But I'm-- I'm never going to be normal. I wasn't really normal anyway, but I'm never going to be like I was, either. If that's a dealbreaker, then I'm sorry. I understand if you don't... want me to touch you, now that I'm like this inside."

Steve is now the one staring at Tony in horror, because Tony has it all wrong. Exactly backwards.

He shakes his head. "Tony, no, I--" Great. Now he's stammering. "That's not what I meant. Oh, God. That's not what I meant at all."

Tony startles, shocked out of his own excoriation. "It's not?"

He's still afraid to tell Tony, but now he really has to. He doesn't want Tony to believe Steve could think this about him. He doesn't know why Tony thinks Steve would be here with him now if this was how Steve felt about him. Except, of course, Steve does know: that doesn't seem to matter to Tony, a lot of the time. Steve doesn't want to contemplate the number of people Tony's been with who actually, fully, completely hate him.

He's going to try this again. He takes an even deeper breath. He can say this right. "No, I meant... can you summon the undersuit again, or summon part of it, on purpose, if-- if that's-- if it's what you want to do? Whenever you want it?" He bites his lip. "Like... right now?"

"Oh." Tony's eyes are very, very wide. His jaw has dropped. He is the very picture of surprise. "Ohhh. Oh, wow."

Yeah, Tony gets it now.

"Like that," Steve says. He can't make himself be any more specific. "Like-- like what you're probably thinking of, right now. The kind of thing you're thinking I want to see. In bed. It's-- it's that. I'm not joking."

"Wow," Tony repeats. Steve isn't entirely sure Tony's heard anything he's said. He laughs softly. "I thought, when you said Extremis was growing on you, that you meant you... were willing to be with me, despite what I'd done to myself. That you were forcing yourself to tolerate it. And I-- God, I was ready to take that and call myself lucky, but now?" He shakes his head, astonished. "I-- you-- you really want me? Like that?"

Steve thinks maybe he hasn't done right by Tony in a long time. He thinks maybe Tony's been starving on the merest scraps of affection. Steve wants to do better. He's scared, but he wants to do better.

"Like that," Steve echoes. It's so hard to say, but he has to. And then he can't stop talking. "I-- I had a revelation or two, you might say. Very recently. Not, uh. Not about that part, specifically. But I realized that... you're still you. You're just you with Extremis. Just like I'm me with the serum. And I want to be with you. And this is how you are now. I want to see all of you. I don't want you to think you have to hide. And I-- I don't know. What can I say?" He laughs, awkward. "I'm an artist? I like beauty? You're gorgeous? I've always loved your armors, the things you make. This is just... more. And it's-- it's in you. I don't know. That's really, uh. I... like that I can... touch part of you? Something inside you? It's like being part of you." That sounds really strange, when he says it. "Oh, God. Don't listen to me. It doesn't make any sense."

Tony's still staring at him like he's just been hit in the head and is only now waking up again. "It doesn't have to make sense." He smiles, still astonished. "Just... as long as it's what you want."

Tony doesn't say anything else. Steve thinks they've both surprised each other.

At least it's definitely real.

"I know it's weird," Steve blurts out, feeling like he has to keep talking, to fill the silence before it strangles him. "I know. It's weird to want to see it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Hey, no," Tony says, with a snap to his voice that's an echo of battlefield command. "None of that. It's not weird." He pauses and grins. "Or, if it's weird, then I'm right there with you. You can have that. You can absolutely have that." He pauses again, a little more delicately. "Was there... something in particular you wanted to see? Or touch?"

"Your hands," Steve whispers. He shuts his eyes. His own shame is a hot brand across his face, but he says the words anyway. "You have such beautiful hands, and Extremis, the undersuit, it's beautiful too, and I just-- I thought, if I could see your hands on me, feel your hands on me, like that--"

He can't say anything else. But maybe this is enough.

Pulling him into a hug, Tony pets his hair again. Steve still can't open his eyes. He doesn't want to see Tony judging him, because surely Tony must be. But then Tony clears his throat, to get his attention, and years of ingrained reflexes compel Steve to give him it.

"Hey." Tony's voice is soft. "Look at me, Steve? Please?"

When Steve opens his eyes, Tony is holding up a hand, his fingers splayed wide. He smiles, and gold starts to spread across his skin. He's gorgeous, shining bright, almost dazzling Steve's eyes.

"Oh," Steve breathes, too overcome to speak.

The shame hasn't left him yet, and here Tony is giving him exactly what he asked for. His cock throbs, and he's pressed against Tony's body tightly enough that even Tony must be able to tell how hard he is, how much he likes seeing it. Tony knows how much he wants him, just like this, and getting it feels right and wrong and he doesn't know what to do. Everything is amazing and frightening at the same time. He's feeling everything so much -- and, unlike Tony, he thinks it might be too much to take all at once. That's not usually a problem he has, but that's because he tries not to feel half of what he feels. He didn't say he had a good solution.

Tony's smile is wider. "I just didn't want you to miss your private show." He's studying Steve, intent. "Are you okay now? You look a little, uh. Overwhelmed."

"I kind of am," Steve admits.

"It's okay, baby," Tony says, even softer. "I'll go slow. I'll be gentle."

Amused at his own joke, Tony grins. Steve gets the obvious parallel Tony is drawing here, the cliché line, the part where it's supposed to be funny to talk about anything else like that, but at the same time, he thinks maybe he does need Tony to be that slow. That, and the endearment, also obviously part of the joke, honestly makes Steve feel all warm and bright, deep within him.

Tony's eyes, he realizes, are serious, and he thinks maybe Tony knows all that, and that that's why he said any of it.

Tony's other hand settles onto both of Steve's, covering his clasped hands, which are still slick with fear-sweat and -- fuck -- Tony's come, and he's a mess. But Tony's hand feels different, and he glances down to see the gold spreading over Tony's skin, over the back of his hand, then curving to his palm.

The gold is glassy-smooth where it touches Steve, hot with body heat, hotter than Tony's skin, which makes sense; it was just inside him. Steve thinks about that and something deep within him feels warm and shivery, like Tony is just letting him touch all of him, all the secret places inside of him.

Sadly, the undersuit doesn't hold that heat for more than a few seconds. Tony's still running warmer than he used to, the same as Steve does, but the undersuit is rapidly cooling to a temperature that's a little less noticeable but still warm. It's a lot thinner than Steve thought it was when he was holding Tony, and it's not as rigid as he was expecting. He thought maybe it would be more obviously metallic, hard like the golden mesh Tony used to wear in his armor, that he used to wrap around his limbs. But it isn't hard, though it's not exactly soft like flesh; it has some give but it's not quite the same as the body underneath it. It's just... nice, honestly. It has an attractive, pleasant feel to it, like touching expensive fabric, the kind of thing you just want to keep touching. Silk. Cashmere. Velvet.

The striations on the suit that Steve felt when he hugged Tony aren't present on his hands, in addition to it just being so much thinner. It honestly just looks like paint being poured over Tony's hands, shining rich and golden in the shadowed space between them. It's beautiful -- maybe even more so, like this -- but Steve doesn't understand why it's different than it is on the rest of him. Tony wasn't wearing it on his hands when Steve came in. Maybe he doesn't like it on his hands. Maybe he's just indulging Steve, doing any of this. Steve hasn't seen it on Tony's hands before, not close enough to notice the fine details. Maybe it's always different on Tony's hands, smooth like this. Tony's had it for months. How does Steve not know this? He feels stupid, ignorant, never having asked any of this before, asking Tony to do this for him and getting it, and then not even knowing what it is he's asked for or what he's getting, so damn clueless--

"How are you doing?" Tony asks, solicitous, and Steve looks up into Tony's concerned gaze. "You looked all right for a bit, but I think maybe I lost you again. Can I help?"

You can ask me absolutely anything, Tony said.

Steve takes another breath. "Can I ask you about how it works? The undersuit?" He hangs his head. "I know-- I know I should have asked before, when you first got it, and I didn't-- but I just want to understand. What I'm looking at. Why it's the way it is. Is that okay? You don't have to say yes. I know I've never exactly made you feel good about it. I'd understand if you didn't want to tell me more. If you don't want to talk about it, it's-- that's fine."

He feels like an idiot.

Eyes wet, blinking too fast; Tony looks like he wants to cry. "Anything," he says, thickly, his voice suffused with an unmistakable gratitude. "Ask me anything you want, Steve. Please. I'll tell you anything. Everything."

Steve realizes that Tony's been waiting all these months for Steve just to care about him, to want to know about what happened to him, about what he had to do to himself to survive, and Steve didn't, and Steve didn't even know Tony was dying when he did it, and now Steve wants to cry.

Tony lets go of Steve's hands and holds out his own hands, palms up, for inspection: they're coated in a thin layer of gold, extending almost to Tony's elbows before fading out in patches. Steve supposes that means Tony can definitely manifest parts of it at a time, as he likes. The gold is so thin that Steve can see the lines on Tony's palms and the slight protrusion of the tendon in Tony's wrist, the one that not everyone has. If he didn't know better, he'd have honestly thought the gold was all just paint. That's how thin it is.

"When I came in," Steve ventures, "you had most of the undersuit on. And I hugged you, and it felt like it was pretty thick, and had all these... bumps and lines, that you sometimes have. But they're not there now, on your arms. And it's thinner than it was. Is that-- what's that about? Why is it different?"

Tony's eyes are bright, like he really, honestly, just wanted to tell Steve everything about his invention. It's very him. "When I deploy the undersuit, I can control most of its physical properties. Thickness. Hardness." Steve watches him try not to snicker; he must be feeling a lot better. Which is good. Steve wants him to be happy. "That's all up to me. So are the bumps and lines, as you call them. They--" He pauses and seems to have to think. "You know how, when you want to paint a piece of wood, you have to go at it with sandpaper first, rough up the surface a little?"

"Yes?" Steve says, confused. "The paint doesn't stick right if it's too smooth. What about it?"

Tony nods eagerly; he's in his element now. "The actual explanation's more complicated, but it's basically that. If the suit's too smooth, the armor doesn't assemble well. The armor plating completely covers the undersuit, obviously, and it kind of... adheres to it, would be the best way to put it. Via polarization. The raised bits are calibrated with additional properties to give the armor something to really stick to. So what you saw, what you... felt, it was because I'd just taken off the armor. I usually don't bother doing the adhesion prep at all if I'm not going to be wearing the armor immediately. That's why I don't have it now." His smile is small, and oddly shy. "But if you want me to put it back so you can, uh... feel it, I can do that, too."

Steve realizes what Tony is trying to ask him, and he feels his face heat up. "Oh, hell," he mutters. "I-- I mean, I don't know. I like how it looks right now. How it feels. All... sleek."

Now Tony looks like he's trying to keep himself from blushing. It's rare for him, but this is new territory for both of them. "Um. Thank you," he says, like he doesn't even know how to take that compliment, and he really is blushing, though it's hard to see on him. "You do have the option, though. For, um, texture. Just saying."

"Okay," Steve says. Now for the more... interesting questions he has. "Can you feel it through the undersuit? When I touch you?"

Ever the engineer, God bless him, Tony takes the question at face value. "Mostly, yeah," he says. "But that's not a question with one answer, really. That's like me asking you if you can feel me touching you while you're wearing clothes, you know? Depends on if you're wearing silk or snow gear. When I'm actually wearing the undersuit with armor, it's usually pretty thick on most of my body, by design, because I'm using it as padding. But it doesn't have to be like that."

"Would you be able to feel it now? Me touching you?"

"Oh." Tony's breath catches, and, yeah, he understands Steve's question. They both look down at Tony's upturned palms. "Yeah, I-- yeah. Yes. It's basically. Yes." He seems to be having difficulty finishing his sentences. He takes a rasping breath. "Like this-- when it's this thin-- I mean, it's not the same as actual skin-to-skin contact, but it's as good as it's gonna get. The amount of sensation's about equivalent to wearing latex gloves." He raises his eyebrows, mock-salacious, and attempts a smile. "Or, you know. Wearing anything made of latex on a body part with a similar amount of nerve endings. Hypothetically."

Yeah, yeah. Steve gets it. Also, it's nice to know that Tony would get to feel something. But maybe it isn't good enough. Maybe Tony doesn't actually want to do it, and he's just saying yes to make Steve happy. The idea makes Steve feel cold and wretched inside. He doesn't want that. Not if Tony hates it.

"But when I came in," Steve continues, trying to put everything together, "you weren't wearing the undersuit on your hands. And I've seen you not have it on your hands before. Do you... not like how it feels? Because you don't-- you don't have to if you don't--"

"Steve," Tony says, interrupting him before his train of thought can run away entirely. "I like it just fine, okay? Better than fine. This is how thin I usually have it under the armor, and I'm fine. I wouldn't pick something that actually made me uncomfortable. I just usually prefer maximum dexterity in the rest of my life, if I have the option. But I just-- I actually--"

He stops, all at once. He scrubs his hand over his face in a flash of glittering light.

"Tony?"

"I mean, I might as well tell you," he says, looking distinctly out-of-sorts. "I'm sure you'd like to know, actually. I just-- wasn't planning on telling anyone, you know? Didn't really work out how to say this." He coughs discreetly. "My conclusion after a bit of, um, personal experimentation was that it actually feels a lot better. To me. With the undersuit. Because it's smoother than my bare hands. So I would be... interested... in your opinion."

"Oh." Steve is brought up short. "Well. That sounds. Um. Very nice." He considers this. "And you weren't going to tell anyone?"

"I didn't think I'd get a lot of takers for please let me take you to bed and touch you with my weird metal hands, no," Tony says. His voice is dry. He's scared, Steve realizes. He's scared too. Of Steve, turning his back on him. "Still kind of wondering whether I've dreamed everything since you walked into the mansion."

"I promise this is real, Tony." Steve breathes in and out. He's come this far. "Would you let me touch your hands now?"

He knows he just let go of Tony's hands. He knows what he asked Tony for. He knows Tony already said yes. But somehow he needs Tony to look at him and say it anyway. He needs Tony to tell him that it's okay to want this. That he's not a freak.

"Isn't this the opposite of what you asked for?" Tony says, brightly, like he's playing it off as a joke. Like he thinks there's a way to do it wrong, and somehow this would disappoint Steve, if they don't do the exact thing Steve said right now. Like it's not all going to be good.

Plus, Steve really does want to go slow, like Tony said.

Steve smiles at him. "I'm sure we can get to that part eventually. No hurry." He laughs. "I just can't keep my hands off you, Shellhead."

He uses the nickname with deliberation, and Tony inhales sharply. "Do you know you're still reading straight from my favorite fantasies?" Tony says. "God, Steve. You have no idea. Please. Yes."

He still looks a little shaky. He's eyeing Steve like, despite everything, he thinks Steve's going to turn around and condemn Extremis. He thinks he can't really have any of this. He's still scared of the future.

Well, time to keep calming Tony down.

Steve starts at the end. It's perhaps not the most romantic of gestures, but he rests Tony's elbow in his palm, holding Tony loosely enough that he can move, and he trails his fingers lightly over the inside of Tony's elbow, down his arm a little to the patchy borderline where skin meets gold. Tony shivers in his grasp, but not in a way that looks bad, exactly, and he makes a tiny wordless noise.

"Good?" Steve asks. "Bad? Weird?"

"Different," Tony says, after a few seconds of thought. "Sensitive. Feels sort of tingly, going back and forth, like my nerves don't know what to make of it. Honestly, it feels sort of tingly everywhere, the... way you're touching me. God, it's so much. I can't explain. It -- oh, mmm -- it'd probably be a hell of a turn-on if my dick wasn't completely done for the night."

Ah. That kind of tingly. "Like it's too much, or like you want me to keep going?"

What with Tony's previous attitude to being given too much, Steve's not really surprised when Tony flashes him a grin and says, "Uh, both? That's not a contradiction. For me, anyway."

"Okay," Steve says. "You just let me know if that changes." He thinks about it. "Or if it doesn't change. You know, just continue to let me know I'm making you feel real good, actually." He hears what he's saying and chuckles. "Feel free to keep telling me that. I appreciate knowing. That'll be nice for me. Real flattering."

He didn't quite mean to tell him that, but Tony grins at him, like he liked hearing that.

When was the last time Steve was this happy? He doesn't remember. God, it's good, being with Tony. He realizes he's smiling.

He's sure, of course, that there's going to be a point where this is too much for Tony, because Tony did just come, but if Tony wants him to keep touching him until he absolutely can't handle it, Steve's definitely not going to decline the request.

He runs two fingers very lightly down Tony's arm. Tony shivers harder and makes a noise that is definitely a gasp. The golden surface is as smooth as it looks -- or, actually, it's even smoother than it looks. Most of Tony's old armors, the metal on his arms and legs was polished to a mirror sheen. This isn't. It's not dull by any means; it glimmers and glints. It really does look like golden paint, or maybe makeup -- also paint, in a way -- which is the kind of thing Steve expects to catch his fingers on, a thing that should be a little sticky, like latex, like Tony had said. But it's warm and smooth all the way down. Tony feels nice to touch.

Steve realizes he's stroking the inside of Tony's wrist, over and over, just because it feels so pleasant. He's run out of comparison points, but Tony just feels so nice, and Steve doesn't want to stop. He's staring at his own hands, outlined by gold, when Tony makes a strangled noise. Steve's not sure if that's a good sound. He looks up.

"Tony?"

"I, uh. Oh, fuck," Tony breathes. His face is flushed dark. Somehow he sounds very pleased and deeply bewildered at the same time. "This is-- somehow this is really working for me, what the fuck, Steve, I-- sorry, I meant to say, it's good, it feels so good, you're amazing, thank you so much, I just-- my body doesn't do this, God, do you have any idea how many heart problems I've had--"

He rolls back a little and gestures downwards with the hand Steve isn't holding, and, yeah, he's getting hard again. Also he looks good. He looks really good, actually. Steve hadn't really gotten a good look at what he was touching, when he was touching him, earlier; the position hadn't really lent itself to a good view. But now he's got one. Tony's circumcised; Steve could tell that much by feel, and had already known that, anyway. His cock is already flushed a deep red; Steve hadn't exactly been going light on him, at his request. Steve imagines that right now Tony is feeling exquisitely sensitive, and given how much he likes too much he's probably going to lose his mind during the upcoming round two and it's going to be amazing. Steve wants to touch him there. Wants to kiss him there. Wants so many things.

But Steve doesn't understand why Tony wasn't expecting this. It makes perfect sense to him. Sure, maybe Tony's body didn't do this before, but he's had some obvious recent changes.

"It's Extremis, right?" Steve asks. He grins. "It's a serum thing for me. Always figured it was the healing factor."

Tony squints. "Wait, this is normal for you?"

"Yes?" Steve says, confused. "I mean, I don't always go for a second or third round every time" -- Tony mouths the word third? with incredulity -- "but most of the time I can if I want." It doesn't really take much to get him going again, and it's a near-certainty that he'll want to if he's really enjoying the experience. Like now. "It's... pretty clearly possible, at least for me. And you said you, uh, tried everything out yourself?"

How could Tony just... not have noticed? In Steve's experience, the desire is very difficult to miss. But he supposes it could be different for Tony.

"I did try," Tony admits. He looks like he wants to sink into the ground. "Not a lot. I've been busy," he mutters. "And stressed, and not really feeling all that great, generally, and it-- it didn't really seem important. I mean, I-- maybe a couple times? By myself? Noticed that the undersuit made a bit of a difference, like I said. But if anything better was supposed to happen, I wouldn't have noticed. Didn't think to try that hard. Didn't really put a lot of effort into showing myself a good time."

Oh, geez, that's rotten. He can imagine Tony doing that, though. Being perfunctory. The bare minimum, just for him. Tony's never been very kind to himself.

Somebody should be. Steve would like to volunteer for the position.

Steve strokes Tony's wrist again and Tony shudders even harder; that definitely seems to make him feel better. "Well, I'd be happy to put in the effort, if you like." He smiles. He thinks maybe he licks his lips, because Tony's staring at his mouth, and then Tony groans. "More than happy to," Steve adds. "It'd be my pleasure. Whatever kind of effort you want."

He knows he's not actually especially seductive, but Tony is staring at him, dazed, like he's never wanted anyone more than Steve. It's a nice feeling.

"I don't think it's gonna take a whole lot of effort," Tony says. He's gasping. Sweat trickles down the side of his face. "Steve, at this point I think there's a good chance I'm going to fucking lose it if you even hold my hand, and I am dead serious. Oh, fuck."

Tony is so many things all at once. His hands are still gleaming golden, new and strange and beautiful, and he's clearly loving this experience so much, being taken apart with pleasure that he had no idea existed. Steve doesn't think Tony would ever have let anyone else see him like this, because this is all of him, right here, and he's trusting Steve, trusting him with his life, trusting him to fight at his side again, trusting him to give him this.

"You want to find that out?" Steve asks. He slides his thumb across the base of Tony's palm, a suggestion.

Tony nods, almost frantic, and Steve throws them both in the deep end. He takes Tony's hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses his golden fingers. He doesn't taste the way Steve would expect his regular hands to, but he also doesn't taste like metal. He can't put a name to it, but he likes it. Tony moans, and Steve takes two of Tony's fingers into his mouth. It isn't subtle on the slightest, but Steve's not a subtle man. Tony's fingers are big and warm, and Steve shuts his eyes for a second to focus on the feel of him. Steve likes it; he'd also very much like the obvious continuation, if Tony will let him do that. Tony's fingers curve against the roof of his mouth. Steve debates taking Tony deeper, just to show off.

"Steve," Tony says, roughly. He sounds absolutely desperate.

Steve opens his eyes. Tony is tensing up, muscles tightening and holding, so hard he's shaking. His fingers tremble in Steve's mouth, He's close, which is frankly amazing and absolutely beautiful, but he's also definitely not there yet.

"I can't," Tony gasps out. "Not yet, not like this, it's not enough." He sounds genuinely sorry, like he thinks he should obviously be able to come for a second time, right now, untouched. Steve wants to tell him he's in no way a disappointment, but also his mouth's full. Tony's still talking, though. Everything he's saying is incoherent and perfect. "Let me touch you, first, just like you wanted, with the undersuit, please, I want to, so much, I think about you so much, I know you want me to, let me make you happy--"

Steve would never admit this particular preference to... well, anyone, really, but he has a selfish fondness for coming first, if it's the kind of thing where he and his partner take turns. It's not that he just wants to get his first; it's that it's so much hotter, when it's his turn, if the other person hasn't come yet. If they're still yearning, still longing, still desperate, if they're admiring him to get themselves going, if they have to take a break to attend to themselves because they need to come so badly, because touching him gets them so worked-up that they can't ignore their own overwhelming desire -- that, now, that's the good stuff. That's the absolute best.

When he's with people who can come more than once -- well, the women who can do that, he supposes he means, because until a minute ago Steve was the only guy he's known with this particular ability -- the arrangement of going second, himself, and making the other person wait for their second time isn't quite as satisfying, he's found. It's not the same amount of urgency. It's not that it's bad, no, because of course it's not, but it just doesn't hit him the same way. If they still wanted it as much after the first time, he thinks it would probably do it for him just the same as the way he likes it best, although it's not like that's going to happen, so he'll never actually be able to prove it. But he knows. It's not about him being first. It's about him being needed.

He's never told anyone about this, because it makes him feel more than a little guilty, wanting to get to choose the exact way the evening goes, wanting more pleasure for himself, when what he already gets should be more than good enough for anyone, and when he knows full well that his partner wants him. It's not rational in any way. But nevertheless he wants it. Secretly. And it's going to remain a secret. Accidentally hinting it to Tony just now is the closest he's ever gotten, and he's sure not planning on elaborating, because then Tony will just think Steve's not happy, which isn't true, or that Tony's disappointed him by not being constantly, massively into it, which isn't possible.

The thing is, it looks like Tony's still that into it.

Tony, as always, is a law unto himself, because, God, he looks like he wants the second time even more than the first. It's like they were made for each other.

Tony slides his fingers out of Steve's mouth, a view that's pornographic all by itself, golden and slick and wet. Tony kisses him hard and heavy, a kiss that only lasts a second or two, because he then pulls back and looks Steve up and down. His eyes are dark. He bites his flushed lips, looking conflicted, like he wants to touch all of Steve at the same time and he can't pick. He swipes his slick fingers over Steve's nipple and Steve groans, arching desperately into Tony's touch because it's all Tony's giving him.

"You like that, huh?" Tony rasps. "Steve, just look at you, fuck, you look absolutely wrecked--"

He feels absolutely wrecked. He could probably come from this, from just this touch, from the way Tony's looking at him, hot and hungry and perfect. "Touch me," he hears himself begging, and he doesn't recognize his own voice. "Please, your hands feel so good, please, Tony--

Tony is moaning, still shuddering, almost certainly very sensitive, running his hands down Steve's body like he can't get enough of him. He's pressed up against Steve like he still wants to touch him everywhere and he can't pick just one place. Steve can feel Tony's hard cock pressing against his thigh. Tony rolls his hips against him, breathless with every thrust, and Steve can only imagine how Tony must feel from even the lightest brush of sensation.

"I know," Tony assures him. Tony is breathless. "I know what you want, I know exactly what you want to see--"

"Yeah," Steve says, "yeah, please, oh, God, Tony, please touch me--"

Tony reaches for him. There's enough room between them that Steve can see. Tony's hands are wet and hot and -- Tony was right -- so incredibly smooth, like this. The gold of the undersuit is a beautiful sight, the way Tony's hand wraps around his hard cock. Steve can't stop staring. He's so gorgeous.

"Tell me how you like it," Tony demands. But the words are a groan, and Tony's still shaking, sounding like he's absolutely dying for more, and it's the hottest thing Steve has ever heard. He's staring at Steve's cock, sliding through his fingers, utterly mesmerized, like he's going to remember this sight for the rest of his life.

Extremis gave Tony an eidetic memory too, didn't it? They're both going to remember this for the rest of their lives.

I like anything you want as long as you keep looking at me like that isn't a useful response, and Steve has been aching for it so long that he just wants to come. He doesn't want to draw it out. God, he wants Tony to look at him like that when Tony makes him come. That's not a thing he can ask for.

"Fast," he groans. "Please, Tony, fast now. I can't wait. But-- but light. Lighter than you like it." He's always been sensitive like that, even before the serum.

Tony grins. "I got you."

Tony gives him exactly what he wants. Steve's cock, hard and still leaking, slides gently through his golden fingers almost faster than Steve can see. It feels wonderful. He knows they're both still staring. Tony's groaning like he needs to see this as much as Steve does, and his strokes slow a little, distracted by his own need, and, oh, yes, this is exactly Steve's favorite thing, just like this.

Tony's hand slows more as he reaches down and grabs himself with his other hand, squeezing the base of his cock roughly, trying to stave off his own orgasm. Oh, he's perfect.

Heat rushes through Steve and for a few seconds, he thinks maybe he's going to come, right now, just like this, watching Tony want him too much to keep going, because this is the best thing ever and Tony doesn't even know and he's giving him it. Steve is trembling, he's so close already.

"Sorry," Tony gasps. "Sorry, I -- fuck, have you seen yourself, you're just so hot--"

"Don't you dare apologize," Steve grits out, and for half a second he's terrified he's going to tell Tony all of it. He's almost too close to care what he says. "Just wait and I'll suck you off, I really want to, I-- oh, yeah, like that--"

Tony's strokes on him speed up, just as quick as Steve likes it, a touch that means he won't last long at all, like Tony wants to take that deal right now, and is willing to get him off as fast as possible so they can get to Steve's mouth on him, because that's how much Tony needs him, which is so blindingly hot that Steve nearly comes from the thought of it.

"I know you want to come on my hands," Tony says. "I know you want to see it. With the gold."

Steve nods. He can't quite catch his breath to speak, but Tony knows what he wants, so it's good. Better than good.

Tony cups Steve's balls with his other hand and grins at him again as Steve gasps in pleasure. Tony's beautiful. And he's happy. That's beautiful. He's not thinking about anything but this, Steve knows. Steve can give him that. And Tony, apparently, is giving Steve himself. The undersuit is creeping up Tony's arm, past his elbow, like he's so into this he can't hold himself back in this respect either. Either that or he's deliberately giving Steve more to see. Both are good.

"You gonna come a lot for me, Steve?" Tony murmurs. He's still smiling. "That's a thing I'd like to see. God, you feel good. Always wanted to do this."

Nothing is left in Steve's mind except Tony. As he looks down at the two of them, at Tony's hands, caressing him, bright and shining, all he can think is that they're finally here. This is never how he thought it would happen, but Tony's here and Tony's got him and Tony loves him, and even though they're both so different from how they started, the important things haven't changed.

The pleasure crests over him. He can't hold it back anymore. He looks up, and Tony smiles at him, even brighter than the gold.

He lets go, lets his eyes fall shut, and comes, arching into Tony's grasp.

"Oh, look at you," he hears Tony whisper, as the pleasure takes Steve again and again. "You're gorgeous." Tony laughs softly. "Wow, that is a lot. Good news, you're definitely getting your wish. Fuck, that's so hot. You got more in you? Oh, hey, yeah, there you go--"

Tony's fingers brush just behind his balls, and Steve's cock twitches and throbs and spurts again, with one last hopeful little jerk, as the pleasure slowly fades. He doesn't go soft all the way, of course -- he knew he was going to be up for more -- but now it's not quite as urgent.

He thinks about how Tony is still hard, waiting for him, desperate for more, and he feels his cock throb again. Yeah, he's definitely going to want another round.

Tony must lean in, because his breath is warm in Steve's ear. "You want to see what you did to me? Open your eyes."

Tony kisses him on the cheek, and then moves back. Steve blinks his eyes open and looks down, and, yeah, he absolutely came all over Tony. Over both of them, really, and some of that is almost certainly from Tony, but Steve's come is spattering Tony's hands and forearms, which are still golden, but striped white. It's beautifully obscene. Steve feels possessive, greedy, rapacious, which is a little uncomfortable, not something his other partners have ever really wanted, but Tony is beaming at him and Steve can't bring himself to feel all that guilty.

"You left your mark, huh?" Tony murmurs, and somehow he just knows.

Surprised, Steve feels his mouth fall open, but Tony's still smiling.

"No, I'm not a telepath," Tony says. "I just know you. And I, uh." His smile is sharper. "I really like being yours. Really. Really really." He swallows. "I was hoping to say this better but I'm so fucking hard for you now that I can't think, Steve, how do you even do this more than once without absolutely losing your mind--"

"Practice," Steve says, and he's already kissing his way down Tony's body. "Here, let me get that for you."

He nudges Tony onto his back and keeps kissing him. The one thing about Extremis that Steve still finds disconcerting is that all Tony's scars have been erased. Steve spent years learning them, a map, a record, and now it's all new. But Tony can actually feel it when Steve kisses his chest now, so Steve will take it.

Tony hums, pleased, and then groans when Steve licks a swipe across the mess on Tony's stomach.

"I feel like I should tell you you don't have to do that," Tony pants out. "But, fuck, everything you do is so hot."

This is not a thing Steve's partners usually tell him. He feels warm all over, a sensation that rushes through him and then focuses low in his belly, in his aching cock. He's pretty sure there's no way he can go down on Tony without coming again. He thinks Tony will like that. He'd like it if Tony did it to him.

Steve nuzzles his way over Tony's hip and then, finally, reaches Tony's cock. Tony is, indeed, massively hard, flushed a deep red. He looks like he's so hard he's aching. He looks like he's been aching for it for a while. He looks like he was already aching before the first time he came.

He hasn't done this in a while. He's pretty sure it'll come back to him. He licks the head of Tony's cock, tracing the underside of it with the flat of his tongue, and Tony makes a noise that is absolutely indescribable. Steve's not entirely sure whether it's a good noise, and he pulls off and looks up.

"Tony?"

Tony's lips are parted, and he's panting, fast and shallow. His eyes are even wider than before. His body is shaking under Steve's.

"Oh, fuck," Tony breathes. "Oh, Steve, it's--" He takes a deeper breath. "I can't even tell you. It's so much. Please don't stop. Please. I need this." He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "Not gonna last, though. I don't think so." He's panting again. "I mean, I don't actually know how this is supposed to feel."

"Supposed to feel good," Steve rasps. "And don't worry, I'm not gonna last either."

Tony makes a quizzical noise, which rapidly turns to a moan when Steve takes him all the way down. He'd forgotten how much he liked this. It was nice having Tony's fingers in his mouth, but this is better. It feels deeply satisfying in a way he can't quite explain. Tony is making some amazing noises. Steve doesn't have to breathe for a while, but when he lifts his head to get some air, Tony reaches halfway for him like, for a second, all he wants is more of that feeling, which is lovely. He stops before he can actually hold Steve's head down.

"Sorry," Tony whispers. "I won't--"

"Yes, you will," Steve tells him.

Steve takes a deep breath, and then he grabs Tony's hand and shoves it against his head. Tony's hands are still golden, streaked with Steve's come. Tony's fingers brush against Steve's face and slide smoothly into his hair, and when Steve takes Tony down again, Tony holds his head right there. He can't actually keep Steve there, but it's the thought that counts, and right now the thought that Tony wants him so much and that Steve can give him exactly the thing he wants... well, that's counting for a lot.

Steve feels hotter all over and his cock, trapped against the sheets, throbs and gets even harder and oh, yeah, he's right on the edge. He ponders freeing a hand to take care of himself, but Tony gasps and slides his other hand into Steve's hair, and, God, that's so good and this is absolutely happening. Steve rubs up against the mattress, rocking his hips against it, and he doesn't even care how desperate he is and, besides, Tony will probably like it. He loses his rhythm on Tony's cock and he can't quite breathe and that's fine, and he shuts his eyes and comes all over the sheets, his release shaking through him.

"Did you just--" Tony gasps. "Oh, you're perfect, Steve, oh, I'm gonna--"

Tony's hands slacken, and it's enough warning for Steve to pull back a little so he doesn't choke when Tony comes. Steve swallows, both because he doesn't mind and also he'll do pretty much anything for Tony. Tony sighs happily and pets the side of Steve's head, and then he hauls Steve up to join him, so Steve can lie next to him. This is a plus. He gets to cuddle Tony again, and also he's not lying in the wet spot. He's aware that it's absolutely his own fault.

Steve wraps his arms around Tony. He knows they're going to have to reenter reality at some point, and they are really going to need to clean up, but right now he just wants to enjoy this. Tony kisses him like he doesn't even care that Steve just swallowed, and he sighs happily. Time to enjoy the afterglow some more.

"So," Tony murmurs, after a few seconds of silence, because Tony is not usually an especially quiet person, "that was the way you wanted it, right?"

Steve blinks. "What do you mean?"

"The hands, yeah, I was pretty sure I got that right," Tony says. "You did tell me."

He wiggles his fingers. The undersuit is sinking patchily back into Tony's skin, leaving Steve's drying come. They both definitely need a shower. Maybe together. Steve is getting distracted.

"That was lovely," Steve says. He's still a little embarrassed about it, but, hell, it was good, and he's not scared of Extremis anymore.

"I wasn't quite sure about the other part," Tony says, which doesn't make any sense. "Took me a bit to work out, because you didn't exactly say. You mentioned how it would be nice for you if I told you I enjoyed how you were making me feel, and eventually I figured out that you meant you wanted me to really show you that I wanted more, right? That I was getting off on you, on making you happy? You wanted me to be really, really into pleasing you?"

Oh, God. Oh, no. Steve's hot all over, and it's not in a good way. Tony knows.

"How?" Steve blurts out. "You-- I've never told anyone--"

He realizes he's as good as confirmed it. That's much worse.

But Tony's hand slides gently through Steve's hair. "I do actually know you," Tony says. There's not even a hint of judgment in his voice. "And I'm also actually a genius." That would sound arrogant if anyone else said it, but Steve thinks it's different when it's Tony. "And it was pretty easy to see that you liked it a lot more, the more turned-on I got because of you. Steve, you nearly came when I stopped touching you to enjoy myself a bit."

"I'm sorry," Steve manages to say. The words stick in his throat. "You-- you didn't have to pretend to--"

Tony puts a finger to Steve's lips. "It was all real, Steve. No pretending. You think I'm gonna be upset that you like when I find you extremely distractingly attractive? You think I had to pretend to want you that much? You were always going to get that anyway, because that's how much I want you. You just want me to tell you about it. In detail. And act on it. Which I am more than happy to do." He grins. "You want to know how many terribly boring meetings I have ended early because I was thinking about how you smiled at me? A lot."

"Oh," Steve says, stupidly. It makes so much sense when Tony says it.

Tony grins wide. "And, see, I win, because there's no way you're leaving me now. You'd have to tell someone else."

He knows it's a joke, but he also knows it's a joke Tony's making because he's scared that it will happen. Does he really think Steve's going to leave?

"I was never going to tell anyone else," Steve assures him, because that much is true. "And I'm not going to leave you anyway, either. For any reason."

He pulls Tony closer and holds him tight, trying to illustrate that. Gathering Tony up, he rolls onto his back. Tony's a big guy and can't quite fit in his arms, but Steve does his best. Tony smiles at him, and then turns his face against Steve's shoulder, using him as a pillow. After several more seconds Tony relaxes against him, finally quiet. At peace. Steve understands now that Tony's heard what he needs to hear: he did it right, and Steve's not leaving.

So they just lie there. Together, because they're going to be together. Tony is warm and solid against him, and Steve can feel his heartbeat slow into a nice, calm resting rate. Steve's senses are good, and he spent so many terrified years listening to the arrhythmic pounding of Tony's heart, wondering if this time would be the time he wasn't coming back. But he's good now. They're healed.

Steve's not thinking about much of anything. Dimly, distantly, he knows he isn't safe, knows he's the farthest thing from safe, but right now, nothing can touch him, because he has Tony and Tony's safe too. He knows that Tony's very much not safe either, throwing his lot in with him, but Steve's an incurable optimist. If they're together, they can do anything, and now they're really together.

His breathing slows to match Tony's. He's pretty sure Tony's actually asleep. Maybe Steve will join him. He hasn't slept well in months, for obvious reasons, but he thinks now, with Tony here, he might finally rest. He lets his eyes fall shut.

"I love you too, you know," Tony says, and, startled, Steve realizes Tony's awake after all. "I know I didn't exactly say it, and you did. So I just wanted you to know. I love you." His breath across Steve's skin is rough, a laugh. "I'm not just, you know, saying things I don't mean right before I come. I meant it."

Well, that's nice to hear. Steve can feel himself smile.

"I know you meant it." He strokes Tony's back. "I've known for a long time now."

He knows they should have talked before. They're talking now. It's not too late.

Tony pushes himself up to look Steve in the face. He's grinning, bright and beautiful. Steve really loves him. "What tipped you off?"

"Oh, I don't know." There's a warm, fuzzy glow within Steve, a light that feels eternal. This is happiness. "Maybe when you asked me to move in with you two days after I met you."

It's sort of a joke. They both know that. It's also sort of not a joke.

Tony laughs, then offers Steve a sweet smile. "And you said yes," he murmurs.

"I sure did."

Tony shifts his weight, frees a hand, and runs his fingers over Steve's side, like he wants to hug him and he wants to keep touching him, and he can't pick which. There's a thoughtful cast to his expression; Steve knows what his thinking face looks like, and he's not particularly surprised when Tony changes the topic.

"You can fuck me next time if you want," Tony offers, and, okay, that wasn't the topic Steve was expecting. "I just didn't have lube. Or condoms if you want them, but I think we both know neither of us need them, and I'm just gonna go ahead and guess that you don't mind the mess." He laughs.

Steve is only barely paying attention to the rest of what Tony says; he only hears the first six words. Next time. There's going to be a next time. On the one hand, they've both been emphatic about how serious this is, so it shouldn't be a surprise; on the other, it's entirely different to hear Tony say it, to know that there's a future with the two of them in it, together. This is really happening. All of this is really happening.

"Steve?" Tony asks, concern shading his tone, and Steve realizes he hasn't said anything. "Do-- do you not want to? It's okay if you don't want to--"

"No, I'd love to," Steve says, quickly, before Tony can get the wrong idea. "It just hit me that we can have a next time, you know? And that's-- that's really something."

Tony exhales, relieved. "We can have a next time." He raises a hand and runs his fingers down the side of Steve's face, slow and tender, and then he pauses for far too long. "Especially if we're cellmates at the Raft," he adds, his voice far too casual. "We'll have a lot of time together then. Not much privacy, but, you know, what can you do--?"

"Tony."

Tony's breath now is ragged. Steve couldn't keep harsh reality away from them for any longer, and Tony's afraid. Of course he's afraid. He was afraid before, too; Steve doesn't think which side he's on is going to make a difference. He's only going to stop when Registration stops existing.

They're working on it.

"You know things are going to get worse, don't you?" Tony says, quiet, intense. "A lot worse. A lot of people are going to be in danger. I leave, and they pull the ripcord on Wideawake."

Oh, he knows. But he also knows they can win. "Are they ready to go?"

Tony's weight shifts as he shrugs against him. "I don't know. I don't think so. Like I said, I think I would have seen more information. The mutants, the ones who survived M-Day, they have a government Sentinel squad guarding them at the X-Mansion, but that's to deter baseline humans. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't send them after the rest of us, because we're stronger. They're not true Sentinels. They have human pilots. It'd be a suicide mission. The robots, now, those are lethal. And more durable. They can fight until they're a pile of gears. And they're definitely going to come for us."

Steve nods. "I know. But we can fight them."

"Have you seen the X-Men run Danger Room simulations with Sentinels?" Tony asks, incredulous. "Because I have. And I know how hard they hit."

"We hit pretty damn hard too," Steve points out. "But mostly there's... you know."

Tony squints. "There's what?"

Has the obvious answer really not occurred to him?

Apparently not. Steve guesses they really scared him good.

"Tony, can you show me your hand?"

Bewildered, Tony lifts his hand away from Steve's face. He waves his fingers, one by one. "What about my hand?"

The effect is perhaps slightly spoiled by Steve blushing, but he says it anyway. "Not like that. Like-- like before."

Tony pauses, and that's when Steve knows he gets it, because he's finally slowed Tony down. Tony understands what he means. Tony eyes him, a familiar, weary look: it's not that simple, old man. Gold glimmers, spreading across his palm, over his fingers. He's probably doing it just for Steve, because he stops when Steve starts talking.

"You're a technopath," Steve says, just to hammer it home. "We're going up against giant robots. You are uniquely qualified to fight them. Right now, you are the absolute best person I could ever hope to have on my team." He thinks he could stand to rephrase that. "Which is true anyway, by the way," he adds. "It's just... even more true right now."

Tony coughs, and his throat works when he swallows. "I know I haven't told you much about Extremis" -- he very kindly doesn't say because you didn't want me to -- "but there's a little more to that than you're probably imagining. It's not easy. I don't just, I don't know, look at a Sentinel and it explodes. I'm not the only technopath in the world, and I happen to know that another one of them is a guy who used to be in the Sentinel business, and most of the extant models use his modifications. His modifications against people like him."

"Bastion." Steve remembers the name from the Avengers' files. "Operation Zero Tolerance."

The Avengers had mostly missed that one; they'd been on Counter-Earth after Onslaught. But Steve always did keep up with his reading.

"Yep," Tony says. "That's the guy." He lets his half-golden hand fall back on the bed, draping his arm over Steve again. "I did consider all the possibilities before I threw myself behind the SHRA, you know. And one of them was whether I could take out the army of Sentinels that they would definitely send after me. I've never tried to hack one. I don't-- essentially, I don't speak their language. I don't know if I can do it."

One thing Steve knows about Tony is that it's easy for him to imagine the bad outcomes. The failures. "Well, then," Steve says. "If you've never tried, you don't know you can't."

Tony smiles a lopsided smile. "I might be able to do it eventually," he concedes. "But that's the best I can give you. I can't promise anything. And even if I can do it, I know I can't do it fast enough to take them out in the numbers they'd be putting up against active resistance." He sighs. "For all I know, it might really fuck me up. Probably not permanently; the technopathy countermeasures aren't that good. But I might not be good for much. I'd be down."

It's then that Steve sees exactly how Tony was picturing this. And he knows Tony's not seeing it right. "You were thinking about going up against them alone, weren't you? Your odds of taking down a Sentinel."

"I was," Tony acknowledges. "I figured that was the... pertinent scenario."

Steve puts his hand over Tony's and strokes the back of his fingers. "Okay, but here's the thing: it's not." He smiles. "It's not just you. It's all of us. Maybe you're the only technopath, but you're not on your own. If you can only bring one Sentinel down, or even if you can't get any -- you have an entire team behind you. You won't be alone on the battlefield."

Tony brightens ever so slightly. The fear hasn't entirely been shaken from him yet, but Steve can see it in his eyes: hope.

"I might not be good for anything," Tony cautions. "I mean that. I really mean that."

Sometimes Steve wonders who told Tony he wasn't good for anything. Whoever they are, he hates them.

He squeezes Tony's hand. "Even if it turns out you can't explode Sentinels with your brain, you can absolutely help. For one thing, you said you'd seen Wideawake plans. And you know where to find more."

"Yes?" Tony echoes, confused.

"So you can tell the rest of us where to stab," Steve says. "And we can use that. They're not invincible, the Sentinels. If we hit them hard enough, they'll go down." He meets and holds Tony's gaze. "Whatever you can do, it will be enough. You're enough. So, don't worry, Avenger. I'll be believing in you enough for both of us."

Tony's thinking face is back, and now that Tony understands why resistance isn't hopeless, Steve wonders what amazing thing he's going to come up with next.

"I wasn't even thinking," Tony says, and he starts to smile. "You want information? I can offer you more information than that. More than just Wideawake. A lot more."

"How so?"

Tony holds his gaze, like he wants Steve to know this is important. "Steve, as far as a lot of the electronic aspects of Registration go, most of it runs right through my brain, and whatever doesn't pass through me, I can probably get to."

"Right," Steve says, uncertain. "You said you had access to a bunch of databases. So you can... read their mail? Could be useful."

"No, it's even better than that." Tony's eyes are alight. "The timing is going to be tricky, because we only have one shot, pretty much, but it's going to be one hell of a shot."

"It is?"

Tony's hand curves around Steve's, gripping it hard. "There is, let's just say, a window of time available to me. I'm not planning to tell the government I'm quitting my job. As far as I know, all of their plans assume that I remain loyal. And, like I said, it's all running through my head. So, in the span of time before they figure out I'm not with them, and until they can counter me, I have full systems access."

Steve considers this. "Sounds good."

"It's better than just good." Tony is grinning. "I can delete every single electronic copy of the Registration database. It's big enough that I think it's unlikely it exists in hardcopy. I know where all the backups are, and I can tell you that they're all on networked systems. Nothing's airgapped. Their loss." He grins even wider. "They can be gone. Destroyed. Deleted. I can keep one if you want to find anyone right now, but I can prevent them from knowing anything. I can also cover my tracks. Put in some junk data. They might not notice for a bit."

Steve knows he's smiling back. Wow. Tony wasn't kidding. "They won't know what hit them, will they? You can take out whatever you want. They won't know who's on their list, even."

"Well," Tony allows, "they'll be able to reconstruct the data for the people on their side, and for the people they've got in custody, but Steve-- right now, I can open every cell door in Forty-Two with my mind. We're going to want to coordinate this a little first, because we're probably going to want people on-site, and a lot of it will work better locally, but we can run a hell of a prison break. I can absolutely do that."

He stares at Tony, amazed. "You'd-- you'd do that?"

Wow. Tony definitely meant it when he said he was all-in.

Tony laughs. "Go big or go home, Winghead." He snorts. "Or go to prison for the rest of my life, I guess. There's that."

"They have to catch you first," Steve retorts.

Tony pauses, and sucks in a breath. "Yeah. About that. This is the part where you really have to trust me, because the best idea I've got right now, to get everyone else out, is that I bring you into Forty-Two. Personally." His eyes are pleading -- trust me -- but he doesn't say it again. "I think that'll upend their routine enough that we can get away with a hell of a lot before anything starts pinging them as really wrong. You have to be wearing an active power-dampener -- they'll check -- so it's actually going to be real." He raises an eyebrow. "Collar, if I can swing it. Better than the cuffs. Leaves your hands free. You'd be depowered, though. I can't fake that."

Steve can see why this plan isn't Tony's favorite. It's not his. But he can see that it'll work. "I've lost the serum before, you know. I think I can deal."

"And you need to get into the cellblock to help everyone else, so you'd be in a cell, alone, until I get to the admin area and can get mainframe access to make sure their systems aren't going to come back up after I crash them. Extremis would work, but physical damage would be better. So I have to actually, really bring you in, break the serum, and lock you in a cell." Tony takes another, deeper breath. "And you have to trust me when I say I'm going to give you the serum back and let you out again. That's our best shot."

It's not even a question. He trusts Tony.

"Then it's about time to take your shot, isn't it?" Steve asks.

Tony opens his mouth and closes it again. "I-- yes? Yes. God, are you really-- yes. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. When you're ready, of course. After we talk it over with everyone. After I bring you in." He thinks about this. "Probably in the morning." They do actually need a little bit of sleep first, if they can get it.

Steve's right, isn't he? He's right about them. He knows he is. They can do this together. They can do anything together.

Like it's a mission briefing, like it's the old days, Tony nods. There's still fear flickering in his eyes. And sure, he's still scared, but he's still here.

"You know this isn't going to be easy," Tony cautions him, somberly. "You know it's still going to be hell."

"I know," Steve says. He smiles. "But you know what else it's going to be? It's going to be right."

He infuses his voice with every bit of the certainty of Captain America.

"Damn you, do you know what that voice does to me?" Tony says, under his breath, and he's grinning. He cups Steve's face, leans in, and kisses him hard. "I'd do anything for you."

Tony kisses him breathless, and even Steve is dizzy when he pulls away.

"That's not the voice," Steve tells him. "That's just us."

It's them. Together. And they're going to get through this.