Sorry for the late update, as per usual, but I've been having the worse couple of months of my life and the actual motivation or effort to write has been nonexistent and I didn't want to pawn off some half assed piece of work like I feel like I usually do.
But I'm back with some cute stony, some tears, some fluff, some actual progress and following is a time skip!
My favourite comment is getting a shout out and a follow (;
I hope you enjoy!
3500+ words
"So that's it?"
Steve is pushing the mountain of clothes that had been piled up onto his bed into the washing basket for him to put a load on, something in which he was supposed to do the other morning but had forgotten due to his mind being too occupied and worried about Tony coming down, which was a weird enough feeling to begin with, never mind actually abandoning all of his chores to make sure that everything was perfect for a guy that he barely knows.
Which isn't true, Steve knows Tony. Sure, he doesn't know all of the big things in his life like his family or his actual home life, other than the fact that he lives in Long Island, but he knows all of the little things about Tony, all of the things that everyone else seems unimportant but is important to Steve.
Like the way that Tony has an undying love for coffee, black with two sugars, or how he constantly has the need to fix up things that are either broken or not up to his standards ( Steve learned that not only from Tony giving maintenance to the heart monitor but also because Steve had woke up from his nap that afternoon to find an old portable radio not only working but also picking up stations from different states, the hands of Tony Stark of course ).
It's stupid, silly things that Steve knows, and he knows it's stupid silly things like the way that Tony sleeps curled up and his face scrunched or how he constantly seems to threaten to turn his bot' Dumm-E into a toaster if he doesn't behave, even though he loves the company in his workshop at MIT, that would make Bucky's face scrunch in disgust and mutter something about how he still doesn't know him.
And maybe Steve knows Tony, he just doesn't know Tony Stark.
"What's It?"Steve is asking, still sweeping dirty clothes into the washing basket. Now that he looks, Steve is pretty sure that not all of the clothes in the washing basket is his because last time Steve checked, he didn't own black leggings or red cycling shorts.
"The whole Tony business."Bucky's voice sort of dips into a sneer as he waves his hands about in a weird sort of gesture, face turned into a disapproving scowl as he gives the bed that Tony and Steve had been sharing the night before a disgusted sort of look before he continues."He goes back to his fancy collage Michigan-"
"- Massachusetts -"
"- and you go back to being Steve."
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise that I changed names? When did I stop being Steve?"Steve now stands up straight, the basket of laundry balancing between his hip and his arm in the most
unthreatening way as possible.
"When you met him."Bucky answers sullenly, sulking by the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest and hair hanging by his eyes, freshly out of the shower.
"Buck, you're being a bit weird."Steve scoffs as he moves past Bucky's sulking frame in the doorway and moves towards the garage where the washing machine is.
"You're the one being weird."Bucky snarks, something childish about his tone of voice as he stalks behind Steve. The blond doesn't even resist the urge to roll his eyes as he crouches to open the washing machine to put on the load.
"You are the only person that has something against Tony, everyone else adores him."And usually, Steve is the one to stretch the truth but this time he isn't. Tony had managed to wiggle into everyone's good books, which was surprising enough when it came to a bunch of misfits like Steve's group.
The groups approval of Tony wasn't exactly needed but it sure did help the tight knots of fear that had been settled inside of Steve since the beginning of that afternoon that Tony had came over. To Steve, Tony meant a lot to him, and having his friends ( or most of his friends, anyway ) think that Tony was the good guy that Steve knows him as, it means a lot.
"Natasha doesn't."
"I'll let you believe that."Steve snorts, loading the washing machine and slamming the machine door as soon as he's stuffed in the last sock. Steve has known Natasha longer than Bucky has, and despite all of what Natasha is on the outside, she's very knowing and understanding.
"I don't like him."
"You don't like anyone."The blond deadpans, looking over his shoulder at his best friend who seems to carry a constant air of hatred and disgust when surrounding the topic of Tony.
"This is different."
"Buck, if I stopped talking to someone every time that you didn't like them, my only friend would be you."Which is true, because every single time that Steve had gained a new friend, Bucky was always that chip on his shoulder that nagged in his ear about how he didn't like them, how they weren't allowed to sit with them at lunch or play basketball after school. And it was only after Natasha had joined that Bucky finally started to relax when allowing new members to their group.
Tony, however, seems like a no go.
"You don't even know him!"Bucky finally bursts with a shout, frustrated with not only Hameln but with Steve of how dumb that he is acting, of how dumb that he's being, how dumb that he truly is for Tony.
"I do!"
"Oh really? What's his favourite colour? His shoe size? Does he have siblings? A dog? What do you call his parents? Does he love his mother?"Bucky is listening off peevishly, listening each question off with his fingers as he follows Steve like an annoying younger sibling, even though it's usually the other way round.
"We are not having this conversation again."He stresses, not even bothering to stop and grab food from the cupboard like he intended on doing before settling to watch a film until dinner. His mom should be home from her shift soon and Steve intends on making her dinner, it's the least that he can do.
"Oh, yes we are."Bucky is quick at his heels, storming into the room after Steve with determination written all over his face as he speaks."You don't know jack shit about this- Guy! But if he phoned you up right this minute and asked for you to come to him, or for him to come to you, you'd fucking do it, and you know you would, because you're naive and gullible and this guy could be anyone, for fuck sake!"
"He has a name, Buck! It's Tony, Tony Stark, say it!"
"How do you even know that's his real name?"
"Because it was on his goddamn medical bracelet, you idiot!"And his medical sheets, and at the foot of his bed in block letters on a clip board that had read Stark, Anthony Edward. Steve had seen the name on his thick plastic that was wrapped around his wrist, mixed with the mesh of intertwining tubes and leads that stuck out from the back of his hand or from his chest.
"I stick by what I said. You'd drop everything for this guy, which you barely know, who could be a serial killer by the way, because you just love to feel charitable to poor souls that you find scarred and bruised in hospital rooms."And Steve swears, there's an undertone of jealous in Bucky's snarl.
"I'm going for a run."Steve finally breaks the silence, tearing his eyes away from Bucky in fury, jaw clenched shut and nostrils flared in anger. He doesn't know why he's getting so worked up about this, Bucky is right, Steve barely knows Tony, but there's something itching under his skin that's telling Steve to defend Tony no matter what. And it's weird, yet another thing to add to the weird things about Tony Stark and what he does to Steve.
"It's minus 5 outside."Bucky deadpans, grey eyes cold as he watches Steve reach for his own front door to make a leave in an angry huff.
"I'll survive."Steve backtracks and grabs a wind breaker and hat from the coat rack by the front door, shoving them on.
"Fine."
"And you better be gone when I get back."
"I will be."
And Steve knows that's a damn lie, because even when he's exiting through the backdoor of his own house, he knows that Bucky will still be in the house on his return, just like he always is, wanting to escape from a house that he's never really had attention from to a house where he gets it all.
When Steve returns from his hour run around the block half a dozen times, Bucky is still there, settled on the sofa with a bowl of chips and some corny romantic comedy on the television that he would normally scramble to find the remote for to change the channel to make it look like he's not watching something romantically corny.
Flopping onto the sofa, Steve pants for air, his face tinted red from sweat and the icy wind that had blown into his face for the good part of an hour, nose button red and ears numb. Bucky doesn't say anything and neither does Steve, for a while, and so he sits and pants for air while Bucky sits and munches on chips that he had defiantly stolen out of Steve's cupboard until the blond finally speaks.
"What are we watching?"
"The Back-Up Plan."
"Cool."
And that's that.
Steve hates it when Bucky is right
It's not something that happens often, because usually neither of them are right, but when it does happen, it's as if a massive boot made out of steel has kicked him repeatedly in the backside and Steve is not fond of that feeling whatsoever. It's a feeling of dread in his stomach, and the voice in his head that taunts him with a chant of Bucky was right Bucky was right that makes Steve grumble and scowl because for fuck sake.
At least Steve can say it wasn't that exact minute, it had been the middle of the night that Steve was awakened from his restless, dreamless slumber by the piercing sound of his ringtone and the dull thud of vibrations against that wood of his old bedside table. Steve is still groggy with sleep, half of his body turned in his bed to reach for his buzzing phone and half ready to tell Clint to fuck off and get a taxi home when a voice beats him to it.
"Steve? Steve?"
"Tony?"Steve immediately sits up, baby fine blond hair sticking up at the side of his head, eyes half lidded but mind fully alert at the sound of the urgency, the ear that seems to slick the questioned words of Steve, as if feared that it's not Steve at all who answered the phone for Tony's aid."Tony, what's wrong, it's-"Steve casts a look at his alarm clock,"-3 in the morning."
"It is? Oh fuck, shit, how long was I- never mind, I'm sorry, go back to sleep I didn't mean to wake you up, go back to sleep, goodnight Steve, or is it good morning-"
"Tony, don't you dare hang up on me. Where are you, are you hurt?"Steve is up and out of bed, hopping round the small bedroom in search for his clothes, for joggers and a hoodie and shoes preferably too.
"I don't know."
"You don't know where you are or if you're hurt, talk to me."
"I don't know if I'm hurt, I feel numb, I always feel numb."Tony's voice comes out robotic, still without emotion as if trained to have said these words over and over again in front of his bedroom mirror, inside of his head as he walked home from a bad date, into himself under the sheets of his bed when he's crawled into bed. There's no emotion in his words but Steve can hear the pain.
"I'm coming to you, I'll get a taxi, I'll be-"
"No! No, don't- don't come here, don't come to me."The robotic voice is gone, filled back with frantic and worry and fear that's so unlike the cocky, happy go lucky attitude that Tony's voice is usually filled with. It worries Steve, it makes his chest ache and his head hurt."I'll come to you, I'll meet you...somewhere, I'll be 10 minutes."
"You're in Long Island-"
"I'm not."It comes out sharp and blunt, with an undertone of regret and that unnerving sound of fear beneath the surface."I'll text you in 10 minutes."
And he hangs up.
Steve is left looking at his phone, the light still harsh upon his eyes no matter how dim that the light is. His own fear is strong within Steve, and it's not even an odd feeling, it's not even weird, because it's a feeling of fear that has been nestled inside of Steve since the moment he met Tony and he knows it. It's a feeling of fear that's been buried deep, unknowingly knowing of the troubles that Tony Stark brings and he's ready for it.
Whatever this trouble is, exactly, is unknown.
It's no later and no less than 10 minutes when his phone is lighting up with a text so brief that Steve is glad that Clint taught him how to read 'text' codes or else he would've had no clue on what it was that Tony had texted him. It's a couple of miles out but Steve doesn't mind, he can run it, he's ran longer and he'll run it for Tony.
It's a coffee hut, and if course it is. Open 24-7 from the looks of it, quiet other than the soft bristle of late night/early morning radio and the chime of the bell that rings every time someone pushes open the front door. It's warm inside, cosy and nice, with little to no people in the coffee hut than a handful of business men and a figure that's huddled in the far corner.
"Tony,"Steve approaches the table with care, face tinted pink from the run and nose numb from the sharp, icy wind. His hair and swept in all sorts of directions, blue eyes open and caring and concerned. Tony looks up in alert, half expecting Steve not to have turned up and he looks terrible.
There's a sort of roughness to Tony's appearance that makes hospitalised Tony look like a God, in comparison to how he looks. Tired, worn out, broken, scared. His hair is matted down, a bruise that hadn't been there a week ago now formed down the right side of his face, dusted by his cheek bone and curved at his jaw.
"You look-"
"Shit?"
"I was going to say not that great, but we can go with shit."Instead of sitting across from Tony, Steve is swiftly sliding into his side of the booth, suddenly feeling so much bigger than Tony in that moment where the younger teen hunches over a mug of coffee and chews on his bottom lip.
"I'm so fucked, Steve."He finally whispers after a long stretch of silence, fingers enclosed at the fabric around the dirty hoodie that he wears, close to where the soft blue of the arc reactor can be seen through the material.
"What happened."
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"Steve pushes for an answer, but he keeps his tone of voice mellow and his volume down, watching Tony's fidgeting hands that keep moving and fingers that keel twirling around the string of the dirty hoodie.
"Because you'll think differently of me, Steve, and that's the last- you're the last person that I want to think differently of me."He keeps his voice low and quiet, as if he's afraid that anyone else that's in this coffee hut will over hear, as if they care of what Tony says.
"Then why am I here."
"You offered-"
"No, I mean, why did you call me. Why me?"Steve wants an answer and it's not exactly like he's mad, or maybe he is a little, because he's barely heard a word from Tony for an entire week since he left his home in Brooklyn, and now all of sudden he calls him up in the middle of the night, looking like - in the words of Tony - shit and wanting him. Wanting Steve.
"I'm not exactly raining down with friends, Steve."Tony's voice comes out bitter, keeping his eyes on the dark liquid of coffee that remains in the bottom of his mug. There's two open empty packets of sugar on the booths table, little grains of sugar remaining on the table."And I just need, I just need you."
"Me?"
"Yes."He sucks in a sharp breath, hands now found napkins to fiddle with, twisting the tissue fabric, tearing it into little pieces of chunks until it's a confetti on his lap and until the tissue is gone and he's reaching for another, out of nerves, out of anxiety because he doesn't know what else to say and he doesn't really want to speak but he doesn't want to leave because he needs to be around people. He needs to be around good people, like Steve.
There's a hand that catches his own, and Tony freezes, he nearly flinches, but the hand is large and warm and soft and it swallows Tony's own in a way that's familiar but not. The hand is so smoothed, without scars or blemishes and so unlike Tony's own which have been scarred from all sorts of bother.
The hand gives his a squeeze, a squeeze to gain attention but to show affection and it makes Tony look up from where he's staring until he's looking into those eyes, baby blue and bright, open and caring and curious and worried all mashed into one. He looks away, feeling ashamed, there's fingers under his chin that pulls him back to those eyes, to a blue so bright like sapphires and a face so beautiful and set.
"If you don't want to talk, that's fine. We can just sit here until the sun rises, or until the sun sets, and remain here, with you, for you if that's what you need. We don't need to talk."His voice is so soft, just like his skin, just like his hands, and his lips more so perfectly around each word and syllable that Tony's eyes are drawn to them.
"Can I kiss you?"
"What?"
"A peck, nothing more, I just- I just want to test out a theory."And as the words tumble out of Tony's mouth, their lips meet in a kiss that Steve has initiated but one that Tony has met him half way for. There's no movie moment of sparks and fireworks, but there's a warm, bubbling feeling of anxiety, of fear or some other adjoining emotion that comes with feelings and crushes and sweet on's of the like.
Steve's hands are soft on his face, on the left side not the right, and his lips are as equally as soft as his skin, as his hands and his tone of voice that is reserved only for Tony. He's plaint, content with the kiss, despite the tightness in his chest and the dizziness in his head and there's a smile, so nearly not there but there on his lips, even as Steve pulls away until they are nose to nose.
"Talk to me. Talk to me softly, about your day, about your week, I want to remember the sound of your voice."
And he does.
Okay at first, I hated writing this chapter because nothing would come out and it took so long just to drag myself through the first half of this chapter but the second half of his chapter was his story my favourite to write and omg I hope you all loved it as much as I did.
Please tell me your opinions of this chapter!
What do you think is Bucky's problem with Tony?
What do you think happened to Tony?
What are your thoughts on the Tony/Steve kiss? Do you think it was perfect?
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Peace✌🏼