A century old, and yet somehow still a twenty-five-year-old cadet whose emotional development got arrested during wartime. Steve is a decent soldier, a good man, a dedicated leader, but there are phases he missed out on in his life, holes that can't be patched up after the fact. The alarming truth is that Tony is slightly more qualified to be the grown-up here. Only slightly, but when Steve is at a low point, as he is now, that extra competence matters.
His body feels heavy, as if every caress through his hair weighs him down a little further into the bed, into Tony's arms. He sort of wants to just roll with that, let himself relax, see if he might even fall asleep like this. Banter and friendship are priceless, sex is amazing, but this? Quiet moments of holding and being held, gentle touches and pillow talk? This is love.
He's silent for a few seconds, catching his breath and processing what Tony's telling him, and then his fingers curl against Tony's skin, stroking his side lazily. "You know, what I always liked about you is how you challenged me," he says. "You'd push, I'd push back, we'd fight, we'd shake hands and agree to disagree. I figured you hated me a little, but I didn't take it personally. The army was like that. You live in a tent with six or eight other guys, you're gonna fight and hate each other half the time. But you're also indispensable to each other. You have their six, they have yours."
"You're right, though. I'm on the edge, and you're acting more like yourself, right now, but I know you're pretty close to it, too. We better handle with care." Especially if they're going to sleep together.
"I honestly...don't know how to live, is the thing. I don't know how not to have my brain in battle mode, planning for the next fight. I don't do downtime. So, I know as long as we're chasing down stones to destroy, as long as we have a fight, I'm going to be able to hold together. I have bad moments, but I'm here."
"After we finish this, it's just a big blank slate. Maybe that's why I like Iron Man better than Captain America. He's got an endgame in mind. He can build something better, adapt to things changing, direct the changes. Captain America is only good for holding the darkness at bay until dawn shows up, and then he's a relic. Or until the sun burns out for good--and the idea of being the last man standing is romantic but it doesn't actually help anyone."
God, does he want to be saved, though. He'd gotten used to the idea of a violent death, of never coming home from the battlefield. Not like he'd be the only man, or woman, to end that way. But the greatest good isn't found on the field of war; he was a painter, and he knows that there's a quiet glory in a job well done, in beauty, in peace.
"All I know for sure is I need this," he says, arm curling a little tighter around Tony. "To be...held. Touched. Like when I was a kid and having an asthma attack, or when the heat broke in the tenement building and we had to sleep in the same bed so I wouldn't get sicker. This makes sense, when nothing else does."
"And I need you to see me for who I am. Steve, not Cap. Or at least not just Cap. I think Cap's about to die one way or another, for me. For good. Steve might be able to try again."
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His body feels heavy, as if every caress through his hair weighs him down a little further into the bed, into Tony's arms. He sort of wants to just roll with that, let himself relax, see if he might even fall asleep like this. Banter and friendship are priceless, sex is amazing, but this? Quiet moments of holding and being held, gentle touches and pillow talk? This is love.
He's silent for a few seconds, catching his breath and processing what Tony's telling him, and then his fingers curl against Tony's skin, stroking his side lazily. "You know, what I always liked about you is how you challenged me," he says. "You'd push, I'd push back, we'd fight, we'd shake hands and agree to disagree. I figured you hated me a little, but I didn't take it personally. The army was like that. You live in a tent with six or eight other guys, you're gonna fight and hate each other half the time. But you're also indispensable to each other. You have their six, they have yours."
"You're right, though. I'm on the edge, and you're acting more like yourself, right now, but I know you're pretty close to it, too. We better handle with care." Especially if they're going to sleep together.
"I honestly...don't know how to live, is the thing. I don't know how not to have my brain in battle mode, planning for the next fight. I don't do downtime. So, I know as long as we're chasing down stones to destroy, as long as we have a fight, I'm going to be able to hold together. I have bad moments, but I'm here."
"After we finish this, it's just a big blank slate. Maybe that's why I like Iron Man better than Captain America. He's got an endgame in mind. He can build something better, adapt to things changing, direct the changes. Captain America is only good for holding the darkness at bay until dawn shows up, and then he's a relic. Or until the sun burns out for good--and the idea of being the last man standing is romantic but it doesn't actually help anyone."
God, does he want to be saved, though. He'd gotten used to the idea of a violent death, of never coming home from the battlefield. Not like he'd be the only man, or woman, to end that way. But the greatest good isn't found on the field of war; he was a painter, and he knows that there's a quiet glory in a job well done, in beauty, in peace.
"All I know for sure is I need this," he says, arm curling a little tighter around Tony. "To be...held. Touched. Like when I was a kid and having an asthma attack, or when the heat broke in the tenement building and we had to sleep in the same bed so I wouldn't get sicker. This makes sense, when nothing else does."
"And I need you to see me for who I am. Steve, not Cap. Or at least not just Cap. I think Cap's about to die one way or another, for me. For good. Steve might be able to try again."