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“Are you fucking nuts?”
Steve takes a step forward as Tony walks into the briefing room and his hands ball into fists on their own accord. “I’m nuts? I’m nuts? You’re the brainless person who’s apparently deleted his brain after uploading it to one of those AIs.”
Tony shakes his head and laughs, making something bubble in Steve’s chest that he can’t quite name. “You jumped off a tower, landed on a pile of robot scraps, and almost cut your head open and I am brainless?”
“I did it because your stupid ass was in the parking lot trying to light yourself on fire. If you hadn’t gone after that freak with a flamethrower, who was actually already half-unconscious anyway we wouldn’t be having our collective asses roasted right now!”
“The purple freak was waving around with the flamethrower while high on oxygen deprivation!” Tony raises his arms. “Nat? A little help? A dose of sanity, please?”
Nat presses her lips together, sharing a look with Clint. “Guys, we need to get our shit together, before Fury gets here.”
“I just acted according to the situation. Assessing on the spot, you know the handbook stuff they teach you at the Academy. I have nothing to be worried about,” Tony says without turning back, his breath blowing warm on Steve’s face.
The hair on Steve’s neck stands on end and he breathes in. “The handbook also has bits about following the plan! Remember the plan? That was agreed on?” He breathes a few more times, hoping to remain calm. “I specifically asked you to keep the hostiles contained—”
“I was ‘keeping’ the nutcase ‘contained’, YOU NUTCASE!”
“—you did not follow my direct orders Stark,” Steve yells, “and in case you didn't know, that is something to be worried about.”
Tony flinches visibly but doesn’t move an inch.
“Following is not my style,” he yells back, his voice almost unaffected.
Steve grits his teeth, so hard that his jaw starts to hurt. “And you’re all about style, aren’t you?”
For a long second everything goes quiet. Even Nat loosens her grip around Steve’s arm, although Steve can’t quite remember when she got her hand there, and no one even breathes. Tony smirks and takes a step back, which to an unassuming audience - people who don’t know Tony Stark well enough - he might seem to be backing down, but Steve knows him better, too well maybe, to believe that even for one second.
“Among the people in this room-” Tony looks around the room at Nat, Clint, and then back at Steve, “-who’s wearing a spangly outfit and is of no use?”
Someone gasps and Nat digs her fingers into the flesh of Steve’s arm which does nothing to keep him in place, obviously, as he finds himself right back in Tony’s space, with Nat practically dangling along. Steve’s aware, vaguely, that punching Tony is a horrible idea, and that’s what makes him keep it together within an inch of raising his hand. That, and the faint citrus scent that comes like a slap in the face, to bring him to his senses, a reminder that he will never hit an omega, no matter what.
They stare at each other for another few seconds as people say some things that go over Steve’s head. His senses are completely consumed by watching Tony’s flushed face and his short staggered breaths.
“You’re lucky I have a date, and I don’t have any more time for this,” Tony says and makes a face that says ‘I’m sorry I’m stuck with you’, and walks backward a few steps. “I’ll have the reports ready by tomorrow morning and until then you can do your best to kiss my ass.”
Tony slams the door shut and Steve snaps out of what feels like a magnetic field, finally able to stop staring at the now wide shut door.
“He’s an O, Steve,” Clint says as he walks past to sit on a chair, “Omegas should be treated more gently.”
Nat rolls her eyes and sits next to him. “Bullshit. Omegas should be treated as equals.”
“I have no idea what either of you are talking about. Stark’s not an omega. He’s a vampire.” Steve grabs a bottle of water from the side table and opens it with a bit too much force. “Omegas are supposed to be sweet and tame and doe-eyed.” He drinks half of the water in one go. “This one? He’ll bite my ass and suck my blood and set my corpse on fire.” Steve drinks the rest of the water and starts hiccuping. “He will have a party after that, right on top of my ashes.”
***
Steve’s waiting.
He’s standing inside the supplies closet with his back carefully leaned against the door, as he’s hoping for it to open any minute; he’s been hoping for it to open any minute for a little bit now - enough to be all worked up and antsy, and quite painfully hard, but not enough to be furious and leave, slamming the door loud enough that a certain person can hear from his workshop across the hall.
He will be here, Steve tells himself, his palm involuntarily pressing over his groin, because he said it loud and clear, ‘I have a date’, which has been their code since that unfortunate night Steve doesn’t even want to think about, two years ago.
What if he doesn’t show up though?
What if he actually has a date, tonight of all nights—
“Get your ass off the fucking door, Rogers,” comes Tony’s voice from the other side of the door and a knot in Steve’s chest goes loose.
“You’re late, Stark.” Steve grabs Tony’s waist as soon as the door opens, drags him in, and closes the door, by pressing Tony to it. “You don’t get to keep me waiting, you hear me? I don’t appreciate it.”
“I don’t give a fuck, you jerk.” Tony rubs his hip against Steve’s and a fresh rush of arousal goes through Steve’s core.
“Yeah?” Steve brushes his lips over Tony’s neck and nibbles on his gland. “Let’s see who gives a fuck about what-” and he sucks hard, a little too hard maybe, but who cares, and Tony’s screech in what’s a perfect mix of agony and pleasure goes right to his cock “-any minute now.”
“Fuck you,” Tony says against Steve’s lips, his scent making Steve's head spin, his nail scratching Steve’s skin, as Steve’s shaky fingers fumble with Tony’s pants and open the zipper.
It never gets old, after two years, that first brush of Steve’s fingers against Tony’s cock. The thrill that tingles down Steve’s spine from the slick already soaking Tony’s thong, the pure bliss of slipping his two fingers into Tony’s warm inviting hole, and the way Tony goes pliant, completely. The rare moment of having him not fight back, even if it’s too short; it’s blink and you miss it.
“You were wet before you walked in, right? That’s how much you want this,” Steve pushes the third finger in and shuffles a little to help Tony pull Steve’s pants down.“I bet you were already wet in the briefing room.” Tony’s breath hitches as soon as he touches Steve’s cock, taking Steve’s breath away too, giving Tony the perfect moment to bite down on Steve’s collarbone hard enough that it would definitely leave a mark.
“I could smell the dark chocolate scent from across the hall,” he says as Steve lifts him in the air and holds him against the door, “and besides, who started yelling the moment I walked into that briefing room? You know how much I enjoy seeing you go crazy, gritting your teeth and pushing your fists—,” and that’s all he manages to get out before Steve pushes in, and they both go quiet for a few seconds.
“You didn’t have to mess with the mission,” Steve says, out of breath, as he starts to move, “just for this.”
Tony huffs and moans, intermittently, and digs his fingers into Steve’s back. “I know you’re easy Rogers, ah-” he bites Steve’s collarbone, right in the same spot again “-I can just whistle to you and you’ll be hard and panting for me in here.”
Pain explodes in Steve’s veins and the anger of the insult blends perfectly with the pleasure of holding Tony’s delicate body in his arms, so open and vulnerable just for Steve. It’s just too much, too overwhelming, and Steve has to suck on Tony’s gland again to keep himself quiet, so he won’t accidentally inform the whole building of what’s happening inside this small space.
“You’re too good to pass, baby,” he says, pausing to be able to form words, “just loose and warm and ready to be fucked, as soon as I look at you.”
Tony opens his mouth - to say something to rile up Steve even more - and Steve shoves two fingers in Tony's mouth as he wraps his other hand around Tony’s cock and jerks once. Tony squirms and bites Steve’s fingers, and whines as Steve separates the fingers and adds pressure as he won't be able to bite or get a word out for as long as Steve dims fit.
“You were saying, Stark?” Steve teases. “Any chance you can whistle for me now?” Tony growls around Steve’s fingers and his hole clenches around Steve’s cock. “No?” he slams his hip against Tony’s, so hard that the door thuds and rattles, but hopefully not hard enough to make a dent. Tony clenches Steve’s flesh between his fingers and tightens his feet around Steve’s waist, his eyes full of fire but his body limp. He purrs once, so low that Steve wonders if he’s imagined it as soon as it’s done, but something swirls in his belly anyway as he picks up speed, pumping his fist around Tony’s cock, thrusting inside his hole, and moving his fingers, all in harmony. He can’t quite tell who first gives up and lets go but for a minute or two, all there is in the world is just them, Tony’s body enveloping Steve’s as if there is no distance in between, as if Steve can’t tell where he ends and Tony begins, shaking and breathless, washed over by wave after wave of pleasure and relief.
“Put me down, you son of a bitch,” Tony says from between his teeth, and Steve regrets taking his fingers out of Tony’s mouth all of a sudden.
He starts to pull up his pants with one hand, as soon as his feet reach the floor, and slaps Steve’s chest with his other one to push him away. Steve goes, still a little fuzzy, and his back hits the large filing cabinet.
“Not gonna thank me for the treat?” Steve says, pulling his own pants up, “kiss me soft and sweet and tell me you love me?”
“If I ever tell you I love you, Rogers,” Tony says and runs his hands through his hair to tidy it, “you should wonder if I’ve been replaced by the aliens.” And that’s all the warning Steve gets before Tony opens the door, slips out, and startles Steve with the loud noise of the door closing behind him.
It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe.
Steve’s light-headed and filthy, covered in Tony’s come and slick, and that damn longing is stinging deep inside his belly again. He wishes, so bad, that he could keep his arms around Tony for a little bit longer; that he could smell his hair, kiss the side of his neck and watch him smile, real and wide just for once.
It’s just hormones, he tells himself, the stupid alpha protectiveness, the urge to knot the omega and break him in. It’s nothing other than the alpha need to keep the omega safe and happy, to just keep the omega, forever and ever, to just have and to just hold.
That is definitely what this is and Tony is definitely not Steve’s to keep.
Tony doesn’t love Steve. Hell, he doesn’t even like Steve. They’re just fuckbuddies, for God’s sake and Steve has to stop being so sappy about it.
They’re not even buddies.
He can’t say what they really are.
***
“Anyone working on the mission reports?”
Steve’s a little grumpy in the morning and everyone, including Steve himself, knows it. That’s why Clint stays away from him before the coffee run if he can’t beat Nat to do it. Bruce never shows up in the team room before noon, busying himself in the lab, and everyone tries to schedule all possible interrogations before 10 AM.
“You are working on the reports,” comes Tony’s voice from the other side of the room, “because the rest of us are already buried under the pile of work you’ve assigned to us.” Steve’s already irritated with the smugness before even turning to look at Tony. “The technology analysis of the debris is on your desk though so you can get chugging along.” Tony points his half-chewed pencil at Steve. He winks mischievously and then frowns and the flare of anger bites at the back of Steve’s throat, just like always.
Steve picks the stack of papers and leans his hip against his desk. Skimming through the perfect set of numbers and conclusions, he can’t help the vague swelling of pride in his heart and the urge to smile, to praise, to do something.
“Did you do this? Or did you ask JARVIS?” he says instead and watches the way the corner of Tony’s lips twitches.
“JARVIS is galaxies smarter than me Rogers, so by all means, I’m glad you think that highly of my work.”
Steve opens his mouth to say something back but it’s harder to get focused when Tony’s remarks are this perfect. The vein pulsing so beautifully in Tony’s neck and the urge to bite doesn’t help either and Steve closes his mouth to gather his thoughts as the door swings open and Nat walks in.
“Coming to the party tonight, Tony?” Nat asks as she hands Steve his take away coffee and Friday special donuts.
Tony reaches over his desk to grab his coffee and donuts before sitting back. “I’d love to,” he says and takes a bite, his lips pressing down into the donut and coming back all sugary, making Steve want to pull out from behind his desk and lick the sugar off his lips.
“But it depends on this guy. As long as he doesn’t lock me up in the supplies closet because he’s unhappy with something I’ve done in my lifetime.”
Steve’s heart drops at the hint. He looks down at his hands and stares at his half-eaten donut for a second, thrown off by the unexpected thrill that goes through his spine. It’s stinkily pleasant to even think of locking Tony up in the supplies closet because he can finally know that Tony’s his. That he will be there anytime for Steve to hold his hand and kiss his neck, unable to slip away as soon as he’s done with Steve, no way to dodge the questions Steve’s been throwing at him many times in the past, pretending he’s too busy, or not hearing properly.
Fuck.
This is new.
Nat turns to Steve with a half-knowing smile. “I’m sure Steve’s not gonna do anything like that right?”
“I won’t lock anyone anywhere, and everyone’s going to the party tonight.” Steve looks around the room at Clint and Bruce who are finally here and takes his time chewing and swallowing the rest of his donut. “Except for Stark,” he says and walks toward Tony’s desk watching him carefully so he won't miss a single move in Tony’s face as Steve’s words set in. “You only get to go if you have these redone and on my desk by the afternoon,” he says and throws the papers on top of the pile of scraps on Tony’s desk, “looks like you’ve gotten Dum-E to do these, after all.”
***
Steve ends up being the one staying at his desk until it’s dark outside, of course, as Tony’s new set of results, handed in a couple of hours before the end of the day, requires Steve’s report to be completely reorganized.
So he runs back home when he’s finally finished, takes a quick shower, and wears the shirt Tony has said complements Steve’s chest, once, and takes a taxi back to the city because the event will be over if he takes public transport.
The place is filled with music and happy noises. Steve grabs a beer from the bar and ignores Fury’s questioning looks from across the bar and bumps into two dozen drunk colleagues before he finally finds Nat and Bruce giggling at a booth in the corner.
“So how is it going, folks? No drunken casualties so far?” he yells as they both bring their ears close. “Is everyone here and doing okay?” he adds casually as if he just means ‘everyone’ and not a certain ‘someone’.
“Clint’s scored a ‘date’ and is already halfway through town to get laid, and Tony is chit-chatting with that hot blond guy from Intelligence,” Nat yells back and points to somewhere behind Steve. She then continues to yell but Steve can’t hear her anymore. He turns over his shoulders to where Natasha had pointed, and it takes him a little bit to get used to the dark before he can find Tony—
A burning current runs through his core and spills into his ears, as his hands go cold and his toes feel numb. This is not chit-chatting for God’s sake, he thinks to himself as he slams the half-drunk bottle on the table. Nat holds his arm, and Steve hesitates for a second, but the large hands of Ty Stone from Intelligence on Tony’s small shoulders feel like someone pressing on Steve’s throat. He breathes in and out to try and calm down as he walks through the crowd and up the stairs and stops to count to 10, despite the urge to jump right on top of the alpha. Well, count to 6 to be exact, because the plastered smile on Tony’s face is too much to take any longer.
“Do you mind getting your hands off this omega, buddy?”
Tony turns toward Steve yelling from the top of his lungs, and a comical mix of shock and relief washes over him visibly.
The alpha turns to him and puffs out his chest as he slips his hand lower and wraps it around Tony’s waist. “Can’t see how that’s any of your business?”
A sharp citrus scent fills Steve’s nose, Tony’s obviously, and he looks more and more distressed by the second. Steve looks between them and moves without thinking, planning vaguely to grab the alpha’s arm and break it in half right then and there, but instead of Ty Stone, Tony’s body is pressed against his. Tony is standing between them, holding Steve’s hand, his fingers burning on Steve’s forearm.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks and Steve wonders if he’s hearing correctly.
He looks at Tony, vaguely aware that his eyes are probably popping out of his head, looking absolutely hilarious. “I…” he tries, shocked that his brain can’t come back with anything, “he…” and he tilts his chin toward the alpha, but words are still stuck somewhere deep and don’t want to come out.
Tony breathes in and out, a couple of times, before he turns to the alpha, still holding to Steve’s arm. “Ty, I need to have a chat with my boss here,” he turns to Steve, something burning in his eyes that Steve can’t quite figure out.
Ty lets go of Tony’s waist, fucking finally, and comes a little closer. He looks Steve up and down, and he is close enough for Steve to have an excellent shot of punching that smile off that ridiculous face but Tony's delicate fingers seem to have turned into steel around Steve’s arm.
“You’ll be okay?”
“Sure,” Tony smiles, and something that Steve did not know existed breaks in his chest. “I’ll call you, alright?”
He brushes his fingers on Tony's face before he fucks off and Steve follows his figure going down the stairs and looks back at Tony who’s looking the other way as if he’s looking for something.
“Steve, for fuck’s sake, do you ever use your brain?”
“He was touching you,” Steve says, fighting the volcano that’s suddenly starting to erupt right within his ribs, “he was... touching you.”
“I was handling it, no need to make a scene,” Tony hisses and looks around again.
“Handling it? He was digging his fingers on the patch of skin right above your ass, how were you exactly handling it?”
“I was just about to— you can’t do that Steve, not again, God, it’s not like you’re my alpha, so you can’t really play the jealousy card here.” Tony finally lets go of Steve’s arm to run both of his hands through his hair. Steve’s hand lingers in the air for a second though, Tony’s words ringing in his ears and making something pound in his head.
He looks at his hand and brings it down slower than he’s expected as if he’s in a movie that’s gone suddenly in slow motion mode. “I can’t stand back when you look distressed like that, Tony, I—”
“I am a big boy and I was NOT distressed,” Tony cuts in, “I can take care of myself and everything was fine.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, taking a step back, suddenly aware that he’s standing too close to Tony, “I guess I should’ve known.” The words twist in his brain and slip over his tongue. “Of course, you don’t count being groped like that a big deal.”
Tony takes a step back too. “What?”
“An easy omega like you, doesn’t really care if you end up sleeping with one more alpha right?”
Steve blinks to push away the fog that seems to have suddenly filled the bar and watches Tony’s cheeks go cherry red and then lose color completely. He can tell from the way his own heart is pounding and the blood is rushing away from his head, that something has gone horribly wrong, but his brain can’t process events at the normal speed and it’s too many seconds too late when it starts to catch up.
Tony takes another step back and then another until his back hits the wall. A couple of people from HR pass by and one of the girls takes a look at both of them but they’re probably too drunk themselves to notice anything.
“Right,” Tony says and rubs his chest. “Right,” he repeats as he starts to walk away and turns back a few times as he goes down the stairs, mouthing the word over and over again. Downstairs, Tony stands in the middle of the crowd for a few minutes, as if he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, the image being what finally brings some sensation back to Steve’s limbs as the blood flows back up to his head so he can finally start to move slowly at first and then run down the stairs to get to Tony.
It’s too late. Tony’s not anywhere. Not at the bar, not talking to his besties from IT. He’s said goodbye to Nat and Bruce after grabbing his backpack from under their feet and has left.
Gone.
***
The OR corridors are colder than the ER treatment rooms, for some reason, which has nothing to do with the amount of blood that Steve’s lost or the way his team look like a defeated army, scattered on different chairs.
“How is he?”
“He’s in surgery.” Nat wipes her eyes, and Clint runs forward to hold Steve’s hand.
Steve holds on to the wall and leans on Clint. “What did the doctors say? Is he gonna make it? Was what I heard when he was thrown out of the window the sound of all of his bones being crushed?”
Nat is holding his other hand out of the blue and Bruce is bringing a water bottle to his lips. “They’re doing everything they can Steve, his heart…” Nat trails off and sniffles and something stabs at Steve’s heart.
“He’s gonna die right? He’s not gonna make it. Why would he even listen to me for fuck’s sake, why wouldn’t he just be his stupid rebel ass and send in that drone he used to kick the slime monsters that time?”
“Breathe Steve,” Clint says, rubbing his back as they walks him to a chair and sit him down. “We don’t want you to bleed out on us,” Bruce says and sits next to him. “It will be okay, just breathe.”
It will not be okay.
It hasn’t been okay since that damn night in the cursed bar. Since Tony has stopped yelling back at Steve in the briefing room since he has started to actually follow orders without a single complaint. It has been hell, to watch him look away, back down, comply. It’s been like dying from suffocation not to be able to smell him, to touch his bare skin, to hold him for one glorious moment, for over a month now, which feels more like a lifetime.
And now Tony’s lying on the operation table, fighting for his life because Steve is terrible at his job and is fucking terrible in general, and he might never come back and Steve might never get to tell him the truth.
Steve might never get the chance to tell Tony how perfect he is. What if he actually believes that Steve thinks he’s dumber than his AIs? God, what if he thinks that Steve really thinks he’s sloppy and outrageous, or useless for that matter? While what he actually meant to say, through each of those stupid fights was the exact opposite, while it was just a game that was supposed to be over way back, but it just kept going, because Steve was a coward who couldn’t come to terms with having fallen for the most perfect omega in the world.
And now he might die on Steve. Just like that.
“Steve, lay back, oh, God,” someone says as hands press down on his stomach. There is no pain, not the slightest sting; it’s just suddenly cold, and the world’s spinning around Steve. The guys show up in Steve’s line of sight and disappear. Nat keeps touching his forehead, saying words that turn into jumbled noises in Steve’s brain. Something cold and wet is soaking the front of his hospital gown and it’s not like he can’t tell that he’s bleeding quickly; it’s just that he doesn’t care.
He’s suddenly very tired.
What he does care about is holding Tony in his arms and kissing him soft and slow, but Tony is not here.
They might both die.
And Steve will never get to tell him how much he loves him.
***
Steve doesn’t die.
Or at least it doesn't look that way, because he’s still in a hospital bed, and in a lot of pain when he wakes up. The room is dim and quiet, except for noises one’s unlikely to hear in the afterlife, beeping of monitors, and soft rhythmic breathing for example that’s coming from someone sleeping in a chair next to his bed. It’s Nat, curled under a large jacket with a giant red star on the back, so Bucky’s around here somewhere, most probably.
Steve can’t quite remember anything that must have happened between 11 AM when he had run out of the ER treatment room to get to the ORs and now, that’s two in the morning according to the clock on the wall. All that he knows is Tony is not in this room. That he might still be in an operation room fighting, or worse—
No.
Just. No.
He can’t sit here and do nothing, even if it hurts like hell to get out of the bed. He has to find Tony, no matter what, even if walking through the hospital corridors with bare feet proves to be a tedious task, even if he ends up stopping several times and holding on to the railing on the wall to keep from tripping. He has to find Tony.
He needs to find Tony.
Slipping inside the CCU is a piece of cake for a SHIELD field agent specialized in galactical combat. What proves to be out of Steve’s league, however, is keeping steady and remaining hopeful as he wobbles through the beds and looks at people’s faces one by one. To keep going with trembling knees and blurry eyes, to suppress the voice that gets louder and louder by the second, that yells that Tony might not be here after all. That Tony is—
Tony is in a bed in the fucking last row of the beds.
He’s there.
Small and pale with all of his upper body wrapped in dreadfully stained bandages, but it’s him, it’s absolutely him, alive and breathing, and, God, looking at Steve.
“I nearly died,” he says, his fingers snaking forward to find Tony’s. “I thought I lost you,” he whispers and his knees buckle and hit the hard floor with a dull thud.
“Careful.” Tony blinks at Steve, and his face twitches into the smallest smile Steve’s ever seen but it sets something right, like a cool breeze over Steve’s flushed cheeks, warmth radiating at his frozen skin.
“I’m okay, hey,” Tony says hoarse and weak, “stop crying, please, it makes my chest feel funny.”
Steve wipes his eyes, as he’s apparently crying for real. “Okay I will,” he rasps, clutching Tony’s hand. “I just don’t want you to die before knowing that I will die without you.”
Tony brings his other hand over to cover Steve’s and the sight of post-surgery needle bruises on the back makes it hard for Steve to hold his tears back. “That’s too much death talk for the occasion, Rogers,” Tony says in between scattered coughs and Steve starts to laugh because of course Tony is the funniest person in the room in every situation.
“I love you,” Steve says before he gets a chance to change his mind. The worst has passed, and they’re both alive, there is still time and even if Tony doesn’t love him back he will at least know the truth. “I love you so fucking much, I love your eyes, and your lips, and your stupid perfect hair that looks good all the time, even right now, or when I’ve just… you know…” and he gestures between them, overcome with something that’s probably shyness so unexpectedly.
Tony nods and caresses the back of Steve’s palm that’s trembling in Tony’s hands. “I love your brain and all of your toy— gadgets, and robots. I love it all, even when you spit things in my face that makes my ears burn from rage… I just love you so so much.”
Tony tilts his head to the side and a vanilla scent Steve’s never smelled before fills the air.
“I’m sorry, for being a jerk that night at the bar,” Steve says and buries his nose into Tony’s hair.
Tony’s lips brush against Steve’s face and his cheeks tingle from the touch. “So you’re saying that was the only time you were a jerk?”
“No, but you were always a jerk back, with a grand comeback, and we would end up in… you know… the closet. That night though, it was a whole other kind of rage. It wasn’t funny or a turn on, I wanted to fucking kill the guy. He was touching you, and you were smiling at him and you said you’d call him and I lost it.”
“I know,” Tony wets his bottom lip, “I just didn’t want you to get fired,” and his forehead wrinkles in pain for a second as he struggles to breathe, making Steve’s breath trap in his chest. “It would’ve been your last strike, dumbass, have you forgotten last—” and he brings their intertwined hands to his chest and starts to cough, distracting Steve for a moment, as he kisses Tony’s neck and caresses his forehead. It’s only after Tony has stopped coughing and seems to be dozing off that something clicks in Steve’s brain.
He thinks about the Christmas party last year, where he had restrained a horribly drunk department director who wouldn’t stop bothering a couple of omegas from IT, and the general staff meeting a couple of months ago that he had ended up in a shouting match with Colonel Philips in front of 90% of the employees when he had refused to listen to reason about field overtime payments.
Not that Steve would have cared, even if Tony had explained it to him word for word. Not that he cares now, knowing that punching Ty might have been the last strike, indeed, if it meant that he would get to protect the person that means the most to him in the world - whom he’s already failed to protect so miserably.
But any of that doesn’t change the fact that Tony has played nice with the jackass alpha to protect Steve. The thing omegas do, they keep their stupid alphas safe, the thing Steve should’ve done that night and yesterday in the field and still…
“Hey hey hey, what did I say about crying?”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says as he leans forward to kiss Tony’s hair, “I’m sorry, for saying things I didn’t mean.” He kisses Tony’s forehead. “I’m sorry for not telling you before.” He kisses down the line of his nose. “I’m sorry so so much for being a giant knothead.”
Tony’s arm curls around Steve’s back and pulls him in a little. Steve’s lips finally meet Tony’s and they kiss, gentle and slow, and not only because it hurts. It’s just too powerful, like lightning striking out of the blue, like catching on fire from inside, like hiking up the steepest hill to get to the edge of a stunning lake, delighted to have finally arrived, thrilled to roll down the other side and see what’s lying ahead.
“I want to be your alpha,” Steve whispers against Tony’s lips, “you know, so I at least get to play the jealousy card if I had the urge to break someone’s neck.”
“This might be the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Tony whispers back among little kisses, “the sweetest too, alpha.”
If it was another time and place, Steve would growl and gather Tony in his arms and lock them both up in the nearest supplies closet for a month, but they’re in a hospital ward full of very sick people about to get caught any second now. So all he does is pull Tony further in, as they part their lips and taste each other, so slow as if it’s barely happening, as if it’s the first time they’re even touching each other, so careful as if what just happened is a delicate glasswork that might shatter any second, all over again.
***
Bucky manages to make Steve sit on the wheelchair to go back to his own room, only after the head nurse promises to put Steve’s omega in the same room as him as soon as he’s out of CCU.
Tony smiles and moves his fingers, too weak to wave properly. Steve smiles and waves back as Bucky finally wheels him away. My omega, he whispers to himself and he leans his head against the backrest.
Mine.
Mine.