Steve's hands run smoothly upwards, only lifting away for only a second to avoid the injury, and then his hands settle again where Tony's back meets his shoulders. He laces his arms around Tony, because he wants nothing more than to hold him close, and it feels as natural as breathing.
Steve doesn't know how this keeps happening, but he loses himself in Tony again — his sense of time and place displaced by the sheer sensation of how he's being kissed right now. There's a softness to it that isn't there when they're too busy trying to savor the few minutes they have with each other on a given night, and if Steve didn't know better, he'd think that this is how people kiss each other when they're in love.
One adoring kiss turns into two however, and it isn't until they gently break to breathe — their lips still brushing against each other's — that Steve opens his eyes again, and his lips part even further in awe when he remembers that he's supposed to be watching the pasta right now. He takes a deep breath in, breathing Tony in, before he exhales reluctantly.
"I don't want to stop," he says, his voice broken by the quiet laugh that's coming out at the same time. Another moment goes by, and Steve's arms just pull Tony just a touch closer as he starts to move his lips down to Tony's neck. Just one, soft kiss, two inches below his ear. "I should really go check on that pasta," he says, quietly and affectionately, before Steve starts to pull back. But even then it's slow and his hands linger.
The only thought that allows Steve to really break away, is that instead of the ten minutes a night they've been spending together lately because of how much he's been working, tonight they have the rest of the evening. It's only 20:00, nothing will be released into the air at 22:00, and he can already tell that he's going to ask Tony to stay the night. Steve'll give him his bed, just so he can have a comfortable space to heal.
He doesn't even bother to taste the pasta before taking it off the stove to drain — it's probably overcooked so he just needs to get it out of the water. A big cloud of steam escapes over the sink when Steve starts to pour. But the noodles are safe, kept inside by the lid he's using as a gatekeeper.
Then, after about another minute, he has almost everything ready. The pasta and sauce as slathered over each other in two bowls, still steaming as Steve goes to pull one last thing out of the fridge. This had been hard to find. He still isn't sure that it isn't some kind of imitation, because Steve has no idea if Alpha even has cows, but he'd tasted it after buying some, and it seemed right.
Parmesan cheese. There isn't a lot, but it's in those two to three inch strips, just like how bodegas sell them back home, and Steve sprinkles it over the bowls before pulling out their forks from a drawer.
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Steve doesn't know how this keeps happening, but he loses himself in Tony again — his sense of time and place displaced by the sheer sensation of how he's being kissed right now. There's a softness to it that isn't there when they're too busy trying to savor the few minutes they have with each other on a given night, and if Steve didn't know better, he'd think that this is how people kiss each other when they're in love.
One adoring kiss turns into two however, and it isn't until they gently break to breathe — their lips still brushing against each other's — that Steve opens his eyes again, and his lips part even further in awe when he remembers that he's supposed to be watching the pasta right now. He takes a deep breath in, breathing Tony in, before he exhales reluctantly.
"I don't want to stop," he says, his voice broken by the quiet laugh that's coming out at the same time. Another moment goes by, and Steve's arms just pull Tony just a touch closer as he starts to move his lips down to Tony's neck. Just one, soft kiss, two inches below his ear. "I should really go check on that pasta," he says, quietly and affectionately, before Steve starts to pull back. But even then it's slow and his hands linger.
The only thought that allows Steve to really break away, is that instead of the ten minutes a night they've been spending together lately because of how much he's been working, tonight they have the rest of the evening. It's only 20:00, nothing will be released into the air at 22:00, and he can already tell that he's going to ask Tony to stay the night. Steve'll give him his bed, just so he can have a comfortable space to heal.
He doesn't even bother to taste the pasta before taking it off the stove to drain — it's probably overcooked so he just needs to get it out of the water. A big cloud of steam escapes over the sink when Steve starts to pour. But the noodles are safe, kept inside by the lid he's using as a gatekeeper.
Then, after about another minute, he has almost everything ready. The pasta and sauce as slathered over each other in two bowls, still steaming as Steve goes to pull one last thing out of the fridge. This had been hard to find. He still isn't sure that it isn't some kind of imitation, because Steve has no idea if Alpha even has cows, but he'd tasted it after buying some, and it seemed right.
Parmesan cheese. There isn't a lot, but it's in those two to three inch strips, just like how bodegas sell them back home, and Steve sprinkles it over the bowls before pulling out their forks from a drawer.