Work Text:
Steve still remembers his first mission.
He must’ve been about five or six; it was around the time that he started to become curious about his father. Sarah, Steve’s mother, had to gently explain to her son that Joseph wasn’t coming back, that he was in a permanent place now, and that visiting him would be very difficult.
At that moment, with the limited knowledge that his father was in the army, Steve stood as tall as his young body would allow him too, and told his mother that he was going to find his father. It was his mission.
And, in that small, dingy Brooklyn apartment, Steve’s mother smiled down at him, sadness etched into her tear stained, tired face. Even so, she was the most beautiful woman Steve had ever seen, and not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss her.
“Your mission,” Sarah said to him, bending down, so they were on the same eye level. “Is to stay with me. Alright, soldier?”
Steve had nodded, not truly comprehending what was going on in the vast world of adulthood, and ran off to play with his toys.
Okay, so it wasn’t an official mission. Steve’s going to count it anyway because his tragic backstory is what defines him today.
The next mission (this one, a little more official) was getting into the army. No matter how many times Bucky told him not to try, Steve worked hard, and in the end, it paid off.
Then, there was the serum, where Steve’s body changed and became the super-soldier everyone knew today. That was a dangerous operation; of course, it all worked out in the end.
One mission that stood out the most was when Steve ended up crashing a plane into the ocean and being frozen, lost at sea, for seventy years. Yeah, missions seemed to have gotten a lot more high priority as time went on.
Still, even with that experience, none of it could’ve ever prepared Steve for what Fury had in store.
The two men stood in Fury’s office, with Fury sitting at his desk and Steve standing in front of him.
“You want me,” Steve says slowly, like he’s still just learning the words for the first time. “To recover weapons that were stolen from SHIELD and hidden in a, uh, a-”
“A gay bar,” Fury finishes for him, and Steve’s mind blanks.
It’s not that Steve’s homophobic. Really, he’s fine with gay people. The only problem is that he might....be one.
But Steve’s sexuality is still a mystery to him, and he has no idea how to unravel it.
He’s never had an official relationship with another man, but, back in the army, sometimes men would seek comfort in their comrades. It was the product of war, Steve told himself as he kissed Jacobs in the dark of the bunkers, the smell of blood and dirt masked by the smell of sweat. There was also a hint of desperation in the mix, and Steve’s heartbeat going two-hundred miles a minute didn’t help him enjoy it. He was too worried about getting caught.
A little while back, during one of Steve’s restless nights, he decided to look up online different sexualities and what they mean. There are a lot. Some Steve has heard of, like gay and straight, and some are entirely new to him, like allosexual and androsexual.
Of course, when Steve thinks back (again) to before the ice, he had relations with men and women, placing him in the bisexual category. Maybe he shouldn’t be in any group. He knows that he likes guys and girls; shouldn’t that be enough?
Still, no amount of self-reflection could’ve prepared Steve for this mission.
“Rogers?” Fury says, and Steve blinks back to reality.
“Yes, sir?”
“You with us?”
Steve nods. “Of course. Where were we?”
“The gay bar,” Fury answers.
“Ah, right,” Steve says. “The gay bar.”
“Now, it’s not an ideal mission,” Fury starts. “But obtaining these weapons are very important. We can’t have them falling into enemy hands.”
“Uh, sir?” Steve says tentatively. “Haven’t they already fallen into enemy hands?”
Fury glares at him, eye patch quivering. “We can’t have them falling into any more enemy hands.”
After a moment, Steve speaks up again. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“Well, we need you to infiltrate the club, obtain the weapons, then get the hell out of there.”
Steve nods again. “Sounds good. Is that all?”
“Actually, uh, no,” Fury says, visibly uncomfortable. Steve is immediately suspicious. “You’ll have a partner in this mission.”
“Great,” Steve says, eyebrows raised. “Who?”
Fury, damn him, dares to stay silent, until Steve takes a step forward. Fury’s still sitting, so the only thing he does is scoot his chair slightly backward, which in of itself is funny.
“Fury,” Steve warns.
“Tony Stark.”
Steve’s breath hitches.
It’s not that he and Tony aren’t friends, because they are. It’s that Steve may or may not have a crush on the other man.
Honestly, it started innocently enough. Tony would be in his workshop (Stark Tower is enormous!), tinkering away, and Steve would occasionally drop in on him, mostly to make sure he wasn’t starving himself or dying or anything. If Tony died, then the Avengers would be down a member, and that would be the opposite of good.
Of course, the occasional visit turned into a weekly thing, which then turned into Steve stopping by the workshop at least once a day to see what Tony was doing.
It scared him, sometimes, how much he cared about that asshole. While Steve was assessive, Tony was reckless. They had many, many differences, but a lot of them were minuscule. They’re both loyal, determined, and want what’s best for the good of the people. Tony’s self-reliance and self-respect is something that Steve admires most about the other man; it makes him even more attractive.
Oh, and Tony’s hot, so that’s a plus.
“Tony Stark,” Steve repeats.
Fury nods. “I hope that won’t be a problem, Rogers.”
Steve gives him a tight smile. “Not at all, sir. Anything else?”
“Well, you’ll both have to be undercover at a gay bar,” Fury says. “Which means you’ll have to look the part.”
Steve’s stomach tightens. “We’ll have to look the part?”
“Yep. Obviously, you can’t dress ‘gay’, or so Maria tells me, but we’ve noticed a pattern for what gay men typically wear, and you’ll be dressed in that.”
“But we have to act the part. Together.” Steve says. His mind is a broken record, repeating the words ‘Tony’ and ‘gay bar’ over and over again.
Fury narrows his eyes. “Yes. What part of gay bar don’t you understand?”
“No, I understand, sir,” Steve says, wanting to escape this room as fast as possible. “Does Tony know, or should I go tell him?”
Tony is known to forget missions due to projects of his that take up more of his time, so he’s told multiple times what, where, and when the mission is. He’s only shown up to five. Steve completed over three hundred just in the past two years.
“I haven’t told him yet. If you wanna tell him, then please, be my guest. Put it on his calendar while you’re at it.”
Steve chuckles. “Tony never checks his calendar.”
The glare that Fury sends him is enough to make Steve aware that he’s overstayed his welcome.
Steve takes a few steps back. “Thank you, sir.”
“I want you and Stark back here in less than an hour for your costume change, or whatever the fuck they’re gonna do. Got it?”
“Copy.” With that, Steve turns to leave.
The walk to the elevator is a short one. Not quick enough, unfortunately, to ward away his thoughts.
Okay, so Steve has to go undercover at a gay bar. With Tony. Which means-
Which means that they'll have to pretend to be a couple.
That’s what Fury meant, right? They had to act the part. They had to blend into this new environment, and to do that, they had to pretend to be involved.
The elevator does nothing to assuage Steve’s unease, and when he exits, he’s suddenly faced with the realization that he has to go talk to Tony about dating. About dating. And yeah, it was fake dating, but still. Steve hasn’t been in a relationship since 1945; can he really handle this?
He stops in the middle of the hall, right before the door to the workshop (there’s a faint sound of rock music playing), and takes a couple of deep breaths as a way to control his erratic beating heart.
Having a crush on someone does not mean the mission is high-stakes. Steve’s feelings will not jeopardize this, because this is an important mission and Fury would skin him alive.
With another deep breath, Steve opens the door to the workshop, the rock music louder and louder with each step he takes. Soon, Tony is in sight, lying on his back under a floating Iron Man suit, clearly trying to fix some of the damage caused by the last Avenger mishap.
Steve clears his throat, and Tony sits up, banging his head on the suit.
“Ow!” Tony says, clutching his head, and Steve rushes over to him, visibly worried.
“Are you okay?”
Tony turns to glare at him, then sits back down and does a sort of roll to take his body out from under the Iron Man suit. Once he’s not trapped by a hunk of metal, Tony stands up and faces Steve, who looks very sheepish.
“What is so goddamn important that you had to give me a concussion over?”
Steve sighs. “Fury assigned us on a mission.”
“Well, I’m actually busy, so-”
“Tony.”
There’s a moment where they’re staring into each other’s eyes, Tony’s defiance written across his face like a billboard. Steve narrows his eyes, daring Tony to repeat his rejection, and to his relief, Tony sighs and backs down.
“Fine,” Tony says, moving over to his cluttered desk where a cup of coffee sat, half empty. “What is it?”
“We have to retrieve high-class weapons that were stolen from SHIELD.”
“You know, I keep telling Fury that if he let me upgrade his security, his shit would be a hell of a lot safer, and every time, he ignores me,” Tony says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Well, look at what happened. Idiots. Who snatched them?”
Steve moves a couple of step closer, ignoring the debris that seemed to be scattered randomly on the floor. Someone really needed to clean this place up. To his left, he hears a low buzzing sound, and when he glances around, he sees a medium-sized grey robot with a claw for a head rustling around, slowly picking up garbage and discarded scraps. Tony notices his staring and kicks Steve in the leg.
“Hey, Capsicle, I’m talking to you.”
Ducking down to rub at his shin, Steve glares up at Tony, who has the gall to look completely innocent. “Fury didn’t say who took them, so I can only assume AIM.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “That explains everything. AIM is, of course, notorious for being fucking pathetic.”
The corners of Steve’s mouth turn upwards. Tony notices and grins, making Steve grin until they’re just two men smiling at each other in an empty room.
As soon as they realize this, the moment dissolves.
“So,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “What else do I have to know?”
Ah, shit.
“Well,” Steve says awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the next. “We have to be undercover.”
Tony narrows his eyes, clearly starting to become suspicious. “Where’s the mission, Steve?”
Steve inhales and looks at the ceiling before catching Tony’s eye. “We have to be undercover at a gay bar.” He exhales through gritted teeth.
Tony’s eyes and mouth widen, and he looks so shocked that Steve’s worried he might collapse.
“That’s, um, unexpected. A gay bar? Fury let AIM steal his weapons and then store them in a gay bar? And now we have to retrieve them at a-”
“Gay bar.” Steve finishes grimly.
Tony’s mouth snaps shut, and he considers this for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Anything else?”
“You’re fine with this?” Steve asks, mostly because he’s barely okay with it himself.
“Yeah,” Tony says, a hint of confusion in his voice. “As the whole world knows, my options are wide open.”
Steve scoffs at that. Yes, the tabloids had made Tony’s relationships with men very well known, from one night stands to flings to that one-month relationship with some blonde guy that Tony had dumped because Blondie didn’t believe in climate change.
“Are you not fine with it?” Tony asks, drawing Steve out of his (jealous) thoughts.
“What? No! I mean- yes, I’m fine with it. It’s just-”
Tony raises his eyebrows. “Spit it out, Cap.”
After careful consideration, Steve schooled his face into neutrality. “Fury said we had to be undercover. Both of us. Undercover, together.”
“Like, together-together?”
Steve nods. “That’s what he said.”
Tony stills, then claps his hands together. “Alrighty then. Sounds like a plan. When do we have to leave? We have to look the part, though, so what exactly constitutes as undercover? Plus, it really depends on the club we go to because at Pulse they wear shorts, but if we’re going to one in New York, say, Hardware, then we’ll have to wear something super revealing because they do not play around there. But, if it’s the Townhouse, then we’ll have to dress somewhat nice-”
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Steve says, interrupting Tony’s babbling. “But Fury wants us back to his office soon so we can be given makeovers.”
Tony nods and darts his tongue out to wet his lips. Without meaning to, Steve tracks the movement, not noticing that Tony’s watching him.
Steve coughs, clearly uncomfortable. “Let’s go.”
It’s not that the trip up to Fury’s office is awkward. Well, actually, it is. The air is so thick with tension that Steve could cut through it with his shield.
During the actual makeover part, Steve keeps trying to steal glances at Tony, mostly to see if he’s really okay with everything going on. Of course, Tony usually has his shirt off, or a different item of clothing, so Steve glances away, opting to stare at the ceiling or out the window instead. Fury’s office is really, really nice; it’s strange how he’s never realized that before.
Sometimes, Steve feels a prick on his neck, all too used to being watched from years on the field, and when he looks around, he sees Tony looking at the ground or the ceiling.
Huh. That’s a piece of information Steve will definitely be looking into later.
Once the clock on the wall reaches seven o'clock, Fury tells them that they have to leave. He nods at the makeup artists, who scurry away.
Tony turns to look at Steve and immediately bursts out laughing.
“What?” Steve exclaims. “Is there something-”
Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Steve suddenly knows exactly why Tony’s laughing.
He looks fucking ridiculous.
Whoever did his makeup must’ve been kicked out of cosmetic school, because his face is way too tan for the rest of his body. Plus- is that eyeliner? Thank God Bucky will never see him like this; Steve wouldn't hear the end of it.
But his clothes are simply the icing on the cake. It’s not that he didn’t see what was picked out for him, it’s that he was a bit preoccupied putting them on.
Pink denim pants clung to his figure, making his ass look huge. A white cotton v-neck shirt hung loosely on his shoulders, so slack that it felt as if it would fall off at any moment.
“You know, you don’t look too good either, Stark,” Steve says, causing Tony to look outraged and Fury to sigh.
“Move,” Tony snarls, shoving Steve out of the way so he could look in the mirror.
As Tony graciously checks himself out, Steve tries very hard to look anywhere but Tony’s ass. Okay, so he lied. Big deal. Tony looks absolutely gorgeous in a form-fitting black shirt and green pants so tight Steve worried that the second Tony tried to run, they would rip.
Even the makeup looks good. Something shiny actuated Tony’s nose and cheekbones; his eyebrows are done, and his beard is neatly trimmed just the way Tony likes it. He looks goddamn angelic.
“Are you two done?” Fury says, eyebrows raised.
Tony turns to face him, glaring at Steve as he does so. “Yes.”
Fury looks at Steve, who nods.
“Great. There’s a car at the front ready to take you to the club.”
“What club is that, exactly?”
“Someplace called Hardware.”
Tony scoffs. “Oh, great. I don’t even know if I’m allowed back-”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you won’t be you.” Fury walks around the front of his desk and retrieves a small wooden box. “In here are fake IDs, driver’s licenses, and some other strange knick-knacks that’ll help seal the deal that you’re really who you say you are.”
“And who are we, exactly?”
Fury raises an eyebrow at the question. “Steve, your new name is Christopher Evans. You were born on June 13th, you have three siblings, and you have a Jack Russell Terrier named Dodger.”
“These are very specific details,” Steve says.
“You’re an aspiring actor,” Fury says as if Steve hadn’t even spoken. “Your favorite football team is the Patriots, and-”
“If I may interject here, Fury,” Tony says, taking a step forward. “In my experience, gay men don’t really give a shit about sports.”
Steve almost opens his mouth to prove Tony wrong, then realizes he would be outing himself in the process and keeps it shut.
“I’m helping Rogers get into character.”
“Well, where’s my character?” Tony says, just short of a whine.
Fury sighs and hands Steve his fake ID and driver’s license. It looks surprisingly real, which isn’t that much of a surprise considering SHIELD has some of the best technology available to do shit like this.
Then, Fury turns to face Tony. “Your new name will be Robert Downey. You-”
“Oh, I don’t like that.”
“Tough,” Fury grits out. “You’re stuck with it for this mission.”
“How about,” Tony says, completely ignoring Fury. “Robert Downey Jr.? I think it has more of a ring to it. And can we change Steve’s name, too? Christopher Evans is long.”
As soon as the words leave Tony’s mouth, he turns to wink at Steve, who immediately smiles and shakes his head, looking at the floor.
“So, what do you propose, Stark?”
“What if we shorten it to just Chris Evans? It’s short, simple, rolls off the tongue.”
“I like it,” Steve says as helpfully as he can.
Fury closes his eyes, breathes for a moment, then opens them. “Fine. Tony, your birthday is April 4th, you used to smoke before you quit in 2003, and you hate the president. You’re also an actor-”
“That’s probably where we met,” Tony says, glancing at Steve.
Steve smiles at him, then catches Fury’s eye and immediately stops.
“Sure,” Fury says, an inkling of confusion on his face. “Do this mission however you want, I don’t care. Just get the hell out of here and secure those damn weapons.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Tony chirps, grabbing his fake ID and strolling out of the room, leaving no choice but for Steve to give Fury a quick goodbye as he tries to catch up to Tony, who’s waiting outside the door for him.
“So,” Tony says as they settle into a comfortable walking pace. It marvels Steve, sometimes, how easily they slip together. He quickly shakes the thought from his head.
“So,” Steve repeats.
“How do you wanna do this? Should we have, like, a safe word, or something? What about Cancun? Like, that’s an infamous vacation of ours because some chick tried to kiss you and you tried to turn away, but then you moved back and told me what had happened, and I got super upset, but then you kissed me to show it didn’t mean anything and then we-”
“Cancun is fine,” Steve says, a little breathlessly.
They reach the elevators, Tony stepping aside to allow Steve to enter first. He’s smirking, and Steve doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to be able to efficiently complete this mission.
Once outside, Steve takes in a whiff of crisp, fresh, New York air. It’s the middle of September, and today seems to be one of those days where Mother Nature suddenly decides she wants it to be November.
There’s a sleek black Mercedes-Benz parked on the curb of Stark Tower, looking like it came fresh from the factory. Steve briefly wonders where the hell it came from before he notices the definitely-not-suspicious-at-all white unmarked van behind it, a few leaves fallen on the roof. A victim of early fall, for sure.
“You know,” Tony calls out to the driver of the van (which appears to be Fury). “I don’t think you’re allowed to be within 500 feet of a school. Might wanna get a move on.”
Steve smirks, not faltering when he eventually catches Fury’s annoyed gaze.
“We’re supposed to be following you, Stark,” Fury grits out.
Tony’s brow furrows. “Who’s ‘we’?”
The backdoor of the van opens, and Clint, Natasha, and Maria Hill emerge from it. Clint gives them a little wave. “We’re gonna have so much fun together tonight, boys!”
Natasha just smirks, catches Steve’s eye, and winks. He sighs, a small smile on his face as he turns to face Tony.
“I’m assuming,” He says, pointing at the Mercedes. “That that’s our car.”
“Correct,” Maria says as she walks forward. “You have your identification?”
Steve and Tony both nod.
“Here’s the earpieces so we can communicate with you. Turn them on when you get into the club.” They’re both handed small, black devices that look like hearing aids. Tony clearly thinks this too, if the scowl on his face is anything to go by.
“Great. Tony, I’m assuming you know where Hardware is, so figure out who wants to drive and-”
“Oh, I’m driving.” Tony says immediately, looking incredibly stubborn. Steve opens his mouth to argue, thinks better of it, then closes it.
Looking smug as Maria hands him the keys, Tony gets into the driver’s seat of the car, groaning as he sinks into the soft leather. The sound, unfortunately, makes something inside Steve unfurl, and he quickly thinks of Fury talking about gay fashion choices to control himself.
“Come on, Winghead!” Tony calls to Steve, who’s frozen on the sidewalk a little ways away. “We don’t have all night.”
Right. The mission.
“Coming!” Steve says, jogging to the other side of the car. He gets in just as Tony starts the engine, immediately blasting rock music from the speakers.
“Tony,” Steve says, vaguely patronizing.
Tony merely blinks at him, innocent as can be. “What? A little music never hurt anybody.”
Steve smiles as Tony whips out of the street, Fury’s van trying to keep up with them. The club is only fifteen minutes away, but with the New York City traffic, who knows when they’ll arrive.
A couple minutes later, Tony turns down the music so that he can speak. “I’m confused about something.”
Steve furrows his brow. “What?”
“Why in the actual fuck would someone hide weapons at a gay bar?”
Actually, that is a good question.
“Now,” Tony continues, “I have a few theories. One; our enemy, who may or may not be AIM, is gay and chose a familiar place. Two; the thieves thought to go somewhere where they thought Shield would never follow, which is fairly accurate, I do say so myself. I’m probably one of the only people who-”
“Was there a three?” Steve interrupts, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence.
“Yeah! Or, three; It’s a trap. For me, or maybe someone else within Shield that’s gay.”
Steve’s mouth goes dry.
No one knows. No one could possibly know. It’s something that he’s kept hidden, kept private for so, so long, and it can’t be identified. He can’t have it out. He can’t be out. This cannot be happening.
Tony, bless him, seems to notice Steve’s panic written on his face, and starts talking again. “Of course, that’s just a theory. A really dumb theory. I actually just came up with it. One and two are the more accurate and actual theories that you should be paying attention to, not the bullshit third theory that I literally just came up with on the spot. Steve, please breathe. I’m about to pull over. Steve, just breathe.”
Steve forces himself to take a couple deep breaths, ignores Tony’s worried glances, and says, “Please don’t pull the car over.”
Seemingly relieved, Tony relaxes a teeny, tiny bit. “What was that?”
Steve shrugs. “Dunno. How much longer?”
“Steve-”
“Tony. How much longer.”
Deciding that arguing wouldn’t help anybody right now, Tony sighs and tells him seven minutes. Steve nods, then opens a window.
He’s being stupid. Why is he keeping this from Tony? He’s Steve’s best friend. He’s one of the only people that genuinely understands him, that doesn’t care about Captain America or righteousness or the super-soldier serum. He’s not Howard.
Tony is Steve’s friend.
Steve knows everything about Tony; from the way he likes his coffee to his favorite movie (It’s The Other Woman, for reasons unknown) to his preference in men (and women!). All of their interactions are stored carefully in Steve’s mind, sealed away with a date and time. He remembers the smile on Tony’s face when Steve accidentally ran into DUM-E. He remembers tucking a blanket over Tony when he passed out in the lab again working on some insane new project. Steve has all these memories of his friend (is that what he still is, though?), but most importantly, he trusts him. Steve trusts Tony Stark with his life, with his mind, body, and soul, with every single ounce of his being. He’s fully surrendered any and all doubt, for he…
Shit.
He loves him.
That’s a bit harder to face then the bisexual thing.
Shit. He has to tell Tony that he's bisexual.
“Tony,” Steve says, swallowing thickly. Tony glances at him, still clearly worried, though never taking his eyes off the road.
“What’s up, Steve?”
“I have to tell you something,” Steve manages to get out. This is it. He needs to say this. This is what it all comes down to. This exact-
That moment, the car in front of them slams on their brakes, making Tony do the same. The car skids to a halt, and miraculously, no one was hurt. No car was scratched, either.
(In the van behind them, Clint gets tossed onto Maria’s lap, earning him a slap in the face.)
For some reason, Steve threw an arm over Tony, clearly trying to shield him from the (brief) accident. After a moment, still shaken up, Steve snatches his arm back, cradling it with his right arm.
“What-” Tony tries. He swallows, then tries again. “What the fuck just happened?”
“I didn’t...um, I mean, I didn’t mean to, uh-” Steve starts, but is cut off by Tony whirling around to look at him, indignation written on his face.
“Not the-” Tony gestures vaguely to Steve’s arm and his body. “I’m talking about the car in front of me!”
He faces the road again, and throws his hands in the air when he sees the cars begin to move.
“Fucking New York,” Tony mutters, starting the engine again (Huh. When did he turn it off?) and resumes their journey.
Well, that was unexpected. But, it also proved one thing to Steve; that he clearly was not to meant Tony that he’s bisexual.
The drive to Hardware is short, and when they pull up to the front of the club, Steve is surprised that they have to park in the building out back.
“You know what, Steve? You know what really bothers me about Hardware?” Tony starts as he drives around back.
Steve shakes his head. “What?”
“That they don’t have fucking valets. I mean, think about it. Think of how much more fucking money they would make if they just had some fucking valets. I don’t want to park my vehicle in the back, you fucking asswipes. Fuck you.” Tony parks the car, furious, then takes the keys out of the ignition.
“Well, my dear,” Steve says (he’s settling into the role of ‘the boyfriend’, that’s the only reason he’s doing this. The only one whatsoever), effectively shocking Tony out of his tirade. “It’s a good thing there’ll be alcohol at this club because it sounds like you need a drink.”
Tony stays stunned for a half-second before he realizes what’s going on, then gives Steve a dazzling smile. “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”
The walk into the bar isn’t tense like the one to Fury’s office a few hours before; it’s fun, freeing, and sets the evening up to be something promising. Steve just hopes that nothing too drastic happens.
Once inside, Tony makes a beeline for the bar that’s on the opposite side of a pulsing dark purple wall. Everything is illuminated and colorful with little rainbow flags hung up everywhere. The music that’s blasting from giant speakers is foreign to Steve’s ears. He assumes it’s dubstep and other club mixes because that’s what Clint’s been trying (and failing, he may add) to immerse him in.
And-
Yeah, Tony telling the truth when he said that revealing clothes was the dress code. All the men here (and a couple women, Steve later notices) are dressed in low-cut shirts and tight, form-fitting pants. Some have on fedoras. Steve makes a mental note to stay away from those people.
While he’s taking it all in, a tall, skinny man saunters up to Steve, a low smirk on his face that Steve immediately distrusts.
“Hey there, hunk.” The man says over the loud music. “You here all alone?”
“No, he’s not,” A voice from behind says, and when Steve whirls around, he feels relief pour over him like cold water on a hot day. It’s Tony, holding two drinks (both beers, even though Steve can’t really get drunk anymore) and wearing a lovely scowl. “Piss off.”
The stranger matches Tony’s scowl, then turns and stalks off somewhere. Steve takes one of the drinks in his hand, wondering if he even wants to try any.
“Thank you,” Steve says close to Tony’s ear, so he can be heard. “I’m not sure what that guy’s problem was.”
Tony merely laughs. “He wanted to take you home, S-uh, Chris.”
Steve narrows his eyes in confusion before remembering the fake names, then remembers something else. “Oh shit, we were supposed to turn on the...things.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” Still, he taps his ear, just as Steve does the same. Immediately, they’re bombarded by Fury and Maria asking questions about the mission so far.
“We can hear you, relax!” Tony hisses.
Struck with the brilliant revelation that talking to themselves would, well, suspicious, Steve decides to tug Tony close to him until they’re embracing, so it looks like they’re merely exchanging whispers while swaying ever so slightly to the beat.
He feels Tony’s breath hitch, then arms snake up his chest and around his neck. Steve smirks, then replies to whatever the hell Fury just said.
“We have eyes on you both, by the way.” Clint’s voice cuts through the chatter, and Steve feels Tony scowl.
“Clint,” Tony says with fake sweetness. “Do kindly fuck off.”
“You know, Stark, there’s something fairly obvious right now that I could point out-“
“Knock it off,” Maria snaps, reaching over to knock Clint in the head again. “Boys, we need you to pay attention to the DJ’s. There seems to be something fishy going on with them. They might have the weapons.”
Fury’s voice crackles over the intercoms. “We also have activity in the back room. Keep an eye out.”
“Copy,” Steve says in a low voice, missing how Tony just barely stiffens.
Tony taps the back of Steve’s head. “Alright, let me out. I’m suffocating in your arms.”
Steve laughs, and loosens his arms slightly so that their faces are four or five inches apart. “My arms won’t kill you.”
“Yeah, says you,” Tony replies indignantly. “You’ve never been hugged to death before.”
Steve chuckles again and goes to reply, stopping when he sees Tony’s eyes fixed on something behind them. They’re still swaying to the beat, and Steve wonders if he should still them.
“What?” He asks.
“It’s Hammer.” Tony says stiffly. “It’s motherfucking Justin Hammer. I knew he was behind this. I have to go after him.”
Tony starts to go after Hammer, but Steve stops him. They’re not hugging anymore (though they are face-to-face), but Steve tries to move strategically in between to two so that Tony won’t do anything stupid.
“Tony, you can’t go after him,” Steve tries, grabbing Tony’s arms, trying to ground him in place. “It’ll draw suspicion.”
“He’s an asshole! And his tech is the shittiest I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” Steve says, desperately trying to reason with him. “But we are undercover. We have to act our parts. Which means you cannot go after him.”
Tony grows oddly still before stepping forward, Steve’s arms around him once more. “We have to be undercover, right, Steve? Well then, come on. Let’s go dance.” He pushes Steve to the center of the dance floor, which is thankfully filled with other couples (other couples?) grinding against each other and in various stages of making out.
Then, Tony pulls Steve closer, hands on his hips, and Steve can feel his brain shutting down. Right now, all he can think about is Tony, who’s-
Fuck.
Tony decided at that exact moment to pull their bodies flush together, moving to the beat of the music, and start slowly grinding up against Steve with the sole intent of ruining Steve’s entire fucking life.
Steve lets out a stuttered gasp, caught off guard. Then, a thought strikes him.
This will be the only time he’ll be with Tony like...this. Pressed together, the delicious friction and Tony’s tiny little breathy moans-
So, he takes full advantage of it.
Steve cups Tony’s face in his hands, then leans down to capture the other man’s lips in a searing and dirty kiss. Now it’s Tony’s turn to gasp.
It feels like everything is finally clicking into place. Here Steve is, doing the one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about, and doing it well. He’s come a long way from the barrack-romps, in his opinion.
Suddenly Tony is kissing back, pulling Steve closer to him and grabbing onto whatever he can find, trying to get as close as possible.
They break apart just in time for Steve to hear Clint say, “What the fuck just happened?”
Tony smiles up at Steve, suddenly shy. “Well, Mr. Evans, that was certainly quite the performance. I’m gonna grab a drink. Want anything?”
Lips still tingling, Steve shakes his head.
Tony shrugs. “Alright, suit yourself.” Then, he’s gone.
Steve bobs to the music, finally kind of seeing what all the fuss was about. It’s just beats and sounds. It’s designed to get people riled up, most likely.
In the corner of his eye, he spots a large, sleek black suitcase with a tiny eagle embedded on the bottom right side.
So those must be the weapons.
Steve wildly glances around, trying to see where the hell Tony is when he spots him marching his way up to Hammer.
He thinks.
If he goes after Tony, he most likely won't reach the scuffle in time, and Hammer’s cronies would take the case away, and the weapons would never be seen again.
But, if Steve stayed right where he is and watched Hammer get his ass handed to him (let’s be real here, Tony is ridiculously and surprisingly strong), allowed the henchmen to run over to their boss, then grabbed the case and ran, taking Tony with him as they escaped, then they would have the weapons.
Yes, Plan Two seemed much better.
And so, the club erupts into action.
Tony walks right up to Hammer, taps him on the shoulder, and punches him square in the face. The two DJ’s, presumably Hammer’s bodyguards (or something), rush over to him while he’s attempting to fight off the great Tony Stark.
With no one around, Steve casually makes his way under the DJ booth, grabs the case, then says into his com, “Tony, I got the weapons. Let’s go.”
Then, he strolls out of the room and toward the Mercedes in the building out back. Once he’s outside, and the crisp night air fills his lungs, he breaks into a sprint, not stopping until he finds the car.
With a sudden halt, he realizes that Tony has the keys.
Great. He’s stuck.
Suddenly, as if summoned, Tony comes barging out of the club, Hammer and five (when the hell did those guys get here?) men all dressed in black coats and matching suits hot on his heels.
“Steve!” Tony screeches, then whips the keys at him.
Steve catches them and starts the car, waiting for the right moment.
Tony throws himself in the backseat, screams, “DRIVE!”, and shrieks as Steve presses his foot on the gas too hard and goes flying out of the parking garage. Thank God they’re on the first floor. Steve hadn’t even noticed that when they first parked.
The white van takes a while to catch up, but finally, in some deserted, suburban part of the city, both cars pull over to stop.
“You know,” Tony says as he gets out, a gleeful look on his face. “I’ve always wanted to scream ‘drive’ at someone as we ran from cops.”
“Those weren’t cops.” Steve says as he, too, exits the car.
Tony waves him off. “Tomayto, tomahto. But hey, you did a good job on really selling the whole ‘fake dating’ thing. Really had me going there.” He laughs, probably to further hit home Steve’s pain.
Steve opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by Fury getting out of the van, his agents behind him, and screaming.
“What the fuck was that? That was in no way safe or by the goddamn book-“
Tony holds up the case that he grabbed from the front seat of the car. “We secured the weapons, though. Wasn’t that the whole point of the mission?”
“What you did - what you both did - was incredibly dangerous and would have jeopardized the entire mission. You didn’t even bother to use the code names, Stark, and don’t even get me started on the kissing thing-“
“We were supposed to be undercover together!” Steve says, a tiny bit defensive.
“I meant as partners! Partners in crime! I didn’t want you two sucking face!” Fury screeches. The vein on his forehead looks like it’s about the burst. Even his eyepatch is quivering.
Steve’s stomach starts to turn. But Fury said that had to do it together...or had he? Had Steve orchestrated the whole thing? Without even meaning to?
Or maybe he had meant to, just not consciously.
The air around him starts to thicken, and the Earth herself seems to waver.
“Steve?” Tony’s voice says. He opens his eyes (he doesn’t even remember closing them) to see Tony’s smile and a hesitant hand on his arm. The warmth seems to ground him.
“I’m- I’m so sorry. This wasn’t-“
Tony shushes him, ignoring the weird looks the pair are getting from the three disgruntled (and one amused) agents. “It’s okay. Hey, relax. You’re fine. We got the weapons. It’s fine.”
Yeah, he’s right. It’s fine. Except Steve would never be able to touch Tony like that again, or call ‘dear’ or ‘darling’ or dance with him-
The thought makes the lump in his throat grow more abundant. He swallows it, not wanting to be that guy, and gives a tentative smile. “Alright, well, mission accomplished. Fury, you got your weapons. Let’s head home."
And that they do.
The ride home in the Mercedes is quiet. So is the walk up Stark Tower, where apparently literally everyone lives. As they should; it’s a big building.
“I’ll walk you to your suite,” Tony says, and Steve’s too tired to argue. Instead, he nods, and presses the elevator button for it.
More silence.
The elevator dings and Steve steps out. He opens to door to the rooms, the turns to Tony. “Do you, um, wanna come in?”
Tony brightens considerably. “Sure.”
Never have another chance, a voice whispers in the back of Steve’s mind as he closes the door.
He agrees with it.
Once Tony turns, Steve pounces, kissing him hard as he backs Tony into the wall. His hands are tucked into Tony’s shirt, and just as Steve pulls back, Tony dives right back in, pulling them close together.
Tony groans into his mouth as Steve works a leg between Tony’s, giving him something to grind down onto.
He almost sobs at the pure electricity of it all, and then has to step back because oh no, he’s actually crying.
Tony stays pressed against the wall, a dazed look on his face. He touches his lips, then looks at Steve crying.
“This doesn’t usually happen.” He remarks softly, moving forward to see what the hell is going on.
Steve waves him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just-“
“What?” Tony urges, a little desperately.
Wiping away one last tear, Steve fixes Tony with a sad look. “It’s just that, well, I’m in love with you. And I think I have been for a while. Oh, and I’m bisexual, which I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time as well. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but after tonight…”
Tony is currently doing an impression of a fish out of water.
“You-“ He points a finger at Steve, who steps back. “You stole my line! I’m supposed to confess my love to you, you idiot!”
Now, Steve is trying to rival Tony’s impression. “What?”
“I’m in love with you, Steve. I thought everyone knew. Clint was even gonna spill the beans back there-“
“That’s what that was about?”
Tony nods.
“Wait, so…” Steve forces out, still trying to wrap his head around this. “We’re both in love with each other?”
Tony nods, yet again. “Plus, you being bi is great, because that’s what I am too. Another way we match. And you know what?” He says, stalking forward so that Steve’s the one back up against a wall this time.
“What?” Steve manages to get out.
“I’m very happy for you and Fury’s little miscommunication.”
Steve grins at him. “Well, miscommunication is key.”
Then he kisses him.
Somewhere in the building, Clint turns on the coms, hears wet, kissy noises, and promptly passes out.