Maybe it shouldn't be so easy for him to just do this, but it's impossible to deny that he needs this. In a lot of ways he hates it, because Tony has never been dependent on physical reassurances or affection - his father had made damn sure of that - but apparently he has changed more than he has realized. Because, as moments tick by and he stays like this, it feels as if it's getting a little easier to breathe.
He already knows, though. He already knows that, just because Steve helps him feel this way, it won't make a difference next time (if there is a next time) because just doing this now is hard enough. The first time they had fought like this, it had left Tony gutted. Now, with as much as they have on the line, it still feels as if he's hollowed out, and he already knows that they won't survive a third time. He won't survive it, and letting him go will no longer be something he contemplates.
But here, now, he doesn't want to think about that. Although some part of him is still cautious and even doubtful about it, Tony wants to believe that there won't be a third time. He actually wants to believe that they'll be okay, that maybe they've had these bumps as a lesson more than anything else.
And...yeah, he feels like an idiot for thinking that, but maybe it's the bump to the head that Natasha gave him. Maybe it's the headache.
Maybe it's just the fact that Steve has come to mean more to him than he could have prepared for.
When he feels Steve's fingers along his jawline, and then the way he prompts him to settle against his chest, Tony is almost ready to tell him no, that it's okay. They don't have to do this, they can just leave, but then his arms are wrapped around him again and this time Tony doesn't fight that hold. He lets him hold him, and he allows himself the opportunity to stay pressed against his chest. At first he doesn't move, he just stays almost entirely too still, but after a moment he moves his hand to grasp onto the back of Steve's jumpsuit. As if to not move from here. As if to hold onto him as a sort of stability or grounding factor, because he needs it. Now, more than ever, he needs it even if he doesn't like it, and even if he would never even dream to verbally ask for it.
They can't stay like this, though. As comfortable as he may be, he knows they should get moving, at least so that he won't end up falling asleep on Steve while standing.
"So," he finally says, his voice still quiet, and now that the heat of his anger has lessened, it gives way to making it obvious how tired he really is. "Should we go home, then?"
That's his version of an olive branch. His white flag to say that he doesn't want to fight anymore.
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He already knows, though. He already knows that, just because Steve helps him feel this way, it won't make a difference next time (if there is a next time) because just doing this now is hard enough. The first time they had fought like this, it had left Tony gutted. Now, with as much as they have on the line, it still feels as if he's hollowed out, and he already knows that they won't survive a third time. He won't survive it, and letting him go will no longer be something he contemplates.
But here, now, he doesn't want to think about that. Although some part of him is still cautious and even doubtful about it, Tony wants to believe that there won't be a third time. He actually wants to believe that they'll be okay, that maybe they've had these bumps as a lesson more than anything else.
And...yeah, he feels like an idiot for thinking that, but maybe it's the bump to the head that Natasha gave him. Maybe it's the headache.
Maybe it's just the fact that Steve has come to mean more to him than he could have prepared for.
When he feels Steve's fingers along his jawline, and then the way he prompts him to settle against his chest, Tony is almost ready to tell him no, that it's okay. They don't have to do this, they can just leave, but then his arms are wrapped around him again and this time Tony doesn't fight that hold. He lets him hold him, and he allows himself the opportunity to stay pressed against his chest. At first he doesn't move, he just stays almost entirely too still, but after a moment he moves his hand to grasp onto the back of Steve's jumpsuit. As if to not move from here. As if to hold onto him as a sort of stability or grounding factor, because he needs it. Now, more than ever, he needs it even if he doesn't like it, and even if he would never even dream to verbally ask for it.
They can't stay like this, though. As comfortable as he may be, he knows they should get moving, at least so that he won't end up falling asleep on Steve while standing.
"So," he finally says, his voice still quiet, and now that the heat of his anger has lessened, it gives way to making it obvious how tired he really is. "Should we go home, then?"
That's his version of an olive branch. His white flag to say that he doesn't want to fight anymore.