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"Shit," Tony hisses, sucking on the burn on his thumb. It's the fourth one that evening, and Tony's eyes are blurring, grey and blue shapes all slurring together to form vague, metallic blobs.
He rubs an arm over his forehead, tries to focus. It's been too long. He hasn't slept in so long.
Which isn't surprising, considering his habits. It's difficult for him to get a good eight hours on a normal night, let alone after five weeks without being down. Once. Not even one lousy --
It's not that Tony considers himself above other subs; he doesn't. He knows his limits, and he just doesn't need to go down as often as they do. Once a week is fine for him. He knows all the tricks, he has all the books. He knows how to take himself under easy and slow.
But when he gets like this, it's not possible. It's a cycle. Because he gets worked up, and can't take himself down. And then a week goes by, and he's more agitated. And then another, and another, and another. And then, he's desperate.
Which is probably the point that he's reached right now. He doesn't really know how to tell anyone; it's fucking embarrassing. What kind of sub doesn't go down for five weeks? What kind of freak of nature --
Doesn't matter. Point is, Tony irritable. He can't sleep. The world is blurring together. He hasn't been able to lay down his head and just rest in so fucking long.
So he's desperate. That's what he would like to emphasise here. Have you ever gone more than a month on only three hours a night? It's fucking awful. Getting up is a struggle. There's nothing to look forward to because everything is a dull line of exhaustion.
Which is the only reason he's going to ask Steve. Actually, it's more that he just burned himself for the fourth time that evening, that it was stretching into the early hours of the morning, and if Tony doesn't get help now he thinks he's going to drop down from exhaustion.
But it's hard. Asking Steve. Swallowing his pride. He runs his hands through his hair, but it's greasy, dirty. Should he shower? He takes a quick sniff. Not too bad; probably not great enough to proposition a guy, though.
Tony checks himself in the mirror. His pupils are blown, his skin flushed. He smoothes his hair flat as best he can, tugs his shirt down. Clears his throat.
"Steve," he says "hi. Could, Could I -- " Tony makes a noise of frustration, and starts again. "Steve," he says "hi. Look, if, if you're not too busy, do you think -- I mean -- "
How exactly is he going to say this? Is there any way to say this? Steve had said, he had definitely said that he would be happy to help. And it's not sexual; Tony just needs someone to take him down, make him stay down, loose, relaxed, God, maybe he'd be able to sleep --
He's playing with the hem of his sweater the whole way up, fidgeting. He's aware he's nervous. He doesn't know why. No, that's not true, he knows why, but it's not like Steve is going to turn him down, Steve would never do that, he's too, too good, too --
Tony clears his throat as soon as the elevator doors open, doing his best to stride in what he thinks is a self-confident manner. He runs the words over in his head. Hi, Steve, have you got a minute?
"Hi, Steve." He blurts, literally slumping into the chair opposite him. "Have you -- "
"It's two in the morning."
Tony blinks. "Yes."
Steve looks up, weary, nursing a coffee. "You've come to chat at two in the morning?"
Tony swallows. "... No?"
"Then why are you here."
Tony's whole plan is scuppered, which is a shame, because it was a good one. He blinks, moves his hands onto his lap so Steve won't see them shake.
"I," Tony says, biting off. "It."
He hangs his head, feels the back of his neck prickle. Steve doesn't sound very happy, and he certainly doesn't sound in the mood to give up a few hours to help Tony sleep.
"What?" Steve asks again, brusque. "Something wrong?"
Tony looks up. "I," he says again "nothing." He mutters, making to stand.
"Hey," Steve says, snatching at his wrist, and for the first time Tony actually looks into his eyes. They're red-rimmed. "Where're you going?"
Tony doesn't know. He shrugs. Feels his heart fluttering in his chest.
"Can't you sleep?" Steve asks quietly. "I can't sleep."
Tony clears his throat once more. "Would," he says "I mean, it's a stupid suggestion, I know. But I read somewhere that, that it's good for doms, too. So, would you -- I can't, when I'm, it's just," Tony makes a frustrated noise, tips of his ears heating. "I can't sleep," he says "I haven't been under in awhile."
Steve flushes slightly at the mention of it. "You haven't... I see. How long?"
Tony swallows. "Five weeks. Give or take."
Steve's back straightens. "That's a long time."
"I couldn't do it." Tony whispers, voice hoarse. "I couldn't make myself go under."
Steve nods, silently. "And," he says "would you like me to help?"
"I -- yes."
"Yes?" Steve says, pointedly.
Tony swallows. "Yes, Sir."
Steve's thumb rubs a gentle circle around the pulse point of his wrist. "I would be honoured." He murmurs.
Tony nearly faints. God, he's going to be able to sleep. Steve is going to take him down, soft and slow, and Tony will finally be able to sleep.
"Jarvis," Tony croaks "clear my schedule for tomorrow."
"Good." Steve says quietly. "My floor, please."
Tony lets Steve steer him to the elevator, up to Steve's room. He keeps one hand on the small of Tony's back. "It doesn't have to be sex," Tony blurts "please, only -- what you're comfortable with. Just take me under. Don't let me think."
Steve closes his bedroom door behind them, moves to a drawer. "You have anything I should know about? Somewhere you don't like me touching? Trigger phrases?"
"No," Tony says "I'm fine. All of it, anything. Anything you're okay with, I mean. Just -- obviously don't try to drown me or something. Uh, actually choking is something I'd rather not do. Unless you want to. I'll do it. I'm sorry, I'll do it."
Steve presses the drawer back in with a soft, heavy thump. "That won't be necessary." He says, simply. "Please remove your clothes."
Tony blinks, his mouth going dry. "My -- "
"You said that you were okay with anything?"
"Yeah," Tony says quickly "I'm not -- I'm not resisting. Just surprised."
"This won't be sexual." Steve says quietly, running his hands over some implements "But it's better to maximise contact, yes?"
"Yeah," Tony blinks "Sir."
"Good." Steve says, the word sending a rush of heady praise down Tony's spine. "Now," he says "strip."
Tony removes his clothes methodically, lets them pile and then just kicks them into the corner. It's warm in Steve's room, but he shivers anyway, nipples pebbling and skin sensitive.
"I'm going to blindfold you," Steve says, advancing in a way that isn't threatening. "You just need to stand here and let me do all the work, right?"
"Right." Tony says. "Right. You -- " He sucks in a breath. "You'll, you'll be careful." He says "You won't, you won't leave me, or -- "
"No," Steve says "no of course not. Tony, no. I would never leave you like this."
"Sorry." Tony blurts. "Sorry. Sorry, I -- sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I know you wouldn't. I know. I just, if you left, I would be alone. I -- I'm sorry. Please."
"You're nervous." Steve says, and Tony hears the frown in his voice. "Don't be."
"Sorry." Tony says again, hanging his head. "I -- I haven't slept. In a while."
"Plus the fact that you're standing naked in the middle of your friend's bedroom?"
Tony sucks in a breath. "That too." He exhales.
"Okay," Steve breathes "head back. I'm putting on the blindfold now." Steve rubs the silk over the back of Tony's neck. "Do you feel that?" He says softly.
Tony nods, jerky, and Steve gently slides the slip of fabric over his eyes, ties it into place. Tony is left desperately and hopelessly vulnerable.
He shivers. "Thank you." He gasps. "Thank you."
Steve hand slides up to cup the back of his neck. He draws his thumb over Tony's skin, digs into the tight muscle, reassuring. "Don't thank me yet." He murmurs, voice sending hollow vibrations down Tony's spine.
Tony is left shivering in the darkness when Steve's warmth moves away. He shifts on his feet, hands hanging uselessly by his sides. He doesn't know where to put them.
He hears Steve moving things somewhere to his side. The slide of chains, fingers tapping a scratchy beat against leather. Tony tries to keep his head straight, and, yes, though it all, he begins to feel himself sink under.
Steve returns, telegraphing his movements. "I have a collar," he says, voice rough, husky. "It's brown, and thick. I'm going to put it on your neck now."
Tony nods, and then wonders if he's allowed to do that. He nearly asks, but then Steve is sliding supple leather against the soft skin of his throat and he forgets most things.
Steve's fingers tickle his skin as the tightens it; fits two fingers between Tony's neck and the leather and tugs, checks for breathing room. Then, he gently takes Tony's wrist, pulls it back, and repeats, this time with a cuff.
Steve connects both cuffs with a loose, but sturdy, chain. Tony's hands rest behind his back, but just behind his hips. There's no strain on his shoulders. It's enough to incapacitate him, not restrict him.
"Is that good?" Steve asks, and Tony can barely engage his brain enough to give a response. He jerks his head, as if that's enough, and Steve hums.
"Okay," he says "I'm going to move you to the bed, understand? I'm about to put my hands on your shoulders. Now would be a good time to tell me your safeword."
Tony blinks. "Uh," he says, trying to think. "It's, it's... red. Just red."
"Good boy." Steve says warmly, and Tony preens. He feels his mouth hang open, slightly, and Steve's hands smoothing over his shoulders.
"Step forward," Steve whispers into his ear, and Tony puts one foot forward, a tiny step, practically a shuffle. "Again." Steve says.
Tony stops short. He doesn't know where the bed is. He just doesn't know. It could be a foot or a mile for all he's aware. He tugs at his restraints, makes a sharp noise with his breath.
"Easy," Steve says "it's okay. I need you to trust me, Tony, just trust me. Take another step forward."
Tony sucks in air, his sweat dampening the leather. He doesn't know, he doesn't know. Is the bed there or not, will he fail? Oh please don't let him fail, please. He just got Steve to take him down and he doesn't know what he'll do if --
"Okay," Steve murmurs "too much. Easy, Tony, easy, here, let me show you."
"I'm sorry," Tony shivers, pathetically grateful but also shuddering with fear. "Please, I'm sorry."
"You haven't failed," Steve says "you haven't failed anything. It's okay, here, look. Feel that? Knee up, that's it. Settle down, there we go. Kneel, so I can -- perfect. That's perfect, Tony, good boy."
The pleasure the praise should bring is dampened. "Are you sure?" Tony croaks. "Was it good? Am I being -- "
"Perfect." Steve says, and his voice is so warm Tony thinks it must be true "You're being perfect."
Tony kneels there, on the centre of the bed. He feels his eyes grow heavy. Time trickles past.
"Steve?" He says, lowly. "Steve? You there?"
"I'm here." Steve says softly. "I'm going to touch you now, Tony."
He places a hand on the small of his back, steadying him, anchoring Tony to the bed. Tony feels himself relax, and then the gentle, smooth touch of soft bristles over his shoulders.
He releases a small gasp; Steve brings the brush over his shoulders, his neck, down his spine and up again. He shivers, and Steve smoothes it over his collarbones, circles his nipples, and then glides the silk-like brush up his neck, over his collar, and under his chin.
Tony moans, tilts back his head, hands twisting in his cuffs. The soft swirl of the bristles teases his skin, caresses. It makes him want to lie down and breathe deep, to just let Steve do that and never, ever stop.
There's the touch of another brush and Tony shudders, a full-bodied thing. He slumps, head bowing and shoulders curling, whole body released from tension. "Steve," he slurs "s'good. S'good, m'azing."
Steve hums in pleasure. "That's it, Tony," he says "good boy."
"Good boy." Tony murmurs, repeating. "Good boy."
He loses himself to the touch for awhile. It's hard to break away from the lassitude, to the deepness of his drop. He hasn't been this far down in awhile, and it makes all the difference when it's with someone he can trust. Someone who would never take advantage, or mock him. In this position, so many others have laughed. They've seen how needy he gets and they've just taken him for a ride, making him say things, do things. Steve does nothing but touch him so softly, hold him, call him good boy and perfect and gorgeous little thing.
It's amazing.
But slowly he becomes aware of something. He shifts, slightly, not quite sure of what it could be. And it's the tug of gravity on his semi-turgid cock that brings him back to reality.
Tony whimpers. "Shit," he breathes "shit. Shit I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm -- "
"Shh," Steve says "it's okay. It's okay it's normal."
Tony sucks a in a breath. "I'm sorry," he says again "just, just don't -- " he feels his cheeks starting to flush, his ears burning. "Please, don't stop. I -- ignore it. It'll go."
"Relax." Steve says. "You need to stay relaxed."
"I'm sorry." Tony blurts "I'm sorry. Just," he tries his cuffs, twists his wrists "let me fix it, don't -- don't go, don't leave, please, just -- "
Steve's hand comes round to clasp the ring in Tony's collar. He drags his head forward, holds him there, close. "Tony," he murmurs, and Tony feels his breath on his lips "it is not a problem, understand? I am not leaving. Do not worry."
Tony closes his eyes behind the blindfold. "I," he says "am I still. Is. I mean," he gathers up the courage to say what he needs to say "am I still. Am I still good." He finishes flatly, keeping the desperation from his voice.
"Oh," Steve says, and he sounds heartbroken. "Tony, you are so good. Such a good, good boy, of course you are. And even if this was a bad thing, it wouldn't make you bad, okay? Because you're perfect, remember? What did I say?"
"Perfect." Tony mumbles. "Perfect and good."
"That's right." Steve says. "That's exactly it." His hand strokes down Tony's belly, cups his balls. "Your safe word?" He murmurs into Tony's ear.
Tony shudders, presses his head back till it rests on Steve's shoulder. "Red." He breathes.
Steve's weight shifts as he leaves the bed. Tony hears thumps, Steve telegraphing his movements intentionally for Tony to head. When he returns, Tony's a wreck, shivering, head bowed, not sure what he needs but knowing what he wants.
"Easy," Steve murmurs "take it slow. Head back, that's it." Tony's head rests back on Steve's shoulder, his back pressed to Steve's chest.
The first touch to his cock is slow, long. Warm. It's not Steve's hand, he's using something else; smooth and soft and hot. Tony moans, he moans and pushes back against Steve weight, releasing his breath in a small, helpless gasp.
"That's it," Steve whispers against his neck, his breath tickling his skin. "So good for me, Tony."
Tony makes soft little noises as Steve just works his cock slow and gentle. He shifts on his knees, thrusts loosely into the hot weight of Steve's palm, into the smooth enveloping heat of whatever Steve has him fucking.
"You love it, don't you? So desperate for it."
Tony nods, groaning, against Steve's neck. He presses a sloppy kiss behind his ear.
"Tony, you are such a good boy. Such a perfect, perfect sub. You're so beautiful, Tony, so so beautiful. Look at you, go on. Keep going, does that feel good?"
"S' good," Tony slurs "Sir, s'good."
"I want you to come." Steve whispers against his neck. "Come over yourself. Go on."
Steve is slowly stroking Tony's cock, one slick hand playing with a nipple, and Tony feels the pleasure building in his belly. It's never been like this, it's never been someone acting for his pleasure and his pleasure alone. It's so much, maybe even too much. Tony doesn't know how he'll ever repay Steve for this, how he'll ever be good enough at all, how he'll ever --
He lets out a sob, teeth biting into his lip as he keeps it down, the only indicator a jerk of his shoulders. Maybe Steve doesn't even notice because he doesn't say anything at all, just keep the pressure of his hand on Tony's cock, stroking him to climax.
"So good," Steve murmurs "nearly there, Tony."
"I'm sorry." He whispers, voice cracking so hard it fades out. "I'm really really sorry."
It's so difficult to keep in the tears. He's trembling -- shaking -- and Steve's still stroking him. It's dark and silent and the only thing Tony can hear is the drag of Steve's breath in his ear. "I'm sorry." He whispers again ''I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Tony." Comes Steve's voice, low "How far down are you?'
Tony can't even think of an answer, he can't, he can't think of anything at all except how bad he's being and how this isn't how it was supposed to go and how disappointed Steve must be in him. "I -- " He says "I -- I don't -- Sir. Sorry. Sorry, I'm sorry, please -- "
"Stop apologising."
Tony sucks in a breath, pushes his lips together, barely remembers to breathes. I'm sorry, he thinks, and he doesn't know why please, please just don't be angry.
"Do you want me to stop?" Steve asks gently, and Tony shakes his head, opens his mouth to say something, and all that comes out is air, because he can't apologise, Steve's already said that, and he doesn't know what else to say --
Pre-come is smearing over his belly as Steve draws back his hand. "How far down are you?" He asks again.
Tony can barely manage words. He tries to gather his thoughts into something coherent. "I'm," he slurs "I'm, down. Low. Very... under." His face creases with frustration as he tries to make the words. "Very under, very -- down. Far down."
Steve gently wipes a stray tear from his cheek. "And why are you crying?"
Tony sobs again. His whole body lurches with it. I'm sorry. He mouths, shaking. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
"I need to know what you're apologising for." Steve says, so serious, and Tony must have made him real mad. "I can't finish until you tell me."
Tony hangs his head. Oh God, he doesn't know. He has no idea. He's just, he's, it's, he never gets to cry, never, and now --
"I'm sorry." He blurts, all over again, and then doubles over, head pressing against the sheets, sobbing. "Oh God I'm so sorry," he says, and he's apologising, so now Steve's going to be -- he'll be double mad, maybe.
"Shh," Steve says, smoothing his fingers through Tony's hair. "Hey, hey. It's okay. It's okay, Tony, do you think I'm angry? I'm not angry. I could never be angry at you. Shh, sweetheart, relax."
Tony swallows around the thick lump in his throat. Distantly, he's aware that this is about as embarrassing as it will ever get. He wants to apologise again, but he's not sure if that's allowed. His mind feels like it's buzzing, filled with static, and slowly, he starts to drift away.
"That's it," Steve says "it's just a little bit overwhelming, isn't it? I know that. I know that feeling, sweetheart. But it's okay. You cry as much as you want."
Tony wants to wail and he wants to curl up in Steve's warmth, and he will, maybe. He'll sob and sob and let everything out. But he feels the pressure in his groin, and the heat of whatever it is Steve's is using to stroke him, and he moans again.
"There we go," Steve murmurs "that's it. You're close, aren't you sweetie?"
Tony nods, mumbles. "Uh huh."
"You can move, if you like. Go on."
Tony thrusts weakly into Steve's palm, feels his orgasm growing closer. He's sweating, hot, skin flushed, and he lets himself lean into Steve completely as the other man thumbs over the head of his cock, free hand playing with his sac.
"Come, now." Steve whispers. "Come."
Tony moans, spilling over Steve's fingers. He thrusts through it, Steve twisting and lightly stroking. His world whites out as pleasure curls first through his belly and then his legs, chest, arms. He's making soft little noises and pressing against Steve like he's the only thing in the world that could matter, and Steve is pressing kisses to his sweat-soaked hair, holding him through it all.
"There," Steve says "there, good boy. Isn't that better?" His fingers twist the cuffs and they come free. Gently, he lowers Tony down, down, down until he's lying on the bed, body loose, breathing even. Carefully, he takes off the blindfold, covers Tony's eyes until they adjust to the low light.
Tony blinks, dazed. He's slightly cold, now, or at least just shivering. His fingers stretch out for Steve, and he wishes he would stay. He doesn't know how to ask.
"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." Steve says, tugging off his pants. "I'm staying right here." He climbs into the bed wearing only his boxers and his shirt, the hair of his leg tickling Tony's skin where they lie. "I have nightmares too, baby. I understand."
Which is when Tony starts to cry all over again, because he hates that Steve would ever feel like that, would ever have to suffer the way Tony does. He's so, so sorry, he's so sorry, and he wishes it didn't have to be this way, not at all.
Steve lets him turn and holds him on his lap, tight, wraps his arms around his form. They rock their, both of them seeking comfort in the warmth of each other's bodies. Steve exhales, shaky.
"You're a good boy, you hear me?" He says, giving a watery smile. He tucks a loose curl behind Tony's ear. "You're a real good boy, Tony. Such a good sub, did you know that? Does anyone tell you that? Has anyone ever told you that?"
Sure they have, but they're never said it like Steve. Tony shakes his head with wonderment.
Steve wipes a tear from Tony's cheek. "You can stay in bed tomorrow, okay? Make sure you catch up on all that sleep."
"Are you," Tony's mouth fails him "will you. You. Tomorrow, or tonight, can -- "
"I'll stay. I won't leave you at all, Tony."
Which is just what Tony needs. He settles down, pressing his head to Steve's chest, to the beat of his heart. It's steady, and warm.
He wakes up, maybe, sometime during the night. Still half-under and drunk on it, he's aware that the bed next to him his empty. He's not sure what to do.
Gently, he rolls, breathing still low and deep. He feels lassitude in every part of his body; his naked skin flush with the clean, soft sheets.
There's a figure framed by the light at the window. One hand braced on the pane. "Steve?" Tony mumbles, trying to free himself from the sheets. "Steve?"
Steve grunts. "Go back to sleep, Tony."
He swings his legs onto the floor, the carpet rough against his soles. Gracelessly, he drops to his knees. "Steve," he mutters again "come back to bed."
Steve does turn, this time. He takes in Tony's position and turns back to the city. "Come here." He says quietly.
Tony achingly pushes himself back onto his feet, pads over to where Steve stands, naked.
He waits for admonishment or praise or anything. Nothing comes.
They stand there for a long, long time. Tony leans against Steve's bulk, eyes closing. When they flicker open again, he realises in a detached way that some time has passed.
Steve shifts, opens his arms so Tony can rest against him easily. His eyes are still focused on the horizon.
Tony must fall asleep again, because when he wakes up he's in his bed. Steve never mentions it, and he assumes it was a dream.
So when he wakes up, it's light out. He kneads the sheets with his hands, yawns. Steve is there, but still deep under. Tony rolls, so he's pressed against his back, pushing closer, warm.
Later, when he wakes up properly, the sun is high in the sky. His mouth is dry, sticky. He feels sticky, all over. But he feels loose, too. Well-rested, and lazy with it.
"Good afternoon." Steve says cheerfully, placing a bowl down on the bedside cabinet. "Someone slept well."
Tony says something like 'yeah' or 'sure' but it's muffled by the pillow.
Steve's eyes crinkle. He runs a sponge through the bowl, wrings it clear. "Relax," he says "I'm just clearing you up."
Tony forces himself to sit. He gently touches Steve's hand. "I can do that." He mumbles, not meeting his eyes. "You don't -- don't bother yourself."
"Tony," Steve says, reproachfully. "Do you remember last time? This is what I do, okay? Last night was, it was testing for you, so I'm going -- "
"It wasn't testing." Tony lies. "I'm not -- I'm not some kind of, some kind of weak -- "
"I know." Steve says. "And that's not what I meant. But it took a lot out of you, okay? So let me help. And then if you really want, you can do whatever you like. But you know what I think?"
"You're gonna tell me anyway."
"I think you might like to stay with me for the rest of the day. And really relax."
"Really... relax."
"I know some massages." Steve says casually, soaping up the sponge. "I have some oils. I could take you pretty far under, if you like."
Tony swallows. It's -- that's indulgent. He's already been under once, he doesn't need --
"And you wouldn't mind?" He blurts. "Only if, only if you don't mind. I don't want to, you know. Force you, or make you think you're obligated -- "
"I want to."
"Oh."
"Lie down. Tell me if the water's too hot."
Steve drags the sponge over his belly, washes the spend from his skin. "Okay?" He asks.
"Okay." Tony croaks.
Steve hums, washing through the sponge and gently shifting Tony's legs apart. Carefully, softly, he drags a wet cloth over the space where Tony's leg meets groin.
"Good?" He asks, voice low.
Tony jerks a nod, throat to thick to answer.
"Okay." Steve says, drawing the cloth over his thighs. "Do you want to wash your face?"
Tony nods and Steve passes him some wipes. When reaching up to swipe them over his cheeks, he realises that he's still wearing the collar.
He swallows. "I -- "
"Keep it." Steve reassures. "Just until we're finished, anyway."
Right. And when they're finished, Steve will take it back. That's how it works. Maybe the hurt shows on his face, because Steve says:
"Unless you want to keep it."
Tony blinks. "I couldn't," he laughs uneasily "I couldn't steal your collar. You -- other subs. There will be other subs."
"I think I want you to have it." Steve murmurs, tilting his head and drawing his fingers along the leather. "I can get other collars."
No one --
No one's ever let Tony keep a collar before.
Never.
He doesn't want to show Steve how much it fucking matters and he doesn't want to start crying again. He draws the blanket over his hips and stares at the sheet.
Steve's finger brushes a curl of hair behind his ear. "For what it's worth," he says "I think you're a beautiful sub, Tony."
Tony doesn't know what he's feeling. He hasn't given himself to a dom in a long, long time.
Tony swallows. "I'm not what you think." He croaks.
"I know." Steve says simply.
"I, I sell myself, you know that. You know what I do."
"I know you're in control of your body, Tony. And I know you use it to get what you need."
"Even money?" Tony says, voice low. "Even, even contracts? And funding? And support?"
"I don't care about that."
"I'm not good for you, Steve."
"Good for me? Or good enough for me?"
"Both." Tony whispers.
"That's not true."
Tony wants to slide back under the covers. "I -- "
"We don't have to do this now." Steve says, packing away his things. "I won't pressure you. But when you can give me an answer, I'm waiting."
Tony barely knows what Steve means. But he doesn't want him to go.
"Wait -- " he says, hand shooting out. "You said -- " He swallows. "I mean. You said you might. That you would. Never mind. It's nothing, I'm not -- "
"That we would spend the day together? I haven't forgotten, Tony."
Tony squares his jaw and forces himself to look Steve in the eye when he says sorry.
Steve huffs but doesn't tell him not to apologise. They fall into silence. Tony's fingers play with the sheet.
"It looks good on you." Steve says eventually. "The collar. It suits your tone."
Tony feels a high blush working it's way round his cheeks. "Th-thank you." He says.
Steve smiles and thumbs a line under Tony's eye. "You're a good boy, Tony."
"Yeah." Tony swallows. "I know."
"Do you?" Steve says wryly, but he doesn't push it. Instead, he slides next to Tony on the bed. Opens his arm to allow him to press against his side.
Tony leans against him. Feels his warmth, hears his pulse. The collar is a rough anchor, tying him to Steve.