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a little sugar (in my bowl) 7/? - a superhusbands fic

Of all the people Steve Rogers expects to meet in his apartment elevator, it is not an extremely drunk version of billionaire businessman Tony Stark. It’s like the start of bad romcom - those ones which Bucky says Steve would be perfect for - except that when Tony is involved, things are a little more…unpredictable.

Here on AO3

___________

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Steve pauses in the doorway, and Tony looks at him from the bed, propped up against the pillows. He’s back to the way he looked just after the detox; pale and thin and drawn, haunted around the eyes. The seconds tick back and forth between them, like the tapping of fingers on a heavy, impatient hand.

“You’re alive,” Steve says and his voice catches, throat tightening, but Tony’s mouth quirks up, deepening the lines on his face as he gestures with one pajama-clad arm.

“I’m immortal,” he says, and Steve detaches himself from the door frame with a shake of his head, smiling slightly too. Tony is still looking at him as if he might suddenly disappear, and his voice is not quite light enough as he says, “I need to apologize to your mother. That was quite a number I pulled, apparently.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says, then pauses. “You don’t remember?”

“Not really,” Tony says, rubbing at his eyes. “Which is probably better. You know, since my dignity is becoming a rapidly endangered creature.” He waves a hand, fingers wiggling. “Oh look, there it goes. Too small to be seen.”

Steve crosses his arms, not wanting to say anything, but Tony looks at him and stops, arm dropping.

“No?” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “No. Okay.”

“Tony,” Steve says, because if neither of them can laugh then something was inherently wrong, and he doesn’t want to admit to that, not yet. But now Tony is looking at him like he’s waiting for the blade to drop, and it’s real and raw and vulnerable; such a sudden change that Steve realizes it’s not – it’s simply been there all along, waiting for him uncover it.

“Steve,” Tony says, mimicking his tone, and Steve looks away, down at his hands.

“I’ve been talking to Pepper. And Clint. And Natasha.” He says, and even his sentences are unsteady, stumbling their way out of his mouth.

“A formidable trio,” Tony says, but his eyes are wary now, sharp despite how tired he looks.

“Yes,” Steve says, “But I didn’t want to ask them about…I mean, it would have been wrong to –”

“If you’re going to ask,” Tony says, cutting him off. “Then ask.”

Steve stares at him, because it’s a ruthless demand for both of them, but fine, fine. So he takes a breath and says, quite steady now,

“Is it terminal?”

Tony laces his fingers together on top of the sheets; considers Steve for a long moment.

“Yes,” he says finally, and it’s a great big stone of a word, dropped into the ocean. “If they don’t find a cure.”

“SHIELD?” Steve asks.

“Yes.”

“Right. Okay.”

Tony’s yes is still sinking in somewhere, cold and heavy and hard, but the feeling is muted in Steve’s chest like someone’s turned down the volume, because that is – and has always been – his greatest trick, and he’s playing it now; calmly, desperately.

“I have another question,” he says, and Tony smiles again, fleetingly, as if to say of course you do.

“Is this why you’ve been so okay with…us?” Steve asks, gesturing between them, and it hurts; it hurts to ask because what he really means is have you just stayed with me all this time because you don’t want to die alone?

Tony stares at him, searching his face, and Steve waits like he’s done for the last several days, waits for Tony because he’s scared he’ll lose sight of him if they get too far apart.

“Interesting question,” Tony says slowly, and Steve’s fingers curl into his palms at Tony’s blank face and blank voice, devoid of anything that would give him away. They seem to be playing a game now, of who can take the most and care the least. “Is your absolute decency the reason why you’ve been so okay with us?”

“What?” Steve says, and then shakes his head, drawing back. “No, okay, you are not doing that now –”

“Doing what?” Tony asks, and Steve is sure he’s being goaded now but it doesn’t stop him from clenching his jaw against the things he could possibly say in that moment, and was everything a joke to you –

Tony laughs, then, interrupting Steve’s internal tirade, and says,

“See what I mean?” he says. “If I’d been looking for someone to be so okay with, I would’ve found someone who argued less and worshipped me more. Pepper could’ve found me one of those on ebay.” He picks at the sheets, fingers running over material. “But…”

There’s always a but, isn’t there, Steve thinks. Always, always, always.

“I guess having a time limit makes you grow up rather fast,” Tony says. “So I guess it made me…I just – I don’t have time to waste. At all. With you.”

It’s a confession of sorts, but a different one from what Steve had expected. It strange; it doesn’t feel any less like a punch in the gut.

“So,” Tony continues, still not looking at him. “Yes, I’ve been selfish, you’ve been great, und so weiter. And now we’ve got that out of the way…” His fingers curl on the mattress. “You’re free to leave.”

He looks up the, finally; meets Steve’s eyes an assuredness that is like a follow-up slap in the face, and Steve doesn’t even have to ask what? because he’s been heard it before, just another version of this, different person, same situation. He’s not the same person he was back then, but his reaction is the same.

“No,” he says, and Tony’s eyes flick between his, surprised. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” Tony says. “Shit’s happened, things are just – you can’t… you’re not obligated to stay with me –”

“I know,” Steve says. “I know I’m not.”

“Then why –” It’s Tony’s turn to look frustrated now, forehead creasing. “Look, Steve, this isn’t about being good or whatever, it’s about me and how ugly it’s going to get before I die, okay?”

“Not everything is about you, Tony,” Steve says, and he’s not sure if he’s actually trying joke or not. “You’d think I get a say in this, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but –” Tony looks like he wants to shake Steve, if he had the energy to get out of bed. “This isn’t the movies, okay? Nothing ends up pretty, it probably won’t get better, and a sick person – no, a sick me – is not just something you can handle. No matter what you think now –”

“I don’t think it’s up to you to assume what I can and cannot handle,” Steve says, sharper than he’d intended, and Tony cuts off, looking at him.

“I know what I’m doing,” Steve says, softer. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“And how would you know that?” Tony asks, and Steve supposes he’d always known they’d reach this point, the exchange of secrets and pasts uncovered.

“I had someone,” he starts, wishing he’d planned it better; cue cards, maybe. “Someone close to me, for a long time. During our last year of high school, she got lung cancer.”

Tony’s mouth forms a little oh of understanding, but Steve carries on, focusing on Tony’s hands, lying on the sheets.

“Anyway, I was with her through the whole thing, and it’s been like…five years now. She died, I survived, and now I’m here.”

It helps to be brash, sometimes, to stop it from overwhelming him, remembering it all. But Tony just looks at him, catches his eye and says,

“You were in love with her.”

Steve looks at him.

“I was.”

“And you’re willing to do that all over again?”

It’s an honest question; one that Steve’s been asking himself since that night in his mother’s apartment.

“Yes,” he says, and Tony shakes his head, a rueful expression coming across his face.

“Masochist,” he says, and Steve snorts.

“Coming from you,” he says, and Tony smiles because touché.

They breathe again, the sudden rush of air unfreezing the scene, and Steve gestures to the door.

“Anyway, Bruce says I need let you rest, so…yeah.”

“I thought you were staying,” Tony says, and he looks almost frightened for a second.

“I am,” Steve says, smiling at him. “I’ll be right outside. Well. In the lounge. Nosing through all your stuff.”

“You do that,” Tony says, settling back. “JARVIS will kick your ass.”

“JARVIS loves me,” Steve says. “Call me if you need anything.”

Tony closes his eyes, and the blinds close by themselves as Steve leaves the room, which will never not be creepy but also very cool. He wonders what JARVIS has made of their conversation, then realises he’s considering the opinion of an AI.

He does settle down in Tony’s lounge, but he’s been there enough times to know basically everything in it. He opens the bag he’s brought with him and takes out The Fault In Our Stars – Darcy had given it to him at the beginning of the holidays because what else did teachers do apart from read more books? On the inside cover, she’d written JOHN GREEN IS KING IF YOU DON’T LIKE HIS BOOKS WE CAN NO LONGER BE FRIENDS. And now he’s about half-way through, and he actually really likes it. It’s beautiful because it’s true and false in all the right places and he has conceded to the fact that John Green is, indeed, king.

He’s just turned the page when he hears Tony calling for him.

“Steve. Steeeeeve. Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve.”

He rolls his eyes and stands up, book still in hand, and walks back to Tony’s bedroom.

“Yes, Tony?”

“I’m bored,” Tony says, looking at him with baleful eyes.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Steve says. “Focus on that and you won’t be so bored.”

“Resting is boring,” Tony says, crossing his arms. He’s very small amidst the sheets, a lone figure in a giant double bed. “I am bored.”

“Well, you have to stay in bed,” Steve says. “Orders from up high, okay?”

“Boo,” Tony says, looking ready to pout. “You whore.”

“Hey,” Steve says.

“That was a Mean Girls reference, actually,” Tony says. “Don’t tell me you haven’t – no. Just don’t.” He thumps his head against the pillow and looks up at Steve. “Secondly, stop hovering, I feel bad for making you hover.”

Steve looks around, but there are no chairs in Tony’s room. He looks back at Tony, who smiles, hopefully.

“Fine,” he says, and walks forwards. “Move over.”

“I win!” Tony says, and lifts up the covers so Steve can climb in. Even with the two of them, the bed is massive.

“You’re such a kid,” Steve says as they settle into position; Tony propped up on his many pillows, Steve sitting beside him. Tony’s foot finds Steve’s under the blanket and curls around his ankle.

“I’m reclaiming my childhood,” Tony says, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “Like, the one I never had.”

Steve looks down at him, one hand finding his hair, and Tony shifts closer under the covers and asks,

“What’re you reading?”

Steve shows him the cover.

“Darcy gave it to me.” he says.

“Huh,” Tony says, turning Steve’s hand to read the blurb. “Ironic. The story, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling a little. “But I’ve never told her about Peggy, so…coincidence.”

“Peggy?” Tony says. “Pretty name.”

“I thought so,” Steve says, and flicks open the book.

“Do you normally read stories about cancer to children?” Tony asks, and Steve looks at him.

“You’re not a normal child,” he says. “Do you want me to start at the beginning?”

“No, just wherever you’re up to,” Tony says, closing his eyes. “If I fall asleep, that is a complement, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says, and starts reading, one hand still in Tony’s hair.

His voice is calm and familiar, and Tony’s pretty sure he hasn’t heard anything so soothing in a long time. The last thing he hears is Steve saying,

“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”

Yes. Ironic, indeed.

_ _ _

Steve tells Bucky about Tony because…it’s Bucky, and he had been there during Peggy and he had been there in the aftermath; he had always been a part of Steve and he always would be. Tony just shrugs and agrees, and Steve knows he’ll talk to someone about Peggy – Pepper, probably, or Rhodey. Steve thinks that, from what Tony’s told him, Bucky and Rhodey should go out for drinks.

So Steve tells Bucky, and he’s not sure which is worse: the fact that he wants to cry or the fact that he can’t. He can’t even put a name to it – maybe that is the worst thing, having no stats or data to tamp down the fear of the unknown, just the threat of time hanging over them and an agency that won’t give him anything.

Bucky goes all tight-lipped at the mention of SHIELD, and Steve is too tired to push the subject. So he just looks down at his hands until Bucky says,

“Trust Tony Stark to have his own personal illness.”

And Steve laughs, just a little, because yes, that was true. That was Tony, through and through.

_ _ _

Tony thinks that maybe, in a past life, he was probably Jesus. Because for all things he’d done wrong in this one, he’d gotten Steve.

And that counted for a lot.

Bruce tells him he shouldn’t collapse again if he changes his entire lifestyle and takes his medicine like a grown up (or something along those lines – Tony pulls his pillows over his head and whines until Bruce goes away). Later, when he’s civilised enough to talk, Bruce puts a bright array of pills in front of him and stabs him in the neck with a silver cylinder. Tony flails at him, but he’s used to it by now, the shock and flow of the suppressant, pressing through his veins like an iron across a dress shirt (though if this was what it felt like to be ironed, he felt sorry for the shirt).

“And these are all suppressants, I suppose,” he says, poking through the pills. Bruce puts a glass of juice in front of him and Tony starts downing the pills, making a face after each one. “Or rather, you hope they are.”

Bruce sits down opposite him and takes off his glasses, polishing them on the hem of his shirt; a nervous habit, Tony’s seen it enough times.

“Well, you knew from the start,” Bruce says, and Tony nods. Of course he had. “An illness like yours…it’s unique, it really is.”

“Yeah, I feel really special,” Tony says, draining the juice, wishing it was vodka. He wishes everything was vodka. “But does that mean you’ve given up on me?”

“What? No, of course not,” Bruce says, and he looks so sad and offended by the idea that Tony backtracks.

“Hey, I wouldn’t blame you, I was just asking –”

“You’re at the top of Medical’s priority list,” Bruce says. “There’s just all this…” he pauses, putting his glasses back on. “We’re trying everything we can think of, Tony.”

“It’s okay, I believe you,” Tony says, and he does. It’s just a question of whether he’ll stay alive long enough for them to figure it out, and they both know it.

_ _ _

Tony has a love/hate relationship with SHIELD’s security. They hadn’t let him design any of it, which was smart; anything he did near it was heavily restricted and closely monitored. He had to hand it to them; SHIELD was good.

But he was better.

“JARVIS, baby,” he says, and the screens light up all around him, like Christmas decorations. “Let’s do this.”

“SHEILD seems to have updated their encryptions,” JARVIS says, and Tony smiles.

“Of course they have. Challenge accepted.”

It is harder than last time; there’s certainly a lot more cursing and red screens. Tony doesn’t want to move in such a way that gets him detected – he’s had enough of Fury for a lifetime, no matter how short that lifetime may be.

It’s when he gets through to his file in Medical’s database that things get interesting.

“They didn’t show me that,” Tony says, and JARVIS focuses in on the little red file that’s refusing to open. “Run the new decryption program,” Tony says, and sits back as information comes out in bits and pieces. It’s…research, apparently, research they haven’t deigned to tell him about. It’s not concrete enough to scream CURE, but it’s certainly…

“Where the hell are they getting this from?” Tony mutters, fingers pausing over the keys as JARVIS runs up against another barrier.

“There seems to be a separate file on the origins, sir,” JARVIS says. “It links out of Medical.”

“Plus a different encryption? Curiouser and curiouser.”

Tony prods at the new file, but he’s not sure if he wants to risk it quite yet. It’s so heavily protected that even he has to pause, but that does pose the most interesting question of why. Why was the basis of their research so damn important?

“SHIELD has not exactly had a clean record with their processes,” JARVIS says and Tony snorts.

“SHIELD doesn’t have clean anything,” he says. “Sneaky bastards. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or not, having them do this for me.” He pauses, fingers tapping against his chin. Of course, there were always ulterior motives. Fury was hardly doing this out of the goodness of his heart. Oh no. There were multiple reasons why SHIELD could be playing him. He’s dangling by a thread of pills and shots, and nobody knows – or controls it – better than SHIELD.

“There’s an incoming call from Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, sir,” JARVIS says, and Tony perks up, taking his eyes away from the screen.

“Give me,” he says, and JARVIS connects the call.

“Honey bear!” he says, and Rhodey laughs on the other end.

“Wow, I didn’t get patched through to Pepper this time,” he says, and Tony sits back on the couch, pouting even though Rhodey can’t see him.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I was probably drugged at the time.”

“Sure you were,” Rhodey says. “But yeah, I just wanted to call and say I’m going to be back home next month, okay? So I’ll miss your Gala, unfortunately, but –”

“Gala?” Tony asks, and then smacks himself on the forehead. “Oh my God, that stupid Gala. I totally forgot.”

“Well, Pepper hasn’t,” Rhodey says. “So I’d check in with her if you don’t want to suffer the last minute wrath, okay? Remember last year?”

“Yes, I was a perfect little angel all the way through,” Tony says, and he can almost hear Rhodey rolling his eyes before he says,

“Actually, I hear you’re on a responsible streak. Pepper’s been rather impressed.”

“What? Lies. If I’m losing my reputation with you there is something wrong with the world.”

“Yeah, no, Pepper’s been telling all about it,” Rhodey says, and Tony narrows his eyes at his tone. “And also, I’ve been catching up on the news for the last few months, and you come up quite a bit –”

“Okay, I am leaving this conversation,” Tony says, “Because you are not Rhodey. My Rhodey does not read gossip magazines, this is not normal –”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get bored,” Rhodey says. “Besides, I’m sure you’re still causing havoc elsewhere. You always are.”

Tony looks around at his screens, all of which are still hacking into SHIELD’s secure files.

“You bet I am,” he says, and to him, it sounds like a promise.

_ _ _

It happens for the first time at the coffee shop, and Steve is completely unprepared when a beautiful blonde woman comes up in to the counter and says,

“Steve Rogers?”

“…yes?” he says, and she smiles, holding out a hand.

“Hi. Christine Everhart, Daily Bugle. Can I ask you a few questions?”

Steve stops, alarm bells going off all over the place, and has the mad urge to say no comment and run away. Isn’t that what you were supposed to do? He glances around for Darcy but she’s somewhere in the kitchens. Damn it, she’d have enough sass to deal with this. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to –

“Hey, Steve.”

A voice comes from behind them, and Steve looks around to find Clint, of all people, poking his head out from the back. He stares, and Clint gestures to him.

“We need to go – it’s an emergency,” he says, and then looks at Christine and says, “Sorry.”

“Oh, but –” she starts, but then Clint all but drags Steve away from the counter and out of the woman’s sight.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks as soon as they’re out of earshot. “Is Tony okay?”

Clint looks at him, and then laughs.

“Dude, I just said that to save you,” he says. “You weren’t supposed to fall for that too.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and exhales. “Well then. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Clint says, just as Darcy comes out of one of the storage closets and walks over to them.

“Don’t thank him, thank me,” she says, adjusting her apron. “I’m the one who thought of it. Honestly, she looked she was going to eat you alive.”

“That’s reporters for you,” Clint says, and reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Darcy’s ear. She smiles at him, and then looks back at Steve, who suddenly has trouble arranging his facial expression. She just raises an eyebrow, cool as anything, before saying,

“Anyway, I’ll go hold down the fort. We’re about to close, anyway. And we’ve got to keep your cover, don’t we, Golden Boy?”

“Thanks,” Steve says, rolling his eyes at her, and she grins before ducking through to the front of the shop.

“Want a lift home?” Clint asks. “Car’s out the back.”

Steve has met both Clint and Natasha a lot more over the past few weeks, but they’re still rather mysterious to him. He has no idea what they do for a living and he’s not sure he wants to, either. Clint, however, is slightly more approachable than Natasha (who still scares Steve unless she’s with Pepper).

Clint drives a non-descript black car that’s not too old and not too new, and smells slightly of pizza when Steve gets.

Something hisses at him from the backseat.

“Why have you got a cat?” Steve asks, pointing to the carry cage. Clint glances at it and chews on his bottom lip as he pulls out into the traffic. A pair of green eyes glares at Steve from behind the wire.

“Um…” Clint says, “Well, long story short, I have a cat, but I can’t keep him.”

“Okay...” Steve says, and then pauses. “You’re not going to just dump it somewhere, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Clint says, looking offended. “What kind of heartless bastard do you think I am?”

“Sorry,” Steve says, “I just thought –”

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” Clint says, waving a hand. “Anyway, I was thinking…” he looks across at Steve. “Darcy says you’re good with animals.”

Steve side-eyes him, because a) Darcy, huh, and b) that was a weird request. Especially coming from a guy like Clint.

“I have a dog,” he says, and Clint smacks the steering wheel in mock-rage.

“Damn it! I was so sure I’d find a loving home this time,” he says, and Steve laughs.

“Well, we could see…I don’t know. Thor’s very friendly, it could go either way.”

“You have a dog named Thor?” Clint says, laughing again. “Oh man, that’s awesome.”

“What’s the cat called?” Steve asks, and Clint shrugs.

“Dunno. He didn’t take kindly to ‘Fluffy’ or ‘Stop Scratching Me’, so…”

“Sounds vicious,” Steve says.

“He just thinks he’s above everyone,” Clint says, sounding fond, and Steve glances back at the cage. Clint drums his fingers against the steering wheel and says suddenly,

“Do you think Tony would want a pet?”

Steve considers it, but all he can imagine is Tony with a robotic kitten.

“I’m not sure,” he says.

“I’m sure he would if you asked him,” Clint says, and Steve looks at him. “What, it’s true. Can you try, please? I really don’t want to put him in a shelter.”

Steve turns and looks at the cat properly for the first time. It’s a sleek, skinny creature with black fur, and it looks at Steve with royal disdain.

“We can bring him up, I guess,” he says, and Clint grins.

_ _ _

Thor goes berserk. Steve tries to shut the door on him, but Thor just bulldozes his way through and jumps up at Clint, who’s got the cage in both arms.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Steve says, trying to wrestle Thor away.

“The cat’s doing fine,” Clint says, and it’s true; the cat’s just hunched down in the cage, looking at Thor like dogs are so lame.

“Thor – no. Shush.” Steve gives Thor a hard look, and the dog stops barking and sits down instead, tail thumping against the floor.

“I’m letting the cat out,” Clint says, and opens the cage door before Steve can protest. The cat jumps down in one graceful movement, and Thor lowers his head towards it, tail wagging harder.

The cat gives him a look that says more than any animal should be able to manage, before turning and winding itself around Clint’s legs. Thor, undeterred, noses after it, and it’s kind of funny: such a large dog following such a small cat.

“We should call him Loki,” Clint says, and Steve is mildly surprised that Clint knows that reference.

“Yeah,” he says, as Thor gets too close and Loki swipes at his nose with one paw. “God of Mischief. Tony’s going to love him.”

_ _ _

So that is why Steve finds himself on Tony’s floor with an armful of cat and really no explanation. When Tony opens the door, Loki just glances at him before tucking his head back into Steve’s arm.

“What did I miss?” Tony says, and lets them both in.

Steve pitches the pet idea to Tony over Bruce’s newest tea blend, and lets Loki loose on Tony’s apartment. The cat walks across the coffee table and starts typing gibberish on one of the screens as his paws go over the keyboard.

“Plus, he kind of reminds me of you,” Steve finishes, and Tony looks at Loki and then back at Steve.

“I remind you of a cat?” he says, and Steve laughs.

“Well, sort of,” he says, and then adds, “I think cats sleep more.”

“I’m on a strict sleeping schedule now, thank you very much,” Tony says, but he’s considering it, Steve can tell. He puts on his best sincere face and waits for Tony to give in.

“If,” Tony starts, “and this is a big if, okay, if I keep the cat, will you do me a favour?”

“Depends,” Steve says, carefully. “What is it?”

“Well,” Tony says, and his fingers twist together. “I have this…event coming up, and I was wondering if you – you know – wanted to come with me? Or something?”

“Is this the Gala everyone keeps mentioning?” Steve asks, and Tony nods, looking almost guilty.

“Yeah, it’s kind of this thing I hold every year. It’s not really…for anything, it’s just…the Stark Gala, and I have to go –” he breaks off, shaking his head. “You know what? Just forget it, it was a stupid idea,”

“No it’s not,” Steve says, and his hand comes down over Tony’s on the table. “That’s not a favour, of course I’ll go.”

“You will?” Tony says, and he sounds more disbelieving that ever.

“Sure,” Steve says, even though he doesn’t quite know what he’s agreeing to. “As long as you’re okay to go out.”

Tony makes a face at that.

“Yeah, I’ve been cleared. It’s classy enough to be acceptable, apparently. It’s not like one of my party parties. Also, I have to start showing my face in public before the rumour mill goes off its head. I’m not dead yet.”

Steve’s hand tightens over Tony’s, and Tony looks at him, shrugging.

“Just saying.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, taking his hand back. “That’s fine then.”

“It’s kind of…big,” Tony says, looking down at his tea. “So you’re not like…obliged to, or anything.”

“I know,” Steve says, because he’d been crossing lines ever since he’d first met Tony; maybe it was time to cross another. “Actually, funny story, today at the coffee shop…”

He tells Tony about the reporter, who recognises Christine’s name, surprise surprise. Tony gets this look on his face: the one he always has when they bring up his sordid pre-Steve past.

“You slept with her, didn’t you,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, and Tony punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“I was young and stupid, don’t judge me,” he says. “You’re the only person left who doesn’t.”

_ _ _

They end up on the couch – well, one of the couches – and Tony obviously has some sort of point to prove because he all but jumps Steve and pins him against the leather (or at least, he tries). Steve just laughs and adjusts their positions, because there is so much room they might as well be on a bed. The thought of that is…well, Steve tries not to think about that because Tony’s lips are on his neck and he’s not sure if thinking too much is going to help his situation.

Steve is just getting comfortable, with Tony half on top of him, legs entangled, with Tony stops and says,

“Steve.”

“Hm?” he says, hand carding through Tony’s hair.

“Steve, the cat. It’s staring at us.”

Steve turns his head sideways and sees Loki, curled in the corner, watching them with wide green eyes.

“Ignore it,” he says, fingers running along Tony’s spine, but Tony says,

“It’s creepy,” and continues to stare Loki, who stares at back at him, impassive.

“Loki,” Steve says, waving an arm at the cat. “Loki, shoo.”

The cat looks at him, and his expression is clear. I was here first, bitches.

Despite humans being the much more developed life form, the scene ends with neither of them wanting to move, so Steve just waves his hands and laughs, while Tony groans and says,

“I’m being cockblocked by a voyeuristic cat, Steve, get it away –”

_ _ _

And so it goes on. There are times when Steve can forget there is anything wrong with Tony, which is almost worst because then it comes rushing back to him, crashing over his head like a flood. He should be used to it, but it’s the reopening of old wounds, and if anything, it’s worse.

They don’t talk about it; they’re trying to distract themselves like it’s a mutual agreement, and Steve is almost glad to argue. It’s certainly works.

“You can’t just keep giving me things,” he says when the Suits Debacle comes up. “I’m serious, Tony.”

“Well, so am I,” Tony says, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s my money; I can do whatever I want.”

“Yeah, but not like this,” Steve says. “You just – you know I can’t pay you back for all of the stuff you’ve given me.”

“You’re not supposed to pay me back, that’s why it’s called a gift,” Tony says.

“I feel like a kept woman!” Steve says, and Tony stops.

“Okay,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop giving you...stuff. Some stuff. But after the Gala okay? There’s a dress code, it’s basically a sin not to follow it. Alright?”

So they go Tony’s tailor, which is a rather surreal experience because Steve has only ever been to a tailor once in his life (which probably explains why Tony has n number of suits and he has one).

They bump into one of Tony’s associates (not surprising but always awkward for Steve) and they’re introduced as Steve gets measured and fitted and generally violated by the assistants.

“Harvey Spector, personal lawyer,” Tony says, and Steve shakes the man’s hand. Harvey looks like a high-class lawyer through and through; a shark with a smooth smile and an already perfect suit.

“Steve Rogers, I presume,” he says, and Steve nods (everybody everywhere seemed to know his name, why even bother) and Harvey smirks.

“You’re going to cause quite a storm, I’m sure,” he says, and Tony clears his throat, pointedly. Harvey looks at him and shrugs.

“Your Gala, your fault,” he says, and laughs at Tony’s expression. Kurt, the tailor, comes through with the samples, and Tony steers Harvey away, talking in low tones.

Steve can hear snatches of their conversation as he gets suited up, the two of them reflected in the mirror. Harvey says something like,

“Is Pepper being a little paranoid?” and Tony shakes his head before saying something too low for Steve to hear, hands gesturing as he does so.

It takes a ridiculous amount of time to fit one suit, and by the end, Harvey is still there, talking to Tony. Finally, Kurt says,

“Okay, you’re done, we’ll get it to you in a couple of days,” and Steve tries not to breathe out too obviously before turning around.

“Bill, please,” Tony says, not looking up, and Steve pulls his jacket back on as Tony signs the cheque and stands up.

“I’ll see you both on Friday,” Harvey says, shaking hands again. “Pleasure meeting you, Steve.”

“Is it strange to be scared?” Steve asks on the ride home. Tony leans across the backseat and kisses him on the cheek.

“Nope,” he says. “Not at all.”

_ _ _

The suit gets made and finalised, and Steve thinks it might have been worth it just to see the look on Tony’s face when he trail-runs it.

“Don’t, oh my God,” Steve says as Tony comes towards him with a glint in his eye. “You’ll wrinkle the suit, you’ll wrinkle the –”

The suit survives. Just. And then Friday rolls around, and it’s for real; Steve does up his cuffs and straightens Tony’s collar and Happy picks them up at the door in full uniform.

“I’m never been to the Plaza Hotel,” Steve says as he does up his seatbelt, and Tony looks at him, surprised.

“It’s not bad,” he says. “We’re in the Ballroom; seats about five hundred. You’ll love it.”

“Wait. I thought this was just dinner?” Steve asks, and his palms are already starting to sweat.

“Well, yeah,” Tony says. “But you dance, don’t you?”

“Uh…” Steve says, pulling at his collar. “A little bit, maybe, but I can’t –”

“You’ll be fine,” Tony says, waving a hand. “I’ll teach you,”

“But –” Steve asks, and it’s a total role reversal to from when he’d taken Tony back to Brooklyn (except Steve mucking up tonight meant a whole lot more than Tony mucking up in front of his mother).

“It’ll be fine. Here, have this,” Tony says, and he opens a compartment in front of the backseat and –

“Tony,” Steve says, as Tony pours him a drink that is definitely not apple juice. “I thought you weren’t supposed to –”

“Hey, I’m not having any,” Tony says, handing him the glass. “Just you. Go on, it’ll help.”

“I don’t think…” Steve says, but takes it anyway. The liquid gleams at him, a rich amber colour, and he drains the glass, letting the alcohol burn his throat.

“Better?” Tony asks, watching him.

“Slightly,” Steve says, and Tony smiles.

They get plenty of warning because there’s a complete jam of overly expensive cars coming up to the Hotel. Steve leans across Tony and stares out of the window, glad for the tinting, and stares at the mass of lights and movement and oh God, the Hotel is massive when you’re right under it –

“We’re up,” Happy says, and stops the car. “Boss, do you want –”

“I’ve got it,” Tony says, one hand on the door. “Oh, and have the Aston waiting, okay? We might need it.”

“Sure thing,” Happy says, and Tony opens the door. Steve slides across the backseat and steps out after him, just as Tony says,

“Jesus, should have brought sunglasses.”

It’s less like stepping into a movie and more like walking into a solid wall of sound and light. Steve freezes for one long, terrifying moment before he feels Tony’s hand on the small of his back. He blinks and walks forward, trying to hear Tony over the roar of movement all around them.

“Just smile,” Tony says into his ear, so close it was probably indecent, “Look where I look, and keep smiling.”

“Who smiles this much?!” Steve says as Tony steers them towards the honest-to-God red carpet. Tony’s answer is lost in the sudden flash of cameras, snapping like insects all around them.

“Mr Stark! Tony! This way, Tony –”

Steve has the mad urge to shout “Manners!” right back at them, but Tony’s taking it all in stride, smiling graciously and posing in a way that doesn’t look like he’s trying. Steve follows him, trying not to squint, trying not to blink, trying not to let his face cramp from smiling –

The reporters come in tightly timed rounds, descending on them in a blur of feral smiles and recording devices, firing questions like well-aimed bullets. Tony makes appropriate comments about the Gala and Stark Industries and the guests and friends and sponsors, and Steve is thankful Pepper’s drilling has finally gotten somewhere. He tries to melt into the background each time, but he can feel the reporters’ eyes raking over him like he’s their next meal. They’re nearly at the stairs when one woman thrusts a microphone into Steve’s face and asks,

“So, Mr Rogers! Tell us, what’s the best thing about Tony?”

Steve glances at Tony, throat dry, and oh God this was going to haunt him forever if he said the wrong –

“Just one thing?” he replies weakly, and everybody laughs like he’s said something hilarious.

“Thanks, darling,” Tony says, hand still on Steve’s back. “Now, haven’t we got a party to start?”

They escape up the steps and through the front doors. Steve has to refrain from sagging against the wall in relief.

“You did pretty well,” Tony says, even as guests start gravitating towards him. “I’m impressed.”

“I need a drink,” Steve says, and Tony laughs. “I need lots of drinks.”

“Don’t worry; we have a strict press-restriction policy inside,” Tony says. “And lots of drinks.”

It takes an agonising half hour just to get through. Steve gathers that Tony not being out in public frequently was a big, big deal, and nobody could pass them without saying hello. The remarks range from concern to downright inappropriate, because everybody also had the inherent need to comment on Steve. He’s not sure whether to be offended or just embarrassed. He watches Tony instead, and it’s fascinating, because this element seems to fit Tony like a second skin. He doesn’t seem entirely normal to Steve, but he’s acting so natural that it doesn’t seem fake, either. It’s as if Tony has stepped onto a stage, and his guests are certainly lapping up his performance.

Finally, finally, they reach the Grand Ballroom. It’s rather (read: very) aptly named. Steve stands at the edge of the room, stunned, before Tony laughs.

“Your face, honestly,” Tony says. “I’ll never get tired of that.”

“I hope not,” Steve says, and Tony grins at him before they’re directed to their table. The seating plan is set spread around a polished expanse of floor, which sits right underneath the biggest chandelier Steve has ever seen. Candles cast a warm glow over the tables, and it’s as if everything is bathed in gold; warm and bright and beautiful. Light dances off jewellery, watches and wine glasses, and Steve wonders just how much wealth is settling down all around them.

He sits before he can feel nauseous.

“Ah, here they are,” Tony says, and Steve looks up to see Pepper making her way towards them, followed closely by Natasha and a mild-looking gentleman Steve recognises as Agent Coulson. He’s only met him briefly, but his SHIELD status immediately put him on the same level as Natasha and Clint (if not higher and therefore scarier).

“How’s it been, Steve?” Pepper asks, and Tony makes an offended noise.

“What about me?” he asks, gesturing. “Nothing? No?”

“The reporters told me you were suspiciously well-behaved,” Pepper says, patting his hand. “Well done.”

Natasha sits down on Tony’s other side, and takes her jacket off. She’s also wearing a suit, finely tailored, and Steve finds himself automatically wondering about weapons. She catches him staring and smiles, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“Is Clint around?” Steve asks, and she nods.

“Somewhere,” she says.

“Probably on a ledge in the ceiling,” Tony says, breaking off his conversation with Pepper. “And then he’ll get bored and start shooting tapioca pearls at people.”

“I’ll get Clint to shoot them at you if you go off script,” Pepper says. “Have you got the notes?”

“What notes?” Tony says. “This is why you’re CEO, Pepp: you do the long speeches, I get the short ones.”

There’s a live band playing beside the dance floor, and the familiar sound of jazz runs smoothly beneath the chatter, just loud enough to be heard. Steve smiles slightly. Jazz reminds him of Peggy; always did and always will. The only difference is that it’s sweeter now; instead of bitter. He’s thankful for that.

At around 5:30, Pepper stands up and walks to the podium in the centre of the room. It’s funny watching Pepper in this element too – she’s less flashy than Tony, but just as commanding. The room falls silent as she taps the microphone, and Pepper smiles, light catching her face. There are still scars on her cheek, but they’re almost invisible with makeup and she has her hair down. Steve glances across at Natasha, and he thinks he can detect a fierce softness to Natasha’s face as she watches Pepper give her speech. On anyone else, the expression would be a contradiction; on Natasha, it just makes Steve smile.

Pepper sums up the successes of Stark Industries over the last year and thanks a lot of famous names and companies, all of whom seem to be in the room. Steve slides slightly lower on his chair, because it’s really starting to sink in, just how out of place he was.

“And now,” Pepper says, wrapping up, “Let me hand over to the man of the hour. Tony Stark, ladies and gentlemen.”

The guests are less restrained when it comes to Tony; cheers break out across the room and Tony receives it with a gracious hand, stepping onto the podium with his trademark grin. Pepper sits back down and mutters something which sounds very much like a prayer.

“Well,” Tony says, leaning against the lectern. “It’s certainly been an interesting year.”

The audience laughs. Pepper narrows her eyes.

“And a lot of you have been asking: how did it change me, exactly? Because apparently, I have changed. A little bit.” Murmurs of agreement from the guests; high-class versions of no shit, Sherlock.

“Well,” Tony continues, “I don’t want to be dramatic –”really, Tony, really “– but I have to say that some things…they will change you. And I’ve had a few of those.” He looks around the room, and Steve catches his eye. There must be something in his expression because Tony’s smile turns slightly more sincere. “And they’ll also teach you that life is too short to be sitting there, listening to me talking.” He pauses again at the laughter. “So really, I just wanted to echo Pepper – actually, can we just have another hand for Pepper, she’s done such a great job, always have, always will –” the audience cheers and Pepper goes a little pink, but she looks pleased, if a little surprised. Tony blows her a kiss and she rolls her eyes, gesturing for him to continue.

“So I just wanted to say thank you again. Thank you for all your contributions, thank you for being here, you all look fabulous. Have a great night!”

The guests burst into applause as Tony steps off the podium, and he stops by several tables to shake hands. Steve glances around and sees Pepper smiling, so it must have gone alright. He can hardly ask over the sound of clapping, and then Tony is back, flopping down in his chair and smiling.

“Okay,” he says, “where’s the food?”

Dinner comes in so many courses Steve loses count, and he has never taken so long to eat one meal. The waitressing staff works with frightening efficiency, but Steve still has the urge to stand up and help with the plates. Instead, he talks to Coulson, who is surprisingly nice, and listens to Tony and Pepper bicker over the entrée. People kept coming over to talk to them and ogle Steve, which made him incredibly self-conscious of his eating. He was still figuring out which forks to use with which course and he hadn’t gone wrong yet, but the effect would be ruined if he dropped roast duckling on his suit.

The windows are dark by the time people start dancing, and their shadows follow them around the room, sliding off the pillars that stretch up to the ceiling. It made the whole affair even more surreal and slightly romantic, but maybe that was just because there was a singer in front of the band and Steve had been drinking with his meal. He wasn’t drunk – not even tipsy – but there was a warm buzz in his chest and he wasn’t so worried anymore. Coulson is dancing with Pepper and Natasha disappeared just after dessert, leaving Tony and Steve alone at the table.

“Well,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair and looking at Steve. “How’s it been so far?”

“Not bad,” Steve says, putting his glass of wine down because Tony’s eyes keep flicking to it. It must be torturous, sitting in this room. Tony’s been perfect for nearly two months, but Steve doesn’t want to push it.

“Everybody loves you,” Tony says. “I might have to get jealous.”

“Going by that philosophy, I would be jealous of people all the time,” Steve says, and Tony laughs.

“Bull,” he says. “People just pretend to love me because I throw good parties.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the guests, before Tony catches sight of something over Steve’s shoulder and says, “Boo, here come the cavalry,” and Steve sees Natasha coming back towards them, accompanied by Clint, whose suit is not quite up to par. It makes Steve feel a little better, actually, just to see Clint’s no-fucks-given attitude in the middle of such a grand room.

“Want to dance?” Tony says suddenly, and Steve looks back at him.

“You just want to escape,” he says, and Tony pouts.

“Come on, Steve, I was going to teach you anyway, remember?”

Steve deliberates for a moment, and then says,

“Fine,” because obviously his judgement was a little skewed tonight.

They stand, and Tony takes his hand and leads him over into the crowd. The next song begins just as they find their positions, and thank God, it’s slow. Less chance of trampling Tony or other unfortunate incidents. The singer is sitting at the piano, smiling into the microphone as she starts singing.

“I want a little sugar in my bowl,

I want a little sweetness down in my soul,

I could stand some loving, oh so bad,

I feel so funny, I feel so sad…”

“You’re good at this,” Tony says, close to Steve’s ear. “I don’t even need to teach you.”

“We’re literally just standing and swaying, Tony,” Steve says, trying not to laugh. “There’s not much skill in that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Tony says, and his hands are warm on Steve’s shoulders.

Steve can feel people looking at them from the tables, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. The music is beautiful and Tony is close enough to kiss. He wonders if Tony can see it in his face, because towards the end of the song Tony asks,

“You want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” Steve says, and then backtracks. “I mean, no, if you need to stay –”

“Oh, stop being so selfless,” Tony says as the singer bows and the guests applaud. “I have a car cleared and waiting if you want it.”

“I –” Steve looks around, and then back at Tony. “Are you coming too?”

“Of course,” Tony says. “So?”

“Okay then,” Steve says, unable to hide his smile. “Let’s go.”

_ _ _

Their escape is quicker than Steve thought it would be, mostly because Tony just waves at Natasha and pulls Steve away, while most of the guests are too preoccupied with themselves by this time of the night. Tony strides through several STAFF ONLY doors like he owns the place (he didn’t, Steve’s asked) and then they’re at a back door and out into the open air, the street lights and sounds of Manhattan traffic bringing Steve back down to normal. He can’t tell if he’s sorry or not.

“Oh, baby,” Tony says, and Steve realises he’s talking to the car, which is waiting for them like Cinderella’s silver carriage. “Oh, look at her.”

“Your affection for your cars is vaguely disturbing,” Steve says as they get in. It’s a two-seater Aston Martin that’s come straight out of a James Bond movie, and the interior is just a sleek as the outside. Tony guns the engine and drives like the road is a racetrack.

“Aw, don’t be jealous,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel. “Besides, I’ve seen you with that old bike I restored.”

“Fair enough,” Steve says, and Tony laughs. “I’m not accepting that as a gift though. That is too much.”

“It can be your Christmas present. And New Year’s.” Tony says.

“It’s August,” Steve says.

“So? I’m not a conventional kind of person.”

Steve rolls his eyes. There’s something digging into his back, and he shifts around and finds a folded piece of paper, poking out from the edge of the seat.

“What’s this?” he asks, and Tony glances over.

“Oh, that’s where it went.” The corners of his eyes crease as he smiles. “Rhodey was injured for ages last year, and he read too much and got too civilised and then he started sending me all these quotes and bits of poetry – you probably know half of them anyway.”

Steve unfolds the paper and reads the first one.

I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying. – Oscar Wilde

“Are they supposed to be aimed at you?” he asks, and Tony laughs again.

“Probably,” he says. Steve reads on.

Being alone never felt right. Sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right. — Charles Bukowski

He scans down the page, and the name Richard Siken jumps out at him.

“Hey, I know Siken,” he says. “I mean, I like his stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony says. “Quote me something?”

“What?”

“You know, add something to the list. Rhodey will be impressed when he gets back.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and racks his brains. He has Siken’s book back in his apartment, but there’s only poem coming to him at right now but it’s kind of…

“It’s not a test,” Tony says. “I’m not going to laugh at you; poetry can be weird as shit.”

“Okay, there’s this – it’s just because we’re in a car, okay. But it’s like…” Steve clears his throat. “You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired.” He pauses, not looking at Tony, and takes a breath. “You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

There’s an odd silence in the car after he finishes; a pregnant pause in which Tony looks at him and Steve feels acutely embarrassed, wanting to take back all his words but very much unable to.

“Well,” Tony says after a little while. “Do I get to touch you now?”

Steve stares at him, and then laughs.

“Eyes on the road, mister,” he says, but what he really means is are you implying that you…

They arrive home, and there’s something stretched taut between, like current through a wire. Steve’s not sure when it appeared, but it’s almost like the pull of a magnet, and he kind of wants to press Tony against the back of the elevator and kiss him like he wanted to at the Gala. He doesn’t, however, because 1) there were cameras and 2) the old lady from the 14th floor gets in the elevator with them. They stand in silence for an agonizing few seconds before they reach Steve’s floor, and the door opens, waiting for him to get out.

“Um,” he says, looking back at Tony, who looks as frustrated as Steve felt. “Thanks. For tonight. I’ll –” he makes an awkward calling gesture and Tony nods, because the old lady is already reaching for the button.

The door closes, and the elevator starts to rise without him yet again, and he’s so sick of the feeling, imagining Tony going up to his apartment alone, he’s so –

“God dammit,” Steve says, and lunges for the stairs.

_ _ _

Tony is ready to throttle the old lady, but Pepper probably wouldn’t appreciate the paperwork, and Tony’s been on such a good streak lately it would be a shame to ruin it now.

He arrives on his floor alone; ready to have a good bitch at JARVIS, and he’s nearly at his door when he hears footsteps sprinting up the stairs.

Tony pauses, and two seconds later Steve bursts through the emergency door and skids to a halt in Tony’s entrance hall. They look at each other: Tony blinking, Steve flushed and out of breath.

“Um.” Tony says, and then that’s as far as he gets because Steve is backing him into the door with a solid thud, back hitting the wood. Steve has his hands in Tony’s hair, protecting his head, but Tony doesn’t really care about getting a concussion at the moment because Steve is kissing him like the world’s about to end, hard and fast and desperate, and it’s all Tony can do to keep his feet under him.

He fumbles with the lock with one hand, because he can’t really call JARVIS, but then the door opens and they tumble inside, stumbling through until they hit the back of the couch.

“Whoa,” Tony says, because he kind of needs to breathe, and the lighting in his apartment is just enough for him to see Steve’s face, lips red and swollen with kisses. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair. “Um. Sorry. I kind of just…attacked you.”

“What? No,” Tony says, and drags him forward by the front of his shirt. “Don’t be sorry. Just keep going.”

They make it to the bedroom after bumping into two different tables and knocking over a vase, but then they’re there and it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re shedding around ten thousand dollars’ worth of clothing on the floor, but for once, Steve doesn’t seem to care. Tony’s just thankful that he had the foresight to order such a big bed, because surely, surely, this was the only reason to use it now.

_ _ _

Later:

“Hey, Tony?”

“Mm?”

“We should do that again.”

“Steve, how old do you think I – Jesus Christ!”

“What?”

“How did that damn cat get in here?!”

“His name is Loki, Tony. And I don’t know, maybe he was here first.”

“I don’t care what his name is, he’s a creeper and this is my bedroom!”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Look, I’ll go put him outside. And then have a shower.”

“Ooh. Can I come?”

_ _ _

Much later:

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yes?”

“I think I ripped your shirt. By accident.”

“Huh. Damn.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“No you won’t.”

“I’ll buy you a new one on sale.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Come over here and I’ll show you how much I don’t seem to mind –”

_ _ _

Finally:

“You know,” Steve says, not even bothering to turn his head. “That was my first time.”

“Hm?” Tony says next to him, also unwilling to move. “What, with a guy?”

“Well, yeah,” Steve says, yawning. “But I mean…ever.”

“Ever?” Tony asks, and the pauses. “Ever?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Steve says, and it’s an effort just to make complete sentences. Tony, however, sits up so fast he bounces the bed.

“Are you fucking me?” he says, looking down at Steve, who glances up at him.

“Not right now, I’m not,” he says, and Tony draws back, mouth dropping.

“My God, Rogers,” he says. “You little – I can’t believe no one has tapped this,” he says, gesturing to Steve. “Like…holy shit. Oh my God. Oh my God I just defiled the All American Virgin. I feel like Satan.”

“Tony,” Steve says, waving a hand at him. “Shut up. And cuddle.”

“So demanding,” Tony says, but he lies back down so Steve can roll closer.

“You like it,” Steve says, and Tony hums.

“I just…” he says, and Steve groans, because talking was really beyond him now. “So you and Peggy never…?”

“Nah,” Steve says, mumbling now. “We would’ve, but…”

“Huh,” Tony says, and then, “Sorry, I have no filters left.”

“You’ve never had filters,” Steve says, but it comes in a jumble of words, and Tony laughs.

“Sleep?” he says, and Steve nods against his neck, one arm coming around to circle Tony’s torso. He’s asleep before Tony can say good night (well, good morning, actually).

The last thing he feels is Tony’s heartbeat, fluttering under his hand.

_________________

Notes:

And here is the song they dance to (and yes, the fic is named after). I've actually had a playlist from Day One that could turn into a ficmix later on...

Secondly, if you haven't read any John Green or Siken, go do so immediately. Seriously.

Happy (very late) Thanksgiving to those who celebrated it, and thanks for reading :)

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