Coney Island, Part 1
[Start date: April 16, 2019]
Steve left Saturday morning Mass alone and exhausted despite being surrounded by a sea of families in their Easter best. He already knew he wouldn't be back for Easter proper if he had to do it by himself, and a part of him regretted that, if only because his mother would be ashamed. She wasn't around to shake her head and tug his ear, though, so he put a few blocks between himself and the church and then pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He lit up and then reached for his phone on autopilot, though he wasn't sure what he expected to see, and was unsurprised but nonetheless disappointed that his only notifications were from news articles and the damn group text Tony had started.
He slowed his pace as he scrolled through the massive group chat, then stepped aside on the sidewalk and pursed his lips around his cigarette to he pulled up a private text. Forty seconds later, he still hadn't written anything, but the desire he was always trying to quash was reaching a breaking point again -- irrevocable, undeniable, unquenchable, except by taking the mad leap back.
He switched from a text message to his phone contacts and pressed the call button.
---
Mr. Stark,
I am Taylor. I am seven years old. Are you going on an Easter egg hunt with the Avengers? Can you take me to see you? It’s my dream.
The note and drawing came with an accompanying letter from her parents. She was a terminal patient and they had been trying to reach him for a few weeks.
“Call them, J. Make it a date. Use the cool Avengers Comm System voice.”
Thank God. Meaningful plan for tomorrow. There was no Avengers Easter egg hunt, unfortunately (or if there would be one, he hadn’t been invited, which — understandable) but maybe Taylor could join the one at the Haven. No meet-and-greet with the other Avengers, but…
Tony put the drawing down on the table, leaned back on his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, then combed his fingers through his slightly overgrown hair. This was just the kind of thing he would have dragged Steve into, at least, without even waiting for permission. But now they were in some kind of limbo that was deeply unsatisfying, although still better than all the other scenarios he’d been expecting.
He couldn’t possibly just —
”Incoming call from Captain Rogers, sir.”
“Take it - no, wait -“
Too late. Tony instinctively fixed his posture and his hair as if Steve could see him.
“Tony Stark speaking.”
Too formal. What the fuck. He reached for the fanmail he’d been reading and looked at them as if they were Very Important Business Papers he could use as an explanation as to why he was so airheaded at the moment, even though there was no one there to see his act.
“Sorry. Yeah. Hi.”
---
Despite himself -- and maybe because Tony couldn't see him -- Steve smiled fondly.
"Hi, Tony Stark. Steve Rogers was wondering if you could come out to play. Is this a bad time?"
---
Joke. That was a joke. Were they at a point where it was cool to joke?
“Come out to date? Play.” He cleared his throat. “Play date, I mean. Hah.”
What was this? He was supposed to be the cool one.
“What’s the occasion? New toys?” Ugh. That sounded like a sex thing. “I mean, what do you wanna do?”
---
"Yeah." He took a steeling drag of his cigarette. It wasn't often that he felt as though he had the upper hand, so to speak, in any given interaction with Tony, and he was privately proud of how casual an air he was maintaining despite the jitters in his stomach.
"A play date. We're overdue for one."
His heart turned over at what sounded something like an innuendo, but…not in a wholly bad way. They'd had about a year now to air out…whatever had been dragged out of them in the Raft, and it had come to make some kind of sense -- enough, at least, for Steve to finally do something about how badly he missed Tony.
"It's a nice day. I haven't been to Coney Island in a while."
---
“Coney Island?” Tony blinked. Unexpected. He put the papers down and mouthed a what? in the general direction of where he imagined JARVIS would have been, if he were a physical presence.
That had to be a joke or a dated reference of some kind. A screen popped up on his right side. JARVIS had opened the Urban Dictionary entry for Coney Island.
“Is that code for something? Or do you mean Coney Island as in Coney Island?”
---
Steve inhaled deeply but managed to stave off an exasperated sigh.
"Unless there's another Coney Island I don't know about, I mean Coney Island as in Coney Island. Riegelmann Boardwalk, the Cyclone, the Wonder Wheel."
He paused. Back further, even before Pleasant Hill, there had been a hotel suite and a race track and the Riesenrad, days of almost-but-not-quite moments, nights of laying close to Tony but not quite managing to bridge the gap. To this day he still wasn't sure which would haunt him longer: the false bliss they'd been imprisoned in or the fact that they might have had something like it, willfully and together, long beforehand if only.
"I guess it is a little juvenile," he said, then realized that that was exactly the kind of self-sabotaging bullshit he'd been shoveling for the past several years. He could almost feel Sam rolling his eyes as he mentally backpedaled.
"How about I bring you lunch. I won't keep you long."
---
Tony waved away the Urban Dictionary window and leaned forward so he could support his elbows on the table. He joined his hands and rest his chin on them.
Actual Coney Island. The most vivid memory Tony had of actual Coney Island was crying as he stared out into a deserted park while Howard lectured him on how to withstand disappointment or whatever.
”I guess it is a little juvenile.”
Something twisted in his heart, like the dream had been snatched away again.
“Wait - wait.”
I know you think us and Coney Island would be just a casual outing, but not for me, it wouldn’t be.
“You should know something. If we go…”
What? Tony swallowed against the dryness in his throat.
“— if lunch is what you want, they do that at Coney Island, right? We could do both. I’m a ‘do both’ kinda guy.”
---
"Yeah," Steve said slowly. "There's food. I haven't…actually been since I was a kid. But I do remember food."
He was pretty sure now that Tony was agreeing solely because Steve had offered and not because he actually wanted to go, which was par for the course a couple years ago, but also not an impulse Steve was willing to indulge anymore.
"You can say no, you know."
---
“I know — is that — do you want me to say that?”
Because I will.
I’ll do anything you want.
It was true, and the vulnerability of it made his skin crawl. He was still so sorry. So sorry.
“I’d like to go, if you’re still up for it. Whatever you want. Or I could fly us somewhere? Would you like that? Anywhere. As long as we do it. Yeah. All right?”
---
He definitely didn't want to fly anywhere. He was in a better place than he had been a year ago, but he wasn't ready to be trapped somewhere, so close and yet unfathomably far from Tony again. He hated it, but he needed an exit strategy.
Under different circumstances, Tony might have been proud.
"I want you to say what you want, Tony."
He bought himself a moment with the cigarette and hoped he wouldn't regret this.
"Tell you what. I'm already in Brooklyn. Come by my apartment if you want, and we'll go. My treat. But only if you really want to. Sound fair?"
Please come. I swear I won't hurt you this time.
---
“Sounds good. I’ll, uh, check my…” His gaze darted to the week-old pizza remains in the greasy box to his left. “I’ll check my schedule.”
He signaled for JARVIS to end the call. Then he pushed his chair back, stood up, leaned his hands on the table and looked down on it like he was examining a map on how to handle this particular social situation.
“Did that go well?”
”It does not seem to have ended catastrophically.”
“So what, then? Steve Rogers and I just go have some ice cream at Coney Island? Really? What the hell are you thinking?”
”You’re doing the thinking. I’m just your canvas.”
“Thanks. That didn’t help at all.”
”The more pertinent question might be: do you want to go to Coney Island with Steve Rogers?”
-
Three hours, a shower, and a 30-minute dilemma on what car to drive later, Tony knocked at Steve’s door.
“I can’t believe you haven’t gone to Coney Island since the 20s,” he said, as soon as Steve opened the door.
---
He didn't come. Steve showered, brushed his teeth, made and ate a sandwich, and almost two hours later, Tony hadn't arrived -- so Steve pulled off his t-shirt and lit up again as he headed to the roof.
He probably shouldn't waste the day waiting. The weather was nice, and he could probably find someone else to go with him. Or he could swing back by Bucky's, see if there was any booze left.
Steve grimaced. Shit. That might explain why Tony was keeping his distance, now that he thought about it.
Four cigarettes later, he went back down to his apartment, just in time to hear someone knocking at the front door.
"Uh. "
He automatically stepped aside to let Tony in.
"It wasn't a high priority," Steve said, reaching for the shirt and belt he'd tossed on the couch. At least he'd bothered shaving, or he would have looked like a true slob in just an undershirt and jeans.
"Have you, uh -- have you ever been?"
---
Tony stepped in. He stared at Steve for a second as he reached for his shirt, then he looked away and started playing with his hands (snap, clap, snap, clap, snap, clap…)
“Um. Yeah. I studied the place.” His eyes quickly scanned the environment, hoping that it would show all the things about how Steve was really doing that Steve would probably never share himself. “As a thriving and then failing business model. You know. But it’s been years.”
Tony shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“The future didn’t turn the place into something cooler than it already was. I feel like I should tell you that. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
---
Steve watched Tony's hands as he pulled on his shirt and picked up his belt.
"It's the present now," Steve said slowly. "I'm not expecting time machines and hover craft."
He shrugged and fastened the belt, then hooked his thumbs in it.
"It was already pretty cool," Steve said with a small (definitely not embarrassed) smile. "And I invited you, so I think any disappointment would be on me."
He stepped in close to Tony to reach his wallet and keys and deposit them into his pockets.
"So, um…did you want to take the subway? Or we can take my bike? Or -- you probably drove. Here. Would you rather drive?"
---
Steve stepped closer without warning and Tony breathed in sharply. All his nerve endings were ablaze for an instant, he didn’t know if it was bad or good but he knew he was intense. Like his body was still craving that closeness.
“I don’t like… touching. The subway. You know, people are always — and I mean, I don’t think it gets —“ He cleared his throat, closed his eyes and shook his head. “— cleaned. Anyway.”
God, he’d probably sounded like the biggest asshole on Earth.
“I never rode your bike,” he added.
(He’d taken care of it while Steve was gone. He’d seen drawings of it on that sketchbook that he shouldn’t have picked up.)
“So that could be a thing.” Also the means that allowed the least talking, and therefore the least awkward silences. “I mean, if you’re feeling all right. You had kind of a wild night if I remember correctly.”
---
Steve pulled a grimace before he could think to stop himself. He'd only had to barely skim the group chat that morning to remember what a jackass he'd made of himself the night before. He also knew Tony wasn't trying to get a rise out of him, though, so he made a point of looking Tony in the eye as he responded.
"I feel fine. I'm not hung over, anyway."
Steve pulled on his jacket and led Tony back into the hall. He was tempted to lay a hand on the small of Tony's back, but Tony had his hands in his pockets and looked like he was ready to bolt at any moment, so Steve kept his hands to himself as they made their way street-side.
"I am sorry about that," Steve said. "I never was very good at holding my liquor before. But, uh…"
He occupied himself with the saddlebag to procure a helmet and offered it to Tony as he mounted the bike.
"…I didn't say anything I didn't mean. And I appreciate you looking out for me."
---
“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Tony hesitated, hands still in his pockets, before he finally reached for the helmet Steve was offering.
“And even if it were, I’m probably the last person who gets to judge anyone on that.”
He turned the helmet in his hands, examining it almost clinically for a moment — he couldn’t believe he hadn’t made a bike helmet with a JARVIS interface yet. It was so obvious. He needed to get on that.
“Where’s your helmet, now?”
---
Steve smiled and shrugged one shoulder.
"In retirement."
He mounted the bike, then reached back into the other side of the saddle bag and pulled free a second helmet.
"But I have this one."
He put it on and started the bike, carefully watching Tony. Once upon a lifetime, they used to go on bike rides and car rides together just for the hell of it. Maybe this was too much too soon -- maybe ever? Would Tony tell him?
Steve's self-satisfaction ebbed a little, and he dropped his hands from the handlebars to his thighs.
"You sure this is okay?"
---
Retirement.
Yeah. They both knew that wasn’t about bike helmets anymore. Tony’s throat dried up and he just produced a shrugged half-smile and a raised eyebrow as a response.
He was still unsure of what to make of Steve’s “retirement” as Captain America. On one hand, it sounded terribly… healthy, and then on the other hand, Tony remembered where he had been emotionally when he was the one talking about dropping everything.
Or maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe it really was as simple as it sounded, just Steve taking a well-deserved break.
Maybe this afternoon would be as simple as it sounded, just the two of them spending a few hours in Coney Island and nothing other than that.
”You sure this is okay?”
Tony shook his head. He tried to maintain his smile, then he let the helmet Steve had given him drop to the ground.
“Wouldn’t be my first catastrophic mistake,” he said. “A helmet would ruin my hairdo, by the way. You keep yours on.” He mounted the bike behind Steve and suddenly he was that close to him again, and all he wanted was to wrap his arms tightly around him, rest his forehead on his back and inhale the scent of him.
He held on to the sides of the seat with both hands instead.
“Do your worst.”
---
Steve inhaled. Held it. Then leaned the bike over on his right foot, hooked the fallen helmet on his left, and kicked it up to catch it one-handed. He tucked it against his hip as he brought the bike back to center, both of his feet solidly on the ground.
"If you're looking to get thrown off the back of my bike as some kind of penance…"
Then what? What was Steve prepared to do to drive Tony away again?
He sighed and hung the discarded helmet off the left handlebar, then pulled his own off and hung it on the right. He was pretty sure he'd already given Tony his worst, and he was determined not to set himself back almost 2 years -- so he pulled away from the curb and made for the boardwalk at a responsible pace.
---
So, no helmet for him either. Idiot. Tony didn’t say anything else about it, though. This was technically his fault.
Once they started moving, Tony let go of the seat and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist. He leaned his forehead onto Steve’s back, and — God, this was why he had given up the helmet. Every inch of his body wanted to be closer to Steve.
At the first light that they stopped, Tony pressed a kiss to Steve’s spine. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them again.
“I miss you,” he said. The almost-whisper was most likely drowned by the sounds of the city and the engine and everything else around them. He almost didn’t want to get to their destination anymore, because that would mean having to keep a minimum safe distance from Steve as they walked.
---
Tony slid his arms around Steve's waist, and Steve immediately released the left handlebar to close his hand over Tony's. God, had he missed this.
When they stopped, Steve turned as far as he could to grin at Tony.
"Now you're asking for it."
Steve tightened his hold over Tony's wrists and, as soon as the light turned green, sped ahead of the rest of traffic. In Brooklyn, that meant he managed to hit the speed limit, and was able to stay there with only as much lane-straddling as he dared with Tony on the bike with him.
It was probably more than he should have dared at all, but Tony did bring out -- not the worst him in, Steve would never say that, but probably the deepest, least understood parts of him. The parts of him that he'd made private to become Captain America, the parts that loved art and literature and adrenaline and were maybe a little goofy…and the parts of him he'd only found after he'd met Tony, that had come to love how electric and dangerous and unpredictable and sharp and passionate and brilliant he and their intersecting lives were. Tony was perpetual motion, an unstoppable force, and that, more than the false domestic bliss of Pleasant Hill, was what Steve had achingly missed.
When he found a place to park, he loosened his hold on Tony's hands, but he also leaned back against him as he looked over his shoulder again.
"How's your hair?"
---
”Now you’re asking for it.”
Tony felt Steve’s hand press tighter against his. God. He wasn’t 100% sure of what he was asking for, but in all honesty, whatever it was, he hoped Steve would give him.
“You idiot.” He said, half-smiling. “You’re gonna lose your —“
Balance. The light changed and Steve sped ahead. Tony impulsively held on tighter and let off a breath that turned into an exhilarated laugh. He’d been spending so long worrying and planning and regretting and thinking, rethinking and overthinking everything that he’d almost forgotten what this felt like.
Of course Steve was the one who would bring that feeling back. It had gone away with him. Years and years of experimenting and pushing his limits past reasonable extremes to find the right thrill, and that’s where it was — Steve taking him for a ride, simple as that was.
They eventually stopped, and after Steve’s question, Tony grinned, let go of Steve’s waist and smacked the back of his head as he stepped down from the bike.
“You tell me,” he said, and spun around to face Steve again. The past year hadn’t been one of the kindest to Tony’s appearance, but he still mustered some of that old confidence as he brushed his windswept hair back with one hand.
“I can’t fucking believe you brought me here. Even Rhodey knows better.”
---
Steve watched Tony's fingers comb through his hair and curled his own against the impulse to follow suit.
"You're a regular silver fox," he said as he dismounted the bike. He was sure his own hair was a mess, short enough to look respectable but still longer than he'd used to keep it, but he ignored it and hooked his thumbs in his pockets instead.
(He wanted to hook a finger around Tony's belt loop instead. That was weird. Would that be weird? It would almost certainly be weird now that he'd already done it in Pleasant Hill.)
He did knock his elbow lightly against Tony's, then nodded toward the boardwalk.
"Do you remember, for my birthday one year, you got me those photos of L.A.? Two of them had the Pacific Wheel in them. And then, in Vienna…"
I wanted to kiss you then. I wanted to ask you to keep me next to you.
"…I guess I…thought?"
Steve laughed lightly. Oh, God. He was going to say this out loud.
"I hoped maybe the Wonder Wheel would be third time lucky. Maybe. If you wanted."
---
Third time lucky.
Tony remembered the first time he had contemplated going on a Ferris Wheel, or ruota gigante, as his mother called it. He’d indulged the fantasy for weeks until his father finally brought him to the park on his sixth birthday but it was only to see the closed gates and learn to cope with disappointment or whatever. He had kind of sworn off the idea of going on a Ferris Wheel himself since then.
In Pleasant Hill, he’d gone on one. It was on a town fair and it was the place where Steve and Tony has cemented their commitment to each other with a proposal. And it had been a happy memory in the simulation, of course. But looking back on it now. The way they’d broken and entered into his heart and invaded it and took his deepest longings and spun it into a fantasy designed to keep him quiet…
“I want it. With you.” Tony nodded, bracing himself. His eyes were suddenly filled with tears. God, they’d had no right. They’d had no right to taint his fantasies like that. “But I can’t live up to that,” he said, facing straight ahead as they walked. “That guy. The pretend guy who went on that pretend Ferris Wheel with you. I can’t give you that back, I’m sorry.”
---
"Good."
Steve looked to Tony, who faced steadfastly forward. Always. Even when it hurt.
"I don't want the pretend guy, and frankly, I hope you don't, either." He nudged at Tony again and smiled. "I'm not very good at domesticity, as I'm sure you've noticed."
He offered his hand to Tony. It felt inadequate, but all told, he still wasn't sure he had anything else to offer Tony.
He wanted to, though. He wanted to offer him everything, for real this time.
"I want the guy who has every right to resent me but keeps taking me in anyway. The guy who keeps flying around the world to bring me home. I want to do right by that guy."
---
As Steve spoke, Tony slowed his pace until he eventually stopped.
”I want to do right by that guy.”
He unfolded his arms and removed his sunglasses with one hand, and locked eyes with Steve. Coney Island was one of the places where he’d learned to expect the other shoe to drop.
They hurt you.
I let them torture you.
I have no right to resent you.
You have no reason to pick me over the sanitized version of me who managed to make you so happy—
Tony reached for Steve’s hand and held on to it.
“I really did try,” he said. He lowered his gaze to their joined hands. “To bring you home. I promise you. I promise. All I wanted when they had you was to bring you back home.”
---
"I know."
Steve lifted their hands, pressed the back of Tony's to his chest, and stepped in close to enclose their hands between them.
"You tried harder than I deserved. "
He smiled and quirked an eyebrow.
"Maybe, if we have a good time today, you can bring me home."
The attempt at a joke died on its way out of his mouth; he dropped his chin as his voice caught on how badly he really did want to call wherever Tony was home. He didn't really want to dance around it anymore, didn't want to shuffle around that apartment in Hell's Kitchen when everything that meant anything to him was upstate.
"If you'll have me," he added into the space between them. "We don't have to stay here, but…I want to be where you are. And I want you to be out of your head and here, in this moment, with me. Deal?"
---
”You tried harder than I deserved.”
“No.” His voice was low, but he made it a point to emphasize his sentiment by looking back up and into Steve’s eyes again. “No. You deserve much better. You don’t deserve what happened.”
Steve’s chin dropped when he talked about home and Tony allowed himself to get a half-step closer, close enough to touch his forehead to Steve’s. He tightened his grip on Steve’s hand between their chests, and gripped Steve’s bicep with his — more or less, he was still holding the sunglasses — free hand.
That was all he wanted, Steve getting back home. He could make do with other unfulfilled wishes regarding Steve, but that? That, he needed. Whatever home was to him, Tony needed to bring him back to it.
And Steve wanted him out of his head and just there with him. Tony closed his eyes and breathed in and out, in and out, focusing on the movement of his breath and the points of physical contact between him and Steve. He stayed there until the edge brought on by the thoughts of Steve at the Raft started slipping away. He started feeling and hearing Steve’s breath, his heartbeat, the sound of steps and people chattering around them as they passed, and —
A playful whistle, some laughs, a cell phone camera clicking in their direction. ”You need a room?” someone across the boardwalk called out to them. Early twenties, probably, surrounded by friends. Tony let go of Steve’s arm to throw up a peace sign and a debonair smile their way, then he slipped his sunglasses back on.
“Well, lets go then,” he said, trying to push a genuine smile past his annoyance at the interruption. “Let’s see this Coney Island of yours.”
---
"You don't deserve what happened."
Neither do you, Steve wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat as Tony stepped in close. He was reminded of the few seconds before Tony was torn away from him at the Raft, the soul-shattering sound of Tony's voice whispering no, and the very real possibility that that could have been the last time he'd see Tony alive, if at all.
It had been their first kiss. If Pleasant Hill was to be counted, it was the first of many, but that first -- Steve was probably too old to care so much about first kisses anymore, but it mattered to him that his track record was pretty lousy so far. He could try to say that they were stolen from him, but really, they were the natural result of waiting far too long, but now Tony was right there and they had no where else to be.
And then someone whistled. Someone else called out to them. Tony stepped away and put his sunglasses back on.
"Well, let's go then. Let's see this Coney Island of yours."
Steve tried to mirror Tony's smile despite the sinking feeling that he'd waiting too long yet again. He was also still holding Tony's hand, and he gave it a firm squeeze of reassurance for both of them.
- Despite their own heavy history and having exactly zero experience being openly with a man, Steve was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable he could be walking around in public. They spent most of the afternoon walking the boardwalk, watching street performers and ignoring sideways glances from people who had 'isn't that Tony Stark?' written across their faces, until they were far enough past the lunch rush but too early for the dinner rush to grab something to eat. He led Tony to what used to be a nickel hot dog stand but was so unrecognizable now that Steve almost walked right past it. That was at least partly due to the fact that he hadn't seen Nathan's Famous -- or any of the boardwalk -- in full color before, and he laughed when he saw the alternating red and yellow pump bottles on their separate condiment carts.
"I used to hate mustard," Steve said, "but I couldn't tell the bottles apart by looking and I was always too proud to ask Bucky which was which. I'd have watch him to see which was darker when it came out of the bottle, and then I knew that one was ketchup."
He shook his head, almost embarrassed of how stubborn he'd been about the most trivial things, and gently tugged Tony close as he fell into the back of the line.
---
A corner of Tony’s lips curved up in a crooked smile as he looked up at Steve. Of course he had once been foolishly stubborn about ketchup and mustard too. Of course.
(He’d always known that one day, the strength of both of their convictions would put them at odds with each other. It was funny when it was about not asking which one was the ketchup bottle, but in truth, that was one of the thousands of little beautiful stars spelling out the constellation of their… tragedy. In the long run. And —)
Steve pulled him closer, and Tony let him. He’d promised he’d stay here and now and not years into a worst case scenario future, or their worst case scenario past. He turned around so his back was against Steve’s chest, and took one of Steve’s arms and wrapped it around his stomach and he’d it there. He leaned his some of his weight back against Steve’s and looked up.
The sky was starting to change colors. Soon it would be all pink, orange, and red. He was grateful for that, for the fact that, no matter what, the world would always rearrange itself to eventually give Steve this present. Eventually, there would always be a clear sky and a sunset.
“You wanna save the hot dogs for a little later?” He asked. “I think it’s the right time for the Wonder Wheel. I want you to see the sunset from up high.”
---
Steve lifted his chin from the crown of Tony's head. He was halfway to asking if Tony wasn't hungry before he remembered that Tony rarely ate when everyone else did, and even if he was, Steve didn't want to talk him out of getting on the Wonder Wheel. Hot dogs could definitely wait.
"I think you're right," he said instead, and stepped out of the Nathan's line to head toward Luna Park. Tony's timing was impeccable, of course; by the time they got into the park and in line for the Wonder Wheel, the sun was dipping low toward the city skyline.
Steve was also starting to get anxious again. He and Tony had proposed to each other on a Ferris wheel. The sun had just set, the lights had just come on, and Steve had said something cheesy about flying and falling with Tony, he was pretty sure.
It had been beautiful, but it had also been false. This was the real deal, he was pretty sure, and anticipation crackled down his spine the closer they got to the front of the line. Far be it from him to pass up a second chance when he got handed one.
He smiled and slowly reached for Tony's sunglasses so he gently pull them from his nose.
"You're going to watch with me, right?"
---
”You’re going to watch with me, right?”
Tony closed his eyes and reflexively scrunched up his nose as Steve removed his sunglasses. “Nope,” he said, blinking his eyes back into focus. “Of course not. I’ll be standing down here, facing the other way, reading the news or something.”
Tony smiled, reached for his sunglasses again, and hung them on the collar of his T-shirt. In truth, he would probably be watching Steve. Sunsets happened every day, but Steve… Tony had learned the hard way that Steve didn’t.
Their turn came. The car doors opened, and Tony finally hesitated. He’d done things much, much more dangerous than just a Ferris Wheel ride, and yet it seemed that there was so much more at stake here than in your casual armored flight.
“Well, this seems a bit. Flimsy,” Tony said, maybe to excuse his hesitation. “And poorly designed in four… five places.” He stepped in and picked a spot close to a window. “Charming regardless,” he said, looking back to Steve with a smile.
---
Steve kept his mouth shut as they boarded the car. They'd landed a red one, which happened to be one of the ones that slid on a track between the hub and the circumference of the wheel as it turned. He had to think Tony had noticed while they'd been waiting in line. Only once the door was closed and the wheel began to turn to board the next car did Steve say, "Can't be that flimsy. This thing's as old as I am and still runs fine."
His smile broadened as the car began to gently swing. As a kid, he'd only been able to ride in the stationary white cars; he'd gotten sick and panicky the first time he'd tried one of the sliding ones and hadn't had the heart to drag Bucky back in one since. It was a silly thing to get excited about now, but if they didn't look for the silly little things, no one in their line of work would ever be happy.
So he draped his arm across the back of the seat behind Tony and extended his legs, his feet flat on the floor to brace for the slide he knew was coming. The wheel started up again, and the car began to rock more forcefully back toward the hub of the wheel as they rose higher until, with a metallic slide-and-clank, they coasted all the way back -- then forth -- then back again.
---
The music started getting more and more distant as the wheel took them higher and higher. The other rides grew smaller and smaller beneath them and their lights had started to come on.
Tony missed his mom. It still felt wrong, on some level, to be here without her. Then he flinched slightly in surprise when he felt Steve’s arm getting close, and he watched Steve’s face as he draped his arm across the back of Tony’s seat.
Steve really didn’t hate him, did he? He had walked away from everything that happened and he still had tenderness in his eyes and his body for Tony. How was that even possible?
“You’re enchanting,” Tong whispered. He grabbed onto Steve’s thigh with one hand when the car slid back then forth.
---
"You're enchanting."
Steve, as he often did when Tony was exceptionally emotionally vulnerable, had no idea how to reply to that. That was one of many things about Tony that kept Steve on his toes; he would be skittish and armored until he said something so utterly frank that Steve had to believe him, even despite all Tony's previous behavior to the contrary. Now, without other people on the boardwalk to harangue them, away from the Avengers and the PR and the politics, Steve was really starting to think that maybe they could be this open with each other.
And really, Tony was enchanting, too. Certainly moreso than Steve thought he himself was. When they first met, Steve would lock eyes with Tony and think of cold steel or blue flame, depending on the nature of the moment they were having. Now, he could sit this close to Tony and see crystal, see the early morning sky and Iron Man's heart, the frown lines creasing his brow and the smile lines radiating from those eyes. He could see the silver sparkling in his hair, framed in a scarlet halo by the sunset.
And, just past Tony, between him and the open sky, Steve could see the bright red bars of the cage -- the car, the Ferris wheel car.
He leaned in close so Tony filled his entire field of vision, just as the wheel stopped once again with their car at the very top. If Steve looked away, he would see Luna Park stretched out below them, the sun setting over the New York skyline, even the waters of the bay if he looked over his shoulder.
Instead, he brushed the tip of his nose against Tony's. Sunsets happened every day, but Tony…especially quiet moments like this with Tony sure didn't.
---
Steve’s approach was so gentle and the contact with his skin was so kind that whatever physical defenses Tony had left couldn’t possibly stand a chance. He closed his eyes and let his head weigh against Steve’s, forehead to forehead, until it dropped onto Steve’s shoulder.
All the nerve endings of his body seemed to burn with longing and exhaustion and from here — God, from here, he could tear Steve’s clothes apart with his nails and just finally take him, all of him; or he could surrender his whole body and consciousness and fall asleep in Steve’s arms. And perhaps it was there, right there at the impossible balance between his need for speed and his longing for peace, that Tony could exist at his fullest. At the fullest of his conflict, of his yearning, of his agony, and his passion, and everything in him. Everything in him was calling for Steve.
Tony pulled back his head just enough to plant a hard kiss on Steve’s shoulder. Then his neck. And his jaw. And then finally his lips.
---
Tony dropped his head to Steve's shoulder, and Steve curled his arm up to thread his fingers through Tony's hair, closed his eyes, let his chin fall to rest against the top of Tony's head. He was probably still too tense, too nervous, especially as the wheel started up in earnest and sent their car sliding back toward the rim -- and then Tony kissed his shoulder, and Steve's jaw loosened. And then Tony kissed Steve's neck, and Steve's lips parted around a puffed release of breath. And then Tony kissed Steve's jaw, and Steve brought his free hand up to cradle Tony's in turn.
And then Tony's mouth was on his, and Steve drew in a breath through his nose like it was his first. An embarrassing grunt left him, too, as though this was his last shot and he had to give it everything he had, but he was a good ways past caring. He wanted to pull Tony onto his lap, or climb onto his, get as close as he physically could and stay there for as long as Tony or the next great disaster would let him.
---
Steve didn’t pull away — on the contrary, he seemed to be even closer to him now, and whether that was a result of Tony leaning in or Steve pulling him, at that point it was impossible to tell. For that second, everything Tony knew, everything he needed to know, was that they seemed to be in sync in their desire to get closer.
He held Steve’s face in his hands and pushed his tongue deep into Steve’s mouth, like he was reaching for something that was so achingly close but still not there with him; he lowered his hands to Steve’s shoulders and rose from his seat so he could find his lap —
Then he pulled away, so fast and sudden he could give himself a whiplash. He was straddling Steve, arms around his neck, and his eyes widened with the weight of realization when his brain caught up with his heartbeat.
(Like it was bound to happen. It would always happen.)
Tony’s lips faltered around a question that he couldn’t quite phrase yet, then he looked up in response to a metallic clang that came from above. The car was starting to swing back and forth again and Tony realized he was clawing at the back of Steve’s shirt like something would try to pry Steve from his hold at any moment. Again.
(And maybe something would. Maybe it would be Tony himself —)
“We should think about this, right?” He eventually said, nodding as his eyes grew watery from not blinking. “We should think about it, because if it gets awkward, it’s not like you can just block me on social media and pretend we don’t — which you could do. Actually. If you, if you wanted.”
Tony finally blinked, and bit his bottom lip. This was fine. This was something he needed to do, he needed to give Steve an opportunity to rationalize and really get the situation before they turned it into something… even more daunting than this.
---
As soon as Tony rose from his seat, Steve's hands were on his hips and pulling him onto his lap; he planted his right hand firmly under Tony's ass, curled his other arm up Tony's spine, cupped his left hand around the back of Tony's neck. Tony was so close and almost too warm thanks to the sun, but Steve wanted to stay there and have this, just...be this, flying and falling and wrapped up in this man he'd been keeping at arm's length for so goddamn long.
When Tony pulled away, Steve took the opportunity to draw in a breath -- if he has to drown, giving the very air in his lungs to Tony was the only way he'd want to do it -- but he didn't open his eyes until a few seconds passed and Tony didn't return to him. He licked his lips and slowly opened his eyes in time to see Tony looking up, away, and when Tony looked back, his eyes were unsettlingly bright.
"We should think about this, right?"
Steve frowned and pulled his right hand down Tony's back, far enough to keep Tony upright in their precarious arrangement without caging him in. He didn't bother trying to convince himself that the plummeting of his stomach was from the Ferris wheel.
"This...isn't something you've already thought about?"
---
“No. Yes. No, I don’t —“
Tony squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers were still clawing at the back of Steve’s shirt, but he could tell that that alone wouldn’t keep this moment from slipping away.
“I don’t mean ‘think’ as in... ‘fantasize.’” Which he had done. An ungodly amount of times over many years. He opened his eyes again. “I mean ‘think’ as in think.”
Consider the consequences. Consider the future and what this closeness would mean to them. But then, looking at Steve’s sky-blue eyes, it hit him:
Maybe he was taking this too seriously.
“Unless you don’t want to think. I think I’m fine with not thinking.”
---
Almost despite himself, Steve's frown relaxed as he arched his eyebrows instead. Not for the first time, Steve felt frustratingly simple in Tony's presence, as though Tony was seeing some kind of complication on the horizon that Steve was supposed to see, too. If it were something punchable, he probably would see it, but in the abstract, Steve felt continually reminded that Tony lived in multiple futures while Steve was fixated on one.
But to Steve's credit, if he was a simple man, it was insofar as he saw wanted he wanted, figured out how to get it, and then gave his all to do it. For almost two years, Steve had been dutifully ignoring how badly he wanted Tony, every day for the rest of his days however they were numbered -- and if he were honest with himself, he could trace that longing back farther, back long before he had ever dared to imagine Tony could ever want him, too.
He ran his hand, slowly and firmly, up and down Tony's spine. Frankly, all Steve wanted to think about was taking Tony home, but not at Tony's expense if he wanted to back out.
"Not sure what the difference is," he said, shooting for coy and probably landing somewhere closer to contrived. Belatedly, he slid his right hand up to the relative safety of Tony's waist.
---
”Not sure what the difference is.”
Tony furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowed as he continued to search Steve’s face for whatever answer he wasn’t saying out loud.
“You’re not freaking out,” he eventually whispered, and it came out halfway between a question and a statement of disbelief. Tony let go of Steve’s shirt and brought his hands up to cradle his face. “You’re gonna regret not freaking out one day, that I can tell you.”
Tony caressed Steve’s cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. Then he lowered one hand so he could gently run his fingers over Steve’s lips.
“I wish I were like that,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss Steve again.
---
Steve inhaled to respond, but Tony was right there, all he had to do was meet him -- but as soon as his mouth met Tony's, Steve ducked his head and let his lips brush Tony's beard as he spoke.
"Are you freaking out?" he asked, low and quiet. The longer they sat in their little spinning cage, the more aware Steve was becoming of how he had physically trapped Tony to get to this moment. Their friends seemed to expect something of them, too -- maybe that was enough to push Tony somewhere he didn't want to go except to please everyone else.
He dropped his head back and returned his gaze to Tony just as their car rocked backwards and the wheel came to a halt.
---
”Are you freaking out?”
Tony couldn’t help but smile sardonically at the question, and when Steve pulled his head back, he shrugged.
“Don’t take it personally, freaking out is my constant state of being.”
The car had stopped. Tony slid his hands down to Steve’s shoulders, then his chest. He kept his hands there until he could detect Steve’s heartbeat.
“The ride will be over soon,” he said. “So. Hot dogs or sex or both?”
---
Steve snorted lightly and gave Tony a crooked smile.
"You sure know how to put a fella at ease."
Tony was always sort of an on-edge guy, though. Maybe he wouldn't always be that way if Steve could train himself to be patient. This was a hell of a leap forward, and Steve may not have had a hell of a lot of experience going steady, but he could learn from what experience he did have.
His smile sharpened as he spread his knees and pulled Tony's hips tighter to his.
"Maybe we should skip the fair food if sex will help take the edge off."
