Chapter Text
"Can you hear anything?"
Tony humphs, pressing his ear closely against the door of Steve's apartment. He shakes his head. "Shut it, Hawkguy," Tony whispers, "I need absolute silence."
"Excuse me, sir," JARVIS calls from above, startling Tony away with a muffled squawk while Clint damn near jumps back into the air vent above. "The entire tower was sound-proofed, remember? Ms. Potts had that done after your affair with the arc compressor in the lab and proceeded to — how did she put it? — blow everything up."
Grimacing, Tony rolls his eyes, waving his hands at Steve's apartment. "JARVIS, the man lives in my home, my inner sanctum sanctorum or whatever the hell Doctor Strange calls our digs. Mi casa es no su casa, JARVIS. I demand to know what's going on in there," he whines.
Nestled now in the air vent, Clint pops his head down — nearly losing his sunglasses as he goes — and nods. "Yeah, JARVIS, we got a right to be worried about what or who the Captain is plundering, am I right," he jokes, biting his lip as if to keep from laughing too loudly. Tony points towards him.
"See," he tells his AI, "Clint's on my side."
JARVIS almost sounds tired when he responds. "Sir, I'm not authorized to —"
"Yes, you are. You totally are now, buddy," Tony corrects him. "I created you, and I now give you permission to tell me if Steve Rogers is getting laid."
"Actually, according to the lease agreement —"
"Lease agreement," Tony asks, eyebrows raising so quickly they nearly disappear into his hairline. "What is this?"
"Uh, were we supposed to sign one of those because I totally didn't know abou—"
A noise from beyond the door silences them, and when Tony looks down, he sees the handle to Steve's door jiggle. He freezes and looks around, nearly tripping on the hem of his greased-splattered sweatpants as he looks for an escape route. Everything is too far away — shit, shit, shit — so Tony holds up his arms like a toddler wanting to be carried and screws his eyes shut.
"Legolas," he hisses, "Return a favor! I need a lift!"
Just as Steve's door starts to open, Clint hangs from the air vent, grabbing Tony's outstretched hands before wrangling him into the now-cramped shaft. He's wheezing and clutching his side, almost certain he bruised a rib extracting his nosy teammate from the hotspot below, when he sees Tony pressing his face against the metal grating that's covering the vent. Clint clears his throat.
"What'd you see," he whispers.
Tony says nothing.
Clint tries again. "Tony?"
"You got to see for yourself," Tony answers, barely audible to Clint given his hearing aids, but the echo of the shaft carries the noise until he can make sense of it — enough of it to finally crawl on his stomach towards the vent's opening to see what's below. He almost chokes when he does, but Tony jerks a hand out to cover Clint's mouth as they watch Steve stand underneath them, running a hand through his mussed hair in just some threadbare shorts and undershirt.
But it's the man next to him — one that Clint recognizes from some billboard downtown — that makes his cheeks color because he's standing there all disheveled with buttons misaligned down his shirt. His slacks are wrinkled, as if they'd been thrown to the floor in a hasty retreat, and there is a dark smudge shadowing his jawline that Tony knows is a hickey.
The man smiles, walking away with easy steps, and Steve steps back into the apartment where he'll wait until Bucky returns home from his job tonight with Natasha. Still squeezed into the vent, Tony and Clint stare at one another, blinking dully as they come to terms.
After a moment, Tony coughs. "Did that just…?"
Clint tilts his head. "Yeah, I think so."
They sit there for a minute longer before Clint rolls onto his back — elbowing Tony in the ribs, thank you very much — and slips his phone from his pocket. He's squinting at its screen when Tony asks what he is doing. Finishing his message, Clint shrugs and puts his phone away.
"I texted Kate and Phil. They'll want to know."
________
"Are they still there?"
JARVIS sighs. "Yes, Captain Rogers, I'm afraid so."
Leaning against the kitchen counter, Steve eyes a banana — bought only because of Sam's insistence — and grabs an orange, peeling away its citrus skin with a laugh.
"Do you think they'll figure it out," he asks, wiping his charcoal-coated hands against his ratty shorts that he only breaks out for projects. Across the room, Steve can see the mat canvas he'd been working on last night, now blocked-in with the angles and joints of his model's pose. It had been a long night, longer than Steve had planned for, but it worked out for the best.
"Captain, you do realize what they must think," JARVIS prompts after a pause. "From the text Mr. Stark just sent to Dr. Banner, I assure you that they believe the worst."
"I'm sure they do," Steve breaths, popping a slice of orange into his mouth. "Let them think what they will."
JARVIS answers quickly. "Are you sure that is a good idea?"
Steve's smile turns wicked, imagining what Tony's shocked face must've looked like earlier. "Oh," he answers, "I'm sure."
________
The first time Tony sees one of Steve's lovers in the common area, he chokes on water. He coughs violently, gasping for air as he wipes trails of water away from his chin, and looks up to see an admittedly attractive man standing across the bar from him.
"You okay," he asks. Tony waves him away, staring at his glass of water and wishing it would become something a whole hell of a lot stronger.
The man stops, reaching for a banana — which makes Tony's eyes fly wide open — and smiles sheepishly. "I got to get to work. It was a long night, you know? I got a shoot to get to, and Mr. Rogers said I could grab something on my way out."
There is a pause before Tony answers. "You call him Mr. Rogers?"
The man nods. "Um, yeah."
Tony blushes. "What the hell kind of kink is that? No — No, don't tell me. I don't need to know. JARVIS can see you out," he answers, watching the man walk away — skinny jeans clinging sinfully to his slender thighs — and Tony turns back to the bar.
He's eyeing his bottle of Russian Standard when Thor's booming voice calls to him from the den.
"Stark, was that another one of Steve's erotic conquests," he asks, smiling so widely that Tony nearly misses how Jane and Darcy are flanking the god. To his side, Darcy whistles lowly, grinning through her red-painted lips in a way that would have interested Tony in his younger days.
Now, it just makes him miss Pepper all the more when she's away on business.
Darcy walks up to the bar, ignoring his strangled cough when she takes the vodka out of his reach, and pours herself a shot. "With an ass like that, Steve could bounce a quarter off it. Get it? Because that's an army thing and he's…aw, hell, I'll shut up now," she says, taking the shot in a single go as Tony takes his bottle back.
He stands there — shirt damp and hands filled with alcohol — and Tony wonders how his life came to this.
________
"I think you're overreacting."
Tony purses his lips. "Bruce, you haven't seen what I've seen. There's no way I'm wrong!"
Looking over his wire-rimmed glasses, Bruce fixes Tony with a look. "I'm just saying, I don't think Steve is that kind of guy. The love-them-then-leave-them sort," he says.
"I know," Tony says. "I was that guy once, so I don't understand what's —"
"Isn't it considered treason to talk that way about a national icon, boys?"
"Jesus Christ," Tony cries when Natasha sneaks behind him. Bruce laughs, going back to his book as he leans back in his chair, while Tony desperately tries to restart his heart. "You need a bell," he tells her. "I'm going to get you one."
She shrugs. "You'd have to get it on me first, Stark."
"Nah," he says, "I'd let Barton do it because you wouldn't mind him touching yo— ow, ow, ow!"
Pulling her fist back, Natasha smiles. "Aw, that had to hurt."
"I had a great time last night."
All three of them jerk at the new voice. Natasha tenses as a hand drifts towards her waist, ready to grab any of the knives she has hidden there, and Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. Tony, however, calls to JARVIS.
"Put it on the screen," he says, rushing over to the closest TV. He only feels a little creepy — just a little — when he sees the video feed appear on screen to find Steve outside his apartment with another man. This one has dark, coifed hair, cut just the same as Bucky's was before the war, and there is a scar crooked at the corner of his lips. He's smiling, looking at Steve with half-lidded eyes.
Steve scratches at the back of his neck. "Yeah, Jeff, it was great. It was a little weird at first, but it got better once we got into it."
From his seat, Bruce sputters.
Jeff leans forward, tugging an arm over Steve's broad shoulders, and reaches up to press a short kiss to Steve's cheek. "No, it was all you, Cap. Let's do this again sometime," he says.
Tony hears a crash behind him at the bar followed by Clint's colorfully swearing. He sees Natasha roll her eyes, muttering under her breath about being surrounded by idiots, before she disappears to either help or maim her partner.
When Steve comes into the kitchen later — still dressed in his wrinkled hoodie and sweats — Tony can't look him in the eye. Natasha is watching him carefully, tracking his movements as he pours himself a glass of orange juice. He's taking his first sip when she rests her hip against the fridge, crossing her arms under her bust with a raised brow.
"You look tired, Steve," she says.
He blinks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I think I'm actually going to head back to bed for a bit," he says, looking over the room before his stare finds Tony. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
Steve walks away, rolling his stiff shoulders — because that's what happens after your hunched over an easel for seven hours — and thinks his chest is going to explode as he tries to hold in his laughter after seeing Tony's horrified face. When he reaches the elevator, he waits until the doors close to let go. Steve has one hand propping himself up against the elevator wall as the other rest over his breast, laughing so hard that the veins on his neck are bulging beneath his skin. He only stops when the elevator arrives at his floor and a familiar voice reaches his ears.
"Man, what the hell happened?"
Steve looks up to see Sam and Bucky waiting at the door — dressed in their training uniforms with duffles slugged over their shoulders — and bites his lip before exploding into another fit of laughter.
________
Clint doesn't think this is going to work.
Actually, he pretty goddamn positive it isn't, but Kate Bishop is swearing up-and-down that it will. And Stark…well, he's desperate enough for proof that he'd do anything at this point.
"…extraction at the signal, Hawkeye. Romanoff is out because she's a killjoy, but we got two archers and a genius, playboy something-or-other to make this plan work," Kate rallies in the elevator before brushing off some dog hair from her cardigan. "If this goes south, it'll be up to lazy over here to work his magic," she says with a thumb pointing towards him.
He'd argue — really — but Clint can't argue with anything she just said, so he keeps quiet. Tony says nothing as he stares through the elevator with a thousand-yard gaze that makes Clint wonder what horrors Tony thinks Steve is getting up to.
It's then he remembers that he does not, in fact, want to know.
They get to the apartment, dropping in from Clint's trusty air vent, and Kate is at the door with some piece of StarkTech that has both their ears pressed to wood. From his comms, he can hear whatever the device is picking up from inside the apartment.
"…yeah, uh-huh, move up a little bit just like that…oh, you look perfect," Steve grunts, and suddenly, Clint is feeling too hot to be laid up in an A/C shaft.
"Are you sure this feels good?"
Steve's muffled answer comes a second later. "I love it. Don't you? That's all that matters," he says. "Just don't get too comfortable."
Below, he can see Kate's ears turn a fiery red as she shoots up. "Abort mission! Abandon ship," she hisses as she hurries to the air vent, reaching for extraction. Clint pulls her up and waits for Tony, but the man just stands there stunned.
Clint thinks this might have finally broken him.
And, from inside the room, Steve smirks as he sees the shadows behinds his front door disappear. The model perched on the stool across from him covers his mouth to keep from laughing — totally on-board from the get-go to troll the one and only Iron Man — and Steve pushes his bangs back as he stares down at the sketchpad laid on top of his knees.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a punk," the man asks as Steve works on shading his hands. Steve shakes his head, opening his mouth to answer when another voice stops him.
"Oh, trust me," Bucky says as he walks from the shower to the bedroom in nothing more than a towel. "He knows."
________
"Steve, this is an intervention."
Blinking, Steve stares at his team as they stare back. There is even a shoddily crafted banner hanging above the bar — no doubt made by America and Darcy on a slow day — and Tony steps out from the group, neck flushed as he looks everywhere where Steve isn't.
Steve swallows. "About what?"
Tony sighs. "You know what," he says. "We're not stupid."
"I never said you were," Steve says, "but that still doesn't mean I know what's going on."
"It's about your…your affairs, holy shit, Rogers. Keep it in your pants, or for the love of a god that's not Thor, do not let them mosey on into our sanctum sanctorum. I'm glad your some sort of paramour and making up for lost libido, but I cannot even begin to…to…"
Tony looks helplessly at the team who are all either nodding or looking vaguely constipated. None of them offer support.
Steve takes pity and looks over the group to where he sees Bucky chatting with Pepper. "Hey," he calls, "I have the pieces done, Ms. Potts."
She starts at the noise, but her lips tip into a wide smile when she makes her way over. "I've told you to call me Pepper, Steve, but they're really done? And just in time for the showcase," she coos, coming to standing next to Tony with an arm looped through his. Tony looks between the two of them.
"I finished the last one the other night," Steve answers. "I've lost some good sleep over them, but they look alright."
"He's lying," Bucky calls from across the room. "They look better than alright!"
Tony frowns, brow knitting, and some of the team begins snickering behind him. "I am missing something."
Pepper smacks his shoulder. "The gala, remember? We're hosting the Stark Art Gala next month, and Steve offered to do some original pieces for charitable auction. He's been doing life drawing all this month to get them in under the deadline. I told you all this, Tony. I even handed you the invitation."
Distantly, someone mutters, "He doesn't like being handed things," but Steve doesn't think the older man notices as he's already heading towards the bar with one hand running over his face. The rest of the team watches as Tony reaches behind the counter and pulls out the nearly full bottle of Russian Standard. Steve shakes his head, wondering if maybe he should apologize for "being a little shit" — as Sam called it — but Tony is wandering off towards his lab before he can say or do anything.
The room goes quiet before breaking into laughter as Clint doubles over, one hand braced against his knee as his shoulders shake. Even Thor is chuckling when Kate walks over, thumping Steve on the back.
"I got to admit, Steve," she tells him, "you had us all going there for awhile, but I knew you couldn't be that depraved."
Steve crosses his arms, looking over his team to see Bucky laughing loudly, and his heart thuds tightly within his chest. His blood turns to liquor as it fills with something like champagne bubbles — and for a second — Steve remembers what being drunk feels like. He traces the thick line of Bucky's neck as it curves into his collarbone, skin disappearing from Steve's thirsty eyes at the edge of the shirt Bucky had borrowed from Steve months ago.
Steve just swallows. "Yeah," he tells her. "You got me."