Maybe it’s how soft Tony’s voice is, but it makes Steve pause what he’s doing and look over. His kitchen isn’t big, and at most moments, he and Tony are within arm’s reach of each other, so right now, Steve just grins and leans over to kiss him. Given Tony’s position on the counter, Steve’s finds himself half a head shorter in comparison, so he tilts his chin up to make up the difference.
He wants to spend more time together too. He feels an aching in his heart every time he leaves Tony’s room at night, like he wishes he could’ve stayed longer, but until someone tells him otherwise, Steve doesn’t actually know the difference between what’s appropriate and what isn’t. He grew up at a time in which, if Howard was still around, Steve might’ve actually asked his permission to take Tony out for the first time. A time in which, no matter how much you liked a girl, even Bucky wouldn’t have stayed over night. Heck, they didn’t even have some place overnight to stay. They didn’t even have cars; couldn’t afford them.
Even if they didn’t live in this crazy dystopian underground, if everything was normal and the world didn’t need saving, Steve couldn’t even fathom trying to spending all day together — someone else needs to bring it up, to tell him that it’s not only possible but actually quite normal these days. Because despite how open the 21st century was, the Hollywood depiction of actual romance hasn’t actually changed that much. So Steve’s still under the impression that he likes Tony, unless they’re also working together, the time they spend with each other should be dates, or something similar with a set beginning and a set end. That at the end of the night, it’s his job to get Tony home safe, and not to spend it in his arms.
“I’ll let you reserve that compliment for after you taste the food,” he answers, his lips curling into a lop-sided smile in response.
Thanks to Tony body, the tomatoes are well on their way to defrosting. They’re certainly soft enough to cut, which Steve does, horizontally, after he gets out a knife and cutting board. Then, he grates them down into much smaller pieces and throws them into the saucepan. The rest is just a matter of managing the two items on the stove. When to salt the water and put in the pasta, compared with when the sauce would be ready. The latter takes a little more work though, and Steve throws in what oils and spices he’s been able to get in this place, and later mixes in some tomato paste, which was readily in stock since it’s a canned good. The real victory here, is that Steve had even managed to get real garlic.
At some point, things start to actually smell amazing, and Steve dips a spoon into the saucepan to get a sample. It’s still a little steamy when he brings it over to Tony to try, and Steve has one hand cupped beneath the spoon just to make sure nothing drips onto the floor. “You’re up Tony. Taste?”
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He wants to spend more time together too. He feels an aching in his heart every time he leaves Tony’s room at night, like he wishes he could’ve stayed longer, but until someone tells him otherwise, Steve doesn’t actually know the difference between what’s appropriate and what isn’t. He grew up at a time in which, if Howard was still around, Steve might’ve actually asked his permission to take Tony out for the first time. A time in which, no matter how much you liked a girl, even Bucky wouldn’t have stayed over night. Heck, they didn’t even have some place overnight to stay. They didn’t even have cars; couldn’t afford them.
Even if they didn’t live in this crazy dystopian underground, if everything was normal and the world didn’t need saving, Steve couldn’t even fathom trying to spending all day together — someone else needs to bring it up, to tell him that it’s not only possible but actually quite normal these days. Because despite how open the 21st century was, the Hollywood depiction of actual romance hasn’t actually changed that much. So Steve’s still under the impression that he likes Tony, unless they’re also working together, the time they spend with each other should be dates, or something similar with a set beginning and a set end. That at the end of the night, it’s his job to get Tony home safe, and not to spend it in his arms.
“I’ll let you reserve that compliment for after you taste the food,” he answers, his lips curling into a lop-sided smile in response.
Thanks to Tony body, the tomatoes are well on their way to defrosting. They’re certainly soft enough to cut, which Steve does, horizontally, after he gets out a knife and cutting board. Then, he grates them down into much smaller pieces and throws them into the saucepan. The rest is just a matter of managing the two items on the stove. When to salt the water and put in the pasta, compared with when the sauce would be ready. The latter takes a little more work though, and Steve throws in what oils and spices he’s been able to get in this place, and later mixes in some tomato paste, which was readily in stock since it’s a canned good. The real victory here, is that Steve had even managed to get real garlic.
At some point, things start to actually smell amazing, and Steve dips a spoon into the saucepan to get a sample. It’s still a little steamy when he brings it over to Tony to try, and Steve has one hand cupped beneath the spoon just to make sure nothing drips onto the floor. “You’re up Tony. Taste?”