Steve is still convinced Tony will regret this when he's sober, but he's physically steadier now, and he's initiating this. It's enough to satisfy Steve's moral compass, which is probably dented right now, but unbroken. His own emotions and needs are knotted up in his chest, in the back of his head, coiled like razor wire around his aching spine. God, is he ever touch-starved--partly his own fault, he rarely if ever asks for physical contact that doesn't involve sparring.
He's also psychologically desperate. They both are. Steve is becoming comfortable with the idea that they're bound now, by familiarity and circumstance if nothing else. Tony is the only lifeline he's got here, and Steve...doesn't especially want another photographer from Des Moines. It's always been terribly important to him to be seen and known for who he is. For all that there are gaps, for all that they've hurt one another badly, Tony sees Steve Rogers under the spangly costume. He knows him. They know each other.
And Steve is a giver, not just of sexual affection, but of pep talks and gentle heart-to-hearts, friendly touches and platitudes and unwanted advice. Tony's never been very receptive, but his defenses are down now. It's an opportunity Steve hasn't seen before.
"Di'n't say I'd never thought about it b'fore today," he says, speech slurring a little as if he's the one who's been drinking. It's just the distraction, his pulse picking up, chills creeping down his spine.
Stupid thing to say. Stupid, stupid. But true. He's not immune to Tony's charm and brilliance, and never has been. The way they used to bicker and rub one another raw fed that fire rather than dampening it. But there was work, and there was Pepper, and there was Bucky (somewhere, alive, hurt), and Steve had to figure the world was probably safer if he ignored any unresolved sexual tension, whether it was one-sided or not.
Since the world already ended, there's no point ignoring it any more.
He makes a quiet 'ahh' sound against the first brush of lips, then leans into it, quick to draw Tony's lower lip between his teeth and nibble gently. He starts out careful as the kiss deepens, trying to let Tony lead, but something starts to give when he moves off the chair, presses close to him. Steve makes a wounded sound, arms trembling as they wrap around his waist.
"...please..." Please, let this be real. Please let him feel something outside devastation and grim, tenuous hope.
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He's also psychologically desperate. They both are. Steve is becoming comfortable with the idea that they're bound now, by familiarity and circumstance if nothing else. Tony is the only lifeline he's got here, and Steve...doesn't especially want another photographer from Des Moines. It's always been terribly important to him to be seen and known for who he is. For all that there are gaps, for all that they've hurt one another badly, Tony sees Steve Rogers under the spangly costume. He knows him. They know each other.
And Steve is a giver, not just of sexual affection, but of pep talks and gentle heart-to-hearts, friendly touches and platitudes and unwanted advice. Tony's never been very receptive, but his defenses are down now. It's an opportunity Steve hasn't seen before.
"Di'n't say I'd never thought about it b'fore today," he says, speech slurring a little as if he's the one who's been drinking. It's just the distraction, his pulse picking up, chills creeping down his spine.
Stupid thing to say. Stupid, stupid. But true. He's not immune to Tony's charm and brilliance, and never has been. The way they used to bicker and rub one another raw fed that fire rather than dampening it. But there was work, and there was Pepper, and there was Bucky (somewhere, alive, hurt), and Steve had to figure the world was probably safer if he ignored any unresolved sexual tension, whether it was one-sided or not.
Since the world already ended, there's no point ignoring it any more.
He makes a quiet 'ahh' sound against the first brush of lips, then leans into it, quick to draw Tony's lower lip between his teeth and nibble gently. He starts out careful as the kiss deepens, trying to let Tony lead, but something starts to give when he moves off the chair, presses close to him. Steve makes a wounded sound, arms trembling as they wrap around his waist.
"...please..." Please, let this be real. Please let him feel something outside devastation and grim, tenuous hope.