Second Chances

Eighteen

There was someone next to Tony when he woke up. He slowly opened his eyes, his head held down by a hand. Tony whimpered as his head pounded with the light seeping through the blinds. He slowly lifted the bedsheets to check that he wasn’t naked, remembering Steve stopping by last night and if he was so drunk he forgot what fucking with Steve was like Tony would never forgive himself. He’s been wanting those pretty, pink lips on him since the beginning, and the only thing about last night that Tony could remember was that Steve and Tony had talked about coming out and their parents and that Bucky and Steve didn’t get a divorce because Bucky died. 

Tony let out a sigh of relief when he saw that he did, in fact of pants on. There was a bit of disappointment in Tony’s expression because fucking a hot blonde guy in Howard’s bed would be the best, last “fuck you”. 

Tony turned to look at Steve. His eyes were closed, and his entire face was relaxed. He was holding the hand that Tony had placed on the blonde’s chest, and his other hand was buried in Tony’s hair. He looked calm like Tony had never seen him. There was always something on Steve’s face, something running through his mind. He never just...was, and when Steve’s eyes blinked open and he lazily smiled at Tony, the playboy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Mornin’,” Steve’s murmur was low as he ran a hand through Tony’s hair.

Tony stared at him surprised that Steve was so open with him. Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony, a lopsided smile on his face, and Tony resisted the urge to press his lips against it. 

“How’re ya doing?” Steve’s Brooklyn drawl was distinct in his words, and Tony felt something warm spread across the back of his neck.

“Fine,” Tony scooted away from Steve, not liking this new sense of security that he didn’t deserve. Knowing Tony he probably yelled at Steve last night and was probably rude or maybe even tried to force himself on Steve, and Tony knew he had to be at least one of those things because he was always like that. He was always an asshole because if you’re an asshole nobody likes you, and if nobody likes you then you don’t get hurt when they leave. 

“Are you sure?” Steve yawned, and Tony nodded, watching  Steve’s pectoral muscles stretch as Steve raised his arms over his head.

“Postive,” Tony said, and Steve dropped his hands down before he slowly got out of the bed.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and he rubbed his left hand’s ring finger. Tony placed his hand on his arc reactor, a habit he had picked up after Afghanistan. He ran the pad of index finger around the cold, metal rim as he watched Steve shrug on his jeans, and Tony would be lying if he hadn’t wished that he could see that ass in just boxers a little longer. Tony watched with a pang in his chest as he watched Steve pull his socks and shoes over his feet. He got out of the bed and walked towards the bathroom not interested in watching Steve leave without saying goodbye. 

Tony slammed the door behind him, wanting Steve to hear that before he walked out of the mansion, and Tony winced at the loud sound. He squinted in the all too bright bathroom light, and he fumbled to get the rich medicine cabinet open. He grabbed a bottle of aspirin and he threw back two pills before brushing his teeth. Tony exited the bathroom after giving Steve enough time to leave. Tony smirked with a small scoff when he saw that Steve had left, and he groaned as he lifted his arms in the air to stretch.

Tony couldn’t be mad. Steve was still in love with someone else, and he had run from Tony before. Tony didn’t need to pity himself because someone was only sticking around for...God knows what. 

Tony wandered over to the mini-fridge Howard had had in his bedroom.

“Fucking…” Tony trailed after seeing that there was no more alcohol in the fridge.