Forget the way letters hold hands when you read a book, the way the colors contrast or compliment blue, the way the notes seem to be strummed on broken heart strings;
Instead, hold out to the tail of the e, dive into the burning, hypnotizing, dizzying lagoon of various hues plucked from irises and tree trunks and the breath of the sea, and let your fingers stretch to the horizon, let your lips fall open like gates to Olympus to give way to confessions and speeches and unsung memories;
Instead, wrap your body in the pages stained with ink and covered with doors, taste the pink of her tongue and the gold of his skin, the bloody war in the dusk atmosphere, catch the whole notes and half notes and quarter rests like falling stars to keep in your rib cage;
Instead, immerse yourself in the song of poetry, in the frozen dance of portraits and landscapes, in the literature of the music coming from behind your sternum;
Remember—you are a soul painted in words, written in notes, and sung in a spectrum of colors.
Remember—you carry the universe in the constellations in your eyes and the galaxies formed at the sound of your voice.
Remember—you can fight like a warrior, dress like a queen, dance like a child, and love with the northern lights in your eyes.
Remember—an open palm isn't a sign of empty pockets, and open windows aren't always invitations for thieves.
Remember—those palms make monuments, those windows welcome the sunshine and the wind carrying our songs home, there are always hymns to sing and sunbeams to fall through.
Remember—keep your fingers wrapped around lightning and pen, and dance to the loud hum of thunder.
Remember this.
Remember the sound of this. The curve of the s as your tongue hits the back of your teeth. The anatomy of the i like the lamppost in a city of arrows.
Remember—this is where you will realize that mirrors are nothing but light baskets that fail to see the light emanating from you.
Remember, at the very heart of this—art alone catches the reflection of the soul.
Indecency (Can't Get My Hands Off Of You): A Steve/Tony fic
A short fluff/smut fic while I'm still working out how to finish the other one. Enjoy \o/
AO3
They’re hiding between the history and autobiography shelves in the small bookstore, kissing, grabbing, stifling each other’s noises with their mouths.
“Steve,” Tony whispers into Steve’s neck, into his mouth, his flushed cheeks.
“We really”—Steve lets out a soft gasp—“have to stop.”
Tony presses his body closer to Steve, pushing him against the shelf. He leaves a trail of kisses down Steve’s neck. “Are you sure?” He whispers against his collarbone.
“No,” Steve laughs without a sound, and Tony looks up just to watch that smile like a sunrise.
“Just a few more minutes then we’ll go back to being decent human beings.”
They were getting lost in each other’s mouths when they heard a high pitched voice say, “You’re in the wrong section.”
They both turn their heads towards the source of the voice and see the young, blonde-haired girl behind the counter standing by the end of the shelf.
Steve blushes profusely, the embarrassment crawling up from his neck to his cheeks and ears. Tony shamelessly smiles at her. “Oh?”
“Gay lit is over there,” She points her thumb towards the shelf against the wall, a playful smile on her lips.
“Ah, so that’s where it is,” Tony says, slowly dragging his hand from Steve’s chest, immediately missing the warm of Steve’s mouth on his. “We’ve been looking for it, thanks.”
Steve puts his hands in his pockets and laughs, his face his red from getting caught.
“Sorry guys, my manager’s going to freak.” She says with a chuckle. “Believe it or not, this happens a lot here, this being a hole-in-the-wall kind of place.”
“We just kind of, you know,” Steve tries to come up with an excuse, but both Tony and the girl raise an eyebrow. “Yeah.” He laughs.
“I have no excuse, sorry, I just couldn’t resist this face.” Tony dramatically touches Steve’s face.
“Shut up.”
-
please stop
steeeeeeve I’m horny do you want details
no
of course you do
please DON’T
TONY WE’RE IN CLASS STOP TEXTING I THINK HE’S NOTICING US
im thinking of your mouth god your mouth is a GIFT THAT MUST BE CHERISHD
*CHERISHED
tony……I cant focus
i want your fucking tongue inside my mouth steve you are so good at that I didn’t expect you would be such a good kisser but here I am now in the middle of class sexting my boyfriend
I want you steve I want you to suck me can you please suck me im dying
What if my life depended on you giving me a blowjob in the middle of class would u do it
Steeeeve
Ur horny aren’t u
Tony please
Answer my question
Questions I mean
No to both!!!! Tony
Because I would totally suck your dick in public I love you that much
Also maybe because I think that’s totally kinky
Oh my god
Might want to control your breathing there
“Mr. Rogers?” The teacher suddenly calls him, and Steve looks up, startled. “Might want to share with us what you and Mr. Stark have been texting about?”
Steve clears his throat. “No, sir, we weren’t texting.” He takes a deep breath, glaring at Tony the whole while. Tony pulls off an I’m innocent! face.
The teacher just raises an eyebrow at both of them and turns his back again to write on the board.
Steve quietly puts his math book on top of his lap and Tony suddenly bursts into laughter.
-
“Mom, I’m home,” Steve calls out as he closes the front door behind him. “Tony’s here.”
“Alright honey, tell him to stay for dinner,” Mrs. Rogers says from the kitchen. “I’m making shepherd’s pie.”
“I’d love to stay,” Tony says loudly, confidently. It makes Steve smile how comfortable Tony is around his mother, and how his mother loves having Tony around. “Thanks, Mrs. R.”
Mrs. Rogers goes to the living room to greet them, her blonde hair messily tied into a bun. She was smiling that signature Rogers smile that Steve used to snatch Tony’s heart out of his ribcage. “How was school?”
Steve and Tony exchange a look. “It was good, nothing special happened.” Steve says with a sly expression.
“Uhuh,” Mrs. Rogers narrows her eyes. “Nothing indecent this time?”
“Mom,” Steve groans into Tony’s shoulder.
“Us?” Tony fakes a dumbfounded expression. “Indecent? You’ve got the wrong boys, ma’am. We’re the most decent of the decents.”
“You two are impossible.” She laughs, shaking her head, her eyes gleaming with a fondness that Steve is always so grateful for. She turns to head back to the kitchen. “Leave the door open, boys.”
“Nothing to worry about, Mrs. R,” Tony says as he and Steve walk upstairs to Steve’s room.
Steve leaves just a crack for the door, just to say the door wasn’t technically closed. Tony instantly makes himself comfortable on Steve’s bed like he owns the goddamn place, nonchalantly dropping his bag on the carpeted floor. Steve arranges their shoes on the side before joining Tony on the bed, immediately diving in for a kiss.
“Always so excited,” Tony says, breaking away from the kiss. He smiles at Steve who’s looking at him with these bright eyes full of something, a something that makes Tony feel like his insides were feathers, a something that makes his heart ache with affection.
“What? Is it wrong to kiss my boyfriend now?”
“Not at all.” Tony gestures to the door.
Steve looks at it and makes a face. “She won’t come upstairs.”
“Oh, is that so,” Tony smiles smugly, initiating another kiss, this time longer, hungrier.
Most afternoons have been like this for Steve recently, always filled with Tony’s witty remarks, Tony’s burning kisses, his burning touch, his half-moon smile. He doesn’t even remember how they came to be like this, who confessed first or if anyone confessed in the first place, how Tony’s hand ended up on the small of Steve’s back under his shirt, how Tony ended up on his bed shirtless and breathing hard—
Without disconnecting their mouths, Tony pushes Steve back on the pillows and straddles him, his hands finding their way under Steve’s shirt. Steve breathes hard, and blood starts to rush between his legs as Tony grinds himself against Steve’s waist, their hands getting lost in each other’s bodies without bothering to ask for directions.
“I love making out with you,” Tony says in between kisses. “So responsive.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Steve’s lips sneaked down to the crook of Tony’s neck, his hand grabbing at Tony’s hair to tilt his head backwards.
“Mhmm,” Tony breathes heavily, clawing Steve’s shoulders. “Take your clothes off, Rogers, get rid of them right now.”
Tony reaches down between Steve’s legs and feels his arousal through his jeans. “Come on, Steve,” Tony says, his voice sultry and dripping with lust. He palms Steve’s erection through his pants, and Steve responds with a moan to Tony’s skin.
Tony quickly undoes Steve’s belt and unbuttons his jeans just as quickly. “Tony,” Steve moans, his eyes fluttering as the brunet wraps his hand around his cock.
“Been waiting for this all afternoon, weren’t you?”
Steve struggles to keep his breathing even. “Please, Tony,” he begs.
“Shh, I got you.” He keeps his hand around the base of Steve’s cock, then wraps his lips around the head. Steve lets out a heavy breath when Tony pulled away. “That what you wanted?”
“Please stop talking,” Steve whispers loudly.
Tony takes more of him in his mouth, eliciting a series of staggered quiet moans from Steve’s mouth. He looks up at Steve whose eyes are shut in pleasure, mouth open in desperation for release, his chest heaving. He swirls his tongue around Steve’s stiff—not to mention huge—cock, Steve’s hands darting down to grip at Tony’s hair. Steve pulls at Tony’s hair until the head of his cock hits the back of Tony’s throat, his back arching away from the mattress. Steve’s brain short-circuits, and wow, Tony keeps getting better at this—
Steve lets out a “fuck,” louder than they both expected as he comes in Tony’s mouth, the tendons in his neck standing out, his grip on Tony’s hair tightening before slowly loosening as his body starts to relax.
“You know what,” they hear Mrs. Rogers shout from below, “NEXT TIME JUST CLOSE THE DOOR.”
-
“I have no idea how I ended up with you,” Tony says out of the blue while they were walking home from school. “Not that I regret it. Just kind of in disbelief that I’m actually with Steve fucking Rogers, innocent-faced Rogers with the mouth of a—“
Steve hits his shoulder. “Shut up, you complete asshole.”
“Of course you’d know,” Tony grins, and somehow Steve gets suspended in the split second Tony’s brown eyes catch the gold of the afternoon sunlight. He holds his breath because the sun was at the perfect angle, the perfect angle in which it made the edges of Tony’s hair glow like a halo around his head, and it was incredibly cheesy and disgusting, all the words going through Steve’s head at that moment, words like breath-taking and gorgeous and love—
At one point, Steve manages to convince himself of the silliest thought: that he and Tony are made of each other, that the same thread that Steve is made up of is the same thread that makes up every square meter of the cloth of Tony’s soul. He manages to believe that there is such a thing as kismet, that there is fate or destiny or whatever other metaphysical force out there that could bring them together in a way that no external stimuli, no calamity, no institution could severe. Steve manages to tell himself, I like him—no—I love him, I love that he’s a gamma ray and that I am infrared, I love that he’s radioactive, I love that he is faster than the speed at which gravity makes objects fall, I love that he is exciting and dangerous and raw and rough and everything I never thought I would find a home in.
At that brief moment, the universe suddenly feels so much larger around him—and in that vast universe, somehow he ended up there, on that sidewalk, walking with a beautiful boy he swears he was made for.
“Hello? You still there, Rogers?”
“I just—“ he takes Tony’s face in his hands and kisses him in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling the warm sunlight on their bodies and their heartbeats that were suddenly racing. The universe then shrinks, taking the form of Tony Stark who is star and stardust, gravity and dark matter—and he swears, as he slips his tongue into the cavern of Tony’s mouth, heaven tastes just like him.
If you asked me what year it was, I'd still get it wrong the first try. I've been in this time for a while now, but it's all still so new to me, and everything's still like bokeh lights, as if I just woke up. Everything's out of focus, and everything's just shapeless color in my eyes, and I constantly lose track of what is and what isn't, and nothing ever stays in place in this fast-track world anymore.
So when I found something steady, something constant, like new ground under my worn-out shoes, I didn't take the risk of losing it again. I found something- someone- that put the colors where they belong. Someone who shook me every morning like an electric current. I don't care if the shocks might kill me. It doesn't matter because I'm alive again and I wouldn't give that up for anything.
~
How do I even go about this?
I've woken up to a hundred mornings, sighing. Roughly 75% of those mornings were lonely, as the space beside me has grown cold. On rare days, I'd wake up to Tony's sleeping face- he wouldn't wake even if someone was already setting the bed on fire- and wish every time that he was someone I...
I never really get to finish that thought.
Someone I can call my own? Someone I will spend the rest of my life with?
I just can't think of anything. I keep going, I want, I want, I want, but what?
Something's not in place, and I can't find that piece I'm looking for.
And then one morning I wake up to the sight of Tony's eyes fluttering open as well, the raw sunlight seeping through the windows embedding diamonds in his warm irises, and all the wants in my head finally make sense.
~
"What," Tony began. I had just parked the car at the side of the street and he and I had just started walking towards this spot I discovered several weeks ago. "In the world are we doing here?"
We were just a few miles away from New York itself, in a sort of secluded part of the state. It's rocky, with a cliff close by (but not too close in case Tony decides to run away) and a few trees surrounding the area. The night sky was perfectly visible from the spot, all the stars out in the open like glitters scattered across a cloth of ink.
It was the perfect place for tonight.
I just tried not to think too much about the possibility that Tony would say no.
I've never brought up the topic of marriage even once, and god, I don't know if he even wants it. I don't know if he's ready. I just can't wait for the day when I can finally wake up to Tony and call him my husband.
But I'm not sure if it's the same the other way around.
I swallowed all the fear building up in my throat that were preventing me to speak and took a deep breath. "I just wanted a special dinner tonight. A picnic, if you don't mind."
I set up the mat on the earth, and brought out the food. "You could've said so, I would've booked a whole restaurant just for us. Your choice of cuisine." Tony joked.
"1940s was last year for me, all right, give me a break."
We engaged- no pun intended- in the usual conversations, but I wasn't completely focused on what we were talking about. I was too busy keeping myself together and conjuring enough gut to actually go on one knee and just ask him.
It's just a simple question with a simple answer, right? Nothing to be afraid of.
But why am I so afraid?
Before all my courage ran out of my mouth, before I could excuse myself and throw the ring off the cliff and forget I ever even thought about it, I knelt.
There were bokeh lights again, except for where he was standing. He was the only thing in focus and he was brighter than any of the colors behind him. My heart was pounding like mad, and even if I didn't die in the ice, I might die just from this, from now. But I couldn't, and I wouldn't, because I haven't woken up to those mornings I've been waiting for.
"Uh," Tony said nervously- trust me, I was a thousand times more nervous. His eyes widened slightly, and the fear was threatening to knit my lips together as Tony stiffened. "Steve..."
Another deep breath. Swallow. "Tony- I-" I stuttered, the words perfectly scripted in my head came out as senseless gibberish. "I'm not sure about this, or about anything, really. I, uh," I forgot what I was about to say next, and the order of the things happening around me. I don't know what happened first, the pounding of my head or the disbelief in Tony's eyes. "I just want you. And- and, me. I just want you and me. Always." I paused for a short moment, trying to calm myself before I explode from the adrenaline in my veins. "Will you marry me, Tony?"
I don't remember what happened next- it was just a series of lights and kisses and fireworks, not all literally or in order, but I'm pretty sure I heard him breathe out, "Yes."
Tastes Like Good Ole Christmas, A Steve/Tony ficlet
Christmas in 2012 is incredibly different from Christmas in the '40s.
My past Christmases revolved around my mom and I. We'd spend Christmas eve huddled together, talking, and she'd look at me with her warm, blue eyes- they were warmer than the cocoa in our hands. She'd kiss my temple, tell me that everything's perfect, everything's going right, and I believe her, even though I could feel the gust of wind of an incoming storm. But we'd be all right, despite my constant coughing and weak bones. We'd be all right because she always caught me when I tripped over my own feet, and I was always there to make her tea.
"I love you, Steve." She'd whisper in her motherly voice. "Thank you for spending Christmas with me."
Technically, I'm not alone, given that I live in the Avengers Tower with the other Avengers. I constantly see the others carrying bags of who-knows-what and rolls of wrappers tucked under their arms. Everything seems so much more flashy now, and I'm afraid that giving someone something not electronic is socially embarrassing.
The only person I've been having conversations with lately is Tony, who talks about nothing but these brilliant presents he has in store for all of us, but doesn't really say anything about them. "You're going to love them, it'll be like your birthdays and seventy Christmases combined." I'd laugh when he'd tell me about them- but not really- and then we'd have dinner together (which often consisted of sandwiches because I just bring them down to the workshop.)
I asked each of the Avengers what they'd like to receive as a present, since I honestly had no idea what to give, but all their answers were "It's up to you, I'll appreciate whatever it is!" except for Natasha who specifically asked for this knife set (which I'm not even sure I can obtain legally.)
Christmas draws closer, and I can feel the Christmas warmth burying itself inside my chest again, probably from the coffee that Tony always drinks when I'm around. He didn't stop talking about the presents that he "can't wait for all of you to shit yourselves in joy" but we started talking about other things too. I told him about my mother. He told me a story about a man called Obadiah Stane, and his time in captivity in Afghanistan, and then one night the conversation just ended with a kiss without prior notice.
Things didn't get really awkward after that, as most people would probably expect. If anything, they improved drastically, and Christmas got warmer and warmer with each day I spent with him. He didn't talk much about the presents anymore, but we'll see what they were in a couple of days anyway. We didn't tell anyone about the kisses and midnight rendezvous, but somehow I think they already know. Two of Avengers are spies, so what did we expect really?
I spent Christmas Eve at the workshop with Tony. Hugs turned to kisses, kisses to touch, touch to fire, and by the end we were both in flames, consuming each other in whispers and embraces. Tony was happy, I could see it in those muddy eyes of his. I was too, undeniably. But something was hanging at the edges of his smiles, almost like a rogue sadness. Before I could ask, Tony pulled away from my hold, lights brightening and dimming in his irises.
"What's wrong?" I asked him as he walked across the room. From a cabinet, he pulled out something in a large box wrapped in red paper (it was almost as tall as a floor lamp, so I had to help him bring it out.)
"Before anything- I, uh, Merry Christmas, Steve." Tony says, gesturing awkwardly at the present. "I couldn't wait until Christmas itself. Open it."
I hesitated for a moment, thinking about all the possible things it could be. But this was Tony Stark, and for all I know this could be a star trapped in a glass case.
With cold hands, I ripped off the red wrapper, revealing a steel box. I opened the door to it and saw something similar to a keyboard embedded on the box's wall.
"Wow, Tony, this is- what is this?"
"It's uh. A time machine. Tried and tested. Fully functional. It won't disintegrate you. Just promise me you'll destroy it once you get back to the 40s, I don't want anyone else with this technology ever."
For the longest moment I was speechless, simply staring at Tony's expressionless face. All the words seemed to have disappeared into the machine, and transported to a time I could never go back to.
But actually I could. I have this one chance, this one coin at the telephone booth to call my old life back. I would see my mother, and we'd have Christmas cocoa again. I might be able to save Bucky. I might be able to tell Peggy all that she deserved to hear. I could even tell Howard about Tony-
But Tony. Tony. Tony and his volatile habits, Tony and his rough cheek. All the silent kisses and cold sandwiches. I'd have to leave all the metal and glitter and return to the dirt and blood, without Tony.
I couldn't even think about not having him anymore.
"I don't need it," was all I said, and gauging from his reaction, he had been waiting for me to say it.
We spent the remaining hours next to each other, talking- kissing- talking more (he really doesn't know when to stop talking.) Christmas finally came, but no one even came down to ask us to join them upstairs. They probably knew better. We didn't spend Christmas hiding like teenage lovers though, eventually we left the workshop. Before we did, Tony squeezed my hand and whispered, "I love you, Steve. Thank you for spending Christmas with me."
It was an ordinary- ordinary for them at least- Saturday in the Avengers Mansion. Steve sat across Tony in the kitchen table, making sure he wouldn't run away from his food and into his den again.
"This is the third time this week that you've fainted, Tony, when are you going to believe that you're not immortal?"
"It was an accident."
"How can abstaining from eating for 48 hours be an accident?"
"I was talking about the explosion-"
"WHAT EXPLOSION?"
They've been having these conversations far too many times this week that it's almost become a part of their routine. Tony would disappear for hours- days- cooped up in his world of metals and numbers and wires and science. The workshop nurtured the genius in Tony that no one else could catch up with, but Steve was starting to believe that it's become a hindrance to any other personal development as well.
Steve sighed. It wasn't just him breathing out. It was him giving up. "When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours that you're not alone anymore? I'm not going to let you be alone again, but you're making it difficult not to."
Why don't you just give up then, Tony thought, but he already knew the answer.
"Look- I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'll... try better next time. For the meanwhile, why don't we go IHOP? My treat." Tony offered as compensation. "Besides, we all know how much you love pancakes." He wiggled his eyebrows and flashed his most charming smile but Steve had grown immune.
"You can't buy forgiveness." Steve said, and Tony could feel that his blood was close to boiling point.
"I was going to buy you pancakes." That didn't help him simmer down.
Steve stood up from his stool, his fists clenched, his face distraught. Tony could feel he was close to rolling his eyes. He wouldn't want that, given that it only happens at least once a year, and being on the receiving end of it doesn't feel good at all.
"I'll pass." Steve turned and left the room, leaving a trail of static feelings in his wake. Tony just watched as he disappeared through the door, wanting to pull him back and hold him, feeling like shit, I need to make it up to him.
But he wasn't good at making people feel better. He wasn't good at keeping people in his life. He wasn't good at caring. But this was Steve, and Steve was not part of those people. He wouldn't let Steve go for anything.
And so he ran out of the room, with no destination in mind, just, Steve, Steve, Steve.
-
8:02 PM, his alarm read.
Well that was a long nap.
Not the longest, but still.
Steve sat up from his bed, immediately feeling the usual soreness from waking up. He stretched his arms to the sides and twisted his back, releasing the little knots here and there. Much better, he thought as he stood up, contemplating whether or not to shower.
I wonder what Tony's doing now.
From the bedside table drawer, Steve took out the phone he received from Tony. He didn't really need it, seeing as all the people he knew lived with him, but Tony didn't stop until he accepted it. So he did, keeping it in the drawer unless he felt the need to use it.
(7) NEW MESSAGES
(8) MISSED CALLS
That's new.
He opened his inbox and saw that all of them were from Tony. The first one read:
Steve. Um. Still sorry. Really. Uh hypothetical question, what would you want to eat for dinner tonight?
Steve, did you get my message? I'll call.
Are you still mad because I'm going crazy here
Answer me, Steve, dammit
I'm sorry Steve please just say something I can't stand you being mad at me
Steve, I'm so fucking sorry. I swear I won't do it ever again, if it means you never being mad at me like this. I'm on my way home, please talk to me again. I'm sorry. Dammit Steve. I love you.
Quickly, Steve returned the phone into the drawer and left his room, heading for Tony's workshop first. Surprisingly, it was quiet and empty, as though it had been untouched for years. His hand lingered for a moment on the glass, staring into the deserted workshop as though Tony might suddenly materialize from under a car or beneath a pile of metal or fall from the ceiling. But nothing happened. It was as just as desolate as it was a minute ago.
As Steve was on his way to the kitchen- where Tony stays more often in than his room because of coffee- he bumped into Natasha.
"Did Tony arrive home yet?" Steve asked the redhead whose face gave nothing away. "He sent a message at around four that he was on his way home but I still haven't seen him around."
Natasha's jade eyes were blank as she analyzed his face. "He's not home." She said in her smooth voice, but there was a raggedness in the way she said them, as though their corners were torn with fingers. "Steve, I have to tell you something."
Something happened-
Steve's heart beat was pounding faster with each word. He could feel it about to break open from his chest.
He went to the supermarket, alone-
Parking lot, a hoard of men came-
He was breathing fast. Everything was starting to blur. Sentences became phrases, thoughts incoherent, feelings numb.
No suit-
Tony was beaten-
His heart was starting to weep, to beg.
Hurt-
No, no, he thought. He prayed. He demanded.
Cut-
His arc reactor taken-
His heart gave in.
Natasha swore she had never anything so broken until that day.
There was screaming. And shouting. And throwing, and rampaging and breaking. And finally there was the crying, the tears Steve had been trying to hold inside. His feelings spilled from his eyes, and he was shaking. This is all my fault, Steve thought as he clutched himself as though that would help in keeping in whole. We shouldn't have fought over something so small. I should've went. If I had, maybe he'd still be here. The hole in his chest would be covered with light. I would still feel his pulse, smell the alcohol in his mouth. Tomorrow we'd fight again, and we'd kiss in the night. We would've been.
He died thinking I hadn't forgiven him.
Steve forgot the faces that approached him. He forgot where he was. He was submerged in the ifs and nos in his mind. He didn't want to speak, he just wanted to see him again. But he couldn't. Tony was drowning, and Steve had to let go.
Time had taken too many people from him. Time had stolen too much. He finally understood why Tony stayed up for as long as he could. He didn't want to miss out on anything that happens between the night and the sunrise, didn't want to be away when everything was there. Especially when he had had Steve. He'd watch Steve, illuminated by the faint moonlight, as he sleeps beside him. There was a beauty in that moment, as though they were the only ones left in the world. It was just their synchronized breathing and heavy breaths breaking through the silence. Occasionally, there was the sound of skin on skin, lips on lips. On rare incidents, heavy moans echoed throughout the walls like unstable molecules, until every noise was taken in by their senses. Those were noises Tony wanted to memorize for as long as he could.
I don't have anything to miss out anymore, Steve thinks- of Tony, Tony's smile, Tony's smell- as he closes his eyes and sleeps. The tears will dry, and I will forget. Not the pain, not Tony. But everything else.
