There's a steady pattern to how Steve reacts — how whenever Tony shows him something new, Steve always gasps because somehow, he can never stop being surprised at how good Tony is at making him feel certain things, and how perfect his touch is. But afterwards, Tony will always see the fruits of his labor, because whether it's right after or a few minutes later, Steve remembers what he's learned and he'll try it on Tony too.
There are many moments where Steve wants to slow down, not because he's having second thoughts, but because he doesn't want to go fast, even if sometimes it feels like his body is begging him to let it go fast as possible. He'd be lying if somewhere deep down, Steve didn't worry that to Tony, this was just another night with another person. That he was number 230 (don't ask him where that number comes from, he doesn't know) when Tony was his first. But with every kiss and every look and every touch, Tony assures him that this isn't like that. This is special, not just to Steve, but to Tony too — he can really see it in his eyes — and the way that Tony seems to cherish what's happening as much as he does. How he lets Steve insist that they go slow. How they both seem to want to remember all of this forever.
But there's also a second reason Steve wants to go slow, and it comes up in the moments when Steve is scared. It's not that he's scared of everything that feels so absolutely new, even if split seconds of fear flash through his eyes on occasion. In those moments, his fear is always mixed with a heavy sense of anticipation, so Tony can always tell that he wants to keep going. Instead, when it comes to being scared, a huge majority that fear comes through when he's worried about hurting Tony. Every time they've kissed in the past or made out against a wall, Steve's had time to process and control his movements. He's never been in true danger of getting so lost in the moment that he forgets his own strength — but this is different. The closer they come the more he realizes that he might not be able to have control, and the thought that he might accidentally hurt Tony as a result isn't something he knows how to handle.
He's hurt him too much before, which is why Steve would rather deny himself everything before hurting Tony again, especially during a moment like this. But through it all, Tony reassures him that it's alright. Especially when inevitably, Steve helps pull the shirt over Tony's head and he remembers the bruising on Tony's side and the fact that he has a broken rib right now — and the concern he had earlier comes flooding right up to the surface. But again, they're so far and so close already and Tony makes it very clear that it's alright, that he wants to keep going, that Steve won't hurt him, and it manages to assure him enough to keep going. It doesn't even occur to Steve that sometimes, pain could be a good thing in times like this, that Tony might actually like it if he was a little rougher with him. Maybe some other time.
In those final moments, the tension between holding back and wanting to let go entirely end up making everything feel that much more intense. Tony will be able to notice it too, the inner conflict that seems to be brewing inside Steve, whenever he feels how forcefully Steve might grab onto his hand, the pillow, his hips, his back, his thighs — it's always right on the edge of being painful, or leaving a bruise, because whenever Steve reacts without a filter, his grip is so much firmer, his hold is so much tighter, and the way he presses is so much more powerful than your average person. In a way, they're little glimpses into what could be, how things could feel, if that's what they wanted one day. But it's not what Steve wants today. Which is why always, on cue, Steve immediately softens his hold every time something like that happens. Forceful to soft, over and over again.
Because despite how much their surroundings have changed, for Steve, the purpose of being intimate with someone will never change. This isn't happening because of lust or desire — although he can't deny that he feels both of those things. But in the end, Steve asked Tony to show him how to go further, because Steve treats this as an act of expression — of love and trust and everything he's feeling so strongly for Tony right now. Maybe one day, when they've been steady for awhile, intimacy can be about sex or helping each other feel something incredible. But tonight, as cheesy as it sounds, Steve feels in his heart that when they finally melt into each other, all of this has been about love — making it, expressing it, cherishing it — and all the things that come with it. How he'd give almost anything to protect Tony forever. To always fight for him, and for them, in the worst of situations. To be here for him, when he needs comfort. To still be here for him, even when Tony doesn't. To prove to Tony that he can trust him with his body, just like Steve is telling him now that he trusts Tony with his.
Finally, when it's over, when they're tangled up with each other, glistening and forever breathless beneath the sheets, Steve can't help but curl his body around Tony's, holding him, kissing him, nuzzling him, and brushing his fingers though Tony's hair. He knows that he's never felt this comfortable in his entire life, and that if he wanted, right now both of them could drift softly into sleep. But there's just one last thing Steve wants Tony to know — because he remembers the way Tony looked earlier, back in the living room, and how self-conscious he'd been about his body. He'd seen glimpses of it again, just a few minutes ago, and he wants Tony to know that that he has nothing to be self-conscious about.
"Tony," he whispers, like sweet nothings into his ear. "I've always known you were beautiful. All of you." A few fingers rake through Tony's wavy curls. "Your body." He pauses there, to kiss him again, and to give the phrase time to settle in, before he continues. "Your mind." Steve nuzzles his nose against the back of Tony's neck. "And your heart." Beautiful. And this time, the word itself doesn't feel out of place. It feels perfect.
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There are many moments where Steve wants to slow down, not because he's having second thoughts, but because he doesn't want to go fast, even if sometimes it feels like his body is begging him to let it go fast as possible. He'd be lying if somewhere deep down, Steve didn't worry that to Tony, this was just another night with another person. That he was number 230 (don't ask him where that number comes from, he doesn't know) when Tony was his first. But with every kiss and every look and every touch, Tony assures him that this isn't like that. This is special, not just to Steve, but to Tony too — he can really see it in his eyes — and the way that Tony seems to cherish what's happening as much as he does. How he lets Steve insist that they go slow. How they both seem to want to remember all of this forever.
But there's also a second reason Steve wants to go slow, and it comes up in the moments when Steve is scared. It's not that he's scared of everything that feels so absolutely new, even if split seconds of fear flash through his eyes on occasion. In those moments, his fear is always mixed with a heavy sense of anticipation, so Tony can always tell that he wants to keep going. Instead, when it comes to being scared, a huge majority that fear comes through when he's worried about hurting Tony. Every time they've kissed in the past or made out against a wall, Steve's had time to process and control his movements. He's never been in true danger of getting so lost in the moment that he forgets his own strength — but this is different. The closer they come the more he realizes that he might not be able to have control, and the thought that he might accidentally hurt Tony as a result isn't something he knows how to handle.
He's hurt him too much before, which is why Steve would rather deny himself everything before hurting Tony again, especially during a moment like this. But through it all, Tony reassures him that it's alright. Especially when inevitably, Steve helps pull the shirt over Tony's head and he remembers the bruising on Tony's side and the fact that he has a broken rib right now — and the concern he had earlier comes flooding right up to the surface. But again, they're so far and so close already and Tony makes it very clear that it's alright, that he wants to keep going, that Steve won't hurt him, and it manages to assure him enough to keep going. It doesn't even occur to Steve that sometimes, pain could be a good thing in times like this, that Tony might actually like it if he was a little rougher with him. Maybe some other time.
In those final moments, the tension between holding back and wanting to let go entirely end up making everything feel that much more intense. Tony will be able to notice it too, the inner conflict that seems to be brewing inside Steve, whenever he feels how forcefully Steve might grab onto his hand, the pillow, his hips, his back, his thighs — it's always right on the edge of being painful, or leaving a bruise, because whenever Steve reacts without a filter, his grip is so much firmer, his hold is so much tighter, and the way he presses is so much more powerful than your average person. In a way, they're little glimpses into what could be, how things could feel, if that's what they wanted one day. But it's not what Steve wants today. Which is why always, on cue, Steve immediately softens his hold every time something like that happens. Forceful to soft, over and over again.
Because despite how much their surroundings have changed, for Steve, the purpose of being intimate with someone will never change. This isn't happening because of lust or desire — although he can't deny that he feels both of those things. But in the end, Steve asked Tony to show him how to go further, because Steve treats this as an act of expression — of love and trust and everything he's feeling so strongly for Tony right now. Maybe one day, when they've been steady for awhile, intimacy can be about sex or helping each other feel something incredible. But tonight, as cheesy as it sounds, Steve feels in his heart that when they finally melt into each other, all of this has been about love — making it, expressing it, cherishing it — and all the things that come with it. How he'd give almost anything to protect Tony forever. To always fight for him, and for them, in the worst of situations. To be here for him, when he needs comfort. To still be here for him, even when Tony doesn't. To prove to Tony that he can trust him with his body, just like Steve is telling him now that he trusts Tony with his.
Finally, when it's over, when they're tangled up with each other, glistening and forever breathless beneath the sheets, Steve can't help but curl his body around Tony's, holding him, kissing him, nuzzling him, and brushing his fingers though Tony's hair. He knows that he's never felt this comfortable in his entire life, and that if he wanted, right now both of them could drift softly into sleep. But there's just one last thing Steve wants Tony to know — because he remembers the way Tony looked earlier, back in the living room, and how self-conscious he'd been about his body. He'd seen glimpses of it again, just a few minutes ago, and he wants Tony to know that that he has nothing to be self-conscious about.
"Tony," he whispers, like sweet nothings into his ear. "I've always known you were beautiful. All of you." A few fingers rake through Tony's wavy curls. "Your body." He pauses there, to kiss him again, and to give the phrase time to settle in, before he continues. "Your mind." Steve nuzzles his nose against the back of Tony's neck. "And your heart." Beautiful. And this time, the word itself doesn't feel out of place. It feels perfect.