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It was always Tony who insisted that they go out to celebrate rather than staying in. Whatever the victory, over alien invaders or psychotic robotic armies or more often just over Nick Fury, Tony rounded them all up, bullied them into dressing up or down as appropriate, picked a bar or restaurant and drove them there.
For a guy who liked spending money, he still had a knack for finding the place that had the best in the city of whatever it was he was craving today, not the most expensive version, so their meals ended up costing anywhere between five dollars and five hundred dollars a plate, but to be fair to him, it usually was the best whatever-it-was they'd ever tasted.
Occasionally one of them tried to argue that staying in was also a good way to celebrate, but he was persistent and they usually gave in, dressed up and got drunk as he directed.
Steve usually liked wherever they found themselves. The sheer variety of cuisines available would never stop being amazing, as far as he was concerned, and if sometimes he'd've been happier with a quiet beer at home, he always found himself glad for the chance to spend more time with his team in situations where, unless Tony was driving, there was little risk of injury.
Sometimes it all got just a little overwhelming, though.
Tonight they were in a bar. It was a nice bar - a very nice bar, the kind he suspected some of them wouldn't've been allowed in to if they hadn't been accompanied by Tony Stark - and the ridiculously expensive beer was good, and they were all relaxing enough to start actually talking, which was rare and increasingly important to him, he found. Not about big stuff, not the subject of serious conversations, but jokes and anecdotes of lovers past and narrow escapes.
They were attracting attention, of course. Groups that involved Tony tended to, but in bars like this, groups of almost-all-guys apparently got more than a little attention from the ladies in the way of drinks sent their way. Apparently got it from guys, too, and not just for Natasha. Tony, of course, accepted all drinks with a wink and a smile for the sender and redistributed them around the table as he felt appropriate, so Steve hadn't managed to stick to just beer tonight.
The mixing of drinks might've been why he wasn't quite as in control of his temper as he'd've liked to be.
"No, thank you," he said, for what felt like the twelfth time.
"Why?" Tony said, apparently bewildered. "She's been eyeing you up since we got here, she's beautiful, she sent you that very suggestive cocktail...."
"... which you drank," Steve interrupted.
"So? You didn't want it and I have a policy of never turning down a Screaming Orgasm when it's offered to me, is that so wrong?"
There really wasn't any answer to that, and drinks shouldn't be named things like that anyway, as far as he was concerned. How did people ever order them, for a start?
"So why? Not your type? Don't like blondes? Fine, we'll find you a nice brunette. What about that one over there?"
He didn't even look to see where Tony was pointing. "I don't want to pick up women in bars."
".... Why not?"
"It's just not something that interests me."
This apparently baffled Tony. Steve looked around the table for support, but the others were clearly enjoying the show too much to take sides here. It figured. Bruce was doing his best not to catch anyone's eye, Natasha was warning off with a glare some guy who had the nerve to take a step in her direction, and Clint was sitting with his arms crossed, surveying the room with dispassionate interest. Looking for a woman? Possibly. It was apparently what bars were for, after all.
"That's... Steve, Cap, I get that things are different now but you have to go for what you want, you know?" Tony accepted another drink from the particularly amused waiter, waved at the guy who'd sent over the violently blue cocktail, turned his back on him and pushed it over to Steve. "Here. Drink some courage, my friend. Patriotically blue courage."
Suddenly it just felt too much. He abruptly got to his feet, nearly knocking over the sticky concoction.
"I'm going to go get some air," he said to nobody in particular, and made for the door.
There was a bench in the middle of the street not far from the bar's door and he sat, uncertain what to do with himself. The night was pleasantly cool after the close atmosphere of the bar so he sat and watched the patrons come and go, all dressed up for an evening out. All looking happy to be there.
Really, what had been so bad about it that he'd had to leave? So Tony had been pushy. Tony was always pushy. Should he have gone to talk to the woman? But it wouldn't've been right to do so just to get his friend to finally pipe down, he was sure of that.
He glanced up to find Clint Barton standing a few feet away.
"Mind if I sit down?"
He shrugged. "It's a public bench." Clint just raised his eyebrows and Steve sighed. "Please have a seat," he said, as deliberately polite as he could manage. Clint sat at the other end of the bench, close enough to talk, but clearly not trying to intrude. Steve appreciated the thought.
"So," Clint said eventually. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Steve said automatically. "Did Tony..."
"Nobody sent me."
The silence stretched out, unchallenging. He was touched, he found; he hadn't really had a chance to get to know Barton but here he was, checking on a member of his team when he could be inside, having a drink, flirting with beautiful women. Steve appreciated that.
"I wish he wouldn't do that," he found himself saying out of nowhere, then immediately wished he could take the words back, but they hung in the still air between them.
Clint shrugged. "He's Tony. He does that."
It was an undeniable point. "I like him, but he can't take a hint," Steve muttered, and to his surprise, Clint laughed. Steve felt a little better.
"No, he can't. It bothers you, though?"
"When he pushes me at women? Yes."
"He thinks you're just, you know, shy. From the forties. Whatever. Tell him it's an actual thing and he'll back down."
"That what's an actual thing?"
Clint waved a hand, apparently trying to sum up the evening so far. "Talking to women in bars, I guess."
"People talked to women in bars in the forties, you know," he said with a smile, and Clint grinned back.
"Just not you, then."
"Just not me," Steve agreed. "It's not a... thing." He was still getting used to some of this era's phrasing, but he had to admit that it was an incredibly useful word. Anything you can't otherwise describe is a thing. Anything important is a thing. Anything not important? Not a thing. Simple.
"Are you sure?"
That stopped Steve in his somewhat rambling thoughts. "Am I sure about what?"
"That it's not a thing."
Then again, as a phrase, it did lack precision. "Okay, back up a little, run me through that again."
Clint shook his head and looked across the street to the bar, people still going in more often than they came out. It had to be crowded in there by now, Steve thought.
"You know, I'm pretty sure Tony should be the one giving the sex talk," Clint muttered, and Steve felt himself flushing, glad that the darkness hid most of it.
"He did," he said flatly. "I get it. Women go after men, men go after women. Men go after men, women go after women. Men become women, women become men, and all of it is just fine. I *get* it," he added, because people kept seeming not to get the message. "It was the forties, not the middle ages. The only difference is that now people talk about it and there are laws about how they talk about it. And by the way, I was always fine with it. Also, I'm not gay." That also seemed to need saying more than he was really comfortable with.
"Never thought you were," Clint said levelly, and Steve looked back at him.
"Then why...?"
Clint ran his fingers through his spiky hair, managing not to move it in the slightest. Now there was something Steve could use some help understanding.
"It just figures that, being Tony, he focused on the sex part."
Steve paused. "There's another part?"
Clint waved his hand again, possibly in case he could pluck inspiration out of the air. "Look, I don't know jack about your time. Presumably, yes, people had sex in their various combinations." He grinned again when Steve nodded. "But the boundaries of things shift, okay, and I think some of the things that used to be considered part of, for lack of a better word, normal relationships are considered separate things now, and I'm not sure if anyone's told you that."
Steve nodded slowly, then shook his head. "No, I'm not following."
"Okay. Correct me if I'm wrong, but as a rule, you're into women, right?" Steve nodded. "But you're not into casual hookups, and you don't get the appeal of, well, sex with people you don't really know. How am I doing so far?"
"Accurate," Steve agreed. "Is there a point, or are we just... describing me?"
"Oh, shut up. I don't know anything about your personal life, okay - sorry, I was never a fanboy like some people - so I don't know, maybe you were a total ladies' man back in the day, but I'm guessing that you didn't have many romantic relationships, and the ones you did have, didn't get physical until things were pretty serious, until you knew them really well."
Steve nodded again. That sounded normal, though, wasn't it? Was it not any more?
His dignity was already long gone. He asked it aloud.
"Normal's a pretty loaded word so I'm not going there, but sure, there are people who prefer to wait until things are are serious before they get naked, and that's fine..."
"... because everything's fine," Steve pointed out.
"Also that, yes, but there are also people who aren't so much holding themselves back as who aren't feeling it until then. Or don't at all. Or do, but only for specific people. We don't necessarily think those are all the same thing any more." He met Steve's eyes and sagged at what he saw there. "You have no idea where I'm going with this, do you."
"I'm sorry, but no," Steve admitted.
Clint sighed again. "I'm just saying, we have words now. You might find them useful."
"...Words?" Steve prompted.
"For other kinds of... I don't know, other options when it comes to who you want to do and when. If at all. Asexual. Demisexual. Heteroromantic." He shrugged again. "They may not fit, I don't know, but... we have them, and you should know them, and if any of them do fit, then it's something you can use to get Tony to shut up from time to time, which I'm generally all in favour of."
"Everyone's in favour of that," Steve said, while he turned the rest over. "I don't know what those mean. Or rather, I could guess, but I'm not sure how they're relevant here."
"And I really don't think I'm the guy best qualified to explain them, but that's what google's for, you know? Either they'll give you a frame of reference or they won't, who knows. But look them up, okay?"
"You're saying that what I thought, in my other life, was a normal - sorry, typical - part of dating may now require its own separate category and vocabulary and... and research?"
"Things change. How we look at them changes. And yes, that, my friend, is called passing, and yeah, it sucks when you can't any more. There are people who bitch that now being gay is everyone's business, nobody has a private life any more, but that's just the way we've gone with it. Mostly, people are better off because of it."
Steve looked at him carefully. "Do you know all this because you're...?" He looked away, suddenly embarrassed all over again. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business. I'm not even sure what I’m asking."
Clint clapped him on the shoulder. "Me, well, that's a whole other conversation, you know? Sometimes things don't fit into boxes. Am I gay? Nah. Am I complicated? Hell, everyone's complicated."
"Everyone and everything," Steve agreed, and sat back, and looked again at the door of the bar. "You know, I really don't want to go back in there."
"Then don't," Clint suggested. "Come on, I'll hijack Stark's driver, take you home." He got his phone out, tapped in a few sharp sequences and shoved it back into his pocket. "There, done. Hap'll be here in five."
"Tony won't mind if we ditch him?"
"He'll bitch," Clint said easily. "If he starts in, tell him I took you home to bed and while his head's exploding, you can make a quick getaway."
Steve laughed, because this was comfortable, sitting here with his teammate, joking about things that were okay to joke about now because it didn't matter whether they were true or not. And the image of what it might do to Tony if he told him that was worth any lingering discomfort he might feel. People kept telling him he should get over that.
For the first time, he felt like he might be getting there.